Here is my Entry for @nomadicjester 's DTIYS 500 Subscriber Challenge on Cara.
#Nomadic500DTIYS Congrats for already hitting 600 by the time I got this project done. <3 <3
This is his OC Oliver Calling his husband Dick on an old rotary phone. I was in a pixel art sort of mood so I wanted to challenge myself with some UI design and animation sort of emulating old point and click style games of the early 90s.
The UI interface itself was heavily influenced by king's quest 7 but the pixel art is my style I've been trying to hone over the years. The animation isn't super crisp but with only a week to finish I did my best with my over ambition. Either way I hope you like it and think it is as neat as I do. Original Post for Reference:
https://cara.app/post/c125d341-a449-4ee4-8032-d5beeadadf96
A soft snap of metal on metal made Gilbert Wendrun look up from his newspaper. Behind him, still at work Detective Rathmeer fidgeted with the pocket watch in his hand.
"There has to be some sort of Connection, Its like they're not afraid of repercussion. What do you think?"
-- "I think you've had enough Coffee Onyx. Give this a rest"
This is Wesley Rothmier my new dnd character for a forum based curse of strahd campaign. He is a human courtier undead warlock who made a deal with an entity he know longer rembers to leave the dread domain and meet with his late father's family escaping the horror of the place in which he was born. Unfortunately for Wesley it is now time for him to make good on his half of the deal forcing him back into the horrid land he's forgotten.
A Corgi for Scale
I borrowed a picture of my brothers sweet dog looking into a fish pond for the corgi reference because I wanted to exemplify how small everything in the scene was. I promise he did not look so sad in the reference. When I showed my brother, he asked me if this was a play on the corgi 'lore' The lore based on a 1940's poem describing how fairies ride corgis as steeds and I was floored by the coincidence. Its the cutest thing I've ever heard I swear.
this is Aurel Malik formerly known as V̶̦̈́̋͊̾̐u̵̻͈̤͂ď̶̡̛̘̪͌h̵͂̈͜ṳ̷̒ĩ̷͓͕͖̓͝l̷̤̮̃̐̾͘͠a̶͓͈͍̬̖̎͌͠ň̴̫̼͈̙̌͐
They're a story teller at heart, theatrical, stylish, strange and all packaged with a dark sense of humour. They are uneasy with their lot in life and feel as though a peice of themselves is missing. When they're alone they have trouble keeping silent, they murmur to inanimate objects filling the empty air that often comes with loneliness. They like to collect things, tales, secrets, forgotten objects. Sometimes they relinquish them back into the world. Someone so small can only hold so much and someone so old only has so much space in their mind. The world is full of infinite tales and their own, they often wish they could forget.
Lately they have been restless, seeking some measure of influence over the world but they're also dreadfully frightened of what new opportunities might bring with them.
OH OH and the millipede is Visk Aurel's familiar/occasional mount !
A sketchy rendition of a new pair of npcs I created this week. Magnus and Decima Moroz King and Queen of the Morosian court, Vassals and devout followers of the Unseelie court.
They are the parents of my medium/clairvoyant bard Vesper Moroz.
Their love was fated to end in disaster. And yet these cold and sometimes cruel beings loved each other more fiercely than The sharp crystalline winds of a howling blizzard. Decima, a Peri, a harbinger of doom neglected her message and ignored the impending invasion of Magnus' kingdom, Shimmergarde, by the summer fae, tangling her own threads with his and abandoning her true purpose, she wooed the distant and frigid king despite knowing what would come for them.
When war came for them and their home became a pyre. Decima was trapped in the flames. Magnus turned his back on the battle to try to save her and was captured and forcibly dragged away as she cried for help. Defeated, Magnus was dragged before what remained of his people and was beheaded for his accused tyranny. The only member of his household to survive was the young Vesper who escaped into the material plane via a crossroads in the midnight forest.
my character from Lapris Academy Vesper Moros catching a glimpse of a foul memory in the mirror after the opening gala of the academy. In his culture Eladrin wear faux wings during formal events.
The room filled with an acrid charred smell and a long gone home, alight with otherworldly flame consumed the entirety of his own reflection.
