Odyssey two (as stated on the Deviant Art website) is the second mass collaboration event to be conceived by the art site after the first Odyssey book. The Fantasy fiction writer Clive Barker (Known for such novels as 'The Damnation Game, 'Weaveworld', 'The Hellbound Heart', 'The Great and Secret Show', 'Sacrament', 'Tortured Souls' and 'Absolute Midnight'. The entire script, story and artwork will be consisted of the work produced by the members of Deviant Art. The final result will be printed for publication and also be produced into a digital format so It can be enjoyed on tablets and phones alike. The 'Prompt' from chapter two was written by Barker and has already had the illustrations hand picked ready for the novel. right now the Chapters are being written and Illustrated by hundreds or thousands of Illustrators. Currently chapter three is nearing completion and the artwork, writing for chapters 4 and five is underway. Submissions for chapter 5 open thursday 16/11/12 and Chapter 4 Artwork is open Thursday 19/11/12.
The Chapter and illustration chosen every monday (lit) and friday (Artwork) and then published will serve as the foundation for the deviant writer and artists to base their submissions for the story's next chapter continuation.After each published Illustration and chapter there will be a "prompt" to suggest what might be revealed inn the next chapter.
Artwork submission should reflect the chapter previously published. Artwork must be submitted as a JPEG or PNG file and be available at 300dpi. Any type of artwork that fits with the story will be accepted (including photography).
Lit submissions are limited to 400 words, but there is some leniency on the word count, so submissions with slightly less or more words will not be disqualified. Poetry, Line Art, and Film/Animation can reflect any chapter, from the beginning, middle end, and can be any length. Poetry, Line Art, and Film/Animation must be submitted by December 24, 2012. More info is on the DeviantArt website.
This is not really a contest in the traditional sense of rules and although complicated writing and extravagant Artwork may be impressive, if they don't serve the purpose of the project then they will not be seriously considered. Multiple submissions for a single chapter are encouraged, as there is no limit for submissions.
There will be a poem chosen to reflect the beginning, middle and end of the storyline. Poems are selected at the end of the project and can be submitted up until then. There may be more chosen as the competitions continues. Although a professional approach is recommended, The most perfectly written, grammatically correct piece of writing or visually stunning piece of artwork will be necessarily be ideal for the purpose of this project. The general message that I got from the link on deviant art was to read everything that had been written so far, study all the Artwork submitted and most importantly the Artwork that won and see where your own style can fit in.
It Is evident from the everything that I read that they are looking for the most evocative, resonant, epiphanous piece of work. "Something expressed in an imagery powerful enough top transcend the limited word count, or a single page illustration."
"The short straight-right Gina Carano knockout punch that ends a fight quicker than a dozen weaker, though crowd-pleasing haymakers. Narrative Haikus that sperk up the brain, warm the heart, and make a lasting phytocrystalized imprint on the ghostly artistic soul.
Prologue by Clive Barker:
'They're Mad, They are"
his was the second time Paul had come to London. The first time, he was seventeen. He'd stood in Victoria Station and felt more alive than he ever had in his life; back then, some woman had caught his eye and smiled. It was like the city had laid back and opened its legs for him. He'd felt welcomed by her. He'd even debated following the woman home and getting it on with her. But the etiquette was still new to him, so rather than risk looking foolish, he shifted himself in his underwear to get comfortable and went to his hostel instead. Now, he was thirty, and there was no winking woman at the station, so he made his way straight to the Underground. It was very crowded. He got on the Piccadilly Line and sat down by a red-haired man in a brown bomber jacket. After about a minute, the red-haired man moved his head in a peculiar way. Paul saw this out of the corner of his eye. The man's head was nodding small, fast nods. Paul didn't look straight at the man, but rather at his own feet. He was tired. Too tired to move, but in his periphery, he could see that the nods were getting bigger. Paul glanced up, and saw the man's reflection in the window opposite. Against the reflection and the black tunnel wall Paul saw the man's head twisting about, and his limbs thrashing. He didn't know what to do.
