Insider 2-24-2011

Working with the rich and diverse setting we do, we here at Privateer Press often find ourselves embroiled in broad-ranging discussions of psychology, art, and philosophy. What is the breaking point of a man in the field of battle facing his brothers-in-arms as undead abominations? How does a culture that embraces pain sing its infants to sleep? How much wood does a woodchuck chuck before it’s eaten by a troll? (Speaking of trolls, never fear: the HORDES cookies are still on their way!)

There’s really not much more to it; this is what I get for trying my hand at painting for the first time after discussing epic poems with our No Quarter editor-in-chief. It may seem like just another few hours’ diversion to you, but to me it was a momentous undertaking requiring courage, stamina, and faith in those leading the charge.

The Charge of the Colors

Into the great unknown of pressing battle
With highest hopes our motley warriors go
To face unfinished, ghostly-armored soldiers
And coax from them a force of blue and gold.

The master indicates the faceless army,
And ev'ry eye seeks out a knight of storm.
With paint, and wash, and ink the field is crowded
As ranks untested gird and ride to war.

Bright faces turn as one with rapt attention
Though fingers itch to cradle brush and pot,
For tales related here are worth remembrance
And lead the host to knowledge they have sought.

The blue is of the fairest lover's gazes;
The gold, strong sun of burning, youthful days.
The steel is sharpened waterfall in motion,
And lightning sparks within the wielded blades.

Behold the summer swan in all its glory!
Now see the Cygnus fierce upon the field!
The storm-light fires each ventured soul there
To fight without relent 'til all is sealed.