This took me pretty much all month off and on, totalling up to a little more than 10 and a half hours but I'm pretty pleased with the results.
Mirror Pose Reference by @adorkastock
Extremly helpful in figuring out what to expect with a reflection. still trying to wrap my head around how angles in mirrors work.
This one wasn't watermarked but can be found here:
Sailor Mirror 1
Artfight Attack for Amayaisokay that I did last month. I had a lot of fun with the background, its the pirate city of tortuga on the back of a turtle dragon from A starlit sea as seen from the ghost ship that belongs to Fergus Hadler II. Captain Reizedera and her are relaxing and getting to know each other better. I had trouble nailing down the poses. It was my first step back into using limited references and I think my anatomy mental library has improved during draw everything june. They're not perfect but I'm plenty happy with what I have done.
Here is my 18th drawing for AdorkaStock 's draw everything June. It features my character Johannis Saur a rich reporter who doesn't realize he is an android out at Pirouette's A hidden club under a Laundrette in the slums of the city of Miros. In the center of the drawing my friend Martzi's character Skylar Wix a nonbinary detective who is helping Johannis retrace his steps after he lost his memory, and Their sister Lyra who is an amazing sister and an all around good person. She is in an artist and seamstress with a heart of gold.
Ever a lover of photography Johannis insisted that they take a picture of them all out together.
Here is my 17th Drawing for AdorkaStock 's Draw everything June!
I've featured my sci-fi character Johannis Saur - wealthy son of a famous artist who has become Photographer and journalist. To his grandparent's dismay he is a bit of a political firebrand. He is from a solar system that is run by corporations and human rights have slowly been whittled away. He and his friends stand up for what's right at great personal cost.
Here is drawing 16 of AdorkaStock 's draw everything June.
because of the gun prop I settled on drawing my fallout 3 OC Christopher Curling. He's an enclave officer posted in the capital wasteland. Given how happy/relaxed he is in this and how clean his uniform is its probably of him before everything falls apart for him.
This is the result of my thirteenth drawing for AdorkaStock 's Draw Everything June. This pose immeditatly remindinded me of a character I've got back into writing lately. Auren Farkis- The Dancing tempest. He is a Crystal Knight's Squire and Heir to a noble family that mines the crystals they use to cast spells. He is a transmuter who can alter the properties and type of materials he works with and he uses this alongside is ability to create wind to whip up a storm of knives. Here he would just be practicing on his own, trying to improve his skills.
Draw Everything June 11 - Some Perspective - Astarion
for some reason the hat in this pose really got to me and All could think of was Astarion in the silly cowboy hat from Baldurs Gate 3. I hardly ever ... ever do fanart so I'm a little anxious about capturing the likeness of a popular character, but Astarion grabbed my heart So I decided I wanted to try rather than swap the style of hat for something more appropriate to my sanguine and steam setting.
Pose by @adorkastock
A little field radio hissed and popped over the dead air, emptying into the otherwise silent ruin. A young man in a faded gray suit breathed slowly as he listened to it, meditating on the radio station that had vacated the current frequency.
He sat staring, elbows propped on a rotten table, raw fingers tracing over each other. They were irritated by Abraxo. The cleaner could be caustic, and he had used it on his bare hands multiple times. Scrubbing the blood from his uniform and his skin had been rough work. The cleaner burned, but he couldn't get that feeling of blood out from under his fingernails or the sensation of dust in his hair. Now that it was gone, the pink skin served as a reminder of who the blood belonged to. Of what he'd done. He paused his fidgeting and stared at the bottle of wine on the table before him. The label was generic and peeling, the cork half opened and crumbling. The contents turned to vinegar in centuries past. It didn't matter that it had soured. He hated the taste of alcohol, the woozy way it made his stomach turn at parties, the way it made his friends whirl around him. Worst was the violent pounding headache that he had to hide during morning exercise the next day.
Still, it could have been a momentary escape from reality. He mourned the chance to escape the feeling of despair that was swallowing him up. A moment of reprieve was all he needed. He could forget for a moment all he'd lost. In a matter of hours, an ugly coup, electronic malfunction and sabotage had overwhelmed the only piece of this world he had cared about.
