Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous, Baldur’s Gate, Planescape, swamp witchery, random scribblings, frogs, bats, and my wonderful friends’ creations. This is a grown-up swamp 🔞
Tags
Writing – my writing
Personal tag – dicton dujour
Major works on AO3
PWOTR: The Lark and the Crow series / If I Betray My Heart / I Stab Thee With My Heart
🌟 $25 headshot of a character - full color, plain background, with minimal shading. 🌟
🌟 $60 waist-up pairs - full color, plain background, with minimal shading. 🌟
Hi all! I am opening commissions for a short time to earn some extra funds for a vet bill. Payment through Paypal invoice only. Send me a message if interested. Details below the cut:
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🌗 Commissions will take 1-6 weeks to finish and will be completed in the order received.
🌘 You will receive a sketch to approve before I start moving on to the lineart stage. You may only ask for revisions at the sketch stage. During final approval, I will allow for minor edits (not, say, a complete redo of the pose!). Once approved I will send the invoice to your email.
🌑 If you would like to support me without purchasing a commission please consider checking out my ko-fi, art tag, and writing tag!
I’ll probably put together a post including more varied commission options soon, but I’m once again needing to take commissions, as I’m starting a moving fund. Consider donating, commissioning, or reblogging? 💖
"I can't believe humans would hunt the thylacine to extinction, humans are fundamentally evil" Hey, did you know that extinction was long thought to be impossible, and within 50 years of humans realizing that extinction via overhunting was a possibility it practically stopped happening? Did you know that humans are so desperate to prevent more losses that they're funneling millions of collective hours and billions of euros into helping other species? Hours and euros that could be spent on humans, being spent on species on whom humanity's own survival does not depend? Did you know that due to an accidental introduction of rats, the Lord Howe Island stick insect population was brought down to 24 individuals and now there are tens of thousands of them?
This bug. This bug that, to most humans, is utterly useless, relatively gross, and completely foreign. Humans saved it because humans do not want to cause another extinction ever again if they can avoid it.
pwotr. commander/sosiel. 661 words, gen. set in act 3.
"A question, if I may," Sosiel whispers. Winter settles over in the Worldwound, howling with corruption and offense. Drezen is close by, just a day's march away. Leonor knows there's a stack of papers he'd left on the desk, because he would have torn them apart if he didn't move. He does not look forward to it.
He doesn't look forward to Irabeth's reports. We won this, we won that, peppered in with We lost this many, another great calamity had struck.. Leonor knows the reports bring her as little joy as they do him. There's a weariness that they share. She's sat with him during long nights, rubbed his shoulders when he was starting to ache. He's tried, as much as he could, to chase that haunted expression from her eyes after Lost Chapel.
They sat together in that damn office, bent over reports and requests, just as they'd fought side by side to reclaim Drezen. There's camaraderie in that. Still, he doesn't look forward to her reports.
At least no new crusaders have been killed recently. He glances at Camellia, who's lost in thought in her own corner. Would Lev had spared her?
I think he would have wanted to bed her, Leonor thinks. He then blinks, hugging his knees. "Sorry, come again?"
"I wanted to ask you about your brother," Sosiel says, patiently. He puts an arm around Leonor's shoulder; Leonor scoots closer, leaning his head against Sosiel's chest. "You mentioned him quite a few times, dear. I look forward to meeting him once we win the war, but is there anything I should be prepared for? What is he like?"
Leonor hums. "Prepare to potentially extend your neck as far as it can go," he says in all seriousness. "He is quite tall, even for an elf. I'm told his eyes can be a little uncomfortable to look at - they're dark and the sclera is black? Of course, I speak from a place of growing up with him. They're not— oh! He has eyes that are like Ember's. I suppose that's a good description."
"And is he as handsome as his brother?" Sosiel replies sweetly. Leonor buries his head in Sosiel's shirt to hide the way his cheeks burn. Sosiel laughs softly and kisses the top of Leonor's head.
In another life, Leonor would have been more reticent to engage in amorous behavior like this. But he does not have much privacy these days; only time he can catch a moment with Sosiel, really, is on the road by the campfire.
Daeran gives them lingering, angry looks sometimes. But that seems aimed at Leonor more so than Sosiel, a private confession of something that should stay between them. He's been doing it less and less of late. Leonor's spike of guilt lessens with it.
"I've been told we look alike, though personally I do not see it," Leonor says. "He's just — Sosiel, what on earth are you digging for?"
"My sketchbook," Sosiel replies, shuffling around with his free hand. Leonor straightens, folding his hands neatly on his thighs. Sosiel looks at him, a little crestfallen.
"So you can find your sketchbook," he says, dumbly. "I'll get back in position once you find it."
"But, Leo," Sosiel says sadly, "you had such a sweet expression on your face when you were talking about Lev. It's lost now! I suppose I will just have to ask about him again?"
Leonor laughs. The entirety of the camp turns to look. Daeran mixes their stew with a renewed vigor, scraping the bottom of the pot audibly. Seelah laughs to herself. Camellia doesn't seem to offer much of a reaction, but Leonor doesn't seem to mind not bearing witness to it. Camellia scares him in a way he cannot say yet.
Winter settles over the Worldwound. But a day's walk away from Drezen, there's a fire, a stew of questionable quality, sketchbooks and laughter. In absence of brothers, that has to be enough.
For Nereo/Woljif: stop squirming! you're going to be fine!
Woljif fights his rising panic, but with every exhale the Marilith squeezes tighter around his ribcage.
There is a dizzying shine of scales flashing by him as it thrashes about. Its allies have all fallen, bloodied and broken across the battlefield; now it faces the Commander himself, so this will be a quick fight, Woljif thinks, this will be over soon—then comes the pop of something dislocating, pain in his shoulder as the squeeze tightens. Oh, please, let it be over soon.
With his free hand he wrenches a dagger into the demon’s sinewy flesh, again and again. He does this until his strength fails him and the dagger falls.
It dies while it’s still coiled around him, one swing from Nereo’s halberd striking its soft underbelly. It spasms and collapses, limbs askew, and its weight pins him down, all muscle and Abyssal gore. The snake-length of the demon’s body relaxes just enough to allow him one or two shallow gasps, but it’s not enough. He kicks and fights against its dead grip, desperate to get loose. He still can’t get enough air. He still can’t get out-
The Marilith’s dead face turns to him with a snap of its neck.
“Woljif!”
A wave of nausea overtakes him. He’s certain he’ll faint.
“Woljif, stop squirming,” the Marilith says, its forked tongue unfamiliar to its current master. “You’re going to be fine. Give me a second. I’ve never been in one of these before.”
“Chief…”
Woljif shudders and pants weakly against the bloodied scales, darkness at the edge of his vision. He allows himself to relax. It’s fine now, it’s over.
Slowly, as if learning how to use its muscles for the first time, the serpent demon loosens its grip on him and rolls away with a final death rattle.
Lungs burning, Woljif falls to the ground, and draws a sharp and clear breath.
That's not like I'm trying to draw only niche characters on purpose, but hear me out... Storyteller! Last archmage of Kyonin and just a pleasant old elf (concept of a REALLY old elf fascinates me. You really know that there is something wrong with one when "wait, they can physically age so much!?")
(gift for our storyteller in pf ask)
Btw. It always so awkward to start a tag for a character :D like... what if there was a tag already and it is just worded differently... Ah those poor third swans in the fifth row.
I'll never stop hyping up other people OC's because what do you mean you created this thing out of the love of the game and gave life not just to them, but the other characters around them
Please keep bringing up the whimsy in my timeline I will literally snort it like a line of coke
