Year of the Black Horse.

Artist. Ficwriter. Artisan. patreon.com/klodwig

[klodwig]

email [email protected]

commissions open

[klodwig]

"HE did it out of boredom. HE had the body of a young man sacrificed to HIM and an endless amount of time at HIS disposal. Of course, HE had to spend some of it compressing HIS true size into such a tiny shell, but HE managed it. The body began to move.

Inside the vessel's mind, HE found many interesting things. A name HE claimed as HIS own, and foolish human desires that had never come true. Armitage Hux dreamed of having a family and a house with a white picket fence.

HE did it out of curiosity. Humans had always fascinated HIM—they were persistent enough to keep awakening HIM with their songs and sacrifices. The screams of the sacrifices sounded better than their dubious hymns, but HE did not complain. HE wanted to understand what drove them to do the things they did, but perhaps the only way to grasp it was to wear human skin. So HE did. It took some effort to look like an ordinary human, but HE succeeded. Nothing about HIM betrayed that HE was not human. There was the suit, the job, the hobby... What else did humans do? They formed relationships, right. They liked to reproduce...

Finding someone HE likes is not easy, but HE manages that too. Of course, it's astonishing that among humans there could be someone so remarkable that this body's heart beats faster, but HE cannot help being captivated by those beautiful blue eyes. They shine so brightly.

Rumor has it that the neighbor who loved peeking through other people's windows saw something in someone else's bedroom that drove her insane."

[klodwig]

"Still Life with Shabriri Grapes" oil, primed cardboard, m̶͜͡a̶̢͞d҈̧͝n҉̢͞e̶͢͞s̸̡̛ş̷͝

[klodwig]

Moran, rogue

Some time ago, I had a dream that there was a D&D game coming up, but I didn't have a character sheet, so I literally came up with this guy on the spot.

His name is Moran (Mora). He's from a nomadic desert tribe ruled by an absolute matriarchy. Rogues are usually men because exploring ancient ruins in search of magical artifacts is considered dangerous work.

I also remember that he had a very unusual perception of money. To him, gold only had value when it took the form of jewelry, which led to all sorts of strange situations. (True wealth? Water, of course.)

Considering the geography of Faerûn, I think this tribe lived in Anauroch. Its people intermarried with the surviving Netherese, which could have influenced their customs and way of life.

I think I'll create more characters in a similar vein.

[klodwig]

:P

[klodwig]

wip

[klodwig]

email [email protected]

commissions open

[klodwig]

email [email protected]

commissions open

[klodwig]

[klodwig]

part of something

[klodwig]

[klodwig]

his tails are the only thing he could ever hug in his life before Millicent

[klodwig]

To the "werewolf" request

Not exactly a werewolf, but a half-breed kitsune Hux, who lost control of his tails at a moment of extreme fatigue. He fell asleep, and they appeared. (Kylo took a photo.)

[klodwig]

Path of the Kensei monk

A wanderer who accepts payment not only in cash but also in beautiful trinkets (he's financially strapped).

[klodwig]

In fact, Luo Binghe never stopped being a white flower.

[klodwig]

It was a long, dark, and wet journey. Both Poe and Finn were filthy from head to toe, but Dan, their guide, insisted the map was correct.

"Look, turn right here, turn left here, and we're there," Dan shone his flashlight at the map. "Yeah, yeah, watch your step," Finn grumbled.

"Just imagine the treasures there! They say that guy brought all sorts of things from Egypt two hundred years ago!"

Poe rolled his eyes. But miraculously, after two turns, they actually reached a door. The door looked out of place in these dungeons and was secured with a rather ordinary padlock.

"Strange," Poe blinked. "It feels like someone's been here before us."

Maybe it was because the padlock looked much newer than the door. Or it was just his intuition.

"The main thing is they don't steal our treasure!"

Dan began to batter at the lock. He was doing a poor job, and at one point, he hissed angrily.

"Damn! That damn crowbar tore my arm open. Got a handkerchief or a bandage?"

They tied the wound with Finn's handkerchief, and Poe finished the locks. The door opened. Inside, it was empty, save for a statue. Two thrones—one empty, the other occupied by a woman.

"Oh, she's beautiful!"

[klodwig]

I want to tell you about beavers