Hour and a half speedpaint of the Tornado Alley LP because the trees looked so eerie without anything below or above them, especially since Minecraft’s simple graphics turns them into featureless floating pillars.
I decided to make Anna’s trueform an ophan because I think ophanim are more suited for leading other angels than for combat, what with being two intersecting wheels covered in eyes. It struck me that the least-human looking angel might long for the experience of humanity the most.
I really wasn’t supposed to spend three days on this.
I really like the theory that Naomi is actually one of the Fates; I picked Lachesis because she’s the one who measures the length of a soul’s life, and is said to choose a person’s destiny after a thread is measured. That’s why her lowered right hand is made of sewing, crocheting, and leatherworking tools. The gold threads she’s manipulating are the puppet-strings of heaven. The albatross head is a reference to the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, and the shadows on the human face are in the shape of a spade in reference to the Queen of Spades in French tarot.
There’s an omega sign in her ribcage to indicate she’s sort of the last resort of heaven; the upside down cross is St. Peter’s Cross, to show her reluctance to claim true divinity. Her raised left hand is decked out in surgical tools that she uses as a physician of angels, in Castiel’s “recovery” in particular. Her wings are a shattered mirror as a reflection of Heaven’s poor condition and also her own enigmatic duplicity.
Leviathans are so distinctly foreign to Purgatory. Everyone else is coated in grime and sweat and filth, but Leviathan’s sharp black suits actively repel the earth. That they are so alien to their own kingdom is just extraordinary to me.
I’ve been wanting to do a Memento Mori series for Supernatural for a while, and tabling at Ladies of Supernatural Con this year has been an excellent excuse. Here’s the hunter suit. Please pardon the watermark, that won’t be on the cards themselves!
The wind snarls her blonde hair miles above the Arizona desert and she figures there’s no real point of contention here: Rachel was an angel, not just a voice, this was really happening.
“Okay, you make a good argument,” she says, “but I still don’t understand what you want me for. I’m just a clerk, I never even finished my degree–”
<You are not ‘just’ anything,> Rachel replies, and xyr voice is weathered leather and the deep boom of cannonfire and it leaves the taste of burnt sugar in the back of her mouth. <You are meant for greater things.>
“Yeah, sure,” she snorts, “and I’m the Chosen One, destined to bring balance to the Force, right?”
<No,> the answer startles her. <I am no longer bound by destiny, and neither are you. But you do have a choice: you can go home to your little apartment, or you can come with me to Heaven and see things no other mortal eye has seen while we change the course of history.>
She’s silent for a moment.
“Yeah, alright, what the hell,” she says, “Let’s do it.”