First post on here! I'm Lazrael, an illustrator specializing in character-focused fantasy & sci-fi art.
To kick things off, here are all 4 of my completed Corrupted Elemental Faeries from NeoQuest II!
I designed these custom borders inspired by the Neopets Battledome TCG. A major goal of mine is to illustrate officially for the game/Upper Deck, so I'm building out a portfolio tailored exactly to that style.
My Commission Slots are officially open! If you want your own Neopet, OC, or tabletop character drawn up, you can check the link in my bio for my Artistree (pricing & forms) or Ko-Fi.
Happy Friday (I purposely scheduled this for 6:26 on 6/26)! Which of the four elements resonates most with you?
#neopets #neoquest #neopets art #neopets fanart #neopets battledome tcg #tcg art #fantasy illustration #character design #nostalgia #lazrael art
Still thinking about that Void Kass concept leak (Fun fact, my favourite neopet has always been the Eyrie!).
I still remember pulling a General Kass card in a booster pack (from the old Neopets TCG made by WotC). The fact that he was a "Hero" card & his flavour text heavily implying that he wanted to change Darigan Citadel for the better after Lord Darigan was defeated had me really excited for what might happen on site. Semi-spoiler warning for a decades old plot but things didn't quite go the way I was hoping haha.
I don't know what the official word from TNT is but the concept art inspired me to make this!
Here's the initial gesture drawing & cleaned up lines.
(Note: he will not be naked for the final image, haha. This is just the base anatomy before I start drafting his robes & armor!)
For those who have seen the actual concept art & maybe know a little more, do we know if this is what he looks like canonically now or was it just vis dev to nail down how the "Void-Empowered" design elements are meant to look/evolve?
P.S. Commissions are open!
Check my pinned post or bio for my Artistree link.
The Patriarch's face was concealed with shadow, however, after a few lingering moments... his pupils illuminated with a bright, yellow hue. The light from within them pierced the darkness and, though his face could not be seen... it was clear that the man was looking upon the night elf with a measure of disdain.
"Child..." his voice was cold and echoed within the prison, reverberating and repeating for a few seconds. "A child with a scar..."
He leaned down, and eventually went to one knee. He reached out, his fingers pressing to Sarinna's chin as he forced her to look up. Unlike Lazrael, his touch was more firm, more concrete as if denying him his attention would be costly. "You are -all- children. Children fighting for their toys..." Again, his voice echoed beneath the very being of those present... Lazrael himself seemed to cringe away, his eyes focusing upon the wall instead of his father.
The Patriarch's eyes then moved to the marking on her left breast. His eyes lingered upon it. "Obedience...." he said. "Marked...." His free hand then reached out and he wrapped his fingers around her breast and the scar. There was a flash beneath his fingertips and once he removed his hand, the R would be gone, leaving nothing but skin.
For the first time since she had been captured, she trembled in his grasp. Silver eyes glanced at him, narrowing as he became too bright to look at. She gasped when he touched her and felt the warmth around her breast.
Unable to move her head, she couldn’t see what he had done, but she was well aware what was there. “P-please… let me go…” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.
The Patriarch lowered his hand back to his side and rose to his feet. He ignored her words; Instead he moved towards Lazrael. Words were spoken towards his son, harsh and muttered in Thalassian. Lazrael was still, not moving save for the slight lean away as the very presence of his father burned at him. Then the Paladin turned, moving past Sarinna but pausing for a moment. "You are Alliance. You cannot be let go," he said, sounding as if he had judged, tried, and uttered out her sentence. Then he moved out of the cell and walked away, taking with him the burning sensation.
Sarinna closed her eyes, tears falling down her face, as the man spoke to his son. She could only imagine what was going on back home.
Lazrael was still for a long moment. The only realization of his movements could be heard as the sound of a knife being pulled from its sheath was heard. The Deathknight strode towards Sarinna and took a handful of her hair, forcing her eyes to look upward at him. HIs face looked manic, wild and untamed. He had lost his decorum and displayed something that was in line with savagery. It was then that she would feel the cold, steel tip of the unsheathed knife at her back. "Mark her... he says..." Lazrael whispered.
Chills ran throughout her body and she gasped softly, closing her eyes tightly. If he was going to do it, she couldn’t stop it. In her mind, all she could do to keep her sanity was imagine it was Melaeth hurting her. Only then would the pain be bearable.
