#fantasy oc

Another character sheet done!

Just a little off the top

*бьёт по столу* APPROVED APPROVED APPROVED APPROVED Не успела я насладиться песней, как вспомнила о существовании аладдин ау и решила, что мне нужны Джейты по мотивам этой глупейшей песни(УРА ТЕТО ПОЁТ НЕ С МИКУ И ЭРА ТЕТОМИКУ ТИКТОК СЛОПА КОНЧИЛАСЬ Я ПЕРЕЖИЛА Я СПРАВИЛАСЬ ТЕТОФАНЮЧЕСТВО Я ВЕРНУЛАСЬ), потому что Арта идеально подходит роли искушённой хитрой охотницы на сокровища(она ею и является в каноне, просто открыто не говорит, что воровством и перепродажей занимается АХАХАХ),а Джеймс(вселенная очистилась,я больше не шарахаюсь с её имени)(ладно вру,её новое имя пошло её бабушке и с ней не прижилось)идеально подходит на роль замучанной джиннки,потому что в каноне она тоже девочка на побегушках ХЕХЕХЕ🥹🥹🥹 Я их так люблю богиня Я ИХ ТАК ЛЮБЛЮ (картинка шуточная, Арта бы не стала мучать кого-либо, если бы не было перспективы ослушаться её воли)(это скорее шутка в духе ролплея, ибо в таких условиях она бы не упустила шанс пофлиртовать с джи-джи хихихи реву😭😭 передоз химикатами счастья ахахах) (а ещё хвастаюсь!! У меня уже чуть лучше идут дела с рисованием такой фигуры и даже ±поняла как делать умеренно-накаченные руки, того глядишь, скоро ещё и до типажа тела Шерил дойду ахахах…)(😭)(почему квадратных справных женщин так тяжело рисовать богиня блять,грудь Мишель в сравнении рисовать как будто проще даже…)

ALT They dance 💕 This is my unnamed griffin-harpy guy and the tiefling is Nephthys✨ they’re both apart of a story I’m brewing in the deep, dark depths of my brain

It’s ok to hate it even if took a long time.

❌ Create a normal, consistent lore/plot for your original characters, and then carefully bring them to life in art ✅ Have a generic concept in your head and try to build something meaningful Anyway, it’s just a one of my OC in some fantasy world i draw sometimes… Her name is Yatafa. In unknown underground, occult society, as a young child, she was chosen to become a student of the Priestess, the head of the clergy of her hidden nation. And when her predecessor died, she had to sacrifice her eyesight, putting on a crown with two spikes inside in order to take the teacher’s place and see only the Other world to guide her people. However, what she learned on the Other side turned out to be not what her predecessor had prepared her for. And this knowledge encouraged her to leave her hometown and seek for the truth. 1 & 2- Yatafa’s face; 3 - Yatafa as the Priestess, wearing the crown; 4 - marks on her face after demon’s deal; 5 - her alternative apperance. P.S. Thruthfully speaking, i wanted to draw the crown only, however somewhere on the way i got distracted 😅

While I’m on this “reviving my blog” streak, enjoy these commissioned references I made for a dear friend of mine! She just finished her first draft, which is so incredibly exciting. Congrats girlie!! [Piece shared with permission of the commissioner; not for public or external use]

Кривой косой, но принёсший мне счастье скетч в духе “растрепала всей деревне и смотрит довольная” Я всё никак не могу нащупать внешность моей умирающей вороны Лоретт и меня это ужасно дизморалит, но в этот раз вроде более-менее близка к победе.. наверное.. (😭) Олсо я не выкатила пост об этом(я ещё не настолько осмелела, чтобы засрать блог текстом ЕЩЁ И о моих осках),но Сальвия меня потрясает в свой ароэйсности, потому что это не мой уровень совершенно, она где-то на уровне шуток про «соу тру бести*засосались*» Как бы для меня разница вообще-то есть, пусть я и не понимаю, как ПАРАЛЛЕЛЬНАЯ подружба мешает любви, а у Сальвии до второго даже дело не доходит,я хз как мне с этой дурой уживаться ахахах😭😭(не, мне-то нормально)(больше жалко Вис АХАХАХ хотя ей тоже в принципе норм, она сама по себе довольно ветреная, но если бы Я была на её месте-я бы от неопределённости Сальвии в традиционных социальных явлениях крышей поехала вхвхвх.. )(А Вис женщина простая: целовать женщину можно? Всё, значит все потребности по пирамиде масла закрыты©)

Do you guys even know

Pride month day 16: lesbian fantasy character I came up with a few months ago I need name suggestions also my anatomy was not that best at that time

Brevia’s character sheet for artfight….