A woman on the seat opposite Paul was staring at him as though he was looking at the red-headed man judgmentally, and ought to be ashamed of himself. Paul felt his cheeks flare with embarrassment Somebody said, "He's having a fit."The woman opposite said, "He's an epileptic!" Paul turned to see that the man's eyeballs were rolled up under his lids. His skin was a ghastly sick-pink color. And then the epileptic redheaded man keeled over on to Paul's lap. Paul was now sitting there with this fully-grown man jerking and gnashing across him. God, he felt such an idiot. Down the carriage, somebody had got up and was taking off his belt. What was this? An epileptic and an exhibitionist in one carriage. The guy was folding his belt on itself. He came down the carriage. The woman opposite got up. "I'm going to put it between his teeth so he doesn't swallow his tongue," the man said to Paul. "Don't move, I'll deal with it. Paul sat there under his weight of spasmodic flesh and bone thinking he wouldn't have been able to move even if he wanted to."Oh, thank God," said the woman. "It's not a bad fit."There was no need for the belt. The redheaded man was coming around, the fit over almost as fast as he'd gone in to it. Paul wondered what the bad ones were like.The people on the Underground were trying to get the redheaded man upright, but he wanted to stay lying down. He was clutching Paul's legs like they were his only serenity. But the woman managed to uncurl the fingers, and sit him upright."Are you alright now?" she said. The other guy was putting his belt back on."Yeah, I'm okay. I'm okay," the guy was saying.He had his eyes closed. He looked ghastly. The train slowed as they approached the station. The redheaded man opened his eyes. He looked at the woman."Thank you," he said.Paul felt like a shit for not being more useful. The guy was clearly feeling bad."Is this your stop?" said the woman."It doesn't matter," the redheaded man said. "I just want to get off.""It's my stop," said Paul.The train came into the station, and stopped. The guy got up."You okay?" asked Paul. The guy didn't answer. They got off the train together."You want to get a cup of coffee or something?" said Paul. "I'll get you something if you like." "No," said the redheaded man, and walked off into the crowd without looking once at Paul.As welcomes went, it wasn't warm.It wasn't until later, in his room, that Paul found the little vomit stain on his trousers...
The Artwork Below is the winning piece for the Prologue, work entitled 'The Underground' by HansNomad.
1ST PLACE
2ND PLACE
The piece of writing that is currently being illustrated for Odyssey II, Chapter 4 is as follows:
The invasion like no other is on, and we are witness with players whose unique perspectives and goals open up a world of possibilities. This invasion is viral, like other plagues of our times, but the virus is sentient and Paul battles to free his body not just of a deadly encroaching poison but possession by a growing evolving parasite of unknown origin. Does he presently bear within his own body his “son” – or his cannibalistic assassin? His only ally, a savage young woman named Maya who is ostensibly warring against the secret viral invasion, may be suffering possession, perhaps unknown even to herself. And the possessing intelligence may be the “sister” of the alien being whose spawn now grows inside Paul, a spawn she would for unknown reason seek to destroy (anonymously).
Chapter Four demands plotting and propulsion! Who are these sisters and where do they come from, with one launching a viral invasion against humanity and one, perhaps, fighting her? Is Maya possessed or still in control of her full faculties – just what these are and whom she works for not yet revealed to us. And what of Paul’s untenable mental and physical situation? He occupies that space from which mad seers, monsters and heroes are born (and sacrificed). The wildest elements have been whipped into our Storytellers’ cauldron. Now let’s crank our thinking brains to turbo-puree and cook up something palatable to the most discerning of connoisseurs of mystery and imagination.
CHAPTERS
CHAPTER ONE
TITLE: A SHOWER AND CHANGE
(LIT): -MARKMYWORDS85
"Ah, damn. God damn."
The stain was small, no larger than a coin. It fell near his right hip, nestled in the dip between crotch and thigh. Still, it was nauseating. Paul stripped off the trousers and walked to the sink, hoping the sliver of hotel soap would take out the spot.
He began running the hot water and paused, staring at the vomit. Resisting the urge to gag, he grazed his fingers over the stain. It was purely liquid and slick like dish soap, but the sickly brown could only be vomit. He slowly raised his hand to his face and sniffed his fingers. Nothing. It seemed, for a moment, odorless. But no, he suddenly caught a faint scent of metal. Like a cup full of coins. Or a bloodied nose.
"Shit!" A stream of blood ran down his nostrils, over his lip and down his chin. Paul dropped the trousers to the bathroom floor and watched the blood and water run down the drain, pink and cloudy. He grabbed a tissue and clamped his nose shut.
Catching sight of himself in the mirror, Paul started to laugh. Half-naked, clad only in a t-shirt and briefs, nose bloodied and trousers stained with vomit. He stopped laughing when he noticed an ugly, reddened patch of skin creeping out of his underwear and down his leg. It was raised and it shined like a blister.
Paul threw the tissue into the toilet, thankful that the bleeding had abated. He touched the spot, wincing at the sudden pain. Carefully, he removed his briefs, and saw an uneven, ugly rash, emanating outward from that tender area where the vomit stain had been. Thoughts raced: had the redheaded man ingested some kind of poison? Had his stomach acid burned Paul's skin? It was probably a simple rash, but Paul was frightened. He turned off the sink, rushing now to the shower, running a lukewarm mix before stepping in.
Paul worked up a lather in his hands and gently started to wash the rash.
Flakes, like scales, began to slough away.
Underneath whirled a mass of colors. Indigo. Vermilion. Rust. Mahogany. And they were… moving. Swirling. Copulating with each other. Buds of new, unseen colors exploding from the trysts.