"Mark her..." he added, the chill of his voice echoing within the chamber. Then he drove the dagger into her enough to pierce the skin and draw blood but not deep enough to puncture an organ. The moment her lips would open he plunged downward, his own mouth clamping to hers as he dragged the blade down her skin, slowly and deliberately.
The mind is a powerful thing, and with her years of enduring pain, Sarinna cringed and whimpered, her body tensing as the pain burned throughout. And all the while she thought of the blonde elf who once sliced her skin and made her bleed. Feeling those lips against hers, she felt the comfort Melaeth gave her as he hurt her, and so she willingly kissed him because the more pain there was, the more he loved her.
He cleared mentally to experience pleasure from this, but the words of his father had left him stained, left him feeling as though there was no joy in an act that he often felt a release in. His teeth bit into her lips as the dagger bit into her skin. He dragged it, creating his grotesque calligraphy. His tongue intertwined with hers, forcing that muscle into her jaws.
A feral growl escaped his throat as he finally released the lip lock and focused on his writing. “You butchered her. You brought her back from the dead.” He whispered, the hatred clear in his voice as he twisted the blade.
She tightened her eyes when he bit into her and held back her cries. When he released her, she continued to hold back until she heard him speak. It was Melaeth’s voice. It was then that she cried out, releasing the pain she was feeling and hoping he would simply kill her. His whispers, while he carved, made no sense to her at all. However, she swore not to say a word, crying loudly and screaming when it was too much to bear.
"Called her the doll... she is an -abomination" he hissed as the blade continued to drag its icy touch down Sarinna's back. A few carvings later and he pulled the blade out, his eyes darting across the message that was scrawled harshly into her skin.
"You'll send a message. A disappointing one... but you'll send it. Then you'll go back broken. But that doesn't matter does it... so long as -he- is pleased, yes?”
The pain was too much and she did pass out several times, only to regain consciousness and feel more pain. When he stopped, she gasps for breath and “...that... is the ...only thing... that matters.”She could feel the blood running down her light blue skin, like little serpents writhing toward the floor. Her violet hair fell over her face as she hung her head.
Lazrael laughed. "See THAT is admirable.." he said, pointing towards her as if he was speaking to some other presence in the room. "Admirable in such dedication such dominance..." he licked his lips and then chuckled again. He leaned down and lifted her head, his eyes wandering over her skull as he muttered half to himself.
"I wonder if you'd be a suitable replacement for her….” She closed her eyes and refused to see him as he lifted her head. She had no idea what he was saying or what he meant. "Ah yes.. you don't know..." He leaned forward and pressed his head to hers. "Your King's ‘Doll’ was once -my- doll. She was a creature of beauty, do you recall? Undead, rotted yet beautiful all the same." He dropped his voice to a whisper, "She spoke of your King... Told me of his secrets.. told me that she was using him... Told me that he was but a toy. Then she became obsessed, she became drunk with his words, his promises... I was... disappointed. Not out of her departure at my side but the fact that she, a creature of the damned, would be subservient to the living." He turned his head and spat upon the ground. "I want you to remember that. Remember that when you lay your dedicated eyes upon him. Remember that his life isn't in danger from us, but from all of you.”
Sarinna’s eyes opened slowly and she looked ahead at nothing until she saw him. It was then that she hated Mora so much. She had grown to like her because the King was happy, but to think that she was using, hurting the King. To think that he was her victim.
The night elf sprung up in the chains, as much as she could, rage rushing through her veins. She wanted to go and shoot Mora. She wanted this new Mora dead. No one hurt her King.
As if he could sense that hate, Lazrael smiled. That warm, manic grin that seemed almost clown-like the way his lips spread across his cheeks. "Your Kingdom will crumble,” he said, underlining his previous points, "but not from the outside..." He leaned forward and whispered into her ear, "from within."
He then pulled back and rose to his feet. Without another word, he turned on his heel and left the cell, slamming the door behind him and latching it. It would be an hour or two before the door opened and two women emerged. Wordlessly they addressed Sarinna's wounds, wiping away the blood but making sure not to stitch anything. The message had to remain.
Sarinna remained silent. Any tears that betrayed the hard shell of hers were silent as well. When the women entered, she didn’t care if they spoke or not. She didn’t care for them.
