Shop Mobile More Submit  Join Login
About Literature / Hobbyist Jonathan WassingMale/Canada Recent Activity
Deviant for 11 Years
Needs Core Membership
Statistics 86 Deviations 1,213 Comments 7,373 Pageviews
×

Newest Deviations

Weapons 2 :iconjonwassing:jonwassing 2 0 Weapons 1 :iconjonwassing:jonwassing 1 0 Flightless Fantasy :iconjonwassing:jonwassing 4 0 A Matter of Honour: The Oaken Throne, Chapter 1 :iconjonwassing:jonwassing 2 0 Maydah Amoung the Ruins :iconjonwassing:jonwassing 21 4
Literature
The Sacrifice
A long time ago, before the world turned its heart to ice, two flowers blossomed in the sun.
One was a good flower, with petals as full as the midnight moon, blue as the skies and soft as a midnight whisper.
The other was also beautiful, but had not grown in such good soil, it held its petals as high as it could, but couldn't reach the sun's light.
Not wanting his friend to suffer and die, the first flower twisted itself around the other, pulling them both into the sun.
"Oh no," said the second flower, "this is not good for your stem, you should just leave me die, then you can grow healthy alone."
"I do not care," said the first flower, "I can be happy helping you, and when you have grown strong, we can be happy together."
As time passed, the flowers grew, and eventually the second flower bloomed, deep amethyst petals that reached for the heavens, glorious and dark.
Soon, it became the center of attention in the garden, drawing gazes from far and wide.
"Oh look my friend," said the fir
:iconjonwassing:jonwassing
:iconjonwassing:jonwassing 2 1
Ah, peace. :iconjonwassing:jonwassing 1 0 Dog sketch :iconjonwassing:jonwassing 1 0
Literature
Lyndexters journal entry 5
August 29th 2027 2130 hours
Altoona was a strange time for me, normally I do not feel remorse, or even connection to people, but I've seen too much out here not to feel something.
I feel the need to be perfectly honest. The records of some of my actions have been false up to this point. Sheppard and I where friends, as loosely as my personality allows. I saw him as an indispensible asset, one almost necessary. He would do anything for me, once he even used himself as a ladder for me to crawl up onto a low roof, so I could study a small infector specimen found dead on top.
In the short time I knew him, I managed to connect with someone in a way that I never had before, though I scarcely paid attention or even realized my growing respect for the man while he was alive.
He had a family in the caravan; I used to eat with them every Tuesday. I even managed to help his only son with a bad case of strep he caught along the way. It was the closest thing to a family I had ever had in my entire
:iconjonwassing:jonwassing
:iconjonwassing:jonwassing 1 9
Literature
Lyndexters Journal 4th entry
August 15th 2027 0935 hours
Altoona, Pennsylvania
I've been driving for quite some time. Gas is sparse so I'm rationing it as best I can. I've categorized at least six different types of carrier spectre so far in the last month. They all seem derivatives of some sort of smaller animals, starting with a small mouse-like creature and finishing up with the cat-like types I came across in Philadelphia. I've survived so far by waiting to find them after they have infected a human, for this seems when the creatures are most docile, lifeless almost. Countless people have been infected; I'm starting to run into them. Either motionless on the ground or twitching in corners, I have yet to run into a single human survivor since separating with the main convoy in New Jersey. That's my own fault though. Whenever I see signs of survivors I avoid them, and the only other humans I see, I wait until they have been infected or leave before coming out of hiding. I hate myself, but I must observe what is
:iconjonwassing:jonwassing
:iconjonwassing:jonwassing 0 0
Literature
Lyndexters jounral entry 3
July 23rd 2027 0600 hours
Sheppard did not last the night.
At midnight last night, the soldier on duty called me down to the tent where Sheppard was being kept. I wondered what all the fuss was about until I saw what had happened to the man. Sheppard was being restrained by three of the strongest men we had, his skin had changed to a sickly white and he was frothing yellow foam at the mouth. All of his hair had fallen out and lay strewn about in damp clumps around the tent. He was screaming terribly, nothing understandable. Unsure of what to do, I quickly ran to where we kept our antibiotics. Pumping a syringe full of the clear fluid I quickly popped the compound into his arm hoping to high heaven that I hit a vein through his wild thrashing. All of a sudden he grew quite still and stared directly into my eyes. I was shocked, they where no longer the baby blue they had been the day before, but had gone pitch black, with only a tiny glimmer of white near the center. Then, very slowly an
