Sep 6, 2024
Realizing I've never posted my drawings of my one and only Dnd boy! This is Siddal, just a regular human man. He doesn't know many words but he won't let that hold him back. :) He's just here to make friends.
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seen from United States
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seen from China
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seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from Türkiye
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seen from United States
seen from Greece
seen from United States
Realizing I've never posted my drawings of my one and only Dnd boy! This is Siddal, just a regular human man. He doesn't know many words but he won't let that hold him back. :) He's just here to make friends.
Some more of Siddal, my DnD bard of whispers... just a regular human man. The saw is duel purpose (literally)
Victoria Guerra dans "Le Pire Homme de Londres" biopic de Rodrigo Areias - sur la vie du marchand d'art Charles Augustus Howell (1840–1890) et des artistes préraphaélites autour de lui comme Dante Gabriel Rossetti et ses frères (1828-1882), Elizabeth Siddal (1829–1862) ou encore John Ruskin (1819–1900) - décembre 2024.
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The saw is duel purpose (literally) Some more of Siddal, my DnD bard of whispers... just a regular human man.
Little drawing of my first ever dnd game's first ever session... featuring the most awkward group of adventurers who ever tried to small-tallk around a campfire. (pen and ink and stuff! You know, the usual) (feat. characters by @fangtast and @grapplemace and @seaslugbananabread and @horrorobsessor !!!!)
Just started playin a DnD game with some friends, and as my character is a creeeeeepy creepy Bard of Whispers, I decided to write him a creepy, whispery song - in honour of our session zero. Omens Poem by Madison Julius Cawein Sad o'er the hills the poppy sunset died. Slow as a fungus breaking through the crusts Of forest leaves, the waning half-moon thrusts, Through gray-brown clouds, one milky silver side; In her vague light the dogwoods, vale-descried, Seem nervous torches flourished by the gusts; The apple-orchards seem the restless dusts Of wind-thinned mists upon the hills they hide. It is a night of omens whom late May Meets, like a wraith, among her train of hours; An apparition, with appealing eye And hesitant foot, that walks a willowed way, And, speaking through the fading moon and flowers, Bids her prepare her gentle soul to die. - Lyrics are not by me, but everything else is >;)