They wouldn't respond to Sarinna, no matter what move she made. Instead, they carried out their work and departed, though the door was left open. A few moments later, Allasticus emerged, dragging a chair behind him. He pulled the chair up to Sarinna and took a seat in front of her. He leaned forward, gripped her jaw and forced her to look at him.
"Tell me of him" he said, his voice dark and callous. When Allasticus walked in and grabbed her jaw that she glared at him. She continued to remain silent, simply staring into his eyes. Allasticus stared at her and silence lingered in the room for what seemed like years. He then tilted his head and held his grip upon her. “Tell me of him and your days here will be shorter and you’ll be free to get back to him.”
Once more, she said nothing. There was nothing, in her mind, that could make her talk, that would make her betray her King. Every breath she took was for him and only for him. And while she was tempted by the idea of going home sooner, she knew he was lying. They always lied. Especially his kind.
And he said nothing as well, and once again the room fell in silence save for the dripping sound of condensation leaking from the ceiling. However, he held her face firm, ensuring that her eyes remained upon him. Despite her silent protest, his only restriction was movement of her head. He remained silent and patient.
As much as he held her in place, Sarinna did not speak. Her breathing was a tell-tale that she was getting tired, but she didn’t let it show. She wasn’t going to say a word. That much she knew, and she was adamant about it.
Warfare, patience, staring out into the battlefield waiting for the enemies movements, Allasticus had spent hours if not days waiting for such things. This was no different. He kept his grip on her. "Tell me about him" he repeated in intervals, loud enough that his voice echoed off the stone walls. "Tell me about him" it would be the only words that would be spoken, the only thing she would hear. Perhaps the last thing she would hear.
She cringed as he got louder but she glared at him. “No.” She finally said, but that was all she said. “No.”
“No” he echoed, meeting her glare with a stilled gaze. “And why not?” He asked, a small smirk forming on the corner of his lips.
Nothing changed. She kept her glare, her stare, and herself steady. “No.”
Allasticus nodded slightly and released her jaw. "Very well then. I gave you the option; you sealed your own fate..." He then stepped to one side, revealing Lazrael to be standing at the cell door. "She's yours,” Allasticus said, stepping around his brother and removing himself from the scene. Lazrael's eyes glinted in the darkness, the lich-fire pluming beneath his pupils as he bore his gaze into Sarinna.
Sarinna looked down, resting her head for a moment when she heard him speaking to someone else. Her silver eyes shot up and she tensed for a moment. She was starting to be slightly afraid now.
(co-written with @allasticus / @lazraelbandtherion )
The motion of the single scrap drew Khaeris’s eye downward with its erratic movements. The paper fluttered innocently, even as the rest of the mail flopped lazily onto the wagon’s floorboards. The alchemist ignored the rest of the mail, letting her dark fingers pluck up the paper only when it had come to rest quietly of its own accord.
There was no telling how long the note had been lodged in the mail slot. Had it arrived today? Yesterday? A week ago? A month? She had the impression it had been dislodged from a long stay unnoticed.
I have the Animal... though you would endure her as Paijwen... she is no more... come and save her. I implore you.
There was no envelop, but the few Thalassian words that took her breath and quickened her pulse.
There was no name, but Khaeris knew who’d sent it. She’d had numerous stretches of grumbled conversation with Helal about the man. And about Aeni. And about Paijwen. She had even seen him once, at the clinic’s open house. That night, she had only kept herself from doing something rash by walking away. She couldn’t walk away from Paijwen again. She already felt cowardly enough simply reading the note and knowing it might have gone ignored for weeks now.
There was no overt threat, but Khaeris knew the trap for what it was. Still? What else was there to do?
Khaeris found herself free. Earlier she had wrapped up the first round of medications for Ms. Duskwrath and her condition. Andaeros was at work. Helal… … Her teeth grit a little, thinking of him and she pushed thoughts of the wounds she’d healed just this morning to the side.
Andaeros. Her heart felt heavy, thinking of his expression. Worried, a little frayed around the laugh lines at his eyes. But supportive. Always supportive. Never angry. He never questioned her too hard, even… Always supportive even when he didn’t like it.
He wouldn’t like it. Khaeris considered not telling him. He knew she kept things from him. It weighed on him. It brought down the smile. Still, he never pressed. It would be the easiest. But it would be the dumbest thing to do. He was her best protector. When the rest of the world wouldn’t notice her absence, Andaeros had promised to rip time and space to find her. To protect her.
