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except AJ who the fuck was he anyway

that jerk needs to calm his tits and say hi to everybody oh wait

okay so i started drawing simone and i ended up drawing everybody. all the characters we're drawn separately and not really supposed to be put side by side BUT I DID THAT ANYWAY
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They call him Trilby. And as a name, it suffices.


I don't know what's up with me. I just looked at that old as hell picture, and realised I'd made him smile. Now, he shouldn't be smiling in that scene. He simply. Shouldn't. </general insane inanity>

The Trilbster belongs to Ben "Yahtzee" Croshaw.
You know, the Zero Punctuation guy.

Also, this is dedicated to ~dragoncaim360, because it really needs to be. As a bit of a friendly 'thank you'.
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And may I say, this is a DAMN good game.

Anyone who likes a bit o' point-n'-click, go to [link] where you can get hold of more of Ben "Yahtzee" Croshaw's kickarse games! W00t for Trilby and Co!

Oh yeah, and there's a whole load of entertaining reviews, ramblings and comics to check out too.
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leave him alone guys he JUST WANTED TO GO TO SPACE

so he killed his dad and impersonated him to get onto his ship

malcolm no
malcolm you fucking idiot
this is why i forgot about you

i draw stupid, useless shit and i'm not sorry
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BRIAN HOLDENEN BECAUSE LUPIN CAN SING i could not draw his glorious face i am sorry

starship is starship amazing

but guns aren't fuck
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Six Days A Sacrifice Fanart! I downloaded and played this game the day after it was released, and it KICKS. ARSE. BIGTIME. Although the ending is nearly as confusing as Evangelion, this game is well worth the mind-numbing amount of thinking and arguing over themes and motivations to be done afterwards - fun puzzles, a great epic storyline, gory graphics and a high-tension atmosphere. And, of course, Trilby is in it, which is reason enough to play any game by itself.

For those who find the cutesy artwork confsing, the cast is as follows, left-to-right : Foreground : Janine, Theo and Dr Harty, Background: The Caretaker, Cabadath, and Trilby.

If you're into slasher-killers, science fiction, undead druids, cultists, grievous bodily harm and sexy thieves, check out the John DeFoe series at the glorious Fully Ramblomatic site - [link] . And the other stuff there too.

Obviously this lot isn't mine. All belong to the mighty Ben "Yahtzee" Croshaw. All hail!
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Requested by . It's Trilby! And he looks about seventeen! And John is in the bath for no apparent reason, and he is neither wet nor bloodstained! Oh, the inconsistencies.

ANYWAY, the picture is horrible, but I'm chuffed with the colouring, so all is okay, I guess. I couldn't resist putting the bear in. the hanged bear makes me happy.

5 Days and everything to do with it belongs to Ben "Yahtzee" Croshaw.
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So, I'm a huge fan of the XDaS series by Yahtzee Croshaw, and while I haven't uploaded any of the crap-ton of fanart I've drawn of the characters, I HAVE done a Let's Play of the series, starting here: [link]

And today, I was inspired to draw Trilby (who Malcolm is somewhat based off of, in appearance anyway), as well as some other scenes from the game.

There are at least a couple things on here straight out of my LP- the tree, and my inability to make Trilby go down a goddamn flight of stairs.

ALSO INCLUDED: Simone Taylor, and Trilby Defoe!
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I was trying to continue my super secret project, then Theo. And a crescent rapeface. Don't ask.

Theo Dacabe, Chzo Mythos -- Yahtzee
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The following is an addendum to Trilby's notes, found in 1997 at the home of the STP operative code name "Trilby":

I find myself ensnared within him.

The incident at the hotel has left me with an inexplicable inability to find solace in my sleep anymore. It was difficult before, but homeopathic remedies would put me in a calm, long sleep (as I was rather opposed to taking sleep aiding drugs, for fear I would intentionally consume the entire bottle, prompting another return from the mysterious robed man to tell me it is not yet my time.), that left me half as refreshed in the morning but enough to last the day. I wanted to continue this indefinitely; even though I drifted in and out of a perpetual haze; sleeping, waking, existing. Sleeping, waking, existing. As far as I was concerned, this was an applicable existance, after the incident at the Clanbronwyn Hotel.

