Sarsaparilla Sal Jr. #1

I've decided to purge my computer of the dirty secrets hidden within its hard drive. Oh! Not anything that nasty you freak! No, I'm referring to projects I've written over the years that have never seen the light of day. It's high time I dust off the virtual cobwebs and share some stories with the splendid shrouds that populate the internet. Yep... that means YOU.

This little ditty happens to be one of my favorites and quite honestly, I'd go absolutely gaga to see it published. Plus, there's a nice history to the piece. It is my first any only writing collaboration with my good pal, prolific podcaster and true colossus of comic recap content, Chris Sheehan.

I was first introduced to Chris thanks to his highly informative show called The Cosmic Treadmill.  We became fast friends after I had contacted him on Twitter in regards to how much I enjoyed the program and the in-depth comic talk, he and his co-host Reggie, scripted for the show. It turned out that Chris and I shared a love for similar material, experiences as collectors and quite frankly, we basically have the same sense of humor. I apologize to Chris's family and friends for admitting that last fact to the general public. Witness relocation options are available upon request.

Isn't the internet grand? Sure beat having to write my pen pals in prison. Chris and I eventually teamed up for some podcasting projects that were a lot of fun, but a few years back we decided to actually join forces on a comic. So we hit the web and searched for characters in the public domain that would be a hoot to play with and trust me when I say, there is a sandbox full of awesome capes that deserve more recognition.

We settled on a gaudy western hero and then, a chicken that fought Satan. Yeah, you read that correctly. A devil fighting fowl. How cool would that team up be, right? But wait, we wanted to stir the pot just a wee bit more. What if we didn't focus on the western hero himself but rather his goofball kid? The chicken will be his best friend and our script will be based in a world shaped by the exploits of retired silver age superheroes. Nice!

Chris and I went about hammering out the details via Google Docs and had a few laughs. That also happened to be a key element we wanted included in the book, comedy. The premise was wacky, so let's write a script that can elicit some chuckles from the readers. This isn't dark or gritty beat 'em up fare, but rather something light that provides a touch of hope. While I can't speak for Chris, I was heavily influenced by Giffen and DeMatteis's Justice League and the works of Mike Allred. Those are the vibes I wanted to project.

Unfortunately, as with many good intentioned things, the script got left to die on Google Docs. Despite our love for comics, we didn't have the resources or proper know how to actually get our own to print. Not to mention we were missing a huge ingredient needed for any four color fantasy... an artist! Neither of us can draw particularly well and definitely not even remotely good enough to properly present our ideas for publication. All of this takes moolah we don't got.

Not so long ago, frustrated with our words just sitting alone in the cloud, I did a tiny reboot. Oh yeah, I rebooted a comic that was never released! My head must be wrapped in discarded 90's holofoil. Seriously though, lets call it proper, 'twas an edit. Considering that we fleshed out our tale on a public domain skeleton rather than just using those characters outright, I renamed the main players. Tip of the cap to those bones, but realistically, Chris and I did more creating than borrowing anyhow. The notion of using a straight up public domain character served as a spark, not the core.

I ended up choosing the name Sarsaparilla Sal Jr. for the hero and named the chicken Duck. Then started the process of writing the second issue solo, knowing that it also may never be given newsprint to breathe. (Yeppers, I've always imagined going old school with this and seeing it printed on sweet smelling newsprint baby.)

That's the backdrop for what you're about to read. I hope you enjoy it and if you do, feel free to say so. It never hurts to get some constructive criticism or to know people would actually be interested in reading the further adventures of Sarsaparilla Sal Jr. and his buddy Duck.

David Schultz

1/27/21

Sarsaparilla Sal Jr.  #1

By David Schultz (Plot/Script) and Chris Sheehan (Plot)

PAGE 1 - One Panel Splash Page

Pt. 1 Meanwhile in Pomelo Pines…

A giant tentacle slams Sal Jr. through the window of a suburban home. Shattered glass fills the scene. Duck the Chicken is also turned upside down and mid air with feathers mixing with the chaos.

1. SJ: “DAD HELP!!!”

PAGE 2 - Six Panels

Panel One

We then see the exterior, aerial shot. A giant squid is pressed against the outside of this home. Engulfing it. Typical Leave it to Beaver/ 50’s style suburban neighborhood.

