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two princesses

#not soz #it me #final fantasy 12 #FF12 #art #drawing #mangastudio5 #clip studio paint #mixed media #ashelia b'nargin dalmasca #ashe #princess #fantasy #fanart #squeenix #square enix #akihiko yoshida

tamani & laurel

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lucky plant

#Inkworldbuild SHANTY TOWN: ELYON Eventually, she managed to lose them. She had avoided attention by moving in the darkness, but the fact that those magical boots of hers allowed her to jump from roof to roof was the greatest aid. She stopped for a breather at Fish Legs, a rough looking tavern, nestled in a cobbled street by the bay. Surely it would be filled with thieves and rogues – her kin. She was no stranger to the realm of the backstreets. Elyon had always been her home, after all. “Somethin’ light, if you please,” she said, swinging herself onto a stool, purposely shoving a drunk woman off her chair beside her. The bartender turned around with a leer, and poured her a jug of cider, a grotty towel draped over his shoulder. “Haven’ I seen you a’fore?” he said in his thick accent, his eyebrows raised. Ascha glanced at the poster of her on a corkboard pinned with bounties, some held in place by knives. In a place like this, it was a pin board of celebrities. WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE FOR PIRACY – ASCHA SWIFT. She grinned and took out a gold ring she had stolen from the prince’s chamber, sliding it across the bench. “I was never here,” she enunciated slowly, licking her chapped lips.

The bartender examined the ring closely, the reflected light casting patterns on his weathered face. “Aye,” he winked, “You were never here.”

#inktober2019 #inktober #art #drawing #ballpointpen #original #pirate #OC #originalcharacter #nausica #aschaswift

Ascha licked the bitter smoke off her lips, relishing the taste of yet another heist. The spicy fumes from her small bomb filled her lungs as she kicked down a few more bricks in the wall. Gods above, they’d have a hard time fixing that one. She smirked, catlike, as she slid through into the unoccupied parlour.

Gently prying a map strapped below her bodice, she skimmed her eyes over the tiny ink details; take a left and turn down the corridor. The palace was filled with senseless guards, drunk from their shift break; even sober, they had never been difficult to take down. Why should tonight be any more different?

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Trouble leaps aboard the rich man's brigantine, outruns the fastest horse, the nimblest deer, is swifter than Eurus, the bad-weather wind responsible for storms. We should be happy in the here and now and unconcerned with what the future holds; we should blunt the edge of sorrow with a smile. There is no perfect joy.