Looking to publish an online fantasy short story book entitled "Rust" centered around a post-apocalyptic, steampunk style city situated in a world of dreams and nightmares.
Style: comic book style, or something less refined - emotive, dark, brooding
- emotive side view of a walled city with gargantuan steel towers at its heart (like a gnarled hand), surrounded by desert and red wastes.
- ideally Adobe Illustrator, though I'm happy to work with physical prints and then scan them into vector graphics after the fact
Book may be sold commercially, however at this point I'm looking to potentially launch a kickstarter campaign and give the book away gratis, as well as artwork on tshirts, etc.
Book will also be accompanied by theme music (album of 10 or so original tracks) and other merchandise. Looking to write and release a series of short stories before the main book launch, with artwork.
There will be more opportunity in the future for more artwork, depending on the success of the initial launch (10 or so characters, 5 or so landscape pieces).
RUST CITY DESCRIPTION
"Four letters, etched into the ochre clay and badly cracked with age.
R U S T
The word is penned in a hasty scrawl upon the capstone of an ill-shaped archway that marks the entrance to the city’s southernmost gateway; the so-called Lion’s Maw. None can say whether the word was penned in reference to the sun baked clay from which so much of the great city is fashioned, or in tribute to the pitted iron shards that mark the city’s boundary like some jagged-toothed beast.
Some attribute greater theological significance to the title, found no only upon the capstone of the southern gate, but at innumerable locations throughout the city proper—etched on paving stones, into walls and cut into the earth itself like echoes rippling outward from the source. It is the sole word upon which every faction of the sundered city can agree. Northmen from the shadow hills, brutes and enforcers of the merchant guilds, the Orst, the Silent Priests, even the Red Queen herself does not forbid the marking of her city with this singular, inoffensive title.
The city wilts and withers, its iron towers pitted with corrosion, its red-brick walls crumbling with age and sorrow. The city is eaten away from the inside out, every surface covered with the dull orange hue from which the city derives its common name.
Even the shackled man and his followers take no offence at the appellation. To the contrary, they speak the word with pride and anguish—a symbol of their struggle against the Red Queen’s tyranny, their desire to see the city freed from oppression.
She has not beauty, nor does she court the visitor with fine phrases, this wounded city, standing resolute among the shifting sands and ethereal vistas of the Traumwelt. Rust is an open wound amid the shifting sands and endless winds of the red wastes. What it lacks in beauty, it recovers in blunt resilience. While the many cities and hamlets of the Traumwelt are caught forever in an ethereal flux—becoming more and less substantial in turns—Rust sits like a stubborn welt, unmoved by the rise and fall of dreamed empires, of spectres and phantasms, ghosts and ghasts and all manner of waking nightmares."
Feel free to contact me for more information.