The battle to protect sacred texts rages on. There’s a traitor in Mark’s fleet . . . And she was so young.

Before I begin, I should clarify something.  It seems people are confused about Murky Tales.  I should tell you, I do not use the word “resurrect” lightly.  This process takes time: the collecting of ingredients (tail of rat, eye of newt), rolling my eyes back into my head, not to mention the initial sweaty digging of blue gray earth in torrents of rain.  If we’ve learned anything from past efforts, it is that raising the dead is not a thing you pass off in an afternoon.  Spooky Donkey and Marshal Banana will return in a form both horrifying and sugary sweet.  But I ask your patience.  I’ve only just laid my shovel aside.

Between life’s unending demands: work, wives and girlfriends, games and mountains, mouse devils and Japanese kids, Mark and I escape to our cave.  We sweep, move rocks, cover cracks (both with plaster and by hoisting up our pants when we bend over) so you’ll come and listen to my raspy tales over a crackling fire and watch Mark’s paintings dance on the rock.  If you wander deeper into our cave I can’t promise safety or sanity, but there will always be a fire right at the mouth where you can thaw your frozen feet.

I wandered a bit these last few nights, through the web jungle, and looked at other people’s dwellings.  Some are more brightly lit, some are filled with beautiful but empty shells, I can’t tell you the horrors I’ve seen.  Half formed calves born on undeveloped knees and begging to be set alight (I would link to them, but I would hate for you to be blinded by their hideousness). And then there are the ones that swallow me up for days, and when I finally find my way out, blinking in the sun, I have no idea how much time has passed, or where I’ve been. The Phoenix Requiem is one of these sites. A rare culmination of expressive characters, each with their own brain, beautiful painted art and regular updates. She churns out these pages at an appalling rate.  Mark is convinced she’s mastered the Wacom with her toes.  I’d like to think she has a tail.  Either way, if you need some respite from three paneled screaming color humor, and long for a world where angels and demons form on the outside of our heads, pay her a visit. I’ve left a map under our links section, so you can find your way through the bogs to these rare Edens.

So, ladies and gentlemen of the comments section.  Show me the light.  In which webcomics do you dwell?

-C

We blinked out for a bit. Sorry about that. But now you can find us at www.theincompletes.com or at www.monster-minutes.com. Choose wisely.

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