Random Collection

Dahrinn (Groucho)

The Wizard
Original poster
LURKER MEMBER
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Invitation Status
Posting Speed
  1. 1-3 posts per week
Writing Levels
  1. Intermediate
  2. Adept
  3. Advanced
  4. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
Fantasy, Sci fi, anything in which the world itelf is extremely interesting.
Well, I need someplace where I can vomit all of my creativity, so I guess right here's a spot. If you're checking this out, and something catches your eye or you think I can improve on something, do tell, I'm looking to improve everything I possibly can. I'm gonna try my hardest to get things on this regularly, be it art, writing, or whatever else seems appropriate at the time. Good day to you.
 
Last edited:
Here's your first batch.
IMG_20170129_222624.jpg
IMG_20170129_222351.jpg IMG_20170129_222412.jpg IMG_20170129_222338.jpg
IMG_20170129_222550.jpg
IMG_20170129_222501.jpg IMG_20170129_222520.jpg
IMG_20170129_222437.jpg

Thus concludes my first batch.
I should really learn how to do this digitally.
 
Possible main artstyle?
IMG_20170131_175613.jpg IMG_20170131_175643.jpg
*Really need to find better lighting.*
 
IMG_20170201_211331.jpg IMG_20170201_201011.jpg
Another one.
 
Last edited:
Got a concept for two bumbling villainous mooks or something.
IMG_20170206_211254.jpg

I got a printer with a scanner now.
Once I figure out how it works, I should be able to upload these with a cleaner look.
 
Here's the first in the bestiary seiries. If you notice anything contradictory or confusing, please tell me so I can fix it.
THE VAMPIRE

The Vampire is the result of a particular kind of Dark Spirit inhabiting a deceased body, and gaining sufficient power over time.

ABILITIES:
A Vampire can be expected to have the following abilities, with slight variation depending on the Vampire’s age, life cycle stage, and “bloodline”. They will have supernatural strength, will not cast shadows or reflections, have the ability to defy physics to an extent, having great agility and the ability to climb walls like a lizard, use hypnosis, use telepathy, and use illusionary magic, they can teleport, they can control fog and mist, can use powerful shapeshifting, can travel extremely fast through moonlight, and are immune to conventional means of damage.


However, they hold a certain amount of weaknesses. Their powers cannot be used under the gaze of the sun, and items symbolic of purity can weaken them. A wooden stake through the heart has a good chance to destroy them. As will decapitation. If drowned, they will remain in a deathlike state until removed from the water. Immolation will destroy them. Garlic is a repellant, but should never be used exclusively. Silver has been proved effective in many, but not all cases. Many suffer from severe Arithmomania


MAIN LIFE CYCLE:
Stage One: Possession;
A Vampire begins its existence as a Dark Spirit searching for a suitable host. A suitable host would be a person that was exposed to a sufficient amount of Dark Spirits or Negative Energy over the course of their life or during their death. Assuming that this person is buried without the proper precautions, their body is at risk for possession by a Vampiric Spirit. Once the Spirit has possessed the host, they slowly repair damage to the body to allow movement, and turn into a Shroud Eater;

A vampire in early stages can be identified by the following features of the corpse: A darkened or ruddy complexion, wide open eyes, increased nail and hair length, blood on the body, a bloated stomach, and or bite marks.


Stage Two: Shroud Eater
Shortly after possession, The Vampire will be classified as a Shroud Eater. The first actions of a Shroud Eater will be to chew through any wrappings their body has (Which earned them their name) and begin consuming their own blood, once their own blood has been drained, they will begin consuming any surrounding corpses.

Stage Three: Vampire
If the shroud eater is able to gain sufficient power, it’s body will eventually be so saturated with Azoth that it is granted a high level of influence over its own body, and will be a Vampire. By killing humans, those humans may in turn become vampires, the choice being the Vampire’s. A Vampire has access to all of the memories of the former human’s mind, but does not have their soul, and it should never be mistaken for the person themself.

BRANCHING LIFE CYCLE
PseudoVampires- The Victim of repeated Vampire attacks may inherit Vampiric traits and mannerisms, their soul not quite departing but being inferior in influence to the Vampiric soul. A PseudoVampire *may* be revived only by slaying the Vampire responsible for their transformation. If too much time is taken, they will be incurable.



Thralls- When a Vampire slays a mortal, they have the option to create a Vampire from their corpse, starting out between a strong Shroud Eater and weak Vampire. Generally, the creatures are little more than extensions if the Vampire’s will.



Dhampirs- Should a Vampire crossbreed with a mortal, the offspring will receive limited Vampiric powers, roughly at the same level of a PseudoVampire, and will develop a predatory nature and natural contempt of Vampires, ultimately compelling them to become Vampire Hunters. In magical schools of thought, a Dhampir is considered a wizard.
 
My interpretation of Trolls.