Panel Two-Four

Back inside the home as SJ struggles with the tentacle on the floor of a bedroom, Duck is plucking at the beast when Sal Sr. flings open the door. He’s dressed in a  cardigan and yellow slacks and with old west gun belt/holster around his waist. Hand on pistol, no need to aim.

1. SFX: Blammo Blammo

Panel Five

The tentacle is severed and slithering back out the window. The other half, now limp, loosens its grip on SJ who is huffing and puffing gathering his composure.

Panel Six

The squid slithers out of the backyard like a wounded child.

PAGE 3 

Sal Sr. wears a permanent scowl. He doesn’t even bother to take a glance at the aftermath, turns and walks out the door. SJ scrambles to his feet to chase after his father. Sal Sr. walks down a set of stairs. Against the wall we see an assortment of family photos. Sal Sr., his wife Cathy, and SJ at various stages in his life. Sal Sr. has the same scowl in all of them.

SJ follows his father down the stairs with Duck the Chicken by his side. Sal SR. stops at the base of the steps, doesn’t bother to turn, then mutters 

1. Sal Sr.: “You coulda damaged my trophy room dummy.”

2. SJ: “Dad, hear me out.” He pulls out a rolled up comic book from his back pocket. He unfurls it and it’s a silver age book called “The Saga of Sarsaparilla Sal”. The issue is numbered #6 and features a young cowboy fighting a giant alien squid on the cover. 

3. SJ: “ I just want to be a hero like you Dad...” Sal Sr. snatches the comic from SJ’s hands

4. Sal Sr.: “Last thing the world needs is another hero. Especially one like you.”

PAGE 4

SJ follows Sal Sr. into the trophy room.

1. SJ: “Dad, listen I’m sorry ok. Rupert told me the squid took weeks to grow.” He pulls out a grow your own squid package from his front pocket. Just add water!

2. Sal Sr.: “Rupert!?” HypnoNaut’s good for nuttin’ kin? That boy sells snake oils and tchotkes on the side of the freeway fer a living. He don’t have the brain god gave little green apples.” Sal Sr. slaps the comic on his desk.

The trophy room is FULL of mementos celebrating Sal Sr.’s career. 

*Note: Photos of Sal Sr with other Silver Aged heroes, presidents and dignitaries. Glass cases with rayguns, odd mechanical devices, etc. All crazy comic book stuff. Behind the desk is a gaudy Westen outfit also encased in a glass display. Orange and yellow with tassles, the whole nine. 

Sal Sr plunks down behind his wooden desk into a lush leather chair.

1. SJ: “I was just goofing around. I’m sorry, I really…”

2. Sal Sr.: “GOOFIN’!?” He reaches up to rub his temple.

3. SJ: “Look around boy! I’ve defeated unspeakable evil time and time again, saved the worlds biscuits more than a baker wearin’ a baseball mitt.”

SJ clutches Duck the chicken and gulps.

4. Sal Sr.: “Now I got myself a good fer nuttin’ lollygagging loafer, tellin’ me about goofin’. Try walking in my boots and you’d know why tomfoolery ain’t tolerated in this house!”

DC looks up and admires a photo of his dad as a young man holding a bear in a headlock. The frame has a engraved plate that reads “Yellowstone 1963”.

Sal Sr continues

1. Sal Sr: “I had high hopes fer you but it became apparent early on you were a few bristles short of a broom. A fellers gotta accept his fate and my reward for all the good I done...was you.” He picks up the comic again. And lets out a light chuckle.

2. Sal Sr: “They got the darn Squids head all wrong. Plus it was purple, not green...” He continues to flip through the pages.

As Sal Sr. starts to drift off into memories, SJ and Duck shrug in unison then walk out.

Upstairs SJ is fixing the hole in his wall with wood and nails.

1. SJ: “There just has to be a way to earn Dad’s respect Duck.” 

Duck just keeps plucking at the wood with his beak as if he were nailing it in.

2. SJ: “Always telling me how great he was back in the day before I was born. The great Sarsaparilla Sam. I only know him as Crusty McGrump!”

In a mocking tone: “Try walking in my boots, Hrmph!”

 

With nails in the corner of his mouth he raises his eyebrow like a man who just realized something important. He stops his work on the wall, jumps into his desk chair and starts scribbling something down on a scrap of paper.

