Picture
For generations, the Hexalotl League have been the slaves of a dark clan of magicians known as the 3 Skrees.  These skeletal birds use noise as a vessel to create and collect.  Vast maelstroms of noise are pushed through will across landscapes, leaving wrecked cities in sonic ruins.  The act collects fuel and matter for building Skree palaces and territory in the shape of enormous junk trees.

These failing magicians are, however, very impressionable and the Hexalotl's freedom was eventually won due to an intrepid spell from a boy called Linus and the ghost of his great grandfather, the Great Hexalotl Oom.  Between them, they flummoxed one of the Skree brothers into revealing their only weakness, which was to be read silent poetry from a silent book.  

A silent book is a book with no words, but the chaotic spirit of a potentially epic story.  The power of a potential story is far more powerful than any finished story, so after hundreds of nights whilst the skree were sleeping, Linus would stare at the blank pages of a book imagining the epic it could contain, imbuing the air around it with a terrifying power.  

When finally read out loud, one Monday morning, it was astonishing.  So astonishing it caused the stunned skree to diminish perpetually and the Hexalotl to be free forever.  Here is an excerpt from that book:



 
 
Picture
The prince of leaves lives in an enormous mansion on a puzzled moon.  His walls are steeped in references to all the places he's dreamed up that he'd like to visit some day, but he has no way of ever leaving his satellite.  His fantasies of other worlds have begun to acquire a presence in the form of fantastical beings that keep him company and he feels responsible for.  This is why the prince cannot leave his moon to find new people... who would look after his imaginary friends while he was gone?

 
 
Picture
Kikuro stands in his spot in the sun nursing his blessed sprout, the scarecrow equivalent of a soul, or daemon.  One day, King Imp Torus floats by, already owning everything in the world an imp could possibly want, but sees the unique contentedness of the strawman and wants that for himself too.  He tries to persuade Kikuro in every way he can to get the sprout, offering palaces on elephants, inverted pyramids, golem prince powers, even parasaur mech-armour from the solar armada. He tries bargaining and trying to trade constantly but Kikuro will not give up the only thing he needs.  Without the sprout he would have nothing.  

Torus is there every day, perpetually trying his luck, running out of objects in the universe to trade, his empty kingdom long since crumbled and gone.

 
 
Picture
This is Elspeth and a version of her Dogsteed.  She is my intrepid anima.  She has become something I have focused on for the last year or so, with my upcoming exhibition of work being about 11 of her many encounters.  I still don't know much about her.  I do know that she is quiet and powerful and has been appointed with the task of collecting elements from the Dark Inventory and putting them to good use.  Every piece she collects, be it a character, place or power, changes her forever.  Access to all the universes lie within the infinite pockets of her coat for recall whenever she needs.  Her best friend, besides me, is Crocodillio who gave her the ability to draw.

Crocodillio with his Ballistic Bam Bam Biff Bat.
 
 
Picture
A mistake has been made.  The kind and gentle bird king Shren had been on a pilgrimage around the forest shrines of the inventory when one of the racon crocklets, hunting buffalo cogs,  sees movement and fires.  The crocklet may as well have shot himself, as the guilt he feels is so violent and heartfelt that it nearly crushes him there and then.  He knew how revered and loved this gentle king was.  In his grief, he decides to take the poor dead monarch and his crown back to his people and own up to his grave error.  When he reaches the place where he knew Shren's kingdom to be there is nothing but an empty valley.  In the centre of the valley is a wren's egg and in the sand next to it is written a rhyme:

 'if we are gone, our king is dead.  
now place his crown upon your head.  
with this done, we shall return,
to our new king with lessons learned.'