The Troll


The troll refers to a particular kind of humanoid monster often found in isolated mountains, forests, and caverns, with trolls desperate for shelter settling for the undersides of bridges. They come in a variety of shapes and sizes, but have a particular “Trollish” appearance that allows them to be quickly identified. Such features include large size, prominent noses, thick abundant hair (sometimes coated in moss), prominent teeth, tails, horns, and strange body proportions, however some trolls appear almost human. On average, a troll should not be expected to be friendly, and their intelligences can range from average, to dim, to downright bestial. Sometimes trolls can even have multiple heads, and the largest, oldest, strongest of the trolls can grow so large that trees grow on them.


A troll’s abilities are usually centered around its large size and bestial traits, such as a thick hide and enormous strength. Younger trolls have been known to form large large family units with a head Matriarch.


A troll has a few weaknesses that can be used against it. They loathe sunlight, turning to stone when exposed to sufficient quantities. Thunder and other very loud noises frighten them, and they can be easily tricked, depending on the troll. Fire sets their fur ablaze with startling efficiency. Finally, trolls are easily frightened by what they may perceive as larger, meaner trolls.
 
Here's my illustration of my current Pathfinder character, Gelkar. He is an Orc barbarian. (Unfortunately a homebrewed Orc that's slightly powered down and able to fight in sunlight just fine.) He is the only viable combatant of the team, as the Elvish samurai simply cannot roll more than a ten in any given combat scenario, and the rest are magic users and a bard. He is a tribal Orcish barbarian in a setting where Orcs are culturally and technologically no different from the other races. Oh, and he's chaotic neutral.
IMG_20170302_221724.jpg
 
Here's my first computer-made character.
Dark Elf
Elf.png
 
Here's a little story I wrote for my English Class. Sci fi stuff... here you go...

The twin moons Phobos and Deimos stared down upon him as he dashed across the ruddy sand, flying with his feet and leaving clouds of dust with each footfall. Behind him, creatures of an age long forgotten pursued, almost leaping across the tall dunes, and kicking up greater clouds of dust with each bound. A few times, he caught a glimpse. A long thin tail. A pallid carapace. Long limbs. A crooked beak. He was coming across a flat space, there would be no safety, but it was his best chance for survival- he couldn’t face them in this terrain. He heard the sand being kicked up from behind him as he slid down the last dune and ran into the open. He drew a metallic white object reminiscent of a stave- the sole thing on his being unsullied by rust, wear, or some sort of damage, including himself. With the click of a switch upon the stave, a bright light flashed from one side, then returned and solidified into a glowing blue mass in the shape of a halberd’s head, distorting the air around it with it’s heat, and in response to a flash of movement, he held it straight ahead.


One of the pursuing creatures came to a rapid and violent stop upon the glimmering head of the weapon, it shrieked and flailed it’s limbs as it sunk onto the blade, mottle green fluid poured out, hissing and bubbling on contact with the blade. The stray swing of a claw scraped his face, and he yanked the weapon from the creature’s body before it even stopped moving, as blurs of pale white jumped to and fro around him, each positioning to form a rough circle around him. When they stopped, each one in the open- a pale shape in the dim light of the Martian night, he swung his weapon about, shouting like a madman in an attempt to scare them off, as the single injured creature ceased it’s twitching at last, it’s body contracting into an unnatural stiff curl. They converged upon him at once, three of them, each with speed too great to properly focus on.


The first to reach him attempted to grab the halberd and rip it from him, a grave folly, for the metal upon the pole was of such perfection, that the beast’s claws merely slid down and met their mutilation upon the blade. With his weapon free almost as quickly as it was ceased, a simple thrust seared into the creature and claimed a second kill. From behind, a gangly limb clutched his leg with a force that pressed the muscle painfully to the bone, and sent him to the ground. The claw dug into the calf and rent the flesh, and yet he rolled onto his back, and in a move of desperation, brought down his blade upon the creature, the glowing axe-head of the weapon sunk into it’s head, and a single hush of green fluid popped, then oozed out, as the final creature lunged, bringing it’s arm down upon the shaft of the weapon itself-snapping the pole in to as the glowing blade evaporated.

It was upon him, intent on tearing him to pieces with it’s jagged beak, it beat upon him furiously with it’s forwardmost arms. In a moment, it seized hold of his head and took aim for his throat, when with all of his strength, he took the broken end of his now sparking pole, and plunged it into the soft flesh where it’s bottom jaw met it’s neck, the creature shook, a spasm sent through it’s entire body as it hissed and gurgled. For a few moments it continued, before ceasing all movement, then falling limp upon him. With a deep breath and a grunt, he shoved the creature off himself, and struggled to lift himself back up, succeeding despite his bloodied leg. He looked to the pieces of his precious weapon. One side stuck into the throat a creature, and the other still fizzling on the ground. Carefully picking one piece from the sand, and yanking the other side from the beast with a sucking noise and a pop, he caught his breath and focused on finding which direction was north. He scanned the horizon intently… to the east, he saw five more clouds of sand, and heard a distant clicking.
 