SJ peeks into his dad’s office and sees him asleep in the chair. He tiptoes past his dad towards the trophy case that holds the Sarsaparilla Sal suit. While opening the glass door there is a loud creak. Sal Jr winces but realizes his dad is still snoring away in the chair. He runs upstairs and tosses the uniform into a suitcase. Duck  jumps on top and the latch seals with a clack.

Carrying the briefcase he rushes into the kitchen. His mother, Cathy, is sitting at the kitchen table. Face buried in the newspaper’s crossword puzzle. SJ goes to put a banana in his pocket but it doesn’t fit. He reaches in and pulls out the squid growing packet that still has a shrunken, dried squid capsule in it.

SJ: In a low tone- Almost forgot these, better get rid of ‘em before I can get in any more trouble.

He tosses them in the garbage disposal inside the sink and clicks the switch on and off to the tune of a quick whirr.

Cathy acknowledges her son without looking up from her crossword.

Cathy: “You say something hon?”

SJ: “No Ma, just grabbing a quick snack. Gotta go prove dad wrong!”

Cathy: “Oh jeez. You and your father. I might as well live in a bee’s nest. Is he mad about that racket you were making?”

SJ: “A... little.”

He smiles despite his mother not looking at him. It’s ok she can hear it in his voice.

Cathy chuckles

Cathy: “What’s an eight letter word for family? Hmm... Insanity.”

SJ chuckles too

SJ: “Gotta run Ma. Love ya!”

He fits the banana in his pocket, kisses her gently on the top of her head and exits. Duck looks suspiciously back at the sink.

Cathy: “Love you too snugbugs. Will you be home for dinn-”

Front door slams shut. Thwack.

SJ rides off into the dusk on his bike, fully decked out in his dad's old garb. He’s laid the suitcase on top of the front basket for Duck to sit on. His feathers pinned back from the breeze.

 We see them triumphantly riding off and in the background the house suddenly has tentacles busting out of the first floor windows.

Story Title: Go your Own Way

Credits

End of Issue One

Parliament of Trees Pitch

 

Sweet baby Jesus, I love Swamp Thing. Don’t worry, I won’t use this space to pluck the petals from a rose and explain all the ways. I do, however, want to take a moment and explain the bizarre period in both our lives when we met.  If you’re not interested in the short jaunt down memory lane, feel free to scroll down to my Parliament script.

 

Let’s start in the late 1980’s. I was a kid who couldn’t get enough comics. I savored hitting up the racks at local convenience stores or supermarkets to catch up with the colorful, costumed heroes that made up universes I would get lost in for hours. I had it pretty rough as a youngster, so escapism via newsprint was a much needed and cherished pastime.

 

On one of my childhood comic hunts, keep in mind specialty shops were non-existent in my town at the time, I wandered into a dark little place known as a smoke shop. It was located directly adjacent to the railroad tracks, so how could I know if I was on the wrong side of those tracks without a little exploration?

 

Today it’s wild to think a ten-year-old boy could just stroll into store tailored to people’s vices unsupervised. I thank the heavens above that was the case. There were comics inside! Not the largest selection, and they were heavily outnumbered by adult magazines wrapped in semi-secretive poly bags, but nonetheless, there were comics! The first book I picked up was an odd bird fitting of the strange, cigar smoke filled environment I found myself in that day.

 

The cover was a striking image. A blue Swamp Thing floated within the eye socket of a skull. The header, above the awesome Swampy logo, read “Sophisticated Suspense”. Now to me it might as well had said “Not for you kiddo!”, so I nervously flipped open this mysterious mag.

 

 I had absolutely no idea what was going on, none. The story flew right above my young mind, but it looked so cool! Plus, Swamp Thing was in space. Being the little fan that I was, I had been aware of Swamp Thing. A muck encrusted mockery of a man that resides in the bayou, so what the heck was he doing among the stars? I needed to know more, but first I must have this! I took the book to the chain- smoking cashier, slapped my seventy-five cents on the counter and with that, Swamp Thing #56 started a love affair that has lasted thirty-four years and counting.

 

When I arrived home, comic in hand, I remember quite clearly going over to the calendar on my wall, and for some reason, picking a random date in January of the following year and inscribing it “Day of the Swamp Thing”.  I wanted to write my own Swamp Thing story and explore weird concepts. Prior to this my only aspiration was acquiring yellow lenses so I could make a Blue Beetle mask and hop the rooftops of my hometown. I suppose the influence Swamp Thing #56 had on me prevented my mother embarrassment, possible jail time, or perhaps an untimely death from falling off a building.