ALT I sketched Malaika (left) kissing the Queen’s (right) hand I honestly need to draw the Queen more often, she’s so beautiful🩵 #oc #characterdesign #mermaid #mermay

Obligatory glaze for my oc, Erela. I love her so much that I’m constantly putting her through the horrors!! <3 Misspelled is a fantasy/cosmic/psychological horror story that I’ve been developing since the 7th grade.. I am 20. Any questions about this will be happily answered :v

Aaaa I had so much fun with this one!

Falling For You ❄️ My OCs Odella and Siku starting to fall for each other 💜

An Oath Where Ashes Bloom Part 14 “Remember this well: The renewal of the earth came not by clinging to what was. The fields flourished when they turned toward the Dawn; the waters cleared when they reflected her light. So too must thy heart be ordered, lest it grow dim with longing for things that cannot give life.” This was a preaching Isodor had heard before , though simplified for the layman from The Liber Ascensionum and adapted to fit within Greengraeves’ history of converting to the Faith of Aevyra. The words swirled around Isodor’s mind, unable to find purchase, fluttering instead among the partitioners for better use. They tried to focus on the faces lit by votive candlelight, hoping that their own bore a look of studious authority–but they doubted it. They turned instead to the window someone had opened to their right, delivering the breeze like a cool offering. Isodor looked through the aperture and the picture it framed beyond. Through it, they could just make out a little creek rounding the bend of the chapel’s retaining wall. They thought, For all the empty grandeur Isodor endured living within the Monastery, such a simple life held some appeal. The moment was punctuated by the sight of a small bird landing on the sill. Its trespass coaxed a smile from the corner of Isodor’s mouth, and they were overcome with the urge to shed their skin, sprout their own wings, and defiantly fly away. But this fantasy was broken by the sound of something scraping stone. The noise startled the bird into flight and Isodor’s eyes searched for the culprit. What they saw was a thing of otherness cloaked in shadow. For a moment the amber-glowing gaze of a predatory animal caught Isodor in its sight—but then they saw that the corporeal figure was really that of a man, hunched against the wall. A man who looked as trapped as Isodor felt in the chapel. His dark features twisted in a grimace before he turned away, skillfully weaving between the few standing attendees and slipping out the door. The moment was over in a blink, yet Isodor’s breathing had stopped. How long had he been there, staring? The potential answer unnerved them. The interruption caused the Luminarii’s words to falter and had also roused the suspicion of the squires. Their excitement piqued at finally having something to respond to. Isodor was relieved to no longer be the only one to witness something peculiar in this town. A few squires had begun to extricate themselves from the chapel, heading toward the front pews at a measured pace so as not to cause panic. This tactic was swiftly forgotten at the sound of a loud clash down the front steps of the entrance. Everyone turned to face it. The squires surged forward, shoving past the crowd already cluttering the doorway. It was not the man who had run out. Instead, there stood before them was a hooded old woman in the midst of a mad rage. She had torn the brass censers that hung at each end of the doorway off their hinges. The ringing of polished metal hitting stone was followed by a cascade of coal and burnt amber like a fiery waterfall. Mouths hung open as she kicked the metal down the stoop, the crowd’s liturgy entirely forgotten as the elder turned to face them. “Cursed are those that lead the faithful blind to their own damnation!” Her voice was tumbling stones. “Curse the gilded altars raised on stolen soil!” The crone lifted a hand like a bird’s claw out at the chapel, the crowd recoiled as if struck. Edrick, along with another squire named Corwin, pushed to the front. “Silence, you witch!” he shouted as they descended on the old woman, grappling with her arms in an attempt to restrain her as she flailed. “Mark me!” she cried. “The Dawnmother is a scourge to the earth!” Her hood fell as she flung her weight back against her assailants. A few onlookers shouted in recognition. “That’s the Widow Vaspra!” “She’s been cast out!” A few townspeople cried. Corwin wrenched her down. The smell of singed hair and cloth reached Isodor as they watched the two pull the old woman through the still-burning coals, dragging her to the base of the steps. Edrick pressed her face into the dirt and began to tie her hands. Her strength was faltering, but her