3-D Models

One of the best bargains out there ! Almost three foot of cat-terrorizing force, this T-Rex shows off the bones.

A tiny little bugger, but it sure packs a punch !
-sold-

December 17th, 1944

Captain Otto V Prien slapped the black panther painted on the side of the wheelhouse on his way aft of his boat, the Mary’s Pride, fast boat number two hundred and three…all of the fourth flotillas boats had them painted on during an extended stay at Havre (due to the damned British bombing the hell out of their normal base, and a lot of free wine).
“Hello Kitty”, he sang as the boat lurched through a swell, just a half a kilometer out to sea from the S-boat pens in St. Peter’s Port. Sipping a dented metal cup filled with coffee and bourbon whiskey, he stared at the setting sun, leathery eyes taking in the glint off of the rows of anti aircraft guns emplaced along the ridge of Guernsey Island, the only thing that really stood against the vulnerability of his boats and the enemy Lancasters.
Tonight should be a good night for hunting…the last few days their squad had been running into a lot of small barges around St. Anne and the point of France, and the pickings had been quite fine. A single mosquito boat had managed to make a lucky strike and damaged the middle and port rudders on his boat, and he wanted to make a test run after repairs to make sure that the faithful craft was fully operational. Even from this distance, Otto could hear the engines start to fart and belch during warmup from the other 3 in his group, still tied up at the shaky dock. The new crewmen strained their eyes for a glimpse of one of the young girls from town, the more experienced held their heads cocked, waiting to hear the air raid siren and the hum of incoming high altitude bombers.
Six hours of sleep, and a hearty dinner had done little do make up for the general unease Otto felt, that tangle in his gut that meant he knew that this fight was hopeless. For a long time, he had been sure that they would easily overcome the British, as they had the French, and head out towards the massive land of the Americas. He had intended to station a part of the southern coast, where it was warm all the time, and perhaps learn how to make this glorious drink, bourbon. Only one bottle left now, since the shipments had been halted so many years ago, even his massive stockpile at home was gone. The war that had started so well was folding quickly, and it seemed obvious to him and his staff that who was going to win. The youngsters were still full of piss and vinegar, saluting like mad and stating party rhetoric at the mess, while he just savoured his pilsner and methodically ate the sausage and bread, staples now for the last few months…from all accounts, he was luckier than his own family (how he missed Greta and the kids), who might be eating something much rougher. Hard to say, the mail had been infrequent lately.

Ernst, his first lieutenant, clicked back the bunk door and came out into the twilight. “Pretty sunset”, he said, pointing to the clouds on the horizon, lit up in red, gold, and purple, he yawned. “ I am getting tired of that watered down beer, it makes me sleepy…”he yawned again, exposing some gold crowns, “like it is not a drink, but a water with some beer taste to it…echh.”
“Or a donkey’s asshole”, Otto joked. “With a cigarette dunked in for flavour.”

The lieutenant smiled, “Yeah, butt-light” he chuckled, “we’ll have to market that someday, we’ll be famous!” Captain Prien snorted, and the two turned to the prow, watching the waves break on the cutwater.

Above the distant cough and sputter of his boats, he could hear a more insistent drone, and glanced skyward, but saw nothing. The air raid sirens had not gone off either, so there were no black bellied bastards dropping tallboys down…yet. What the hell was that sound?
From the church tower, the bell began to ring the eves, long and mournful tones that you could almost feel in your bones. He wished this horrible mess was over, so he could be home to lop down a tree and see if Max was old enough to carry it home, have a drink with his wife while his son and daughter decorated the pine, smelling strongly different than this briny sea.
WHAM!
One of the northern anti-aircraft stations went up like a roman candle, sending a tremendous boom of sound over the bay, lighting the waves even redder than the now dim sun.
The sirens began to wail now, and the crews were rushing antlike up to the stations, 88’s and 128’s swiveling around, searching for something to shoot at. A few of the emplacements began a high level barrage, and black puffs appeared here and there in the darkening sky. Near to the dock, the anti-torpedo nets were being lowered, and the already running fast boats began to move away from the pier, while the off staff crews raced to get the others started, the noise was unimaginable.
Otto could still hear a drone over all of the cacophony though…what was it? Ernst scanned the horizon while the forward and aft crews manned the guns in case they saw something close enough to fire at.

“F my mother” he whispered, pulling at his captain’s sleeve, “there, on the horizon!”