It was beautiful. It was obscene.
It was spreading.
CHAPTER TWO
(LIT): -MARKMYWORDS85
ARTWORK: *LITTLECROW
'Paul staggered out into the early morning fog like a drunkard.
He hunched into the raised lapels of this too-thin jacket and wandered away from the hotel, disoriented, shivering--panic gnawing at his gut like a cannibal. "I need help," he thought, "but where?" The nearest hospital was the obvious answer, but the thought of what the doctors would do filled his mind with images of hospital beds with straps, extended isolation with no answers and needles piercing his flesh.
The mass on his thigh was growing--that was certain. Paul could feel it writhing and pushing against his flesh as he walked. Lost in his fears, he never noticed the black, windowless van pull up next to him until he heard the van door slide back violently, and rough hands reached out and pulled him out of the grey London mist into darkness.
He awoke with a headache, disoriented. His eyes would not focus and he began to panic, his heart pounding in his chest. He tried to sit up but nausea pushed him back. He had been taken, somewhere--against his will. He could hear voices, people talking nearby and the muffled sounds of movement.
"Stay down a few more minutes love, until the Proxitol nausea subsides." The husky female voice with the British accent was so close to where he lay that it startled him.
"Who ...where," was all he could manage. His throat was sandpaper.
"You can call me Maya," she replied. "Paul, I know this is very unsettling, but I need you to listen."
He groaned as he sat up on one elbow, taking short breaths until the wave of nausea subsided. The talking shadow was coming into focus. "Listen to me, love. We've been watching you since the problem in the tube. The mass inside you is ...well, it's not from here--and it is sentient. It moves from host to host until it finds one to gestate in. The Proxitol is the only chemical that slows the growth."
Paul squinted and blinked as Maya resolved into view. She was of medium height with short red hair, and fairly attractive. She wore a sleeveless shirt and blue cargo pants. His attention was immediately drawn to the assortment of weapons strapped to her body.
"What...is that for," he croaked, nodding at a particularly nasty, curved blade.
"You--in case it gets out of control," she sighed'.
CHAPTER THREE
TITLE: THE HOST WITH THE MOST
(LIT): -MARKMYWORDS85
ARTWORK: *LITTLECROW
Lysanna felt a sudden change in her breathing, and knew than that something had happened to her Progeny. Though the organism was still very small, she shared a psychic link with it that would remain as it transferred from host to host. When the growth cycle was complete, the bond she had with the tiny bit of life would be severed as it emerged from the host with its own consciousness.
She looked in the mirror at her gaunt face, the colors of her life force faded and barely moving under the surface of her tightly stretched, translucent skin. Her time in this world was diminishing and with every dying moment she hoped that her progeny would take hold in it's new host. She had tried transferring her progeny to the humans many times before, and felt the twinge of pain as it was violently rejected, leaving the host in throes of agony as it expelled the last bits of the strange organism. But this time, she was hopeful, for the progeny had thrived longer in the new host body than any of her other attempts.
Slowly, she began slinking through the empty room, dodging the rays of the afternoon light that fell on the floor from behind the drawn curtains. Her weakened body could not stand an assault from the sun's rays, nor could her eyes which were large and accustomed to the dark the way all deep sea creatures were. She rummaged through a box of things the former tenant had abandoned, and found what she was looking for: two long shards of mirror. She held one in each hand and slowly the colors that rippled beneath the surface of her skin began to move until they started to cast a faint light. Lysanna looked into the space between the mirrors and a vision began to emerge there in the shadows. She saw the human form that her progeny was inhabiting, motionless except for its breathing, the organism stunned by the steady injections of Proxitol. She looked hard and saw that the colors were barely moving, but still pulsing with life. And as she looked harder, to her horror, she saw the human woman injecting the Proxitol wasn't a woman. It was her sister inhabiting a human body.
Her sister was trying to snuff her out of existence.
She looked in the mirror at her gaunt face, the colors of her life force faded and barely moving under the surface of her tightly stretched, translucent skin. Her time in this world was diminishing and with every dying moment she hoped that her progeny would take hold in it's new host. She had tried transferring her progeny to the humans many times before, and felt the twinge of pain as it was violently rejected, leaving the host in throes of agony as it expelled the last bits of the strange organism. But this time, she was hopeful, for the progeny had thrived longer in the new host body than any of her other attempts.
