Casa Galimberti, Milano, Italia.
noise dept.
No title available

★

Kiana Khansmith
Jules of Nature
todays bird
Claire Keane
Misplaced Lens Cap
occasionally subtle
Peter Solarz
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
hello vonnie

⁂
art blog(derogatory)
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

No title available

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
RMH
wallacepolsom

roma★

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seen from T1
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@thedreammerchant
Casa Galimberti, Milano, Italia.
Eugene Jansson, Dawn over Riddarfjarden, 1899
Fall.
The Mountaineer.
The mountaineer is not someone who travels with The Caravan, but offers hospitality to the travelers. They will provide safe longing at the base of a forest mountain. It is requested you go into the mountains gently. No large mountains and try to stay on the trails.
“The mountaineer makes trails through the forest to give safe passage to to, and a few meadows which work as campgrounds. These trails specifically avoid the wildlife’s homes, and hunting grounds. The Mountaineer is not afraid to use the ax against poachers. If you need to hunt the Mountaineer will come with you, and will act as judge. If you hunt to much, I’d suggest running✨” - Ven
© 2021 To The Solarium
Introducing Syrilium, or Syri for short. His formal title is the Weaver
Syrilium is a mysterious entity of dreams, who has only recently awoken from an eternal slumber, and is now traveling the worlds. He has joined the caravan to find fulfillment, and new places to explore, new people to meet, to create more artful dreams.
He can weave tapestries of dreams, and can, with permission, weave your most precious dreams to keep for a small fee. He is shy at first, well spoken and poetically romantic. He is gentle and creative, and adores sweets and most foods. And most of all, he likes to dream. He’ll never miss going to bed on time, if he can help it. (and once hes asleep hes out for good)
Syri is about 7′5″
He travels on foot, (or hoof) and can use magic to travel large distances, but if you offer him a ride on your wagon he will often oblige.
He has a Dream elf form as well, and he uses it to better fit in places built for smaller people, though hes more comfortable in this form here.
He dislikes bitter tastes, bad smells, and cruelness.
His age is uncertain, though he has been around for a very long time.
@solarcaravan
art © @endlessshower
art for the solar caravan project, run by @tothesolarium!
February is going to be a good month
Morocco.Neighbourhood of Mouassine. Wool dyers.1977
Lunar - 0
The city is layers of rings within rings, rivers that run thick with lanterns and lights rather than water, pushing back against the darkness of the cave. And oh, what a cave this is - Junction Cathedral earns its name a hundred times over. A dragon could soar for hours and never touch the sides. A merchant walks the streets, bumping shoulders with the strange and exotic in his hurry, his broad hat shielding his eyes from the glow of fierce lights strung above the winding streets. In his wake, pamphlets and posters - some nailed to doors, some sewn to banners, one even glued to the rear end of an elephant all proclaim one thing. It’s an invitation. His excitement is tangible, even through his many layers, as he rounds one final corner to Tephra Square, where the throng is parted. There is a great machine, a tent with legs and sails, resting in the heart of the great tiled expanse. He sits, finally, by the contraption, and begins to wait. The advertisements and offers do not go unnoticed, and soon his machine is joined by first one and two carts, then three and four by bird, and then stranger modes of transport still as a Caravan begins to form. Come one, come all, for the great journey from the bottom of the world to the shores of the moon. The Lunar Caravan will soon depart.
There’s a wind rising
Does she eat???
“I do! I need to eat less frequently, but either way, I like to a lot, and it’s yummy. Cooking for others is my favorite.” 💛
How did she fall? Did it hurt?
“I fell when I gave up my place in the heavens to accompany a fortune teller. It… didn’t hurt for too long! I’m happy where I am.” 💛
biggest commission so far this year !!
Another dnd commission for my beautiful friend @micholemiller of her beautiful dwarven ranger who has stolen the hearts of my own dnd group. [commission info]
He did 114 damage in one turn this session… I’m such a proud father,,,,
I’ve been meaning to whip up a proper ref for Talus’ new gauntlet and helmet bc they’ve gone through a lot of minor tweaks lately.
The Cats of Morroco 💙
Sparkles’s Day
In the morning, Sparkles awoke to the sound of strange creatures “singing” and the wind brushing through the trees. (”Birds,” she reminded herself.) She packed away her pillows and blankets - how they all fit in her knapsack, she couldn’t guess - and propped the tent flap open, just in case someone wanted to say hello. No one ever did, but just in case, she left it open.
Then she took her hair out of its braid and decorated her horns: necklaces, bracelets, ribbons, amulets, a locket without a picture, some lace, some bells. She took down her tent and joined the others at the morning fire.
Prax was an amazing cook; she didn’t know the names of the dishes he handed her, but after eating oatmeal every morning for years of her life, she loved each one. Today was also oatmeal, but his version of oatmeal was good, too. It had flavors. That was a word she’d learned recently. Flavors. Everything had flavors, she’d learned, but some had less than others. Prax’s oatmeal wasn’t at all like the oatmeal at home.
She usually ate in silence. There was friendly talk and chatter around her, but she didn’t often feel the need to join in. The amount of people still scared her, and sometimes she wanted to put her tent back up and eat alone… But at the same time, it was nice to be near people, to hear the voices and laughter. As she ate, she tried to remember everyone’s names: Prax, Merchant, Argo, Vella, Sc….sss…Scio! Scio, Machine, Ren, Aethel…
When they began walking for the day, Sparkles walked near Prax’s wagon, and when she got tired, sat on the back. She didn’t know why she got tired faster than everyone else, but she was sure she’d learn. She didn’t know why she was never hot - sometimes she saw people complain about the heat - but she suspected it had something to do with her flowy clothing.
Prax was good company, but she didn’t like to bother him. At the last town, she’d… ah… acquired a book; that’s what she did when she rested on the wagon. Sparkles couldn’t read, but this book had some nice pictures. And she could guess at what the words meant. There was a picture she liked of a mothstallion cuddling a friendly-looking man, who looked a bit like the Merchant. The words below it were
A hungry Mothstallion smothers its prey before consumption.
At least one of those words had to mean “cuddle,” and “mothstallion.” She was certain of that, since they were nearest to the picture. Perhaps when they stopped later, she could ask the Merchant to point out which was which.
Around noon, she ate a chunk of bread from last night’s dinner, so as not to inconvenience anyone.
When they stopped for the evening, she was worn out, as she was every evening. It seemed to her that she could longer without resting, though, and didn’t need to sleep as soon as it got dark. She joined the others at the fire and took off all her decorations, dropping them gently into her drawstring bag, and combed her hair while she listened to people talk.
She stayed awake just long enough to put her hair in a braid and pitch her tent, and then she curled up in her blankets. It was safe to sleep, tonight; she dreamed of cuddly mothstallions and singing birds.