 

So, the script your about to read must be related to Swamp Thing #56, right? Well, not exactly. It does stem from Swampy’s time in space. In issue #60, Alan Moore wrote a trippy tale in which, while traveling through the cosmos, Swamp Thing is assaulted by an alien being.  The narrative of the story is told from the alien’s perspective, as she explains to her children how she met their…father! That’s some crazy stuff right there. Problem is, or at least how I see it, the offspring are never referenced again anywhere.

 

As years went by, I was shocked nobody ever picked this up and ran with it. There are biomechanical Swampy babies out there. How could a concept that cool just be abandoned? I decided to grab a few influences, sprinkle them with real life experience, stir in some easter eggs, add a dash of time travel and season them with a whole lot of Arcane.

 

After mixing up this concoction in my mind I ended up an idea that goes something like this:  A thief in the 1800’s makes the worst decision of his life, opening the door for him to become an unwitting accomplice to Anton Arcane, who believes by killing a scared child from the stars, he will doom the Parliament of Trees at the dawn of Planet Earth.

 

Keep in mind I’m no Alan Moore. Hell, despite how much I’d like to be, I’m not a professional writer either. There are bound to be blemishes and accepting them is appreciated. I just want to get this out into the world and I’m truly grateful you’re taking the time to read this first draft of issue one (and maybe telling me what you think). My hopes are it’s accessible to everyone and satisfying to hard core DC Comics/Swamp Thing fans alike.

 

Sincerely,

David Schultz

On a random date in January 2021

* This story is intended for a five issue mini and is for mature audiences only*

Parliament of Trees #1

By David Schultz

 

 

PAGE ONE

 

Narration box: Somewhere along the southern border of Texas and Mexico, 1845.

 

Full page. We open with a desert landscape. The dirt cracked by heat. Not completely flat, there are some hills and ridges populated by warped cactus that look defeated by the sun. The lean one way or the other as if they are lazy, and given the opportunity would gladly lay down. There are some dry bushes and grass also scattered along the scene.

 

PAGE TWO

 

Panel One/ Long panel across top of the page:

Two men ride horses weighed down with packs. They move slowly. Nothing that lives can withstand the temperature without paying a price.

 

Panel Two:

We creep closer now to see the finer details of our tired travelers. They are dressed in garb common to the era, covered in layers of dust and sweat.  One has dark brown hair peeking from under his hat, this our main character Mason. The other is his friend, a shaggy blonde with an unkept beard named Billy.

 

Panel Three:

Mason raises his hand as a signal to stop. Billy takes a swig from a filthy and nearly dry canteen.

 

Panel Four:

Both lead men on horseback are in scene.

 

Billy:  Mason, you sure that map is worth following anymore? We’re dry passed dead with no respite near. You said we was close hours ago!

 

Mason: There was supposed to be a cave where that ridge is, see?

 

Panel Five/ long across bottom of the page to achieve scope:

He points to the ridge ahead of them, where the cactus lean. It is far enough away it requires a squint to get a better view, which is exactly what both men do.

 

PAGE THREE

 

Panel One:  

Billy stops squinting at the ridge and turns to Mason.

 

Billy: Cave?! We would be lucky to find a damn hole in the ground. Let alone a pile of stones fulla' treasure. Mason, you drug our behinds all this way all because you stole this cursed map off a damned fool. An I was more foolish to follow you! Talking wealth beyond our means and imo- imo-

 

Panel Two: Mason replies still squinting as he looks ahead.

 

Mason: Immortality.

 

Panel Three:

 

Billy: Yeah, Immortality. Who needs it? All I want right now is a beauty with loose britches and to get out from under this sun. We been friends a long time and had our moments robbin’ and poachin’, but this here is subjecting ourselves to certain death! It’d be best to turn back.

 

Panel Four:

Mason turns to address Billy directly who’s now dismounted his horse to stretch his muscles.

 

Mason: I told you from the very beginning, we aren’t looking for money.  Money’s something that can be gained, lost or stolen. What we are aiming to find is rare. Power beyond your wildest dreams.

 

Billy: Well, I’m a simple man Mason. I judge wealth on whether I can count, drink or fuck it.

 

Panel Five:

Mason holds up a map made of parchment. There is a broken wax seal with a calligraphed “A” on it. He smiles at the comment while studying the directions.

