put some shoes on u big dork u aren’t even dalish
Ten years of progress. Practice is everything and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
"Queen Beryl, we’ve been talking… this whole fighting teenage girls thing is really messing with our hair care schedules. Is there any way we can move your evil plot to sometime less humid?"
(Screencap redraw suggested by fedoranonymous)
My witchsona, she specializes in herbs and potions and keeps to herself in a cave in a mountain most of the time, I also have a gargoyle familiar named cricket (tee hee). I was gonna colour it but I’m already sick of it. so here just have it. :P At least I’m on time!
I forgot I didn’t upload this, it was for an art show but I was never quite satisfied with it…
I was about to say that Michelle Pfeiffer is the only catwoman for me but then I remembered Eartha Kitt whoops.
Many hundreds of years ago, there was a chemical spill off the coast of Old Mexico, the largest and most vile act of pollution ever enacted upon the planet. It killed almost every creature it touched, and for generations the damage seeped into the earth and the oceans, until the salty sea turned frothy, and the shores were caked with blackened grease.
Even now, with humanity a scattered, frightened remnant of what it once was, there are none that do not know of this land, and many who have traveled to it, willingly and with due diligence. For something sleeps beneath those waters now, it thrives in a place no other creature could survive, and it must be appeased.
By the time the worshipers arrive each year, the black waters have begun to boil and a pulse can be felt beneath the earth, a heartbeat, the stirrings of an ancient, unfathomable rhythm. But the Doomstar is dim this season, and when you arrive you will be alone, and the waters will be still.
As you approach the shoreline, uncork your offering, any sort of alcohol will do as long as it’s strong. Then, as you empty the bottle into the already polluted dredge, recite the name, recite the rhythm. You know it by heart, don’t you?
Walk out into the water, the sludge will pull at your clothing and slow your movement, but walk as far as you can before you are submerged. The waves will begin to churn and the sand will slip out from under your feet, with almost no warning you will be sucked beneath the current, downwards into the dark, unctuous depths. You might think you are done for, and certainly you should be afraid, but shut your eyes tight and hold your breath for as long as you can. When you think you can last no longer, that is when you’ll feel tendrils wrap around your ankles…
In an instant, you’ll be coughing and hacking up chunks of oily muck and blinking away painful tears, before realizing where you are. Shining lights from seemingly nowhere bound off the slick on the water from which you were rescued (or captured), as well as the walls of the underwater cave, which are constructed of hundreds of thousands of bottles and cans, cemented with slime.
He will be there, watching you, waiting. For an explanation… or atonement.
You see, he had tried everything, for centuries he demanded sacrifices, anything to dull his pain and make him forget what he has suffered, what he has lost. Not a force in this world can bring him the release of death, it takes an ocean of poison to intoxicate him enough to carry him into welcome sleep, and now you’ve awoken him.
The Time Keeper. Dread Tremor. God of Rage, Rebellion and Revelry. The Drunken God. The Drowned One.
P’khell. The Second of the Doom Gods.
Part 2 of my series of God!AU drawings. As you can see there’s no rhyme or reason to how complex these are going to be, or what order I’ll draw them in. Feel free to delete the quoted text. (But leave this part please.)
let’s see if this catches on. everyone take 5 minutes to draw what you look like RIGHT NOW.
REALLY hate having stubble!
The dangers of checking your dash fresh out of the shower.
A walking dead blanket and a christmas mug full of chai tea… tis the season.
If you travel to the North, far, far, north, to a land that used to be called Lillehammer, Norway, but now has no spoken name. If you follow the rumors you find there, and ignore the frightened whispers of village mothers who clutch their children close, and shake their heads in warning, you might find yourself on a twisting path through a dead, gray forest. A forest of dense, leafless trees with limbs that lash and tear at your clothes and flesh. The kind of forest where even the bravest soul is made to feel small and alone, like a child. The sort of forest one might become lost in, forever.
If you are quiet enough, you might hear the almost silent wind urging you forward, inwards, deeper. If you let this wind guide you, you will be carried to the darkest, quietest part of the forest. There you will find a clearing. The snow covered earth there is littered with candy wrappers, and what appear to be the bones of children. In the very center of this radius of filth there will be a hole. Man-sized and perfectly circular, like a coin, or the mouth of a well. There will be no way down. The ladder that used to be there rotted away many hundreds of years ago, but if you were to find enough rope, and gather enough courage, you might lower yourself inside…
Deeper and deeper you would go into the pitch blackness. It smells strangely sweet in those depths, like rotten fruit. You would see nothing, but faint sounds like giggling, or perhaps weeping, would increase as you descend. For what seems like hours you might lower yourself. Until your feet graze the floor of the pit, and even more small bones snap beneath you. You have reached it. You have reached him.
He has been in the dark, alone, for so very long. Sometimes he can’t even remember why he ran, why he hid. So many years ago. For you see, he had a family once. Brothers. A Home. It is so dark down here and so cold.
The people of this land bring him offerings of sweet things that sometimes make him very happy and other times very sick. They also bring him their children, when they are weak and dying. Or sometimes the children wander off on their own, and when they do, they always come to him. And he always takes care of them.
He takes them somewhere safe. For you see, he is not always here, in this hole. Sometimes he is somewhere else. A place that is beautiful and bright, full of life and light and color and magic.
A happy place.
In the darkness, all you can make out are two glowing, red eyes. But if you can steady your hands long enough to light a torch, you will see him.
The Cursed God. God of Disease, Decay and Corruption. Patron of the Unlucky. Friend to Fools. Protector of Lost Children.
Tokiwatu. The youngest of the Doom Gods.
Part 1 of a series of God!AU drawings. Set long after the Metalocalypse. Feel free to delete the quoted text. (But leave this part please)
An old drawing I realized I never posted. It’s me and Cricket as our god tiers Bard of Blood and Sylph of Breath. Panty+Stocking style is so dang satisfying. <3