Then things changed.

My deep dreamless nights were invaded by an overpowering darkness that filled my room and penetrated my being. Every night, I would wake up, despite my best efforts, look around to see nothing, and remain too chilled by the visions to return to my slumber. I remain paralyzed in my bed; I can still feel his presence. Although it is out of my sight, I cannot shake the feeling that he is right behind me, his tall, empty visage looming over me, a scythe of cold iron clenched in his blood red fists, ready to strike should my heart calm and my eyes close once more.

Cabadath, The Prince.

He is the acolyte of Chzo, the twisted god that the Order worships. At the hotel he was my adversary; always waiting, always watching, in the decaying halls of the Other Hotel. He does not rule the World with which he dwells, but his presence permeates the terrible dimension, and it was only him in the hotel delivering the judgement against those who trespassed. A word was thrown around, a name, Chzo, but I did not see him. I only saw the horrific blank face of The Tall Man, as he swam into my vision, latched me into his gaze, fell to his knees, and placed his hand over my heart to pull it out. My legs worked on their own, and kicked him back with such force that he flew back to the center of the room and saved my blood for the time.

Although I had not hit The Prince. I had just kicked Siobhan O'Malley in the face.

She has tried to contact me after the hotel incident. I can't bear to see her again. Not for the fact that she is a bad girl, but our conversation on the matter of my investigations filled me with dread. She asked me to bring me with her, into what? My world? I would not let another turn into me. More so I was worried she was beginning to have romantic feelings towards me. I made it my business to make it ever more difficult for her to find out where I was, and thus attempt to reach me, and even that I feared was not enough to keep her from the influence of the Other world. Her messages have become few and far apart now. I have not spoken to her since the incident, in spite of her best efforts.

I feel older after the incident. I am always tired but I cannot sleep. It hurts when I try. My superiors have noticed my lethargy, they have demanded I take a "vacation" to "relax" after the experience. They don't want me working in my "condition". They refuse to listen to my pleas and they presented me with an unavoidable proposition. Either take off and sleep fully, or be relieved of my duties and sent to prison.

I was not about to be sent to prison, where I would suffer physical terrors as well as my mental ones. I did the only thing I could. I chose the sleep. I would come to regret it.

I knew it was a foolish endeavor the instant I arrived at my home. I was plainly being haunted, you'd think the Ministry of Occultism would look into that. No, their men are expendable, they honestly could care less. The first night I simply did not sleep, I stood awake. I hypothesized that I would have little trouble sleeping if I drove myself to unconsciousness through forcing myself to stay awake. This continued for six days; I was lethargic as a pig, my eyes burned with exhaustion, I felt I would surely pass out over my morning's newspaper and tea. My hair was growing out, I was filthy, utterly consumed with something not quite fear, but not quite confidence either. Merely, I was existing solely on autopilot; it was as if my brain shut down, and I behaved like a machine going through a pre-programmed routine.

Unable to take anymore abuse, my body rebelled and I tumbled to the floor of my bedroom one night, somewhere around the end of the sixth day. As punishment for being so neglectful I could only lay on the floor in a daze. I was weak as a newborn, unable to move my limbs that felt so heavy to my deprived muscles and bones. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the overwhelming strike against my will and fell instantly asleep.

How do I know I fell asleep? That was when the darkness came again, but I was trapped now, I couldn't wake or even roll over to change pace, my entire body felt like lead. My plan had backfired, and my mind swelled with fire when I expected it to adopt apathy. I remember it clearly, my encounter.