 

Mason: If you weren’t so damn stupid Billy, I’d accuse you of being clever.

 

Billy: HAR!

 

PAGE FOUR

 

Panel One:

Billy adjusts a pack on the back of his horse. Mason still sits upon his steed, holding the map in one hand.

 

Billy:  This was a fancy feller you thieved the map offa', right?

 

Mason: Yep. Fancy as they come. Not a speck of dirt on the man if he stood in a pile of pig shit.

 

Panel Two:

 

Billy: What the hell a man of means need out here anyhow? From what you been telling, doubt he’d ever drag his polished ass out this far for nuttin'.

 

Mason: It’s more than that. You had to hear him speak Billy. I don’t know how to explain it other than you hang on every word like it was some type of hypnotism.  I dunno. There’s something special out here. I can feel it Billy, I swear it.  Magic even.

 

Billy:  Magic? Look Mason, I’ve always trusted yer instincts.  Not completely sayin’ I ain’t now, and I been willing to choose a coffin for coin aplenty. But this wild yarn you been spinning and got yerself all twisted up in... well.

I’m tired, you’re tired. We been traveling for days now. Let’s just turn back while we still can, okay?

 

Panel Three:

Aggravated, Mason throws the map at the ground.

 

Mason: GAWDDAMMIT!

 

Panel Four:

Mason’s demeanor changes from anger to dejection.

 

Mason: (quietly) You’re right. Let’s get out of here.

 

 

                                                                                 PAGE FIVE

 

Panel One:

Mason peers towards the ridge where the lazy cactus sit in hopes of what he’d been seeking would suddenly appear. Instead, he catches a glance of something wholly unexpected. There is a small dust cloud surrounding a cactus that now looks larger than the others.

 

 

Panel Two:

Mason’s eyes widen despite the blistering sun shining in his face. He’s using his hand to shield his eyes.

 

Mason: Billy, am I finally losing my mind here or is that cactus…moving?

 

Panel Three:

The image is clearer now. While unable to fully make out the form, a cactus is coming their way, and by the increased size of the dust cloud left in its wake; this creature is big and moving fast.

 

Panel Four:

Billy mounts his horse in a panic after witnessing the same unbelievable sight.

 

Billy: Sweet Jaysis!

 

Panel Five:

Full view of the charging creature. The monstrous cactus is misshapen and warped, an attempt to imitate the form of a man, and the results are grotesque. Its trunks are now arms, the hands are clubs covered in needles. Empty eye sockets and a shallow mouth imply rage. The once sturdy base has split to form legs in which to run with, leaving ripped, sinewy stems exposed. It is easily twice the size of an average man.

 

 

 PAGE SIX

 

Panel One:

Billy pulls out his pistol and squeezes off a shot. BLAM!

 

Panel Two-Three:

The monster barrels into Billy’s horse, flipping them both.

 

Panel Four:

Upon his panicked horse, Mason wildly lets off a shot that grazes the monster’s shoulder to no effect.

 

Mason: Billy!

 

 

 PAGE SEVEN

 

Panel One:  

Billy is on his back. The shadow of the massive form blankets him. His eyes are wide, anticipating his own demise. Unable to breathe, he gasps out a final word.

 

Billy: W-wait.

 

Panel Two:

The beast’s massive, clubbed hand comes down on him hard, smashing Billy’s skull and sending bloody fragments adorned with needles into the air.

 

Panel Three:

The creature turns his hollow face in Masons direction. The objective of this monster is clear; murder anything made of flesh and bone.

 

Panel Four:

Mason snaps the reigns on his horse. Run or die.

 

Mason: Fuck! I’m sorry Billy.

 

Panel Five:

Mason looks straight ahead towards camera. The monster continues to pound his dead friend into the dirt, creating yet another dust cloud that rises in the distance as Mason rides away.

 

 

PAGE EIGHT

 

Panel One:

Narration Box- Redtooth, Texas 1887

 

An old man stares blankly ahead as he sits at a bar with an empty shot glass in his hand. It’s Mason. Despite a scraggly white beard, and the years creating countless creases in his skin; the eyes that once peered at the ridge remain the same. The shutter doors that mark the entrance to the saloon allow just enough light through their cracks to tickle the wooden planks that make up the floor.

 

Panel Two:

Behind Mason, a handful of men are playing cards in the saloon. They sit at a round table that holds stacks of coins and drinks.  One of the men has lost a hand. He’s a large, burly cowboy and not one to be trifled with.

