#seven-ear

[ranminfan]

A comission for @weirdlet of their orc OC Seven-Ear.

I'm really proud of this one, his design was so cool and interesting to work with. My favorite part was working on his face, idk why but I liked how it turned out.

Pleasant working with them, and thank you for commissioning me, it helps me a lot!

.......

Like my art? Consider supporting me!

Help an Artist • Commissions

[weirdlet]

The deeper they delve into the Smoking City, the more nervous and agitated the orcs become. There’s lots of drumming and chant-led meditation in the evenings, to keep their heads together and soothe their souls- if they could be said to have such, according to others in the party. They’re facing their greatest nightmares in coming here- going back to the beginning, in the very same walls and the very same dungeons in which their kind were born.

One of them will trace the lines of claws dug into the stone, a thousand years dry, and shudder. Another might catch sight of- something, nothing, it matters not when their eyes look into the past- and fall down shaking and frothing, for his fellows to grab hold of and take away from there.

One might rock, another might hum. Their chief, Seven-Ear, does not sleep- as if he stays awake with the little daughter he has left behind, unwilling to risk her sight to the horrors caught in the stones here. She had spoken in halting, soft Imperial, of a most ancient and wearied accent, of fire and stone become sky, disaster sieved through the nightmares of a four-year-old.

The eye that was marked between her brows had not wept, but she had, and the orc-king had comforted her.

[weirdlet]

Seven-Ear, bonding with his warg- leaning up against her flank as she rests, scratching her sides and brushing out wads of matted undercoat.  She’s a huge, bitter thing, at first too thin from too long in the pit they had briefly shared.  Stripes brindle her fur, and that is a mark Seven-Ear will someday share with her, as he chooses his own markings, the claims over his own flesh that many orcs see fit to make. 

Her broad head and jaws hang from a heavy hump of shoulder muscle, meant to break bones between her teeth- a throwback, the picture of an ancient creatures that one of the Empire’s noble houses had sought to replicate for their banner-beasts.  All long gone, loosed in the same calamity that had created the Smoking City- though, as with the orcs themselves, there had been many a break-away beforehand, the slow leak of captives freeing themselves and taking their chances in the wild.