Guys never get into BG3 modding worst mistake of my life.
Ahem. I had the wonderful idea to try and make my characters appear a bit closer to how I actually see them in my head (and my art). There were limitations as to how far I could go, but I think my efforts paid off. They all certainly look a lot more accurate now.
I have in total made :
-3 heads (+1 Ta'rath's I had already made in the past tweaked slightly)
-4 custom rigs (only 3 applied, Ta'rath Joufos and Oulmat, but I did make Zilkon's, it just was causing issues. I have since figured it out I think but I'm far too lazy to rebundle everything)
-4 face textures edits (1 full face bundle for Oulmat so that was 3 different textures, 1 normal map edit for Zilkon)
-2 eye colors (Oulmat and Ta'rath. Ta'rath's difference might appear very subtle unless very close but now the secondary color is amber and not another shade of pink)
-1 hair color (Oulmat)
-1 skintone (Oulmat)
-1 new piercing set coded (Joufos)
-4 Custom icons for in game head selection (Toolkit was extremely uncooperative)
-VFX head patching (technically it's via a tool, but it did cost me a few braincells)
I think that about covers it?
Side by side comparisons Before VS After I made some of my own assets. More angles included below the cut.
Side Note : Deep gnome enjoyers I understand the frustrations but there are lore reasons why these guys have the hair they do. They're part Rock Gnome. Oulmat got her hair lightened by pact reasons. Joufos is trans and a pink draconic fellow. Zilkon eventually becomes bald in his storyline and has a crisis over it because it affirmed his uniqueness once. I swear, I know.
Oulmat
Joufos
Zilkon
Ta'rath
Objectively, Oulmat was the most work in terms of how many new assets I had to provide/things I had to code, but, Joufos drove me up the fucking wall so he wins the "I love you but fuck you" award. His animations are technically still broken, as he won't fully close his eyes, but honestly that's pussy shit compared to trying to keep his piercings on his face and his mouth closed so idfc. It's subtle enough of a problem. Shoutout to the Down By The River server and Jerinski/Padme4000 for helping me out with his floating piercing issues.
Featuring @unaarista's handsome Onar and my character Joufos.
Not fully rendered art because I wrote way more than I anticipated. No CW necessary, just nearly 2k words worth of men being very cute.
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He had walked, flown weeks for this. Aching feet, sore wings, tired retinas from the surface's light; Joufos was a sweat drenched cold mess, far more than usual at least. He had finally reached Eartheart, yet, stepping into the city walls proved far less of a relief than he had expected. It took minutes until he had to cover his ears, his wings a protective cloak against the loud crowds of jolly citizens and tourists alike, which in turn, attracted unwanted curiosity even more. A pink smelly and scaly bloke from the depths of the Underdark roaming the city of Gold Dwarves; it was Baldur's Gate all over again. His brother had promised him he would not regret it, he had better be right.
Every inn he stubbornly ignored for a break and shower to keep walking towards his goal proved a mistake. Streets blurred and strangers' contradictory directions nearly drove him mad. He had run out of bones to chew on, and there was no way he'd allow himself to further damage his new favorite pipe. He stared at his hands, reminding himself of why he had come here in the first place. As his eyes finally left the ground, a familiar sign among dozens of hundreds he could not read stood out from the seemingly endless alley walls he had already passed at least thrice. As though the built up pain and grumpiness from his travels suddenly left him, he rushed light as a feather to the door of the prized jeweler in a boisterous laugh.
Onar Softgold's reputation preceded him. Zilkon always knew a guy, that knew a lass, who in turn, knew another guy -or another lass-. It had been no exception in recommending his brother the perfect master artisan for his newest fixation : gold rings. Collecting them from dead bodies was a thing, actually being able to wear them was another. He'd only managed to fit the one hugging his right index. Zilkon had arranged mailed correspondence between Master Softgold and Joufos, writing and sending the letters his brother could not.