I woke up, not in my head but in the so called World of Magick, by a dripping on my forehead. Cool, stinking drops of something hit my forehead and rolled down my face, some into my open mouth. I choked and sat up, coughing it all out to reveal it to be old, possibly infected blood. I was lying once again in the horrible Other Clanbronwyn Hotel. The first thing I did upon waking up and wiping my face on my waistcoat was to grab my hat, which was askew about a foot away from me. It was good to see where my priorities lied. I looked up to see the source of the blood, expecting to see a garish body strewn up over my head, the work of The Prince, but it was absent. Instead I saw a stain of blood spreading across the ceiling, dripping on me as if the building were bleeding itself. I stood up and subconsciously felt in my pocket for the pills. There were none. I repressed my panic. I wanted to get away from the wound in the ceiling, so I walked north down the hallway, ending up in the lobby and the doorway to the stairs. I attempted the door, knowing it futile from the start. It wouldn't open, as if I were being kept there intentionally.

The heat and the smell was beginning to make me nauseous, I wobbled on my feet and caught myself; I fully intended to stand my ground. It didn't last, I kneeled forward and vomited what little food was in me, and I was forced to wipe my mouth on my tie, not wanting it so much on my arm. I rightfully couldn't stay in that one room, and I imagined exhausting myself in the Other Hotel would wake me faster, so I explored. I knew what it all looked like, except for one difference. The walls were newly bloodied, but when I tried to swallow out of fear, all I got down was hot air.

My waistcoat was unbuttoned from the start, but it was far too hot to continue wearing my anachronistic clothes. Yes, I do wear things other than suits, but they are my usual clothing. I wasn't going to rightfully take them off in the decomposing body of the hotel, but unbuttoning the first few buttons allowed my flesh to cool just slightly enough to not be completely uncomfortable. I continued at a snail's pace through the hotel, it was as empty as it always was.

I thought I was lucky, I was a fool. From the corner of my eye, something black and encompassing was moving across the floor in my direction. I did not whirl around to catch sight of it, but I knew what it was, who it was. Instead, like the gentleman I was, I continued on my way, I would not show it cowardice. I did not break into a run until I reached the stairs again, and it dissipated, I thought myself so smart. Pride goes before the fall, and I learned quickly that The Prince was slow, but relentless, and would not be stopped by merely being given the cold shoulder. I could not get onto the roof, the mannequin was gone and the door never existed in this world. When I touched the symbol on the wall where the key would have been assembled I felt a pang of pain that sent my entire being reeling and confused. Turning around I attempted to face down the Tall Man who stood elegantly before me, blood dripping off the cuffs of his opulent black robe. He stood there, as if he did not see me, I made no sudden moves. He clutched his staff tightly, as if to attack, and knowing I was close to death in this world and possibly my own, I defied him and shouted:

"You are nothing but a great coward and a puppet for your disgusting King!"

The four blades of his staff hit the wall, but not me. The Prince had impaled the wall with such a show of force that I was stunned into silence. He looked so frail, his robes probably making up most of what was his body weight (if he had any), but he struck with such ferocity that I became still and rigid, not unlike a child staring down the boogyman. He ground the blades into the wall, bringing forth thick, syrupy blood that was in mid-coagulation, and the most horrifyingly of all, he turned his milky white face to meet mine as he did so, as if telling me that this is what awaited me at his hands. While he was busy wounding the wall, I decided to make my escape. I dove out from in front of him and attempted to run, but hit a snag in the crusted floor and fell forward hard onto my chest. Frantically I turned to look behind me at what caught my shoe, only for my eyes to grow wide and the colour to drain from me.

Around my ankle, wrapped tightly, was the leg of The Prince; that had transformed into a solid black tendril that was determined to keep me there. Losing all sense of myself and abandoning composure, I began to try and claw away from him, feeling the rope that was The Prince roll up my leg and grow tighter. Dirt gathered under my fingernails and I felt the breath rip from my lungs as the body of The Prince began to coil around me like a python, drawing me upwards from a ground that was dissolving away into nothing but blood and blackness. Instead of attempting to hold onto the decay I grabbed at the thickening tendrils, attempting to pull them off. They felt muscly, and something pulsed beneath the black robes that stretched underneath the ever changing shape. I felt ill. It hurt. One of the malleable ropes of body slowly wrapped around my neck and tightened tautly, cutting off my air and my words. The only thing I could get out were deep gasps and I grabbed the helix and pulled, sucking in air greedily. Air that wasn't really air. It was heavier. Cabadath tightened his hold.