 

Man 1: Crud!

 

Panel Three:

The losing player slams his fist on the table, as he rises from his chair, spilling the drinks.

 

Man 2: What in the hell! Ya lost fair and square!

 

Man 1: Don’t mean I can’t be mad about it.  Bart, get over here and clean up my mess.

 

Panel Four:

The man turns to Mason who sits expressionless at the bar, oblivious to the event behind him.

 

Man 1: Maybe the old bastard gone deaf. Lord knows his brain is already softer than my sister’s teat.

Hey, Batshit Bart! I’m talkin’ ta you!

 

PAGE NINE

 

Panel One:

The man grips Mason’s shoulder hard and spins him around.

 

Mason: Huh? Wuzzat?

 

Panel Two:

The boisterous cowboy holds Mason up by his collar.

 

Man 1: What’s the matter Batshit? Daydreaming about plants aiming to murder ya out in the desert?

The rest of the bar patrons roar with laughter.

 

Panel Three:

 

Man 1: This useless old drunk used to be somebody. Ain’t that right Bart? You was once the toughest sunnabitch in Texas.

 

Mason: Stop.

 

Man 1: Then one day, he and his compadre head out to Mexico lookin’ fer magic beans. But only Batshit here comes back, with wild talk of blood thirsty cactus. Ha!

 

Panel Four:

The man releases his grip on Mason and postures for the others while continuing to recount rumors of Mason’s past.

 

Man 1: You see boys, not a soul believes the wild story Bart was spinning. So what he go an do? The once proud an mighty man here decides to drown himself daily. Sun up to sun down just killing bottles like he probably done in the dumb fuck that followed him out into the desert alla them years back.

 

Panel Five:

Full view of the bar interior. The cowboys continue to laugh as Mason stands feeble.

 

Bartender: I think that’s enough now. Let him alone. I’ll tend to the mess.

 

PAGE TEN

 

Panel One:

The rowdy cowboy appears to settle his mood prior to continuing.

 

Man 1: Yeah, sure. Enough is enough. An just to be fair, suppose I woulda drowned my woes in whiskey too had I came home half a man with my ass fulla pricks!

 

Panel Two:

He’s laughing so hard now, he doubles over.

 

Panel Three: The bully has a hand on his belly as he stands up straight again to wipe a tear from laughter from his eye.

 

Man 1: Hoo-hee!

 

Panel Four:  

Mason’s liver spotted fist taps him on the chin with a punch lacking force it once had. *THOCK*

 

Panel Five- Six:

Full shots of the man’s face post punch. First, he is shocked that Mason would even dare attempt such an act. Then a throbbing vein in his forehead represents his rage.

 

Man 1: Batshit, you dead.

 

 PAGE ELEVEN

 

Panel One:

Mason comes flying out the saloon doors head-first.

 

Panel Two:

Mason then proceeds to trip down three steps, stumble over a water trough and land on his rear.

 

Mason: OOF!

 

Panel Three:

He leans back against the trough and closes his eyes. The mid-day sun shines brightly upon his weathered skin. The town that surrounds him is alive with activity. He cares none, content to sit after yet another humiliation he’s grown accustomed to.

 

Panel Four:

Mason is suddenly covered by a shadow, exactly as Billy was before the cactus took his life all those years before.

 

Panel Five:

Mason opens his eyes and is filled with terror. He leans farther back on the trough in a hopeless effort to escape what stands before him.

 

Mason: Y-You!

 

PAGE TWELVE

 

Panel One: A slim man stands in front of an elaborately adorned stagecoach. He is dressed in all white. Hat to boots.  His skin is nearly as pale as his wardrobe. Next to him is a stunning woman with long, curly brown hair that extends past her shoulders. She is wearing a purple dress and black gloves. [Note to artist: Arcane looks like David Bowie’s Thin White Duke]

 

Arcane: Bartholomew Rexford Mason. At long last, we meet again.

 

Panel Two:

Flashback panel that looks like an old sepia colored photograph. Arcane smiles wryly while holding the same map from the beginning of our story with wax seal intact.

 

Panel Three: Arcane extends his hand to help Mason stand up, but he refuses to release his grasp on the trough, as though he’s at the foot of a ghost.

 

Panel Four: Arcane wears a face of indifference.