Christopher didn't know how many of the Enclave were left. Hell, perhaps his father was still alive. They had to be out there, with the way that the brotherhood was scouring the wastes. They wouldn't stop until they were all dead. The radio had gone dead. He had checked for it after he sprinted down the north hillside of Raven Rock. He had holed up in an old cafe for the first day. It was just off North Seneca station, boarded up and abandoned. It smelled of rot, but he was covered in radioactive mud from the Potomac and viscera, so he didn't smell much better. He was barely able to manage any sleep at all. Every sound made him jump from his rest, knuckles gone white with panic.
That next evening, despite being dead tired, he crossed the river to the south bank under the cover of night. He walked until the sky had gone orange on the horizon. He could disappear here for a while and then join the others once he had a better understanding of… well, he just needed some time to figure things out.
He let out a long sigh and twisted the knob shifting through the possible frequencies hoping to intercept something other than the damned GNR. He wouldn't mind shutting up that irreverent, self-important DJ for good. He spun the dial until he hit the stopping point for one final time. He'd settle for something encrypted at this point.
Irritated, Chris flicked off the power and drummed his nails on the table. After a few more seconds, he pushed himself away in disgust. His leather boots kicked through the pile of ash on the floor with a brisk motion.
It was all that remained of a previous occupant of this apartment dispatched in the small hours of yesterday morning. He'd like to say he felt guilty about it, but it was necessary. No one could know he was hiding here, and this man had seen him in his uniform, soaked in blood, limping through the door, undeniably out of place and completely alone. They had looked at each other with those angry-frightened eyes strangers shared with each other these days and reached for their guns. Christopher was a faster draw than they were.
There was something clean about how an overcharged laser shot could vaporize flesh and bone into a fine powder. It happened rarely enough that the split second between life and dust surprised him and his target simultaneously. It was the most civilized way to kill your enemy and, in some cases, your friend... But something about it, ever since Raven Rock, that rare vaporization brought a spark of spear up his spine. A wave of nausea accompanied the fresh memory that hit him again. His fingers curled into his palms, relaxing and tightening as he breathed in the ashen air. Panic began to well up in his chest. It felt like drowning.
Christopher grasped the neck of the bottle of vinegar that had once been wine and gritted his teeth. Seconds later, it exploded against the delicate drywall. Part of it impaled the soft wall, bleeding its goopy red innards down the antiquated wallpaper. "Fuck!" He picked up the chair he had been sitting on and tossed it into a shelf of damaged books. The sad little chair clattered onto its side. A mote of dust rose from the shelf, thick like fog. Christopher snatched his crumpled pack of cigarettes off the table and stormed outside to sit on the crumbled concrete steps of the apartment. They overlooked one of the few mostly intact arch bridges that crossed the Potomac.
Chris stared out at the stagnant water as he sat with boiling emotions. He fiddled with the lighter, trying to get it to strike up the squashed roll of calm... His last one. Calm down... calm down, everything is going to be okay. They'll reach out once things cool down. We'll move somewhere far from here and try again. Eke out a small safe place in this shithole to bring back government and law. It's going to be okay.”
"No, no, no, the damn thing won't light." He clenched his teeth and took one deep breath and then another.
On the morning breeze, something caught him by surprise. Something smelled amazing. Christopher slid his lighter back into his pocket and pushed himself to his feet. He descended the steps and shielded his eyes from the sun. Further up the river, a small shack sat dockside. He was unsure why but wanted to find out what smelled so good. He needed a hell of a distraction.
The morning was silent, with only the slightest breeze. It rustled the desiccated branches of long dead trees and brought a chill from the riverbank. Shivering, Chris stuffed his fingers into the pockets of his suit jacket to stay warm. The weather was steadily turning to autumn. He had read that back before the war, the river valley was edged with foliage that shifted its verdant splendour to brilliant cloaks of variegated flame as the days grew shorter, but now the toxic river only bore hues of grey and brown.
Under the Enclave's supervision, perhaps, they could bring this beauty back to the capital wasteland. It would be a sight to behold.
He still found himself admiring the faint reflections of the resplendent sky in the Potomac’s putrid surface as he walked. A steady plume of steam issued from a vent in the side of the shack that was his destination. The source of his curiosity and his adventure not far from his current hideaway.
Before long, he had arrived at a tiled area around the crimson corrugated metal shack, cordoned off by rotten red velvet ropes. It had a short, ancient-looking dock that jutted into the river, a small rowboat tied to one of its vertical beams. The boat swayed, rattling against its moorings as it drifted in the current. It had been some time since he had set eyes on a functional boat. The thought of being adrift surrounded helplessly by irradiated water felt like a nightmare to him, but he did find himself wondering if the people who lived here still used it.
The metal tiles creaked under his feet as he stepped around one of the ropes, inspecting the freshly wiped tables with a morbid curiosity. Did the occupant of such a small shack require the use of multiple tables?!
The door swung open with a creak. The oldest woman he’d laid eyes on hesitated in the doorway. Her timeworn face crinkled up as she sized up the visitor on her doorstep. Her hair was stark white in the gloom of the morning, and her deep, thoughtful eyes bore into him like she could read his mind. She wore a pair of patchwork, high-waisted pants held up by prewar suspenders and a pale shirt that had its sleeves rolled up. Blotches and stains mottled the old fabric, likely telling as many tales as the old woman herself.
Christopher mustered a weak smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He lifted a hand out of his pocket to give the woman a friendly wave, hyper-aware of the rifle resting slung over her back.
“Oh! Another wanderer out at Will’im’s Warf!” She exclaimed, in an antiquated accent that had died alongside the rest of her generation.
“Another?” He found himself murmuring to himself before clearing his voice and speaking more loudly. “Sorry to bother you, but I was hoping you might have a lighter I might borrow. Mine’s given up the ghost, and well… I noticed your cooking,” He explained, deciding to hold off on asking what she might be cooking.
“‘Taint no bother, dear.” She shrugged, fished a matchbook from her pocket, and tossed it to Christopher, who caught it and turned it over in his hands. Its cardstock advertised Diamond Inc. computing. He flipped it over to reveal three remaining matches.
He sat down on the lip of one of the tables. With a sigh, he pulled out his final cigarette, pressed it between his lips and struck the match, giving it a light before he passed back the matches. “Thanks… What is that that you’re cooking inside?” he asked as he shifted to sit down in the chair beneath him.
“Just some ‘lurk stew.” A grin spread across her face as she examined the expression of pure disgust on the traveller’s face. “Oh, you’re in for a treat; nothing better for eatin' than Grandma Sparkle’s famous ‘lurk stew. It‘il settle in your belly nice and solid. Tell you what, I could use some visiting. I’ll pour you a bowl, and you can tell me what got ya so sour.”
“I’m not so hungry, ma'am.”
“Oh, pish posh lad, it won’t bite ya. Might give ya a pinch though”
Chris took a long draw on his cigarette, considering his own meagre supplies back in the apartment. Could he really turn down a free hot meal, even if it was of questionable meat? He shrugged, assenting to trying it. The elderly woman spooned a pair of hearty bowls from the massive bubbling pot and placed one in front of him and another for herself.
“None of my beeswax, but what brings ya to Will’im’s Warf?” she asked, stirring her stew with a spoon to let it cool.
Christopher shrugged again, ashing his cigarette, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. He told an old lie. One he’d told a million times before. “I came in from the Commonwealth. I thought the capital wasteland would be different, but so far, it’s more of the same."
“A far way to go alone.” the old woman noted with a nod.
“There were more, but we, no, I got separated.” That lie came with more difficulty. “I don’t suppose you saw anyone come through here recently?” He stirred his own soup, his stomach turning as he stared down into the lumpy, pale contents. There were some tuberous plants, seasoning and a buttery sauce mixed with meat he had trouble describing. It was like fish but more solid and rubber-looking. It smelled amazing, but he was not sure how brave he felt about it.
“Now that ya mention it, sweetie, there was another boy who came through just yesterday evenin’. He had real tall hair, big and green. Didn’ stop for long, though” Grandma Sparkle frowned, her brow furrowing. “Not who you were hopin’ for?”
Chris jumped in his seat, surprised at how poorly he had masked his disgust at hearing that the lone wanderer had been here. Just hearing about the man had drawn all the colour out of his face. He lifted a shaking spoon to his lips and took a bite of stew to keep himself from talking about that damned monster. He didn’t want to think about 101, not ever again. A burst of flavour danced on his tongue “You weren’t kidding!” He gestured to the stew, letting the subject of other travelers drop. “This is delicious!”
The older woman gave him an understanding smile, taking a bite of stew herself. “I said there ‘aint no better eatin’ than ‘lurks!”
“You weren’t kidding!” He continued to eat, putting out the cigarette for later. “I’m afraid to ask what a ‘Lurk” is.” He admitted trying to picture the creature, small or large, that this might have come from. He wasn’t sure if he had come across it on any of his exploratory missions.
There was a faint gleam in Grandma Sparkle’s eyes at the question, happy to accept that the weary-looking traveller might not want to talk about his ‘missing’ friends. “Theyv’ got them big ole claws. They’re big critters who like the damp. My boys hunt ‘em and have to get through their big shells." She wiggled her fingers waving her hands around like great claws as she pantomimed her description.
Chris snapped his fingers as he realized he did know these creatures. “Oh, I think I’ve seen a pho– I’ve seen them from far away.” Christopher murmured in recognition. He had never even considered eating something so foul looking. The taste was surprising. He did wonder what the long term effects of eating them might bring, but looking at the elderly figure sitting across from him, he decided it wasn’t significant enough to affect her ability to enjoy life.
“So, they do have them back home?” She asked. “They’re all over round here.”
He laughed nervously. “I suppose they are. But we don’t eat them back home, they eat us.” He offered. He shifted in his seat, working on finishing his bowl of stew. He enjoyed the way it filled him with a floating sense of warmth in the chilly autumn air. He sat quietly with the old woman until the sun was no longer casting brilliant colours across the sky. He had long since finished his meal when he cleared his throat. “Thank you for the meal, ma’am, I appreciated it, truly I did. I think I’m going to try my hand at replacing my lighter, Maybe get a better lay of the land… but perhaps we’ll meet again.” He offered a weak smile that seemed more genuine than his first.
“You be careful out there, Dear.” She reached across to grab His bowl, pausing to give his raw abraxo-burned hand a gentle pat. Chris flinched back, pulling his hands into his lap.
“Thanks, I’m… I, I think I’ll be okay.” He stood up hesitantly, considering if he wanted to simply do a scavenging run or to continue on. He shook his head, chewing the inside of his cheek. He knew he’d feel better if he knew his radio was safe, but the thing was massive and heavy… Then, there was the pile of human ash on the floor waiting for him. He wasn’t sure he could bring himself to clean that up… It would be better to leave. With an exasperated sigh, he turned back toward the apartment he had spent the previous night in.
He gave Grandma Sparkle a parting wave and wandered back toward his temporary home.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Numb, tremulous hands cracked popped the cap off an acrid soda the ancient glowing syrup burbled violently as Christopher sank down at the bar. He wasn't sure how long he had been running. The past few hours came to him in flashes of tremendous crimson. his green eyes had a faraway look to them, unable to process his reality. He flipped open his lighter and sparked up a flame, his bloodied hands continuing to tremble. It was all gone. His home, his family, everything he knew and loved was buried under a mountain of stone.
The cigarette in his hand smouldered dimly as he inhaled; his breathing came in hesitant gasps. His long fingers slid through his blood-stained hair. When his fingers came away with a grey ash, he recoiled back, dropping the cigarette it bounced against the linoleum, showering sparks. Curling clawed the ash from his brunette locks, Struggling to keep his breathing calm. He tore off his coat upending the nuka-cola a glowing puddle spread across the countertop and seeped into the battered fabric. He scoured the dry blood from his hair with his fingernails.
Despite his exhaustion, he didn't dare sleep. not out here, not after what happened. It was going to be a long night. The first of many unbearable evenings.