My hat fell off, down into the ruins of the Other Hotel; sucked down into the black hole that was the World of Magick. If not for my antagonist I would have very well gone with it. The hat became unwoven in the dark, as if traveling through time back to it's manufacturing. It soon disappeared, the fibers falling away into dust. I could feel The Prince holding me tighter and tighter, his obsidian body slithering contemptibly over my skin, becoming tighter even then. I could only bend and move to his will as I was constricted, froth spewing forth from my mouth from struggling. His tilted my face upward to look at his hideousness, something beating just under my jaw. He was holding his diabolical weapon right above me, as if he meant to halve my submissive form. My eyes were dry, but blood ran down my face to escape from them, my teeth gnashed against each other, I felt a churning in my gut, I wanted to vomit again. He began to speak in a harsh inhuman voice; I cannot describe it here, the closest I can think off is sandpaper meeting silk. He spoke in his native tongue beyond my comprehension, until he got to the final sentence...

"...And The Guide knew the name of The Prince."

It was when I knew he never intended to cut me. His method of death was much more humiliating. I pulled frantically at the piece of him around my neck, forgoing the one on my stomach to tighten and burn my body through my clothes. Pulling was in vain, all it did was make him want to kill me with even more adamance. Instead my arm padded down my chest to loosely grab at my tie, and finding my emergency lock pick. Using what little strength I mustered in my dying limbs, I plunged the sharp implement into the flesh of The Prince, the dark, cool blood of a man who had been dead for a millennia spraying and glittering in the void that was forming around us. After that, I bit him, hard, and his blood sprayed into my mouth. It tasted vile, and I vomited up the bile into the wound, but I kept at it. I did my best to shake him like a dog.

He let me go when I had not expected, and I plunged downward. I saw his legs were legs again from where I was falling, a grizzly bite mark on one of his pale ankles. I had succeeded, but there was always the possibility I would fall into something worse, and long for the torture of the acolyte again. I felt an intense pain and looked down to the tip of The Prince's staff piercing my leg for one final blow. My body clung to it stubbornly, and only shook off with great difficulty. After that I fell again, nursing my leg and fighting back my bloody tears with the greatest arduousness, into the void.

Only then did I wake up in my bed. Those who have been following closely remember that I passed out on the floor.

My leg burned where The Prince had run through it. I lifted it slowly out of the stain of fresh blood that soaked into my mattress, panting and gasping in extreme agony. It hurt. It hurt a lot. I grabbed it tightly and pulled up the pant leg, revealing a thick gash resembling a harpoon puncture. It seemed to have healed extremely quickly, but it hurt badly when I attempted to walk to the bathroom and take a tranquilizer. I found myself unable to swallow the pill, my body violently rejected it. My hands felt scaly when I ran them over my face and my hair felt thinner, I looked into my mirror, my eyes filled with sorrow. At least I had gotten some sleep.

The dreams have not ceased yet. I somehow convinced my superiors that my vacation was rejuvenating and I was ready to return to work, and they complied. Only I know the truth. My body entangled in the form of The Tall Man like prey in a web, some nights he injures me more than others. Once he broke my entire ribcage. I woke up moments from death in my bed, right as rain. I am a doll within the possession of a spiteful child, broken and repaired with astute precision every night. He refuses to fix my mind after his toying. I am no longer relaxed at night. I burn at night. I tear at my skin at night. I feel him in my soul at night. I will rip through his emaciated form this night. I will take back my mind this night, and with it my body.

And The Prince will know the name of The Guide.

- Trilby


Chzo Mythos is © Ben "Yathzee" Crowshaw
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