He was to have his fingers properly assessed by the goldsmith for an expensive order. A gift to himself after a fruitful manhunt he was exceedingly proud of.
The pleasant tinkle of foreign door chimes welcomed Joufos into a cozy boutique, filled to the brim with fancy jewelry of all types displayed in every corner. It was almost disorientingly nauseous of a sight. Tables and shelves tight together spilled gold down to the floor. An awful place to be drunk in he thought, although thankfully, such an observation was currently irrelevant. Undoubtedly, it was passion that animated this place; it was warm, intimate. He had put his trust in the right man.
The nearby counter remained empty. Seemingly, the chimes failed at alerting the owner of his presence. Assessing he was alone, he rested the back of his head against the closed door, breathing in slow and steady as he recovered in the newfound blissful silence.
His ears twitched, picking up on the subtle crackling of hot coals, a hammer, the gentle, repetitive forging rhythm of alloy. Noise that felt like home did long ago. He followed the source into the spacious backroom.
Onar's eyes grew wide once he noticed the figure to his left.
"I-, I-," he kept stuttering, stunned by the draconic presence, nearly dropping his hammer on his foot. "Beronar's grace," he breathed, quiet. "Dear patron, I apologize. My hearing has been quite difficult as of late," he stated with an apologetic bow. Joufos held out his hands, similarly to the way one would with a familiar friend. "You're fine!" he assured him. "May I interest you in returning to-" Joufos shook his head, holding out his index, "Tsk tsk, I'm not here for ready made. C'mon, try and guess who I am!" he challenged.
"I have a feeling I would recognize a gentleman like you anywhere. I'm sorry, is my memory also now giving me trouble with recognizing my clientele?"
"We have talked a bit, through my brother. We've never met, don't sweat it," he extended his hand, "I'm Joufos."
Onar couldn't blink, a wide cheeky smile now overtaking his surprise, his eyes bright. His hands sandwiched Joufos' in a firm handshake. "Oh Mr.Hayhoof, what a pleasure to finally meet you in person! I understand you have had a rough journey, yes?"
He giggled, "Damn, I smell that bad?"
Onar recoiled in anguish, laughing along without the same confidence. He couldn't tell if he had accidentally upset him. He failed to put his finger on what it reminded him of, but he found the scent of the gnome pleasant, familiar yet exotic. What a mistake it would be to infuriate his draconic ego, when he doesn't even agree with such an insulting statement. "Oh, no sir... I meant your general appearance. Your scent is positively ravishing, but you appear quite disheveled," he backtracked.
Ravishing huh? Putrid was usually the first adjective people described Joufos with.
"I've been traveling for far too long, and I was way too fucking excited, you know? I was gonna go fucking nuts! I had to make my first stop here."
"Of course! Of course. I am deeply honored you would prioritize my humble workshop over your comfort."
"The honor is mine," he clumsily attempted to bow, "I am deeply grateful an expert like you would take on my request." He patted one of many leather pouches attached to his carabiners. They were so generously filled one could guess the shape of coins as they clinked together. "Lots of gold, as promised.”
"Please, allow me not to insult your patience any longer. You have waited enough for a proper, professional assessment. Let us further discuss these rings you’ve told me so much about." The gnome nodded in response.
Onar had led him deeper in his workshop, sat him on a stool among machinery, tools and crates. The sun poured in the room from a long slit in the wall behind Joufos, warming up his tired wings. He could not figure whether the jeweler knew his blood was running colder than it should that day. Instinct took over faster than thoughts. He closed his eyes, content. Acid foamed in the corners of his mouth, as his membranes stretched far and freely in the wide room.