 

Arcane: Hm. Miss Graham, help our friend Mr. Mason to his feet. We’ve got quite a journey ahead of us and little time to be laying in the dirt.

 

Graham: Of course, Mr. Arcane.

 

Panel Five: Miss Graham easily lifts Mason by his arm as if he were a rag doll. He doesn’t resist.

 

Panel Six: They are all loaded in the stagecoach now and Miss Graham shuts the door. Arcane and Mason sit on opposite sides, but we can see through the windows that while Arcane is smiling, Mason looks to be in a state of shock.

 

PAGE THIRTEEN

 

Panel One: Interior of the stagecoach. Quite lavish transport compared to anything of its day. The seats are cushioned velvet, and the wood paneling is elegantly carved. A ride fit for a king. The driver has set the two horses that pull it in motion, and they begin the ride out of town.

Anton pulls a shiny silver flask from his jacket.

 

Anton: Perhaps you would like a drink Bartholomew? To settle the nerves.

 

Mason: Nope. Reckon I’m dead. Spent enough time living wet.

 

Panel Two: Anton puts the flask back into his coat pocket.

 

Anton: He speaks! And here I thought the broken man had lost his ability to communicate. Fret not Mr. Mason, you are not dead yet.

 

Mason: Fret? Sir, last thing that concerns me is my own demise.

 

Anton: That’s rich coming from the person who once stole something very precious from me so he could attain power that only gods possess.

 

Panel Two: Mason folds his arms and continues.

 

Mason: So, you’re telling me I got tossed down some stairs to find a man I ain’t seen in years looking fresher than a newborn babe. In his company, he got a woman strong as a bull who just picks me up and places me in this fine wagon here to discuss the greatest wrong I ever committed in my useless life. If this is not my personal escort to hell, I must have banged my noggin harder than it hurt.

 

Panel Three: Arcane leans in.

 

Arcane:  Ah. What would you say if I were to inform you this useless life, as just stated, has more significance than most would believe?

 

Panel Four: Mason is stone faced.

 

Mason: That I’m sitting across from a bold-faced fucking liar.

 

 

 PAGE FOURTEEN

 

Panel One:

Arcane slumps back into his seat dissatisfied with Mason’s response.

 

Panel Two-Three:

Arcane and Miss Graham share a look with each other. There is an unspoken language at play here and Arcane raises an eyebrow at what wasn’t verbally said but mutually understood.

 

Panel Four:

Arcane rubs his chin.

 

Arcane: Shall we talk about the map then?

 

Mason: That cursed scrap was lost to blood and dirt.

 

Arcane: And what did you find?

 

Mason: I don’t care to discuss it.

 

Panel Five:

Arcane sits up and smiles wide akin to a viper with fangs teeming with poison. He is prepared to strike the rawest of nerves to make his point.

 

Arcane: But what is the harm if you are already dead Mr. Mason? You dare call me a liar when all you have done is speak mistruths across all of Texas? What was the ridiculous claim again? Ah yes, I remember now. A plant man murdered your friend! Hilarious material indeed.

 

PAGE FIFTEEN

 

Panel One:

Mason bursts from his seat and grabs Arcane by his jacket. His face displays all the rage it can muster.

 

Mason:  Wasn’t no man. It was a damn monster, and you know it!

 

Panel Two:

Content with the answer, Arcane gently grabs Mason’s wrists. He releases his grip on the jacket.

 

Arcane: That I do. Miss Graham?

 

Panel Three- Four:

Miss Graham rises and guides Mason back to his place. She takes the seat next to him.

 

 

 PAGE SIXTEEN

 

Panel One:

Full shot of the carriage interior. Arcane rests his elbow on his knee and gestures with his other arm. The windows that once were a view of the exterior landscape are now dark.

 

Arcane: I am going to give you the truth in its entirety. But first, as much as you believe or wish that you are finally dead, this isn’t the case. Understood?

 

Mason: (quietly) Yeah.

 

Arcane: Good.

 

Panel Two:

Close in on Arcane as he continues to emote with his hands while explaining.

 

Arcane: The map did lead to the power you sought. You just happened to arrive at the wrong time. What we are truly looking for operates within a certain pattern, its own… rhythm. Discovering the site itself was being protected prior to arrival was excellent news. Your ordeal proved my suspicions were correct, and what I want is there now.

 

Panel Three:

Mason is clearly agitated by what he has just heard and replies angrily.

