#mol

[yudol-skorbi]

a work for a wonderful bg3 zine i did in february

[szachrajka]

[callmesimplyflo]

My piece for the @zevlorzine ❤️

[khorusia]

Since Cats is still my favorite musical and coincided with my first phase of being obsessed with predators, many of my characters are inspired by them.

Priscilla as Cassandra

Mol as Mungojerrie

Ro as Rumpleteazer

Laja as Victoria

Mol and Ro don't have their redesigns yet, but they will get them eventually. Below are links to the other characters.

Laja Priscilla

[daily-dusttale]

Day 386 - 🎵hmm🎵

Dusttale by Ask-Dusttale

surely I won’t get too attached to this fella. Surely not.

…

his nickname is mol :3 got inspired by the dust I made in tomodachi life. I am an accursed being, for I can’t stop making more dusts. I need morrrreeeeee

[saturdaysky]

fun times at the Emerald Grove

featuring Mayhew, my gnome Tav who was a hit with the tiefling kids (perhaps because they don't have to look up to him heheheh)

I learned this run that the kids will SPRINT ACROSS THE GROVE to admire your bird familiar if you summon it there, which was cuter than words could describe

[gribbo]

It's not often, now, that Mol pokes her head up from her hideout underground. Nine-Fingers Keene doesn't go out picking pockets with her lot, or begging in filthy rags outside the flophouse. But the morning's a breezy one, filling the refugees' camp with a summery smell, and it's not every day that Umi—that cheeseface—stammers past Doni with a message just for her.

She keeps whistling, jaunty as a bird, as she squeezes under the jammed stone door west of Auntie's stall. Wouldn’t want it to look like she’s going because the big man told her to.

“Zevlor!” She grins and ducks past Tilses, who’s standing guard for some reason. It’s not like the city’s paying her anymore. “Heard you made Aradin kiss the ring. Or was it the other way round?”

Tilses’ face twists. Easiest mark in camp. “You guttersnipe—”

“Tilly.”

The voice that stops Tilses short still has a calm, commanding ring. Even Mol looks up, brows raised, half-expecting to see the Rider of Elturel. But it’s just Zevlor, hunched over his missives and maps, who’s got the saggy look of a strong man starving.

“You know why you’re here,” he says. He pins her with a flat, burning stare: the sort that had once made soldiers straighten up, strike their breastplates, sir-yessir. “Keep the other children out of your schemes. You’re going to get them killed.”

Mol beams at him. “Not if you do first.”

At least, she thinks in the silence that follows, she’s teaching her kids a few tricks they can use. Not swordplay. Not the doomed fealty of Tilly, whose voice is deadly soft. “Let me tan her hide, sir.”

“No,” says Zevlor. There’s less of command in his voice now than weary entreaty. His hair is rumpled as though, before Mol came in, he’d been dragging his fingers through it. “Sit, Mol.”

Sure. She springs onto his makeshift writing-table.

“I’ve spoken with the Blade.” Zevlor reaches around her for his quill, then frowns and flexes his hand. It’s shaking again. “He’s vowed to help us. He’ll scatter the goblins, and we’ll take to the road when our route is clear.” His mouth twitches in something unconvincingly like a smile. “Tell your hellions. We’ll be at the Gate within a tennight.”

Quick as a magpie, Mol plucks up the quill. He’s got nothing fancier to filch. “Unless the Blade gets gralloched by a gnoll—”

“Mol.”

He’s got the most devilly face Mol’s ever seen. Probably his mum had looked at him and tossed him right on the midden-heap, instead of keeping him round to slap when the milk went off. Probably some ragman took him in and coddled him, and told him rubbish, so that as an old gull he’d still believe in tales. Probably Mattis could sell him one of his magic rings.

“You endangered us all,” he says, “by provoking the druids.” He rubs his forehead as if his horns are hurting him. “Leave them be. I’ll see us out of this.”

"Oh?" Mol, twirling the quill, gives him her nastiest smile. “You swear?”

[steelwingskar-art]

Drawing practice~

That's a lot of horns if you ask me