Onar had handled many precious gems and metals, it was the passion that kept his heart beating. When he rummaged through drawers and chests for the letters they had exchanged, tools and material samples, he found himself thinking about his last wife. Not the sad, bitter thoughts that haunted him and weighed down his shoulders years ago, no, but her blinding smile. The wives and kids he had in his life, the apple of his eyes, how they shone and glittered like the most precious jewels. How similarly beautiful that unusual man-dragon was, who already behaved like a friend over a stranger. Today, he had truly been blessed with witnessing divine intervention. His pink, iridescent scales shimmered with such grace. They kept drawing his attention. Every few seconds, he looked back behind him, staring as he sunned peacefully. He tried to look away against his core will, failing to concentrate more and more on what had been centuries of routine for him. Onar lightly slapped the professionalism back into his temples, twice, mumbling to put himself back together. After a few minutes, he had finally put together a sizable ornate box and notes, containing all he would need for his customer today. He delicately put them away on the table to Joufos' right.
"Before we proceed, I would like to take a closer look at your hands." Joufos obliged.
The ring already stuck to his index -quite literally, for it was too tight- was adorned with an abolite, a rare gem with a green tinge deeper than emerald. It was usually found in the middledark's abyss, earning it its name. It was one of Onar's favorites to stock. One would think he would point out the ring’s need for a quick adjustment, or the quality of its jewel, only, it was not the ring that caught his eye, but the hand that wore it. While the man was shorter than him, his hands were surprisingly a little bigger, although less sturdy and wide. An unnatural, overcoming warmth flowed through them now that Joufos was finally resting. Thick, sharp claws adorned the tips of his phalanges, leading up to protuberant knuckles. Most importantly, Onar found himself drawn to the lustre of his scales again. They were coarse under his thumb, yet easy to lift. He appreciated the patience with which he let him handle him. He was worried about potential wounds that would be hard to catch, bruises that would swell his fingers. Clearly, this man did not travel with the means to heal himself, thankfully, his hands were fine.
In the meantime, Joufos was staring at the dwarf's anvil behind him. A mesmerizing polish, as reflective as a mirror in places. With eyesight as good as his, you could catch the subtle irregularities left by the master's previous project in his favorite spot he had meticulously grinded down back to level. It had been years he hadn't seen his brother's many anvils in such loved shape. His hands relaxed in the comfort of the dwarf's dry, calloused skin.
Onar audibly swallowed, working up how to build a coherent sentence. His face was so close to his customer's hand, subconsciously pulled closer, closer. Thoughts swirled in his mind, warming his cheeks. His lips trembled, "Would you be willing to indulge a request, unrelated to your order?"
"Uh...Sure?"
Onar cleared his throat. "Mr.Hayhoof, I must confess, I have never held in my palms hands so fascinating; strong yet regal. I feel I need to pay them proper respect." He paused, inhaling yet no longer shaking, "May I kiss them?"
To say Joufos was astonished would be an understatement. Eyes wide, slit pupils near collapsing on themselves, he kept batting his eyelashes as he stared at the strong hands holding his. Words were desperately trying to climb out of his throat, until he finally blurted out, shy; "Of course."
And so, bringing them to his lips, Onar kissed the back of his patron's knuckles.
Joufos' scales raised under his touch. The warmth of the dwarf's lips spread through his fingertips, a shiver coursing up his draconic veins and plates in a melodic maracas like rattle, evocative of a purr. The brush of Onar’s beard tickled him. He could've tangled his fingers in it, played with the intricate golden cuffs he had decorated it with if he so desired. Were his skin not so gray not so teal, the very tips of his impossibly perked up ears would be visibly flush red. No sound could leave his toothy grin other than irregular, quiet breathing. Sweat pearled down his neck. His heart was drumming in his chest, up his neck, loudest in his ears. It was in fact so loud he was convinced his jeweler could hear it. Solitary except for the love of family, he was not used to gallant adoration. He was discovering something far more precious than gold. Their reflection melted in each other's loving gaze.
How far past the canon events that take place in their world have you extended their story, if at all?
And a question from me personally - Is there something you consider to be their signature traits?
Oh Una I swear you're so kind. These are great questions.