 

Mason: I told you already. The map is gone.

 

Panel Four:  

 

Arcane: My dear man, the map was only intended to serve as lure to procure my bait. Why would I need it now that I have you?

 

Mason: What did you just say?

 

Panel Five:

 

Arcane: You are the map Bartholomew! The closer we get, the more they will try to stop us, signaling that we are making them uncomfortable.  But your current condition just absolutely will not do.

 

PAGE SEVENTEEN

Panel One:

Mason’s anger and frustration with Arcane has turned inward. He balls up his fists in rage and rests them on his legs.

 

Mason: You knew what was gonna happen and sent us into the desert to get destroyed.

 

Arcane: Absolutely by design.

 

Panel Two:

Arcane carries on gleefully. Mason’s misery is his medicine.

 

Arcane: We are all pawns in a grander game and there are still significant moves to be made. With that, I recognize you have suffered greatly, to show my appreciation for your sacrifices I offer a gift.

 

Mason: Keep it. There is nothing you can give that will replace what was taken.

 

Panel Three:

Arcane: Oh no, I insist! Wouldn’t you like to be rid of regret? What you are about to receive is the opportunity to heal all the wounds that I, and others, have inflicted upon you. Let’s work together to erase the past.

 

Panel Four:

Miss Graham leans and grabs Mason’s cheeks with one hand.

 

Panel Five:

Unable to resist, Mason’s eyes open wide as Miss Graham kisses him on the mouth.

 

Panel Six:

Mason closes his eyes and submits to Miss Graham’s soft, warm lips. A euphoric sensation he thought he would never experience again.

 

PAGE EIGHTEEN

 

This page is a series of panels that toggle between a long kiss and Mason’s memories of the past 42 years. They flash from the original attack, public ridicule, an abandoned suicide attempt with his pistol, and his subsequent alcohol abuse. (Note: All these events will be detailed in an upcoming issue) As we switch from memories to the kiss, Miss Graham’s flesh deteriorates more. It cracks, flakes, then falls to nothingness. At the same time, Mason grows younger until he returns to the age he was at the beginning of our story.

 

PAGE NINETEEN

 

Panel One:

Miss Graham is now gone, with only a few of her flakes floating about in the air around Mason. He looks at his rejuvenated hands. The windows of the stagecoach have also reverted to normal, detailing traditional old-west scenery.

 

Panel Two:

Mason touches his face to feel the changes. His scraggly beard is gone, and his skin is tight. Amazed and exuberated beyond belief, he can’t help but smile.

 

Panel Three:

 

Mason: HA! Not a lick of this can be legitimate!

 

Panel Four:

The reality of all that’s transpired hits Mason like a brick to the face. As such, Mason’s mood takes a sudden and serious turn.

 

Mason: I may not be dead, but surely, I sit in the presence of the devil and if I have a soul… it no longer belongs to me.

 

This elicits a smirk from Arcane.

 

Arcane: The devil? No, I am from the future.

 

PAGE TWENTY

 

Panel One:

On the ridge where the cactus leaned, there’s now rocks stacked to form the mouth of an entrance that leads underground. The remaining text is represented in narration boxes.

 

Arcane: But your soul most certainly belongs to me. In many ways, it always has.

 

Panel Two:

The rest of the page consists of follow shots detailing the path underground.  Close up of the entrance and the jagged stones.

 

Arcane: You and I are about to embark on a sanative journey Mason, but we are not alone.

 

Panel Three:

This panel is dark.

 

Arcane: In the darkness there is a frightened child searching for it’s father.

 

Panel Four:

There is another rounded door framed by rocks in the distance, illuminated by a green hue.

 

Arcane: We will find it, kill it….

 

PAGE TWENTY-ONE

 

We end with another full-page spread. Inside the room lies a glowing green creature that is a combination of plant matter and machine. It looks like a mutated version of the alien Swamp Thing from Vol.2 #60. [Note to artist: Add computer chips imbedded in it’s skin, metal tubing as exposed veins, etc. Feel free to go as far as your imagination will take you to create this new hybrid being]

 

Arcane: …and destroy the Parliament of Trees before they begin.

 

The creature speaks in orange word balloons.

 

Creature:   Holland *BZZT* <Alien language font>

                  < Series of numbers in code form>*BZZT*

                  Locate <Alien language font> Father *BZZT*

                  Alec?

 

END OF ISSUE ONE