Slowly, she began slinking through the empty room, dodging the rays of the afternoon light that fell on the floor from behind the drawn curtains. Her weakened body could not stand an assault from the sun's rays, nor could her eyes which were large and accustomed to the dark the way all deep sea creatures were. She rummaged through a box of things the former tenant had abandoned, and found what she was looking for: two long shards of mirror. She held one in each hand and slowly the colors that rippled beneath the surface of her skin began to move until they started to cast a faint light. Lysanna looked into the space between the mirrors and a vision began to emerge there in the shadows. She saw the human form that her progeny was inhabiting, motionless except for its breathing, the organism stunned by the steady injections of Proxitol. She looked hard and saw that the colors were barely moving, but still pulsing with life. And as she looked harder, to her horror, she saw the human woman injecting the Proxitol wasn't a woman. It was her sister inhabiting a human body.
Her sister was trying to snuff her out of existence.
CHAPTER FOUR
TITLE: THE HOST WITH THE MOST
(LIT): -MARKMYWORDS85
Paul's whole world was spinning. The Proxitol made it incredibly difficult for him to think clearly. Maya? Yes, her name was Maya. She had told him it would only be a few days, that the thing inside would dissolve. She'd been wrong, and she'd been surprised that she'd been wrong, not that it mattered. Resting his head against the cool porcelain of the toilet in the cell he called a room, Paul
could almost laugh about how this all seemed like some ridiculous dream. But the pain, the disorientation, and the feeling of...something inside...assured him it was anything but.
The growth had started spreading again, but it was different this time. The iridescent scales had formed
patches around his hips, wrapped around his waist, and then branched out into two separate lines that
ran up and gathered around his shoulder blades, sprouting opaque sacs.
That night he dreamed of an ocean, somewhere far, far away. Something large and shapeless, sparkling like a star-covered sky, swam past and circled around him. Orbs of light blinked in and out of existence as a Voice echoed within his skull.
Please, We Must Help Mother.
"Who are you? What do you want with me?"
I Am Tal'shen Spawn of Lysanna. Please, We Must Help Her.
"Why can't anyone give me any ANSWERS!" His head swirled with frustration and fear. "I don't understand any of this!"
A feeling of deep regret surrounded Paul.
I Am Sorry. I Can Only Tell You Little. I Am Tal'shen, Spawn Of Lysanna. She Seeks Asylum From Those That Would Come Again. The One You Call Maya Holds Within Her The Sister-Progeny Of Lysanna. I Cannot Sense Her Motives, Only Tell You She Has Not Told You Everything.
"Why isn't the Proxitol working on you?"
I Am Not A Normal Spawn. I Am Abnormal, Mutated, Immune To The Poison Being Used. I Cannot Leave You As Others Would Leave Their Hosts. If I Am To Survive, Then It Is In MY Interests To Help AND Keep You Alive. I Shall Try And Assist, As You Will See.
"What do you mea-"
It Is Time You Woke Up. SHE Is Approaching.
When Paul opened His Eyes, he couldn't really say he was surprised to see that the sacs had popped, leaving wriggling masses of tentacles sprouting from his shoulder blades.
The door opened, and Maya stepped in.
NEXT DEADLINES:
CHAPTER 4 (ARTWORK): 19TH NOVEMBER.
CHAPTER 5 (ARTWORK): 26TH NOVEMBER
CHAPTER 6 (ARTWORK): 3RD DECEMBER
CHAPTER 7 (ARTWORK): 17TH DECEMBER
CHAPTER 8 (ARTWORK): 24TH DECEMBER
When you submit content as a participating artist to the collaborative storytelling project on deviantART currently known as Odyssey II, you and your submission are subject to the following:
1 -DeviantART and other contributors to Odyssey II are granting you a non-exclusive license to use the materials already selected for inclusion in Odyssey II at the time of your submission and to base your submission in whole or in part on those materials as you may wish.
2 -You will own and control all of the content that you added to your submission and you represent that everything you have added to your submission is original to you.
3 -You are granting deviantART the non-exclusive right to use your submission as a part of the Odyssey II project on deviantART.
4 -If your submission is selected as a contribution to the collective work resulting from Odyssey II (that is, as a chapter or illustration or poem or audio-visual clip), you agree that other contributors to Odyssey II can base their submissions on your work. Further, if selected, deviantART will have the right to use your submission in the resulting compilation from Odyssey II and publish the compilation as a book and/or as a multimedia digital book (the "Books") and distribute and/or reproduce the Books in any way and by any method on or off deviantART and to anywhere in the Universe.
5 -DeviantART agrees, and you understand and agree, that at the request of Clive Barker all proceeds from any sales and/or licensing of the Books after deduction of third party expenses will be donated to The Amanda Foundation. DeviantART and Clive Barker are not receiving any fees or retaining any royalties in connection with Odyssey II or the Books.
6 -DeviantART will own the copyright in the compilation work resulting from Odyssey II and you will retain the copyright in your own submission which you may use in any way subject to deviantART's non-exclusive rights.
7 -You agree to negotiate reasonable terms for the use of your submission if the Books incorporating your submission are further exploited in media other than the Books themselves.
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