So there was a new note left for Andaeros on his desk just before she slipped out the city gates and on to the Bandtherion estates.
Andy,
I’ve gone to see someone about Paijwen. If I’m not home tonight, please come and look for me at the Bandtherion estates in Eversong. I’ve been led to believe Lazrael Bandtherion knows something about where Paijwen has been.
I love you.
~K
Lazrael had some questions to answer.
And maybe... Maybe she could bring Paij back. Aeni had been saved, hadn’t she? Couldn’t Paijwen, too?
The Deathknight paced the foot of the bed, eyes trained on the slumbering form that lay rigid on top of it. He moved to the side, leaning over the Warrior and pressing his palm against the man’s cheek.
“My poor, poor brother…so weak…so fragile. A man of strength, of unbridled rage…brought down so pathetically..”
He pat the side of Allasticus’ cheek several times before rising to his full height.
“Your life has had its entertainment…stepping into your shoes and seeing what you see was quite…amusing. Your Malice lingers in the depths of insanity. I believe I enjoyed her most of all. Such devotion to suffering and pain…I had thought the old ways were gone and lost.”
He gave a faint sigh and shook his head.
“Your little Evie is quite a thing. Adorable and meek. So trusting and blind that I could done more then just infused an item of plague upon her…”
The Deathknight paused, glancing up at the rose that lay on the night table next to the bed and smirked.
“But, I cannot deny her loyalty. Her devotion. She could be used, molded…yet you discard her for that…Highlord to twist her as he would. A pity.”
He moved back to the foot of the bed and rounded to the other side, his eyes never leaving his brothers form.
“And then there is your beloved Dagger. Only one came to see you. Came to care for you…such devotion for an asset. Such kindness and care I saw when your wild Fen was tamed at the sight of you. He fed you, read to you, did so much…for nothing. All this…while the one who was supposed to be in his place, was nowhere to be seen…"
The Deathknight’s voice trailed off as if he wanted the last few words to be remembered.
“Your puppet is still quite loyal. I admire her for that. Such dedication without question is often bought or bribed…yet this one does so for another purpose. This Hearstrike will serve you well in the coming months…a pity I shall miss how you will forge her.”
His tongue clicked as his hand returned to the side of his brother’s cheek, the touch almost affectionate as he stroked a set of frigid digits along the Warrior’s rigid jaw-line.
“Your Spider. She is your weakness. I do hope you remember that…I do hope you remember who you are. –What- you are…what you claim to be. A warrior. A soldier. A brother.”
His palm pressed against All’s face as he continued to speak, dropping to a whisper.
“Now wake up little brother. Wake up stronger. Wake up wiser. Wake up smarter. Wake up and let this world bask once more in your wretched existence. Let those around you wilt in your presence and the let them laugh when they realize your weakness.”
A chill ran through his fingers, shooting deftly into his brother’s cerebellum creating a subtle yet precise shock.
Its been so long since these pages have been written in. This book fells old and alien to me now, like I just picked it up on the street or something. Reading the entries of a man so lost in love, not knowing who he truly was or would become.
Perhaps I should have just stayed in this city all those years ago, maybe I would have been better off dying with my friends then living like I am now, dark and full of terrible thoughts.
What would they think of me now?
I use to think I had friends, but the more I look on it, the more I see how much it wasn't that. Fen and I have been working together since I came back to this city all those months ago, but we never got to a friendly level mainly due to his higher standings and unwillingness to open up. After he decided to stitch up my mouth, I realized he was no true friend. What kind of a friend would do that?
I talked with Lazrael the other night, the brother of Allasticus. He showed me how even now, I am nothing but a officer in the group. My whole time being part of the Black Tabard I never became more than the diplomat, which is ironic as well as unnecessary for a murder guild. When I moved to The Bleeding Dagger? The silly scholar yet again.
I have come to realize how much different I am from them, they are all scared and closed up. They take their pain out on other for their own enjoyment.
But that isn't me
Responsibility to the responsible. I am trying to distance myself from them, trying to be my own person. I hate always being know just because I work with Fen or Klocia. Maybe that's why I talked to Nikkitah those few weeks ago. The only reason he tried to kill me was because I was working with Fen. But what if I was myself? What if I had no ties to the others in the Row?