Prien whipped out his glasses and tried to focus on the row of dim shapes he could just make out in the red haze, but they moved too rapidly, and blended in too well. Frustrated, all he could do was watch as the line of craft approached.
Another explosion sounded behind him, and they all spun to watch another emplacement go up in a ball of flames and flying metal. Saboteurs !
“Bastards”, he muttered, “Battle Stations! All Hands!” The Mary’s engines spooled up, and the foam turned white as they headed out to sea, towards the growing dots of the enemy.

Otto stalked into the wheelhouse, shaped like a skull with armor on it, and yelled to the radioman to tell the other boats to follow him, and fast. If those were enemy destroyers or frigates, they would have to attack them fast and get out before the massive shore batteries began to fire at anything that moved! He ran to the starboard and once again lifted his Zeiss goggles up, this time he could see more (though anyone else would have had a hard time, with the boat slamming into wave after wave)…they were not boats. What the hell were they?

“Godamn it !” yelled Ernst “Mistels ! They are launching Mistels” They had all read about the cluster bombs packed into planes by their own Luftwaffe, and now it seemed the enemy had done the same…fill an old airframe with explosives, and guide it to the target. The damage would be immense.
December 17th, part two

Aircaptain “Lucky Dick” Andrews held his plane a scant yard or so from the white capped waves rolling around below. The flight had taken them south of Sark Isle, and they fast approached the coast of Guernsey, now occupied by the bloody germans. Well, he thought, that was just about to end. Connected by a radio line to the fighter looming above him, he toggled a switch, “Vampire to Vampire Two, prepare to disengage.” The hiss of static filled his headset as the golden sands of Havelet Bay grew faster and faster in his narrow windscreen. Crikey, but it was cold here…he was used to the Decembers back home in Queensland, where he would have been sweating like a pig , and fighting off the flies. Of course, England did have some advantages to a young single Australian flyboy…he grinned.
“Right, Vampire One, I’m off ya then, see you back on the beach, LD,” came the reply, and the entire modified bomber shuddered as the Cobra ground attack plane separated from the gym that had bound the two together during the long flight from the airbase in southern England. “Make sure that feeding line is shut off,” He instructed his crewmen, bustling about the rear of the fuselage, readying the main guns. Now 7,000 lbs lighter, the elderly Hudson gained altitude, narrowly missing a church steeple, and slowly rotated to port. Below, the white fast boats of the Kriegsmarine lay tied up at the dock. Andrews smiled, and brought the plane down low again.
“Scrap two…that’s the last of the flak!” the voice of the Cobra pilots came over the radio, excited and wound up, “We’re outta here!” The pink planes streaked northeast at full speed, hoping to outrun any pursuing 109’s. Their damage had been done, now it was his turn. Lucky Dick Andrews cut his airspeed and drifted towards the docks.

Through the binoculars, Prien watched the systematic destruction of the entire bank of flak guns by the small, cannon armed fighters. There wasn’t much he could do…in a rolling sea, his gunmen were as likely to hit their own troops and equipment as the enemy’s! One of the low flying bombers had actually separated from it’s parasite fighter right above them, showering the boat in a spray of fuel.
“Christ” Ernst muttered, “those things are going to crash right into the pier.” They both knew how much fuel was stored nearby, and waited for the fireball.
To the amazement of the crews onboard, the dusty planes all rose into the air, and started slowly circling the entire port. “Spooky, isn’t it?” he remarked quietly.
Then all hell broke loose as the side’s of the medium bombers erupted into light. Some of the S-boat crew cheered, thinking they had been hit by a surviving flak gun, but as the decks began to fall apart near the shore, they realized the grim truth.
Three Schnellboots were destroyed immediately, one minute floating on the water, the next, just gone. Only a few scraps of wood and metal bobbed on the surface where they had been, most of that sinking quickly too.
Two of the fuel depots went up in competing balls of flame, as well as virtually every truck near the docks. The piers had been disintegrated, spars of barnacle encrusted wood poked out of the fires like deadman’s fingers. Still, the planes circled slowly, the smell of cordite drifting away from their sides as they poured down a hailstorm of shells.
He couldn’t look through the binoculars anymore, there were bodies burning even as they floated on the water, and the entire bay was nothing more than a grim whirlwind of fire. The gun crews stood in shock, staring at the scene, unsure of what to do as the small bombers left to the north, one by one, in a neat little duck row.
“Wind them up, Gunter!” Otto yelled down the speaking tube, “We need to get to the other pens as fast as possible!” The u-boat pens on the north side of the island were their only hope for refuge in case of a second wave of the bombers. The sleek boat began to cut through the water like a dream, white waves appearing at the prow growing higher and higher, almost reaching the strakes.
“Hope to god that they didn’t hit all of the anti-air guns, my friend,” Prien called out to Ernst, who was gripping tightly to the rail, “or we are finished!”

