Busiek is my Cimmerian Barbarian.
Daniel Andrews is my real name.
Im 27 and live in Calgary Alberta Canada.
Im a freelance Illustrator & Concept Artist. Ive recently left my 4 year job as a 3d Animator to presue the Freelance carrier.
I'll post some Art work below
What I love more than anything is Art. Much of my Art work is Comic book & Fantasy related. I work mostly with Pencil and them painted digitally in Photoshop. Oil painting is another trade ive been picking up as well.
There is nothing better to me.
Im heavily into fitness, having been a personal trainer for a couple years also. I was born in 1982 (release of Conan the barbarian). Although I did see it until I was 3yrs ago Ive been a huge Conan fan ever since. Big inspiration for starting at the gym.
Ive only ever played D&D before as a true RPG, other than FF games and a few other console games.
Im completely new to the MMO world.
I dont know how many of you read Conan comics but Cary Nord is a friend of mine & He was the Artist on the Conan Books from 04 - 07 and its some of my favorite work. Here is a link:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:ConanTheLegend1415.jpgMY CHARACTER
As said Busiek is my Cimmerian Barbarian.
The name came from Kurt Busiek who has been a very popular writer for Conan comics Link:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kurt_BusiekIts a strong name so I used it. Im my back Story the name Buscema some from an old classic artist of conan comics John Buscema.
I know the game says I cant remember my past but I have gained enough fragments of my past to piece together one of the main occurrences as to why I fight. I dislike the unjust.
Im hoping to Find a Good Hammer within the game to Smash my enemies with.
My father Ralas SnowFoot, named me Busiek. It was the name of a friend my father had from childhood and one of the few would could read or write. It was a strong sounding name to him... nothing more.
I grew up in a small community apon the Eiglophian Mountains along the boarders of Cimmeria and Asgard. There was to few of us to be a village of some sort. We moved around like drifts of snow. Our strength was our tolerance to the cold. A death bringing chill to men from afar was nothing more than a good day to hunt for us. The thrill of the hunt kept our bodies warm. If we are not hunting we are working on something else. There is to few of us to have any lack of work among us. We only get cold when we slow down, but even still we are very skilled fire builders.
I laugh at those who wonder onto the mountain thinking they have conquered the terrain. The Mountain allows us to live apon it, those who forget that, or loose fear of the mountain often feel its wrath. The ungrateful who survive have paths set for them by gods and if you ask me, it the only fate that could be worse then an angry mountain.
I was raised by everyone in the community. It was a shared responsibility to have me survive and become a good man with out my parents or brothers aid.
Years ago my people found some Asgardian travelers near death trying to survive the mountain. We brought them in and gave warmth and food. They were hired by some lord to seek some kind of treasure in the mountains. Ill prepared and fearless they came to our cold lands surrounded by clouds, thin air and sharp rock. This was why they were on there path to death when we found them, and also why they left as different people. 3 traveled home to Asgard and 2 stayed with us. One of which was our mother Ajren the healer, and our grandfather Bjoran dark eye.
After a time we were seeing more and more travelers apon the mountain. My older brother Buscema and myself are now young boys. They were often small groups of men who spoke very little of there destination if at all. Some we only saw in the distance but they were definitely searching for something. Some of our men had to fight off a few groups who were following us and thinking we had treasure or was competition to finding the treasure. We may have believed of treasure ourselves if many of us didnt already understand the poisonous nature of rumors...
Fools...
My people now called "The Common" by the strangers seem to be hand in hand with rumors about this treasure. I boast that Cimmerians are smart and resourceful fighters. So my people having fought off some of these so called treasure hunters have now attached the idea that we are some kind of fierce guardians of the treasure the mountain holds. Looking back at the events and how this rumor grew proves how cowardly and retched men can be. We are now targeted because, We as men. Defeated other men, for attacking and hunting us down for greed. I hate that word. The rumble in my throat saying it causes me to see the faces of those I see hand in hand with the word.
Of course these mighty seekers of wealth, going back home with fewer numbers, beaten, and empty handed could not have simply been beaten by normal men with families and each other to protect. So now we are known by others as some kind of guardians set to protect the treasure that lays somewhere within the mountains. One of the few things we never did find out was, What this treasure was.
Useless, Poisonous Rumors...
The day was new and everything happened fast to what I remember. My brother I awoke as always and began remembering our dreams and the bedtime stories my mother always told us about the Asgardian gods. We would grab some morning bread and play with the other children. I always got to be Thor he was always my favorite. A god of the people of Midgard. An honorable man with a temper. I was well suited for the role. The work day is much of a blur to be. It was hard and took away from my role as Thor but hard work make a man strong my Grandfather said, and he was the strongest person I knew. I remember smiling back and having new desire for the chores I was given. I continued my work.
I heard a sword draw quickly. When I looked behind me towards my grandfather his sword was drawn. Pulling out his axe, he said in a tone that could have been a Demon if I had not seen it come from his lips, "Survive this day boy." He let out a battle cry that was louder than any horn and seemed to chase the snow from his feet. He began to run grunting and waving his arms for everyone to get in there tents or run. I was scared and had no idea what was happening. I heard my fathers voice cry out my name and looked in the opposite direction. He was with my mother and brother about to kneel. When I got there he quickly grabbled our hands and held them together in his huge rough hands. "Run ahead with the others, Take care of each other." He kissed mother handed her a shield and ran towards Grandfather who was ahead waiting with the rest of the armed fathers and young sons who could bare arms. Coming up the mountain slope was the cause. I saw nothing but a mass of shapes with swords axes and spears coming out of it. I had no knowledge of such an event that the idea of it being a dream was no where to be found. We began to run. I looked back once but couldn't get a final gaze having almost tripped. I felt robbed of a final look apon my Fathers.
Our people knew the mountains but there were to many. They were set up everywhere, they were organized. As we ran in the only path we had available to us I saw my people fall to the ground. I began to see blurs of arrows, and from there I saw shaped figures release bow string towards women and children. It didn't feel normal to be in such a situation like this, It allowed me to ignore reacting to a death of someone I knew. Its natural to react like that, its survival and self preservation. Yet every time I look back, it sickens me how we can do that when needed. Armed guards were ahead and the others in front of us who were lucky enough to have dodged the arrows were on there knees in exhaustion. Trapped and surrounded my mother pulled out her sword. I had just thought we were lucky to have made it this far. Trying to watch my footing I was oblivious to the shield my mother was holding. Luck had nothing to do with our survival... It was my mother.
The soldiers began to step forward tying the women and children, beating those who resisted. The area around my mother cleared. I think a few of the guards were smart to trust there sense of caution around my mother. Two confident fools stepped forward. These were the type that seemed convinced that steel cannot be deadly in the hands of a woman. Luckily for them it only cost them a swift death. Quickly after soldiers with whips wrapped her leg and arm and guards began to pull as four others ganged up on her to tie her up. Her Arm came loose and she took a soldiers dagger and thrusted the dagger into the gap of his underarm. They wasted no time taking to to the ground and began to beat her. I made a useless struggle against the soldiers who grabbed me. They continued to tie the women and remaining children who they felt could make the journey, those who seemed to young were tossed over the cliff side.
When they grabbed Buscema and walked toward the cliff, I screamed the only thing I could think to say was that he was older than me. I remember choking before I could get the sentence out...
I remember kneeling in the snow screaming into my knees, spit and tears freezing to my face. I looked to my mother who was being lifted dragged by soldiers. She was limp and he hair and dress was soaked in blood. She made a noise but that gave me little comfort then. I didn't realize what that would mean to me later on. All I could seem to do was move my hands around and scream to get loose. The mixture of tears and the freezing winds blinded me.
My hands were getting loose. I quickly focused and freed my hands, but as I got half way to my feet I was tackled. I hit ground hard and the movement stopped. I blinked the snow out from my eyes and licked my numb lips from whatever part hit my face. I was now rolling dead weight off of my me. It was one of the soldiers. I looked up to see many of my people still fighting. I pushed harder. I got scared when his blood began to run from his wound down my arm, so I pushed harder.
I dont know even remember when the soldiers left me to meet the remaining fighters head on. My mind was still lost to me. I got to my feet as quick as I could with the left side of me still being partly numb from the impact of the soldier. I dodged a few of the remaining fights surrounding me to look for my mother. I ran as fast as I could to the only trail I knew off of this cliff side. There were wagon and horse tracks, I went further and came around a bend to see one of ours laying in the trail of the wagon with two spears in him.
I tripped...and all was black.
I awoke in the mountains on the Asgardian side of the boarder. I could remember the smell. It was always fresh snow in that area of Asgard.
Why was I sleeping so long. I felt ill, from my dream.
Does everyone have dreams like this?
Was it what people have referred to as signs from Gods?
I called to my mother, my father. Crom!, where is Buscema! My fathers friend Enrich opened the tent scarring me. He asked if I was ok. Im fine I just slept o long I think. I asked where Buscema or my mother were. He said nothing. I hid my face when I noticed the bandages on his head and body.
I later found out that my grandfather is no where to be seen. Im told by the other men he fought like a beast.
There is question if my Mother is still alive somewhere.
The body seen in the tracks was my father trying to help my mother.
ART WORK
Most of the full painted work is for a book im working on called Seeds of Midgard. It takes place after Ragnorok. It a post apocalyptic story about Magni (Thor son) taking up the responsibility of the God of Thunder.
Calendar
Subject: ROHR - Daniel Andrews *use to be Busiek* 
Sun Dec 13, 2009 11:35 am
