WIP Christmas presents for @jj_shippen and her daughter #wip #traditionalart #fanart #furryart #furry #zoetrent #littlestpetshop #lps #dragon
https://www.instagram.com/p/Brb5izthQF3/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=slwgjpx6t57x
W.I.P. for that Pancakes and Booze Show
#wip #workinprogress #pancakesandboozeartshow #JesseMay #drawing #ink #inkdrawing #pancakesandbooze
https://www.instagram.com/p/Brb5K7MB0Jb/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=6i7wgpqnvjkz- Rough Intro for a DnD Campaign I’m Working On
I’ve been thinking about setting up a DnD set in my Primevals (formerly known as Rooted) universe for a while now, but I’ve recently been working on said campaign more intently, and have specifically been working on the beginnings of a plot for it. This is the intro for said campaign:
Billions of years before humanity’s first breaths, there was the First Age of Magic. It was an age of many species, of magic and gods and monsters and unspeakable wonder. This age ended when one of the gods—The Butcher— declared war on the rest, and the resulting war killed billions. The survivors finally managed to defeat her, but the spiteful Butcher could not stand losing the war. When the final blow landed, she unleashed all of her accumulated power and allowed it to run unchecked around the world, killing off nearly all life.This event left a relative handul of survivors; those who were skilled enough erect a barrier, those desperate enough to enact a failsafe spell, and those simply lucky enough to avoid the event.
You are a survivor of the cataclysm. It has been 8 years since the event. You are a recent arrival at one of the largest communities established since the war’s end. This community and several others have managed to establish a relative sense of order and peace in the wake of the desolation left by the Shattering’s fallout. Recently, there have been rumors of one of the Butcher’s surviving lieutenants attempting to rally the remnants of the Butcher’s forces for purposes unknown. The authorities of the community have asked you to look into the matter.
Tag List: @unnameablethings @from-ashes-they-rise @midnightkitten @dawnuchiha @power-of-ages-writeblr @killer-badass @pearl-writes @little-dipper-holds-the-world @bluenightfire @chaos-reign @fathington @ramblingsofabourbondrinker @minny-king @eyelessfatdragon @problematicauthors @strawberryspaceship @thatpaperlife @oceansbooks1 @acottenwrites @thejadewizard-is-writing
On tonight’s twitch stream, I got pretty far on this winter landscape from Finley wildlife refuge. #winter #oregon #corvallisoregon #wip #inprogress #oregonartist #twitchcreative #landscape #paintings (at Corvallis, Oregon)
https://www.instagram.com/p/Brb4D2ogx9j/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1nly5zerd11by- Me?? Writing?? I think so??
The master of ceremonies held up the smallest of the Orbs, pulling out a delicate silver hammer from his jacket pocket. “It’s time for our first Reveal of the night. You’ve all cast your votes—and now, well, let’s find out who you’ve chosen to be the new knights of Eastern Chess!”
The citizens’ screams of excitement only made Ebony wish harder for Jett to be sitting next to her, dark hair gleaming in the darkening light as he yelled along with the crowd like a huge nerd, but his hand clasped with her own for support. Unfortunately, he was sitting with the other 17-18 boys on the other side of the City—most likely still being a huge nerd. The thought made her crack a small smile.
The crowd seemed to hold a bated breath, time almost standing still as Pitch lightly tapped the Orb with the hammer. At its contact, the dark sphere melted into blackness, flowing over Pitch’s gloved hands like a liquid, but leaving no stain as the inky substance dissipated like fog touched by sun. Two small sheets of black paper were left in the master of ceremonies’s hand, and he grinned as he held one up dramatically.
“And Western Chess, your knights—bred from this year’s Royal 17-18 Election—are…Ollie Patterson and,” he held up the other slip of paper, “Grant Backstrom!”
Amid cries of delight, Ebony heard the dark-skinned girl next to her mutter to her friend, “Damn, of course Grant fucking wins. That fucker’s the King Midas of winning shit.”
Well. So much for crowd support. As the girl kept cussing out the new knight, Ebony dug a notebook and pen out of her bag, turned to a new page, and wrote down the names of the winners, hand shaking less as the mere beginning of organization soothed her the way it always did. She already knew that her spelling was shit (and left space so that she could fix the names later when they were printed officially in The Eastern Exclusive), but that didn’t matter: two down, six to go.
The process was repeated in the same fashion for the bishops and the rooks (the Elected female rook being the trash-talking girl sitting next to Ebony) and Ebony could almost breathe again as she re-read Onyx Allen-Hall, Ore Tafelski, Melanie Wacker, and Coal Nadkarni’s carefully scrawled names on the paper. Only one female position left, two granite Orbs, the largest of the bunch, left—and who in their right mind would vote for the brooding, late-night journaling, living-with-a-boy-who-wasn’t-her-brother, Jonathan Byers type girl to be part of the Royal Family. Especially for queen. Ebony could count on a single hand the number of reasons people had to vote for her.
If her dad was the reason she got Elected, she was going to be pissed.
“Alright, everyone, we’re coming to the end of tonight’s presentation. It has been an absolute honor, as always, to be your master of ceremonies for the evening,” Pitch Mukai called into the microphone. When groans and murmurs of dissent greeted this pronouncement, he continued with a sympathetic half-smile, “Ah, don’t worry, there’s still plenty of excitement to follow, folks! After the Reveal of the new king and queen, a reception will be held in the palace gardens!” Satisfied with the response, Pitch picked up the first of the final two Orbs. “For the next queen of Western Chess,” he said finally. But, instead of holding it in his hand and tapping it with the hammer as he had for all of the previous Reveals, Ebony’s father took the Orb in both hands and threw it on the ground faster than Ebony could react.
Think of the odds. They’re small. Incredibly small. You’re alright. Jett’s here. You’re alright. Numbers don’t lie…
Names cycled through her head: Onyx, Melanie, Coal, Ollie. Last names she couldn’t spell.
She would not be added to that list.
The Orb hit the floor and shattered as it had in Pitch’s hand, dissolving into unstaining ink that quickly vanished—all except for a single spiral that rose up into the air like a sentient being. The swirl of ink grew to about Pitch’s height, than snaked itself around his shoulders, stopping at his ear. Whispering to the man. Determining some girl’s fate. Some girl. Not her. Not Ebony.
As quickly as the ink had come, it left, slithering back down Pitch into the floor, where it melted away as the rest had.
Pitch’s face was neutral.
“Ebony Mukai.”
He grinned, unable to hold it back. “Congratulations.”
Shit.
Later, she didn’t even remember walking up onto the stage to stand next to her father. How her dad hugged her tight, whispering about how proud he was of her. Seeing the crowd as a whole for once. Her heart and how it pounded and sank like a creature drowning in the tide.
How her father said his name as proudly as the boy was his own son.
“Jett Komara.”
Her father’s whispering only made her think of ink. Utter darkness.
Shit.