Is there any significance behind their height?
Ta'rath
Ta'rath is 6'9/207cm. No, the height wasn't picked for the funny number, I always decide heights in meters first HAHA it just happened.
I've always really enjoyed tall characters that aren't particularly intimidating. I didn't think about Ta'rath's height much at first, until I imagined them towering over Voss by at least a head when meeting him. You'd imagine their height would make them feel secure, but they're awkward as ever. Trembling leaf with quivering lips. As lovely @des-no9 put in the words of Vanquish once; "What a waste of height."
They are like this with nearly everyone. Most people might initially be kind of impressed, but eventually it becomes very obvious to them how much smaller Ta'rath wishes they were, so they get comfortable, and maybe a little mean (or VERY mean).
Their height, to me, is also a symptom of their physical issues. The caved in chest (they have a mild case of pectus excavatum), the hypermobile joints, their raised scars that fade so slowly; it is abnormal. It's about catching all the subtleties, it's a bundle, and the height is included. If they were not Githyanki, aka if their muscles weren't so tight together and far stronger than the base human, if they weren't trained the way they are, they'd be in far more pain. Fighting the way they do would be unthinkable, they'd break their bones and dislocate too often.
Joufos
I've reworked Joufos' height a few times, but currently he's sitting at 3'7/109cm. 'bit tall for a gnome, but any more dramatically smaller would not make sense in my head for him and his family, mostly because of how I imagine them interacting with their environment.
See, he's got the opposite thing from Ta'rath going on. Most people, they kind of look at him and laugh at first, as though he's just like any other gnome; some guy that they can pretend away or easily "dominate", because they base their entire idea of personhood and self worth around height. He is far more imposing the moment you look closer if you are someone with such bias. Maybe you find the bloke a little big with his massive wool vest, maybe sweat drips down your neck when you notice his scales, the many severed fingers attached to just as many carabiners, the bloodied rings on his clawed fingers. He knows how to make himself look menacing, bigger. And then maybe you actually get into a fight, maybe you can try to pretend laugh it away, but he's fucking scary. He once had atrophied wings, but after they finally grew to size, he could suddenly take even more space, and that tends to intimidate many, many people. He's unnerving to be around. You get the feeling he might snap any moment, and though he can smile bright and nice, his fangs are fucking long as fuck man. When he becomes a lich, his presence is only made even more terrifying. He's destroyed entire towns and strongholds, he's not weak. What I'm trying to say is lots of people make the mistake of underestimating him, and they usually regret that very, very fast. Those who can read the room? They know to keep their distance. His short height is just that, short. I like my protagonists short. Loisel, the protagonist of my other story, TCOD, has Achondroplasia (dwarfism) and is very short as a result. I wouldn't have it any other way. The DND community has thus far really disappointed me with how it treats Halflings and Gnomes. If I hear another Gnome throwing joke, I'm gonna say it like Joufos ; "I'm going to fucking kill you." It's just unfunny and dehumanizing when it's all they have to say, very telling of how they treat real people with dwarfism, and fucking frustrating, too. Joufos' height is integral to me. I can't imagine him tall, I'd rather die.
Together
Note : They are far from rigid, but I think this is an important look into their dynamic after they have established their relationship.
See, I think it's very easy to imagine Ta'rath constantly towering over Joufos, or being the more physically imposing one, but genuinely, outside of Ta'rath carrying Joufos from time to time, it's Joufos who is contextually the tallest haha. He's always going to find ways to make himself taller; standing on high surfaces, flying over, hanging from the ceiling. Ta'rath doesn't need to make themself smaller, they just are. Joufos will be the one to kiss their forehead, he'll be the one to brush their hair as they lay their head in his lap, he'll be the one to spoon them and cover them with his wings. Some might call it a ridiculous sight, I say they are fucking adorable and make it work. It's a fire they kindle together.
How far past the canon events that take place in their world have you extended their story, if at all?