Its too much to dwell on. All I know is that my reputation has been tainted. Now goes the daunting task of trying to clear it enough to be open.
I hate writing in you, oh dear journal of mine. Yet, I’ve found myself with an non-developing task where I cannot leave. My mind is racing with thoughts. Writing usually helps put some order to these thoughts. So here we go, once more.
Alla’s home is surprisingly of a simple nature that, to some degree, mirrors my own apartment here at the Row. Wooden floorboards, several bookshelves, reading area next to a fireplace. Could it be that we’ve more in common than at first glance?
But this place isn’t lived by just Alla. No, his brother lives here too. Which, would be fine, if not for that small issue with him being a Death Knight. I didn’t sleep any last night for fears he’d have one of those random strikes of the Hunger and decide I’d be a prime target. Luckily enough, he hasn’t returned to Alla’s room.
So here I am, sitting here in this chair, next to Alla’s sleeping form, watching over the poor fool. I call him a fool for how he had gotten himself into his current vegetative state. I’m not sure how much I can believe from blue eyes, but per him, it was because he worked himself over something Klo was about to do. Not sure what it was she was doing, but there were enough hints dropped that I’ll be curious enough to ask of it from her later.
It is strange to see Alla like this. All tucked in bed with more care than I had imagined possible from a Death Knight. What worries me more however, is the lack of brightness from his still opened Fel tainted eyes, his slow breathing, and also, the complexion of his skin - which is pale. He looks malnourished, a husk of his former self. I had already dripped some warm broth into him, hopefully that will help.
I’m unsure how much longer he’ll be like this. Laz had said that it would be best for him to wake on his own. So I will wait. Feed him broth like a mother would to a sick child. Me and Alla, we’re friends, right? That’s what friends to for each other. I think. I haven’t had much of friends over this past year, not the lasting kinds. Ten is loyal and I do consider him a friend, but his lack of conversational skills often leave something to be desired. He works hard to maintain his dark and mysterious role.
Klo is ‘friendly,’ and we have had our moments of openness in the past. However, under the burden of leadership, she has changed. I constantly see her slipping from her old childish demeanor to a more cut throat business one. I’m not sure if I like that side of her. Near heartless. Pure calculation. And then there’s that hint Laz had dropped, about the things she has done. Alla on a string?
Alla, could what your brother said be true? Could you have fallen so low to actually believe in a thing such as ‘love’? I will find out more of that if… when he wakes. And if it be true, set him straight on that matter. Best to have him face the cold and hard truth.
Does that make me heartless?
Kali seems to have moved closer to becoming a real friend. She shared something with me, something of her past that I found quite troubling. I tried to comfort her the best I could, but as she laid her head on my lap with my fingers combing through her hair, thoughts of my sister came to me. How many times have I held her, my twin, in a tight embrace after she had faced some heartbreak?
I took Kali to see her, or the grave site rather. I had not been there to see her since *next few lines were marked out to the point of it being illegible*
She did something I had not expected from her. She had created an eternal flame to help mark the grave. It nearly brought me to tears, but I think I was able to hide that from Kali well enough. It would not do to see tears fall from my eyes. Crying is for the weak.
Kali thinks she is weak and a coward for what had happened to her. She isn’t. If she were, she’d have drunken herself to sleep since then and eventually dropped a noose around her neck just like *scratched out word* did. I’m not sure how else to tell her, but perhaps with time more words will come to me.
If anyone were a coward, it would be me. Wish I were better with words. Wish I could truly explain my actions, why do the things that I do. If I had the talent, I’d tell her Fisali the truth. Fisali, the woman who I have not seen in weeks, not since he had returned. Likely, I will not see her again. Perhaps that is best? It’d help keep him off my back. I’m unsure as to what to do there. I’m at a loss.
Which is why I so often try to focus on my work. I’ve received word of a job that needs to be done, the sooner the better. Trouble is, finding the right kinds of people to do it. I am not interested in sleeping around like so many others seem to be. Where are all the real people? Ones who believe in doing something greater than themselves, something that will actually make an impact outside the Row, outside our city?
Perhaps I should venture out the Row more, to search for people like that. For if I do not find any, they will win. Then it will all be lost. Surely, that blue robed man had picked wrong when he picked me.