Well, Here's some characters I've gone and did/improved.
2017-08-06 (1).png

2017-08-06 (2).png

2017-08-06 (3).png

2017-08-06 (4).png

2017-08-06 (5).png

2017-08-06 (6).png

2017-08-06 (7).png

2017-08-06 (9).png

2017-08-06 (10).png
 
Here's a piece inspired by the work of H.R. Giger.

20170814_230653.jpg

I'm really proud of this one.
 
20171020_204007.jpg
Here's a fantasy mutant chick or some shit.
 
Here's a concept for a Light Elf noble's clothing.

20171214_191503.jpg
 
Here's a little snippet of a Gothic Horror inspired thing I've been working at for a while.

Albina sighed, sitting at the edge of the roof of an abandoned building on a rainy moonlit midnight, the drizzle dampening her white hair and running down her pale body and flowing onto the weathered shingles before hitting the cobblestones in a cascade of drops being endlessly swallowed by the puddles below. Her eyes, pink and faded with webs of veins piercing the glistening surface in sharp crimson lines, stared down at the empty street lit by the glow of a full moon and the flicker of a hung lantern. She was born on a day like this, for lack of a better word than born. With swift six-fingered hands, she unfolded and raised an umbrella above her head, realizing with subtle annoyance that she had allowed herself to get thoroughly soaked, even in light rain. A great flash heralding a mighty roar in the sky had finished off her hour of self-reflection, and she slinked with catlike grace through a hole nearer to the center of the roof, where the majority of the rain would bother her no more.

Coughing only slightly as she looked about the attic before her, the sight of white sheets over wide boxes had only further reminded her of the day she came into this incomprehensible world. It had been five years since then, or perhaps more… she had only knew consciousness for five years, having first woken up fully developed, with only the basic knowledge required to blend into the world around her. She understood that she had to first be cut out of a cancerous mass which by some process had wired itself onto and within her, causing only what she could describe in her waking moments as unrelenting agony. The first person she had ever seen, and who had created her alchemically, had to desperately try to free her from that mass, whatever it was. In the events that followed, she had at first thought that rather than attempting to help her, that this stranger had been torturing her. The added fact that she had no concept of language for her first year had made their relationship doomed to be a troubled one from the start. Not that any of it mattered now. He was dead… could not be revived, could not be summoned back. Albina was left on her own.


It wasn’t easy, if she had been merely a mutated human rather than an alchemical creature, she would have not been strong enough to thrive in a world like this… she’d probably either be dead or enslaved. But she was not human. She had no need to worry about disease, she could survive anything short of complete mutilation, thirst came rarely and the sensation of hunger was only an occasional concern. She could not be poisoned, she could not be drunk, she could not be tranquilized, and she could not be possessed. Further aiding this was that she had a talent for simply fleeing, after all... she didn’t have to face that which couldn’t catch her. Unfortunately, while these boons all aided her continued survival countless times, she possessed no more strength than a normal human of her build would carry, and her sorcery-warped mind had meant that at any moment she could lose perception of the distinction between the physical and spirit world, and thus be swept into fits of temporary but furious madness. These past few nights have carried to her grisly nightmares, and only a few hours ago was she able to quell the source.

A mere fifteen feet from her, another young woman in a shabby black robe was laying limply on the ground, her neck sliced wide open, with a cloth jammed into the wound to stop most of the blood. A witch, a human girl who allied herself with demonic spirits for reasons now unknowable. Her mouth and eyes were open, and would remain so for the rest of the night at least. Albina uttered a silent apology, she didn't knew whether or not the witch deserved a spool of wire around the neck. As the homunculus found a comfortable spot among the various boxes in the attic, she drifted at last to a proper sleep.
 
I don't know why, but I felt a strange urge to write, and this is what I slapped down.

A strange mood overtakes the god of laughter and chaos as he toils endlessly to prevent the worlds around him from falling into meaningless stagnation. He takes a moment to ponder his own meaning, why does he do what he does? Why does he not let it end? Why does he keep turning this wheel? At times he feels he is part of a whole, and at times he feels he is all there is. All he knows is that he has dedicated himself completely to the task before him, which is to mindlessly indulge any fancy he may have in the knowledge that as long as something is happening, the world will not stop. Perhaps the gods of good and evil know this as well, and that is why none can truly overtake the other? What is the world but a narrative, and what is a narrative without conflict? Chaos must battle order, and from that the concepts of good and evil are born to justify the bloodshed. He does not know if this is true, but that is how he perceives the world. After all, what is the world other than what is perceived? He believes that because he is neutral, he can understand the conflicts of good and evil in an unbiased light, but he cannot say he knows, because his own leaning toward chaos may cloud his judgment. Suddenly, he finds distraction, perhaps a new idea, or a sudden urge to overtake his judgment. He returns to the wheel. He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to, after all… what is a god but the invention of man? What is a man but the sum of memories? And are the sum of those memories not a narrative? And what is a narrative but conflict? He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. The story must go on… all he can do is try to make it a good one.