Lol, what about a story about a dragonrider... who's afraid of heights? Just throwing the idea out there.
I am a writer and artist, and I would looove to collaborate with another artist for a comic. I don't know exactly what you are looking for, but I would love to throw some ideas around and brainstorm. I am a huge DnD fan (and player), and I have been writing fantasy for over 10 years now, and i have some experience writing scripts for both comics, short films, and mini plays. I would be interested in doing a fantasy/comedy blend. In any case, let me know if you'd be interested in at least brainstorming.
You can take a look at my fantasy comic here:
Or read some of my prose samples at my profile:
But since I know that dialogue is the most important part of comic-writing, I'll include a dialogue-heavy scene from a DnD based story I have been writing.
When we approached the gated wall, the guards stopped us by pointing their impressive longswords at our chests. The guard with his weapon hovering an inch away from my heart ran his eyes over my form as if trying to determine how much of a threat I was. He must have determined that I wasn’t much of anything, because he turned his gaze instead to my mother.
She rolled her eyes and said in her commanding voice. “Lower your weapons, you inerudite brutes. I have business with the lady of this estate.”
“The Lady won’t like to be disturbed by common beggars such as yourselves,” the man said, refusing to budge.
“I’m not peddling some simple rubbish. I’m here to trade something far more valuable,” my mother returned, narrowing her eyes, “Trust me, the Lady will want the wares that I have to offer her. I know full well what the consequence for wasting her time will be, so step aside.”
Again the guard passed his gaze to me, this time with a new expression which I didn’t understand. It was almost as if he came to realize something suddenly.
“Is that so?” Another guard said with a strange nuance to his tone. “Well, if you want to be granted entry… turn out your pockets.” He jabbed his weapon closer so that the tip of his blade barely touched my mother’s shirt.
Mother rolled her eyes but nonetheless reached into her pockets and took out several knives, darts which could only have been poisoned, and daggers of varying sizes. As they watched, she unsecured the sword sheath from her belt and unstrapped another sinister looking dagger hidden beneath the pant leg over her calf. She placed all the weapons on the ground at her feet, and folded her arms over her chest.
I likewise removed all the weapons from my person, but the array was much less impressive. A simple dagger and an old iron shortsword that was in need of a good sharpening.
After that, I waited to be let inside, but one of the guards focused on my mother thoughtfully for a moment. “Lift your shirt,” he ordered.
“Don’t be absurd,” she said with a laugh. “You’re not my type.”
“Do it,” he said, not amused.
With a sigh, she reached into her shirt and removed a tiny sheathed knife that was hidden in between her breasts. Even I didn’t know about that one.
“I better be getting these back,” she said as she placed it in the pile with all the others.
“We’ll see about that.”
The guards then moved to take the weapons and started to lead us toward the front door, but when we reached the entrance steps, we were stopped again.
“Oh for the love of all eight legs!” my mother exclaimed. “Now what?”