:iconjonwassing:jonwassing
:iconjonwassing:jonwassing 0 0
Literature
Lyndexters Journal 2nd entry
July 22nd 2027 2100 hours
Philadelphia, NJ
I must report that I have survived my first spectre attack. Back in May I followed a convoy of survivors out of Washington DC. The convoy was comprised of people who, like me, had become tired of just waiting for death to come and claim us all. Exploring the cities that remained we scrounged what little we could from the decrepit buildings; sometimes we found human survivors, sometimes the cities where desolate and barren. Today, in a large mall just outside of where we had set up to rest for the night, we encountered what appeared to be a nest of small spectres. Not humanoid like most of the kinds that had been rampaging across the country only three years ago, but small hairless cat-like creatures. The nest appeared to be some sort of birthing place, long thin gossamer strands of an unknown membrane stretched out across the walls, pods filled with a viscous mucus where sat torn open  and strewn about the floor. The spectre themselv
:iconjonwassing:jonwassing
:iconjonwassing:jonwassing 0 2
Literature
Lyndexters Journal 1st entry
May 13th 2027 0900 hours
Location: Washington DC
My first month of research went off without a hitch, also without a single sighting of the specimens I had originally hoped to study here. I had thought that here, Washington being the epicentre of this epidemic, or invasion as some are calling it, I would have found specimens plentiful and easy to study. Alas I have wandered the city for a week without seeing an actual specimen worth writing here. Most of this city is in ruin, but occasionally I find survivors here and there. Most are severely malnourished and frightened; some haven't the strength to walk. I Trade with them whenever I can, medical supplies and food for whatever information they can give me regarding this new enemy we find ourselves facing.  Two days ago I found a survivor of an attack, a young lady by the name of Clarin, who had been brought to DC from Oklahoma, where herself and her family where attacked shortly after the first mass sightings of the focus of
:iconjonwassing:jonwassing
:iconjonwassing:jonwassing 1 6
Literature
In his fathers' name
The Artist moves, slowly, gently
Carefully scraping away the heavy clay
giving life to the art within
all of his life, the artist has worked with the thick mud
scraping and convincing,
until clay becomes beauty.
Long ago, his father gave him the gift.
Techniques honed and perfect through countless eternities
and since that day, every creation of brownish-red elegance
has been in his fathers' name.
But,
as the sculptor stands back to admire his work
another piece comes to view,
carefully poised upon it's display.
enticed by it's beauty, the artist pauses to gaze in wonder
mesmerized my it's shimmer.
The soft-spun glass beauty before him bears no similitude to his humble clay,
it sparkles with the light of recognition and glory.
'oh how beautiful,' murmurs the world,
'if there where but more of these,
we might be a little happier.'
But the artist is no fool,
he knows his clay will never swirl and arch as glass does.
And so he remains, studying the crystalline beauty before him.
But from
:iconjonwassing:jonwassing
:iconjonwassing:jonwassing 3 2
Literature
La reina
I knew a Queen once,
Back when time had robbed her of all grace or reason.
Stately she stood,
staring past her cream-colored prison walls,
dreaming of a world once lived
but lost forever.
The white tiger constantly stands by her side,
its' protective presence ever guarding,
keeping at bay the madness
clawing against the walls of her mind.
The queens' gaze is calm, but confused,
the only sign of the turmoil within.
Long has she pleaded with her kind prison guards,
protected, but betrayed by her own flesh and blood.
She has supplicated for eons, but the resolve of her gentle captors
makes steel seem frail by comparison, and mocks her frustration.
Bolts hardened by love and care hold her captive,
locked thrice for safety,
for the world outside no long cares
for queens without reason.
So there she must stay,
until deaths' merciful embrace will free her.
The last beautiful reminder of a time long lost,
and ideas long forgotten,
just like their Queen.
:iconjonwassing:jonwassing
:iconjonwassing:jonwassing 2 4
ghost light :iconjonwassing:jonwassing 1 0

