March 2024 Sketches

For this month, a Final Fantasy Behemoth living up to the name, and Robin Hood enjoying the fruits of his labor- Enjoy!

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Of all the creatures made on this earth, there are none so deadly and powerful as the behemoth. And amongst the behemoths, the strongest among them are called by adventurers and scholars alike as King Behemoths. They were pure expressions of the raw power and of nature's wrath, and were held up as symbols of strength. To slay a behemoth was a sign of a warrior's prowess, but to an ancient, unnamed mage, there was much more he could do with a behemoth; he could uplift them.

The King Behemoth the mage had worked on knew no name beyond his title— King. The mage developed his intelligence and trained him to be a strong, intelligent, and cunning warrior, ready to take on the world. King trained hard, and more than his intelligence, his already powerful body expanded to a monumental size. His buttress-sized lats mashed against his arms, anvil-sized triceps grinding back against them. King let out a low growl, basking in the sheer, mountainous heft of his humongous body. His boulder-like biceps, larger than his head, could protect him better than any piece of armor or spell- all he had to do was raise his arm and flex, and any weapon or magical bolt scattered against the iron he had forged in his gigantic body. 

The thought of such power brimming inside King made his enormous canyon of a chest swell with pride, casting the swollen, brick-like abs in shadow. He dared a toothy grin— all this power, all this strength, meant he was not bound by whatever plans the mage had for him. He was one of a kind— the world had never seen a warrior like him, and would be totally unprepared for what he could do. He contemplated his strength once more, flexing his gigantic arm; he couldn't wait to get started.

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Merry Old England had been at peace ever since good King Richard had returned to his rightful throne. Still, it was still dangerous to travel on Sherwood Forest's road, as a hapless merchant learned when an arrow struck at a crate in his cart. The rumors that the Merry Men were still active seemed all too real.

"Hail!" It's a wonder the merchant missed the fox lumbering through the undergrowth, and taking up the entire road. He was enormous! Every part of him was fat, soft, and thick, his green tunic barely covering his pillowy chest. His round, billowing cauldron of a gut was close to dragging on the ground as his fat-swaddled legs as big as hamhocks kicked up against it, making it bounce with each waddling step. Every part of him was puffed up and inflated, his doughy chest wobbled against his multiple chins, and his lard-swaddled arms jiggled as he brandished a bow— the merchant's jaw dropped. It couldn't be. The scarlet fox bowed with a flourish, his belly pressing against the ground. "You have the good fortune of crossing paths with Robin Hood- you wouldn't have a spot of lunch on you, would you?"

The hugely obese fox grins, dimpling his round cheeks. "I can tell by the look on your face I may appear a bit larger than the stories you heard, eh?" He patted his round boulder of a belly, making it bounce. "I suppose you could say I am a victim of my own success- with the Sheriff and Prince John too ashamed to show their faces around Nottingham, it's been nothing but easy pickings for me, so I've taken to grabbing any bit of food or drink I fancy. Worry not- my aim is still impeccable." He plucked his arrow free from the merchant's cart, a thick leg of mutton carried with it.