voice did not. “Beware the faith that feasts on a dying god,” she wailed. The blow came swift. Corwin struck her head with his elbow. Then again. Then again. Until she was silent. Isodor never thought themselves to be brave, but at that moment they felt something rise in them. Their feet moved before their mind could follow and they stumbled down the stairs, kneeling beside the crone. Isodors fingers pressed to the crepe skin of her neck, searching for a pulse. “She was already down! Why did you have to hit her?” Edrick clenched his jaw. “You’d best stay out of this Isodor, unless you want to be thrown in the holding cell with her.” Their hands stilled. Just then Maglen, who had been hovering at the edge of the scene, rushed forward. “Corwin, how stupid can you be?!” she yelled, berating the other squire who had delivered the blow. “What if you killed her?” He rose, towering over the short girl. “What of it?” he replied with a snort. “Would you rather I had let her carry on with such blasphemy?” “You idiot. We have to tell Sir Daniel that we killed our only lead!” she yelled, shaking her head of curls in anger. Isodor got to their feet, putting a hand on Maglen’s shoulder. “She’s still breathing.” They all looked down to where the old woman lay crumpled. Her small chest rose faintly. Maglen let out a sigh of relief just as the sound of approaching hoofbeats made them all stand at attention. ————————————————— Kallus’s running hadn’t stopped—not even when he had heard the widow’s shouting from the chapel steps. He had come to this marsh town in search of a young woman–one who, it so happened, was kin to the widow herself. Kallus had seen the familial connection the moment the crone had gazed at him with those emerald green eyes. The same eyes as Sandra Vaspra. The Widow Vaspra’s maternal granddaughter. So when the old woman had presented the opportunity of escape in the form of a diversion, Kallus—though it pained him—did not slow down as he raced to the secondary postern gates. Only when the trees thickened enough to conceal him did he stop. His head was pounding from the rush of blood, but his mind was blessedly clear, alleviated from the panic-inducing attack that had overtaken him within the chapel. Never in his days had he felt so rendered of control of his body. It was the Beastkis doing, undoubtedly. The being that Kallus had watched by the window. The changeling wearing the disguise of a squire. He knew now that this was the cause of the scent emanating from them and the subsequent entrancement he found himself caught by. But from where did they come? What origin of bloodline? What Beast? They were unlike any he had encountered before. He wanted to follow this trail, uncover more about the creature. His comrades would scarcely believe him as it was. The Church of Aevyra was now making alliances with those bloodmeddled by primal gods? It went against all their preachings. Another cry from Widow Vaspra rang through the trees. He was wasting time on this dilemma. Kallus cursed under his breath and drove his fist into the nearest trunk, scattering birds into the dim sky. For a moment he studied his hand, then licked the torn flesh of his knuckle. His skin knit itself over in an instant, pink and new. The splinters lay embedded underneath as a reminder. He would return for the widow. For now another Beastkin awaited him–and the night was closing in. He pulled cord from his satchel, binding his pant legs above the knee. The marsh lay ahead, and the thickening mud was already creeping over his boots. He set off deeper into the woods. Prev

Пытаюсь заставить себя разрисоваться(мозгам ужасно плохо, это ощущается как пытка) и набросалась ещё относительно свежая и молодая Ликорис, до событий, как Вистерия сожрала свою попечительницу и в вампирском обществе начался раскол Смотрю на Лик без цвета и не могу развидеть Сальвию АХАХАХА Вис да у тебя есть типаж😭🙏 (ладно это читерство, я создала Ликорис по подобию одного му-перса, чей аналог не могу найти в виде женщины в медиа и очень страдаю, потому что я его страшно релейчу и мне не весело киннить му по понятным причинам, поэтому я решила воспользоваться своими возможностями ✨креаторки✨,но естественно это кончилось тем, что она будет как-то похожа на меня ахахах она ведь с самого начала задумана как отражение *чего-то*,что заведомо близко мне)(короче шалость не удалась, нет у Вис типажа, это просто совпадение вхвхвх)

Aethersprite began as elemental spirits tied to the primal forces of creation. Over ages, they chose humanoid form so they could better observe, understand, and codify the patterns of reality. Each Aethersprite carries a shard of elemental essence that shapes their body, temperament, and talents. New art for Fethry, the Icy Wind Aethersprite !