Activity


29 deviations
Weapons 2
More Jorgenthall weapons, this one is a more common outfitting of the elite Dagon warriors.
Experimented a bit with weaponry here as this is a fantasy setting, but the sword-staff is an actual weapon from history, I just moved it back from the renaissance into the medieval era and altered it to look as such.
Again Celtic knots are HARD.
The symbol is of the Roc, a common Jorgenthall symbol.
The runes are Cainaedah, the Language of Siothall.
Scanner clipped the edge of the shield, much to my chagrin.
Might Ink and colour this one too, who knows.
Loading...
Weapons 1
Every once and awhile I like to just draw stuff like this, as it gets my creative juices flowing. I'm also experimenting with Celtic knots, which are much harder than they look.
These are weapons used by the people of Siothall some 600 years after the events of the story I am writing now occur. Their steel has improved greatly and rivals all of Aerithia in quality.
People of Siothall call themselves the Jorgenthall at this point, which will be made clear in upcoming chapters of the Oaken throne.
This really helped me get out of a funk, motivating me out of a section of writers block and I'm quite proud of them.
The runes are Cainaedah, the language spoken in Siothall.
I may ink and colour these, something I don't do often, I'll see if I have the time.
Loading...
  • Listening to: MIles Davis, Any thing catchy really
  • Reading: Macbeth
  • Watching: The last King on Netflix
  • Playing: Star Wars: Battlefront (SO COOL!)
  • Eating: Too much...
  • Drinking: Edible Liquids
Hi, I know i promised a chapter a week, but that's turning out to be a bit harder than I anticipated.
I have a few chapters ready, but they're not as polished as I would like or even close to ready for that matter. 
On the bright side, I've been getting a little feedback from the deviantart community and a few friends & fam I have at home and I think I can make these better by a long shot. Now, I also have a job, a very busy two-year old girl and a pregnant wife, so I'm sharing my time with a lot more stuff than writing. To that end: while I'm just starting out i will be updating as often as I can, which might not be weekly per se.
Hopefully once i have a bigger buffer I can post with more regularity. 
I know this will probably upset precisely ZERO people, but I'm a bit disappointed I couldn't fulfil my goal of a chapter a week right off the bat. I imagine as I get better it will get easier, but for now I will have to say sorry as it takes me probably until next Friday to post the next chapter. 
I am still super stoked though, this project has been close to two years in the making, what with ideas and rough drafts and abandoned drafts and the suchlike, and I'm happy to finally share my stories with someone. Even if not too many people read them, its a lot of fun for me. 
See you next week (or sooner if I feel comfortable) and keep Deviatin'

deviantID

jonwassing's Profile Picture
jonwassing
Jonathan Wassing
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
Canada
Current Residence: Edmonton, Alberta, Canada
Favorite genre of music: A cornucopia of sound and grooves. Postmodern jukebox is now a fav.
Personal Quote: We always form lines, one line clears out and we rush as fast as we can....to form another line.
Interests

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconyrdenne:
Yrdenne Featured By Owner 2 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you so much for faving my latest chapter!
I am glad you like it ^^
Reply
:iconjlazaruseb:
JLazarusEB Featured By Owner 5 days ago  Student Digital Artist
thank you for faving Torchic 
Reply
:iconjonwassing:
jonwassing Featured By Owner 4 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
NP
Reply
:iconakitku:
akitku Featured By Owner Apr 14, 2017  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thank you so much for the fav! :hug:
Reply
:iconjonwassing:
jonwassing Featured By Owner Apr 14, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
No prob. My pleasure really.
Reply
:iconhelevornart:
HelevornArt Featured By Owner Apr 6, 2017  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Many thanks for adding my series of illustrations to your collection! :wave:
Reply
:iconjonwassing:
jonwassing Featured By Owner Apr 6, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
NO sweat. My pleasure really. Feel free to peruse my gallery if you don't mind literature. 
Reply
:iconyrdenne:
Yrdenne Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for faving my poem :)
:hug:
Reply
:iconjonwassing:
jonwassing Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
No sweat.
Reply
:icondefaultking:
defaultking Featured By Owner Apr 2, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the fave!
Reply
Add a Comment: