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[kepochaika]

Hi!

I love drawing in "photoshop" and "illustration".

And Terry Pratchett's books.

And "Doctor who". And rock music. And musicals.

This blog is mostly about my art on these topics.

UPD:

❗ I don't use "artificial intelligence" in my drawings.

Sketches and WIP are usually published on Telegram: KepochaikaArt

Welcome)

[kepochaika]

"The beast screamed inside Vimes. It screamed that no one would blame him for doing the hangman out of ten dollars and a free breakfast. Yeah, and you could say a swift stab now was the merciful solution, because every hangman knew you could go the easy way or the hard way and there wasn't one in the country that'd let something like Carcer go the easy way. The gods knew the man deserved it…

…but young Sam was watching him, across thirty years.

When we break down, it all breaks down. That's just how it works. You can bend it, and if you make it hot enough you can bend it in a circle, but you can't break it. When you break it, it all breaks down until there's nothing unbroken. It starts here and now.

He lowered the sword."

(C) Terry Pratchett "Night Watch"

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

🥹❤ (from discworld.com insta <3)

[kepochaika]

✨

[kepochaika]

"Then it rained cake."

© Terry Pratcett "Jingo"

[therantygeek]

GNU SIR TERRY PRATCHETT

Sir Terence David John Pratchett, OBE (28 April 1948 – 12 March 2015)

Signal this to all towers, not logged.

‘He’d never have wanted to go home. He was a real linesman. His name is in the code, in the wind in the rigging and the shutters. Haven’t you ever heard the saying “A man’s not dead while his name is still spoken”?- Going Postal

[kepochaika]

"‘I can think of another good reason why you might help me. It’s a little complicated, so I can only tell you if you promise to sit still and not make any sudden movements.’

‘Why, do you believe I will?’

‘Yes. I think that in a few seconds you’ll try to kill me. I’d like you to promise not to.’"

...

"‘I did promise, did I?’ she said.

‘Yes. Sorry.’

‘Did I have my fingers crossed?’

‘No. I was watching.’"

(c) Terry Pratcett "Going Postal"

[kepochaika]

"...Children are our hope for the future.'

THERE IS NO HOPE FOR THE FUTURE, said Death.

'What does it contain, then?'

ME.

'Besides you I mean!'

Death gave him a puzzled look. I'M SORRY?

The storm reached its howling peak overhead. A seagull went past backwards.

'I meant,' said Ipslore, bitterly, 'what is there in this world that makes living worth while?'

Death thought about it.

CATS, he said eventually, CATS ARE NICE."

(c) Terry Pratcett "Sourcery"

[kepochaika]

"The year before, astronomers across the Discworld had been puzzled to see the stars wheel gently across the sky as the world-turtle executed a roll. The thickness of the world never allowed them to see why, but Great A'Tuin's ancient head had snaked out and down and had snapped right out of the sky the speeding asteroid that would, had it hit, have meant that no one would have needed to buy a diary ever again."

(С) "Thief of Time"

[dimity-lawn]

Happy 42nd birthday to The Colour of Magic and to Discworld!!!

[kepochaika]

Characters from the cartoon "A Kitten Named Bow-Wow".

[kepochaika]

[kepochaika]

[zakalwe-the-ninth]

A bit of a WIP

Sharing a bit more of the Moist & Vimes roadtrip WIP, since I've actually made some progress with it and it may actually see the light of day, eventually.

Beneath the cut for length, there's nothing nsfw about it.

Fifteen minutes later Moist was standing before Lord Vetinari. The patrician was seated in his usual spot, and Vimes was lurking over by the window and looking out at the city. Moist raised an eyebrow.

“Evening, sir. Commander.”

Vimes ignored him, and Vetinari tapped a finger carefully on his desk.

“You are a challenging man to locate, Mister Lipwig.”

Moist glanced between the two men. “It’s my day off. A man’s got to slip the leash occasionally. Hasn’t he, Commander…?”

Vimes finally turned, then leaned back against the frame of the large window and looked at him with an almost complete lack of amusement. This cheered Moist up considerably.

“A fascinating idea,” Vetinari mused. “And if that day off just happens to involve a series of increasingly risky ventures in order to evade every messenger I send to find you, well then I suppose that is simply an unfortunate coincidence?”

Moist permitted himself a small grin. “Of course, sir. You know how I enjoy our little chats.” He heard Vimes snort.

“Indeed. However, I would like you to remember this brief conversational sojourn, shortly, because I anticipate it will answer one of your first complaints.”

Moist frowned and glanced at Vimes, who shrugged.

“Alright. What’s going on, then?” he asked them.

Vetinari tapped the finger on his desk again, and sighed. “Where is your wife, Mister Lipwig?”

Moist frowned. “Adora Belle? Uberwald. She went up on the last train. There was some business with the clacks she needed to attend to.”

Vetinari and Vimes exchanged a glance, and Moist felt unease creep over him. “Why?” he asked.

Vetinari ignored the question. “And when did you last have any contact with her?”

Moist deepened his frown. “Three days ago, just after she arrived. What’s going on here?” He watched another wordless conversation happen and snapped, “Stop with all the meaningful looks, will you, and tell me why you’re asking. Sir.”

Vetinari raised an eyebrow carefully and pushed a piece of paper across the desk. “We received this message this morning, from one of my contacts in Uberwald.”

Moist grabbed the paper and skimmed it. 

…information that one Adora Belle Dearheart…arrested and held for trial…theft of property to value of 12,000 crowns…

Moist did a quick calculation, and blanched. “Eight thousand dollars? What the hell?” 

Vetinari steepled his fingers and peered at Moist over them. “Read further, Mister Lipwig.”

Moist did, and then sat down heavily as the strength dropped out of his legs. “She stole a damned golem?” he said, faintly.

“Allegedly so. Of course -”

Moist was dimly aware that Vetinari was saying something else, but now his attention was being held quite determinedly by the final line of the letter.

…given the scale of the crime, you should be aware, Havelock, that the young lady in question is facing possible execution.

“Wait. What? They’re going to execute my wife?!” Moist jumped back up out of the chair and turned between the two men. “And you’re just telling me this now?! For gods sake, I need to -”

“You need to sit down, Mister Lipwig, and allow us to finish.” Vetinari’s voice cut through the terrified fog that had suffused Moist’s brain and bypassed all the normal channels to go straight to his knees, which folded him obediently back into the chair. “And I will remind you of that sojourn I mentioned. We have, in fact, been attempting to speak to you since midday.”

Moist ignored the last part, because he suspected his guilt would make him feel far worse about it than Vetinari ever could. Instead he said, “Sir, this is Uberwald we’re talking about. They don’t muck about up there! She might already be -” He stopped, feeling his head spin; he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gods.”

Vimes finally spoke. “She’s alive,” he said, dryly. “For now, at least.”

Moist turned to stare at him and narrowed his eyes. “You sound bloody confident of that, Commander. How can you be sure?”

“We have been in contact with our embassy in Uberwald,” Vetinari interjected. “They have reached out to the local baron who made the allegations and he has confirmed he has her under arrest presently. He has given us his word that she will not be harmed until after the trial.”

“And when is that, exactly?”

Vetinari looked back at Vimes, who didn’t seem particularly happy as he answered. “It might not get that far. Last week we arrested one of your countrymen on an embezzlement charge. It turned out he had an outstanding warrant back home.” He scowled. “The baron wants to make a prisoner exchange.”

Moist felt a wave of relief crash over him, and then stopped it before it could sweep away the terror completely. “Tell me you said yes, Vimes…?!”

Vimes narrowed his eyes. “Against my better judgement, yes. We did.”

Moist blinked. “What? Why would you object to it? You like Spike. You always said you liked her better than me.”

The commander grunted. “I like almost everyone better than you, Mister Lipwig. But it seems a bit damned convenient to me.”

Moist looked at him blankly, then turned back to Vetinari. “What is he on about, exactly?”

Vetinari sat back and smiled faintly. “The commander believes this may be some kind of plot, or, more accurately, some kind of trap. He is suspicious of the timing; we arrest a citizen of your home country, and a short while later your wife happens to be caught in a crime of her own? I will concede that I share his concerns.”

“To what end, though?”

“I have no idea. I was hoping you would have some thoughts on the matter.”

“Me? You’re the man with the spy network.” Moist saw Vetinari’s expression and added, “Sorry, alleged spy network. But why would I know anything about this?”

Vetinari narrowed his eyes. “Because your wife was arrested in Lipwig. Mister Lipwig.”

Moist felt his skin prickle. 

Bloody hell, Spike. What have you been doing? 

“Oh,” he said. He could feel the eyes of the two men boring into him, and that ever-familiar urge to run started to insinuate itself into his limbs. Sitting still became impossible, and so he stood and paced the distance between the chair and the window while he thought, pushing a hand up into his hair as he crossed the parquet. 

Lipwig. She hadn’t mentioned anything about going to his home town, had she? No; he would have remembered that. Even at his most distracted, Moist’s sense of self preservation was so well developed it could pick out a muttered reference to his past through three feet of concrete.

The eyes of the other men followed him as he moved, leaving him feeling like a skittering vole under the watchful gaze of two patient hawks. Disliking the sensation, he forced himself to stop the pacing and came to a standstill behind his chair, his knuckles white as his hands gripped the backrest.

“She told me she was going to Bonk.”

He watched another silent exchange, and felt his insides twist at the faint look of pity on Vimes’ face.

[kepochaika]

Yes, I create pictures in "AI".

But for me, "AI" is "Adobe Illustrator".

I don't use "Artificial intelligence" for drawing.

[kepochaika]

"That pea-brained idiot at the Post Office..." © Vimes ("Thud" Terry Pratchett)

[kepochaika]

"She caught sight of the mirror over the mantelpiece and looked down at the crown. It was tempting. It was practically begging her to try it for size. Well, and why not? She made sure that the others weren't around and then, in one movement, whipped off her hat and placed the crown on her head.

It seemed to fit. Granny drew herself up proudly, and waved a hand imperiously in the general direction of the hearth.

'Jolly well do this,' she said. She beckoned arrogantly at the grandfather clock. 'Chop his head off, what ho,' she commanded. She smiled grimly.

And froze as she heard the screams, and the thunder of horses, and the deadly whisper of arrows and the damp, solid sound of spears in flesh. Charge after charge echoed across her skull. Sword met shield, or sword, or bone -relentlessly. Years streamed across her mind in the space of a second. There were times when she lay among the dead, or hanging from the branch of a tree; but always there were hands that would pick her up again, and place her on a velvet cushion ...

Granny very carefully lifted the crown off her head – it was an effort, it didn't like it much – and laid it on the table.

'So that's being a king for you, is it?' she said softly. 'I wonder why they all want the job?'

© "Wyrd Sisters" Terry Pratchett.