If we're being rudimentary, Fist Of The Comet takes place exactly 201 years after BG3, which serves as the anchor point. There are other stories, small plots relevant either to characters' past or future, or maybe their family members' before/after that period of time, but generally I focus on BG3 and FOTC the most. I am trying not to get overwhelmed. One story at a time.
Is there something you consider to be their signature traits?
Ta'rath is an alien. I don't just mean the alien from space, I mean they have so, so much trouble fitting in anywhere. They want to, terribly so, because standing out and having to learn to hide is fucking painful, but that's not what the external world, or the audience sees. They're always going to be weird, awkward, apart, incomprehensible at times even. It's their greatest strength and their greatest flaw. It's what makes them...them. They thrive, somehow. They should've never been born in a society so eugenicist. They should've never survived it. They should've never become Half Illithid, or forgiven their kin, or defeated the Absolute; yet they did. They are their own curse and savior, and I love them for it. Pain is an important symbol around Ta'rath for a good reason; they keep pushing through it, even when they think they can't. Everything is meant to make them suffer, but their weird relationship to suffering itself will always keep them alive until someone cleaves their brain in two. Until then, they'll keep winning against it.
A lot of Joufos' traits are dictated by his draconic heritage, whether you are looking at his personality, his quirks, his appearance. He is dominated by his blood in ways he couldn't ever fathom. It's the very same heritage that greatly influenced how his family suffered, I would say, too. It's not the only constant to him of course, but I think I as the writer have focused a lot on it, even subconsciously, since day one. I've since completely embraced it. His identity revolves around it; his omnipresent acid, his relationship to his wings, his self-righteousness, his impulses, his relationship to his mother and womanhood, his scales that lift and rattle. He bleeds pink not literally, but in spirit. It's everything he is about, and the deeper you look, the more obvious it becomes. He hates being compared to a beast, because he wishes that wasn't the only thing to him, the only thing that was perceived.
Tagged by the very kind @des-no9 a while back 💙 Thank you for indulging me!
CWs are indicated in red when a section focuses on the topic
Zilkon Hayhoof
👕 Appearance
Is there someone your character tries to look similar to?
Aside from working class Deep Gnome women and surface blokes? Not someone in particular, at least not consciously. His parents are thrown off by it, but he accidentally wound up looking a lot like his deceased biological mother Galeen, whom he doesn't know a thing about. He has no idea she exists, or more like, existed. To him, his biological mother is Zmajdraga, and he just came out a little weird. His father Petjas complains about his son's femininity, but if you look at Zilk's other siblings and the way they physically express themselves, it's increasingly obvious that's not what bothers him. Unfortunately that old man has a stick up his arse and would rather not discuss the very traumatic circumstances that surround Zilkon’s birth. If Zilkon had any idea about Galeen, he'd be even sadder when he loses his hair, his pride and joy (and to him, his greatest symbol of femininity, GNC king).
📦 Objects
Is there an item your character is embarrassed they own or want?
See, it’s not just an item, it’s a whole hobby. His entire life, the majority of his family has made him feel like shit for pursuing his interest in firearms. What he likes most isn’t shooting them, but he loves taking them apart and putting them back together, perhaps modifying them in the process. Making them efficient, it’s what gets him going. Restoration of obscure Gnomish models especially is his knack. Most of his siblings and his mother were apathetic to learning about his hobby, it was a passive interest and they were content in their confusion, brushing off his attempts at talking about it in depth. It was disheartening. The ones that made a significant difference though were his sibling Mischkit and his dad Petjas. By a significant difference, I mean they would actively antagonize him for it. To Mischkit, guns are the coward’s way of ranged fighting. Anyone can pull a trigger, and it never prompted Zilkon to get in touch with his body and mind (not like Mischkit’s archery would at least). In her opinion it’s just another way for him to comfort himself in stagnation, refusing to address the real source of his issues (to her, at least). To Petjas it got in the way of farm work, Zilkon’s “duties” as the eldest. He would spend days isolated in his workshop, instead of doing anything "productive". Nevermind that it required lots of specialized knowledge, dexterity and attention, his passion was actively looked down on. His youngest siblings Oulmat and Joufos were a bit more intrigued, but he moved before they could really ask him anything about it, and he was already so embarrassed about it he would basically shoot down the conversation himself, even if they showed genuine interest. He’s never allowed himself to actually own a gun of his own because of what his family instilled in him, at least never for long. He’d always wind up selling it crumbling under anxiety, his subconscious pressuring him in his father’s stead. Even in his Neverwinter workshop, even when you see that glint of excitement in his eyes when you hand him some obscure model he’s never heard of to restore, there’s that shame that eats at him. He doesn’t allow himself “a baby” he knows he would cherish forever, until BG3 that is. Too bad this adventure’s conclusion destroys him, otherwise he would have finally started embracing his special interest.
🍽️ Food and Drink
What is a childhood meal your character cherishes?
CW for child death
It's not exactly something he attaches value to through his own childhood, as he was already 17 back then, but it is a meal he still associates with simple, loving family times nonetheless. His little brother Nousson got very sick. Eventually, he barely had enough strength to chew anymore, so Zilk would make him soup. Blended to the max root vegetables, mushrooms, sometimes filaments and juice from deep rothé meat. Nousson always wanted it spicy, regardless of the fact it hurt him, and Zilkon would always oblige.
He’d eat the same thing as Nousson every meal, to make him feel less alone. He was afraid of his brother feeling separated from his family during dinner time, since it was such an important ritual. Nousson always told him how much he loved that soup, even if it was the fifth time in 20 minutes.
Nousson eventually passed away a few months later at 12, although Zilkon never stopped cooking that soup. In fact right after his death, he kept making it every few days, and a family member would always have to remind him it’s not necessary anymore. It was a bitter reminder for everyone involved. Eventually the whole family would just eat the soup with him anyway, especially when he was the only one still feeling like cooking during the next months that followed Nousson’s death. Although it’s not his remaining siblings’ favorite meal from him (that title goes to his sautéed mushrooms), it’s a comfort food Zilkon always returns to, especially when deep in the throes of depression. He adjusted the recipe as he got older, added potatoes when he could source food from the surface reliably, turned it into more of a stew than a soup, but at the core it remained this spicy kick in the ass on his lips that spelled out love.
🌤️ Weather and Nature
Has your character had a meaningful encounter with an animal?
His good Duergar friend and Neverwinteran colleague and neighbor Firvagh breeds and raises Steeders for a living. Zilkon paid him a good buck for a fuzzy companion that would serve as a back and forth messenger between his Neverwinter business and family home in the Underdark. He needed a spider; an intelligent, trainable one. The equivalent of a cuckoo spider hatched in Firvagh's ranch and nearly decimated the clutch he hatched for his buddy. When he was about to take its life, he found it to be rather smart in evading him. He cooked up a plan to get it out of hiding, and it proved fairly docile from it. It had potential, so he wound up offering it to Zilkon for a reduced price instead of just killing it. After a quick visit, Zilk found himself enamored. He has since gotten really attached to Gruntula. She was satisfied plenty with the attention and copious amounts of food his family could provide. She was a comforting constant in his life, regardless of when she outgrew her messenger position and moved to her lair. Magical in nature, she outlived him by centuries.
🤝 Community and Relationships
How comfortable would your character be singing and dancing in front of others?
Zilkon is not much of a singer, although he hums a lot when working, cooking or cleaning whether by himself, with friends, or family at his side. Anyone else's presence and the sounds just get stuck in his throat. On another note, he is a great dancer. Even if he's a little shy, as long as the ball gets rolling you could throw him in any crowd and he'd be enjoying himself no matter what. He's got a good sense of rhythm, and quite the smooth moves. Unrelated to singing and dancing, but I feel this belongs here, he also plays the zither (I am imagining the Salzburg/concert form). His mother Zmajdraga and her family played the zither, although ones with few strings. Zilkon added a lot, and I mean, a lot to his. A complex, handmade instrument to entertain or soothe his family, and express himself. In BG3 he plays it on his lap near the campfire every now and then during nighttime. Thank you, portability.
💓 Mind, Body and Soul
Are there scents your character dislikes?
He abhors the smell of tobacco- sorry I mean “tabacco”, which is quite a problem when so much of his family dips, and especially, smokes it. Smoke in general he's already not a fan of, but he kind of got used to it from his field and as a result half enjoys it. But that specific burning tobacco smell? It nauseates him. Always did and never stopped. From the moment he was born it got everywhere in his clothes, his food, his sheets, his very organs. He felt himself sink every time he tried to escape it, like the smoke kept following him every time he tried to move away from an active smoker. More than once strangers or colleagues have offered him a cig, a pipe, a kind offer prompted by his smell alone, and it just made him want to die on the moment. It has for sure contributed to him moving away from the family home. He can pretend he's not bothered for a while, but he is sensitive to smells (in general), and he WILL get physically sick. BG3 is rough on him when there's smokers (Karlach and Joufos) and putrefaction around him 24/7. Post BG3 he gets nightmarish flashbacks from the smell of blood alone. This journey was a fucking disaster on his senses.
🎲 Hobbies and Activities
What is a talent your character wishes they had?
The art of respecting his deadlines. No seriously though, he is a perfectionist, for the worst. If you want to order anything from him, you gotta know to set a deadline. Set it to a few weeks, or a month before your actual deadline. That man will obsess over the gun you hand him, and he has a massive amount of projects to work on at once. He’s too passionate, he wants to provide the best services, and he can’t stop at what he’s supposed to do, so he hyperfocuses until he needs a few days break, rinse and repeat. He undersells himself. He is known for his dedication to quality and function, attention to historical details, and pleasant attitude. His spontaneous additions are free of charge, too. You could hand him the rustiest piece of shit with half the parts missing, and he’d smile while doing a fantastic job somehow, just not on time lmao.
If a sibling asks him to sew a new garment for them, he’s gonna get to it right away, lose sleep over it, and even if it was supposed to be simple he’s still not gonna be done by the time he had initially planned because he ended up making it too complicated (that, in fact, happens in BG3). He says he’s gonna cook just a quick meal for everyone. It’s been 4 hours and now there’s so much food some of it will inevitably have to be thrown out. He’s a giver, and he can’t stop. He wishes he could strike a good balance. It sure sounds like a talent to him.
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I have no idea who to tag for this since I'm so damn late, oops. T_T
Colored and rendered some simple sketches I had lying around because I love rendering and needed something to do during those 17 something hours of boredom. (I also did other things, of course).
Attempted making Kravkar on Heroforge (Cursed motherfucker previously posted prose was named after). I've been having a good time drawing, but I've been enjoying challenging myself via Heroforge more. Also it's just a very fun tool to play with. :)
Second attack! @roydkill's deep gnome Igneous (aka Iggy)! I was INSTANTLY enamored with him. I had a lot of characters from people I don't know bookmarked, and he was a PRIORITY. Just look at him cmon. Two versions because I wasn't sure about the hairstyle.
Misc sketch of Joufos admiring his rings. We love gold jewelry freaks in this household.
Scripted a BG/3 project idea that hit me earlier today as I was listening to "FIGHT THE FEELING" by Whitey. It would probably be a rough PMV or animatic, not something of very high quality.
I don't usually share stuff like that but since I can't work on the storyboard rn there's a high chance it won't be made.
Not putting this in any fandom tags jic I do end up making it. 'don't want this partially stolen before that lmao.
It's on the more introspective side. Tap the screenshots to expand. Enjoy.