Far, far above, a swarm of camouflaged Lancasters opened up their bay doors, revealing Tallboys that would soon answer his thoughts.

“Ho, ho, ho”, said the bombadier, pushing his thumb down hard on the button,”Merry fucking Christmas.”

Albertosaurus liberatus Diorama

By greg ewald

275.00

The spring thaw had not happened yet, there was still some patchy snow on the ground, and the flood plain of the river was covered in moss…the river itself was low, and cold to the touch. In a month or so, the river would be running hard through the canyon, but right now, it was safe for her to hunt on either side, she could easily walk across the gentle flow.
A kilometer behind her, the young from last year and her mate guarded the newly born infants from the scavenging velociraptors, always ready for an easy meal, and two baby Albertosaurs would be a feast indeed. She did not worry too much, though, the male she had coupled with for the last five seasons was battle hardened, even driving off a juvenile Tyrannosaur that ventured too close to the nest just a moon ago, and their offspring from last year were lean and muscular, with long teeth and sharp claws…and sharper eyesight.
She crouched in the heavy coniferous forest, waiting patiently. The morning turned to midday before she caught the smell of prey, and she turned her massive head towards the breeze, sniffing it like you or I might smell a rose. Yes, instantly her poise changed from casual to aware, huge leg muscles flexed…but she did not move from her position…here, she was perfectly camouflaged, the dappled hide melding into the fog and forest around her.
They were coming from downstream, heading up towards the large feeding plains around the bend from where she was hidden, cautiously splashing and looking from side to side, the Hadrosaurs came in a tightly knit group, a large male in front, the young boxed in to protect them from the predators.
She watched them pass, never blinking, just monitoring the movement…a large lungfish splashed about in the shallows, disturbed from it’s basking in the sun by the movement of the huge vegetarians.
The herd slowed, somewhat uneasy about the sound, and a smell they could barely detect…a smell of blood.
With a roar, she burst from her ambush sight, tearing across the mossy ground in huge leaping strides, and jumping into the water, plunged fully into the confused herd. The buck was too far away to defend any of the members, since she had attacked from the rear, and it was all he could do to keep the rest together as she bent down to sniff the neck of the large female she had brought down with one bite, severing the neck almost completely.
The blood washed down the stream…soon, the scavengers would come with the scent of meat. She ate her fill quickly, since the young would be looking forward to the regurgitated chunks of warm flesh, and dragged the rest of the corpse up onto the bank. A loud trumpeting roar announced to her kin that there was a kill to feed on, and Sheila slowly plodded back across the mossy bank, towards the nest, and home.

75.00

Planet Yuggoth, Inner Sphere Domains

Zueratis III Outpost, 1340 hours, December 25, 3052

The Jade Falcon warriors were stomping around outside the hut, he could hear the short and severe language being flung about, directed mostly at his fellow pilots. Those who fought in the ‘mechs seemed to think themselves as better than the men and women that served as support units.
“Elite, my arse”, Ian thought to himself. He knew how the battles were planned, and how much a part of them his new strike force would count in the future strategies. He was no freebirth moron, doomed to wipe grease off of mech struts and serve as a weapons loader, or even worse, as a repair bay technician…he was a pilot of the newest and meanest flying weapon in the Falcon arsenal, and one of the few that could look at a Daishi onscreen and just chuckle.
“I’d like to see a Timberwolf clanner say that”, he muttered under his breath. The genetically bread mechwarriors gave him the creeps most of the time, though they had the same sense of battle lust that he did too, and in their cups, could be quite fun to bander stories about. The violent raids on T’Kuyhleh, the upset of the Draconis Combine, the horrible failure to take Terra fast enough…he had cut his teeth on the knee of his birth-father listening to these tales.
On the wall hung a digital map of the battlefield, where red crosses marked the fallen, and the green lines told of the fight to come tomorrow.

