Señor Art Director
There’s a saying that blows like a steady Nor'easter, carrying sand through the sagebrush across the Columbia Plateau. That a man isn’t made from skin and bone, but the blood that flows through his veins. A life force built from the years that lay behind him, that drives him ever forward and determines his great destiny. It is said that Devin’s story is mere myth. Elusive truths exaggerated over time to become indiscernible from fiction. Some say he honed his keen intellect running with a pack of mountain lions along a rugged stretch of land where the mighty Rocky Mountains meet the rolling hills of the Palouse. Others recall the decades where he was hired by the powerful houses of the Inland Empire to battle mediocrity in all it’s hideous forms, taking this fight across the continent, and even over the great waters to far off lands. There is mention of trophies from his conquests that cover the walls of the great halls and are recorded in the books of industry. That he is welcomed heartily in many villages across the land by those who benefited from his skilled hand. Who can say where reality transforms into legend, but one thing is certain, what pumps through his veins creates a mighty man. A man prepared to slay giants and bed many a fair maiden.