His line was in neon blue, a fencing thrust straight into the heart of the Terrans.

He would not fail.

The engines were warming up, Ian could here the soft thrumming through the thin walls of his hotshack. He sat up, and in a lotus position, began reciting the names of his clan father’s, from initial conception to completion of his line, residing in him solely now…his other broden killed in the reprisal and reconciliation wars with Clan Wolf.
The boot soles knocked mud up against his siding, from the genetically perfect Elemental Warriors, running towards their suits…they were to be the bait for the revenge that burned in Ian’s heart.
To kill Mechs. That is what he lived for…ate, slept, and breathed.

1355 hours:
Sitting in the cockpit, Ian breathed through his wide nostrils, and concentrated on the viewscreen displayed on the windshield ahead.
Static. “We have heavy mechs down at Navpoint Gamma, repeat, at least two full lances of heavy and assault mechs are down and taking up position!” The radio voice was muted, but he could hear the panic.
Ian snorted, “More mechs, more dead terrans, so what.”
The intercom crackled again, “Flight One, Flight Two, Flight Three, Flight Four, Flight Five, Flight Six, Flight Seven, Flight Nine…cleared for takeoff.”

48 modified Peregrine attack rotowings lifted off in unison…Flight Eight hung back in case a sneak attack by enemy units, or if one flight had mechanical failure.
“ Or freebirth failure…” thought Ian…some of his co-pilots were not of clan warrior descent, and he did not trust them, or talk to them, “ Vermin.”

Freed of the heavy ground skid, the Peregrine lifted off into the auburn sky, the heavy Headhunter missile weighing it down, but manageable nonetheless. He pushed on the collective and the nose went down, increasing air speed over the massive rotors turning above…then, flicking a thumb switch, the jets came on, the blades stopped whirling, and locked into a fixed right angle…the jets powered up even more, and the “wings” carried him higher and higher, and faster…towards the target.

Diorama complete with stingray: 600.00

Brazil, 1947, Six days out of Tapaua :

The steady chirping of the poison dart frogs kept Lorne’s teeth on edge, the constant “neek,neek,neek” was enough to drive him insane, especially after two weeks of travel by river to meet this outpost in the middle of nowhere, South America. He swatted at the cloud of mosquitoes that formed a halo around his blond hair with indifference, what was another bite or two, to add to the welts that crossed his fair skin ? A sudden squeal rang through the forest canopy as some animal or the other became prey for yet another. The frogs were blessedly silent for a minute, and his eyes started to close…”neek.” Then, “neek-neek”. Now the whole damned chorus chimed in again, and the Doctor forced his weary eyes open to take in the dark water passing so slowly beneath the long boat, the same green scenery with scattered patches of blue sky above that had been the rule since they had left the last village.
Reaching behind him, he pulled out a bottle of the local beer and popped off the top with his Swiss knife. Warm. He grimaced as he remembered the wonderful chilled pilsners he had consumed in the commissary of the Tirpitzufer, and wondered what had brought him around the world to this place, under the “guidance” of the American university. Dr. Lorne Rottburg snorted, and took another heavy sip of the foam, and remembered exactly why…he would have been hanging on the end of a Russian gibbet had not the scientific team from the United States managed to get him out of Berlin, and onto a cargo vessel headed for the new world. He had to travel by boat, as his fear of heights precluded any possibility of aeronautical transport, the brave doctor’s knees would shake on even a short ladder.
The others on the team from Miskatonic had flown in by air, aboard a refurbished Catalina, and were probably even now studying the artifacts, and relaxing in air conditioned nissen huts, and drinking godamned cold beer. Perhaps next time, he would take a pill, maybe that would be enough.

“Doktor,” came the voice of Je’sus, the guide, “the camp, she is there.” Pointing around the bend, Lorne could make out the bright silver tops of the arced metal, already beginning to gain the patina of steady humidity and stagnant air. The Catalina floated peacefully in the shallow lagoon, starkly white and clean in this miasma of rottenness. But what was that next to it, moored to the dock?
“Lieber Gott!” The words were expressed harshly, and his once sleep tired eyes sharpened quickly to take in the shape of a German floatplane, newly painted, but showing signs of age. He knew of no expeditions to this place from his homeland, and even so, this aircraft was not capable of making that long of a voyage. It had to have been brought here. But why?

Heavy Diorama: 175.00

Omichron Rebel Base:

“Here they come”…the static filled voice came over the link as the speeder’s raced over the low rocky cliffs and knotted trees that clung to them. The low wings gave them just enough surface to “bite” the air, and the powerful Incom T-47’s engines pushed them faster and faster as they raced towards the approaching enemy, initial reports from the now destroyed satellites traced several heavy armored units, as well as some air support…this wasn’t going to be a walk in the park, but last year’s victory on Hoth had proved that the nimbleness of the little speeder’s proved to be more than a match for the heavy firepower of the Imperial Army.
Drab tree limbs flashed by the cockpit glass as the flight of T-47’s clung to the nap of the ground, if they flew too high, the long range sensors of the Imperial dropships could pick them up, and the power cannons would obliterate them in a second. Sticking close to the trees and rocks gave them almost as much protection as their speed, by weaving in and out, down and around, the automatic lock-on systems couldn’t keep pace with their silhouettes.
“Turret five, what do you see?” the voice of the wing commander, Nielsen, was tense as he leaned forward, as if by moving his head a few inches, he could discern more through the misty haze ahead.
“ We detected the dropships, they are still….and looks like…-f -loading some…wait a min…” the speakers crackled and hissed. “Three, no four, Imperial Walkers with support…and something odd, there’s a …”
Seconds went by as the seventeen ships raced towards the target area, but the speaker remained silent.
With a grimace, knowing that his friends at the forward station were dead or dying, he thumbed on his sighting array, “ Go to sensors”.
The display projected onto his helmet glass showed four large, fuzzy images that quickly resolved themselves into the lumbering Walkers of the enemy, huge tanks full of troops, and loaded with pulse weapons…slow, yes…but deadly. Around the bottom of these massive behemoths raced smaller tanks and missile carriers, all headed towards the main rebel base that was under lock down, all of the non-necessary personnel had evacuated days ago under the command of Captain Antilles.
“Ok, you all know the drill…Sasha, you take the two on the left, Tender, you take the middle, I’ll hit the right…the rest of you cover us, and remember to stay low !”
Commander Skywalker and Captain Antilles had come up with a fool-proof way of taking out the elephantine walkers, by wrapping up a hypercord around their legs, they would come falling down as if struck by a bola…it was the only way to stop them, other than a direct hit with a large pulse laser. Nielsen was sure that the long range rebel turrets were warming up even now, ready to do their damage as soon as the enemy came into view..
“I’m picking up an anomaly, sir”, Sasha’s voice sounded confused, which was odd for the veteran pilot, she was usually unshakeable.
Nielsen couldn’t see anything unusual, but she was more experienced at reading sensors than he was too. “ What is it, are you sure you don’t have a glitch?” The tracking figures were changing steadily, only another two kilometers to the target.

“Some sort of jamming is being used…I’m getting contrasting information from my active scan…” Sasha’s frustrated voice was interrupted by static, “what the…wait a sec, scanner burning through now…it’s a...!”
An incredibly loud blast ripped by, like a sheet being torn down the middle.

Nielsen glanced right to see two of his wingmen blow apart in a cloud of black fragments, another spun out of control and crashed into the rocks below, spreading a narrow trail of fire pointing to the targets. “What the hell?” he thought, in a state of panic and disbelief, “we aren’t even in range of blasters yet!”
Warning tones started warbling as he fought to maintain control of his own craft, somehow still intact after the nearby explosions.
“All of you, form up on me.” He struggled to maintain a level flight path. “Sasha…Sasha…are you there?” A quick shrug was all that he could afford to acknowledge the death of one of the best pilot’s he’d ever known. “ Tender, all of you, form up on me, Delta pattern.”
The white and red speeders fell into position behind him as they flew through the mist, all of them looking forward to see the targets.

“Getting a bearing on One-Three-Seven” Squirrel’s voice popped over the mike. “She’s coming into range” they could all hear the tension in the new sensor leader’s voice, “Designate Alpha target”.
“Lets roll” Nielsen spat out. There was a hum as the hypercord cable covers moved back, exposing the launcher. He turned around and gave Squirrel the thumbs up, and a grin.
.
Fast as a thought, they streaked in and under the path of the Walker’s, zig-zagging and jinking like crazy to stay out of the path of the blasters. It took all of the pilot’s concentration to keep from being shot down, but it left the scanning intercept officer free to launch the grapple and cord assembly.
“Grapple away!” shouted the rear sensor officers, almost in unison. The little speeders began weaving in and around the legs of the walkers to tie them up in a neat falling package.
All around, Nielsen could see his wingmen disappear in puffs of destruction, as one or the other went too far into the tracking range of the Imperial energy weapons. It was happening to fast to feel sadness or remorse. This was war.

There was a wrenching feeling of heavy gravity, and suddenly, his ship lost all control and fell from the sky like a brick, whirling around in a tight circle, and tearing off the starboard wing mount. A scream in his headset, then another, then a cacophony of shrieks as the speeders all went down.
The ground rushed up at him, a tornado of red rock and tangled brush, then a loud crash took all of the pain away as the ton of metal and plastic came apart around him, and he knew no more.

1600 meters away, Sasha crawled from her mangled cockpit, Thom, her SIO, had already set off the fire damage controls, and she slipped down the ripped wing to join him on the ground, charging up her binocs at the same time.
“They’re all gone,” he said forlornly, “All of them. At once.” Shaking his head in disbelief, he staggered down the arroyo towards the second staging area.
Sasha glared at the metal monsters impotently, unable to do anything except to find her next group, and try to figure out what the hell had happened. She threw her high tech helmet to the ground in frustration, and followed him down into the shade.

Just as they made it to the tree line, a visceral boom sounded, and then another, making the water in the small stream shake and the limbs on the trees dance. Something blocked out the light from the twin suns, and Sasha and Thom shrank to the ground as the bulk of a immense walker reared overhead.
“It can’t be, it just can’t be”, she repeated to herself while looking straight up into the belly of the beast. Large generators under the protective shielding hummed and sparks flew from the spike projections that ran along the Imperial’s side.
The massive head rose as if howling to the moons, and both side cannons fired, leaving a cloud of smoke billowing around the neck. There was no sign of energy discharge at all, no laser light, just a loud bang. Far, far off in the distance, she could hear a whistling sound, and then a loud crump as whatever these tubes had launched hit the target.

“ Interesting, isn’t it?” came a calm voice from the dark of the trees. Both of the rebel officers spun around to see a tall figure emerge carefully from the foliage.
“Jastin? What are you doing here? You should have left with the rest of the techs two days ago !” Sasha was confused by the sudden appearance of the lead technical advisor from the base.
“ I call them projectus. You see, the amount of airborne fodder makes any sort of long range energy weapon expenditure useless, even the motes of dust eat up some of the power, limiting how far one can damage a target in a gravity zone. This device, however, can be fired on targets hundreds of kilometers away. Fascinating.” He grinned widely, as if his head might split open at any moment. “ Oh yes, the base was destroyed just after you launched, we could have shot you all down too, but Lord Vader wanted to see if the new leg wires worked on the Walkers, an easy solution to the hmmm…shall we say, inventive way your two hotshot pilots came up with to bring down the heavy’s ?”
Jastin sighed. “It seems your rebellion is at an end. Too bad really, you had some really great thinkers on board that last freighter.” To the look of shock on Sasha’s face, he replied,” Oh yes, gone, all gone. I made sure of that myself.”
80 meters above them, the metallic generators under the head began to whine to a fever pitch, Sasha and Thom covered their ears, but couldn’t take their eyes off of the scene.
“And now, to test the Magnetus,” the Tech said quietly. “ I do believe the civilian base will do nicely, perhaps the hospital?”
One of the square guns directly mounted under the chin blew out a blast of air and an impossibly fast moving chunk of metal that fell into pieces just after being launched, a golden arrow continued to fly on into the distance.
“It moves so fast, it almost becomes a plasma, you see…wonderful device, came up with it myself.” Jastin was talking to himself now, the rebel pilots just stared at him in horror.
He tilted his head to one side, “ Ah yes, Vader…it certainly did go well. I do believe we can go ahead with the implementation on all of our AT’s. “ After a pause, “Yes, perhaps I shall join you to view the sights from above, my TIE should be ready by now. Of course, you are very welcome. Always willing to lend a helping hand to a brother,” he chuckled.
Sasha shook her head in disbelief, as if she was punch drunk or spiced, for the figure of Jastin began to waver…shimmering itself into something much larger, much darker, as if a hole had been cut out of the surroundings and filled with hate. In that deep well of black, a light flared.
“But first, I have some business to attend to.”