All business Vaard

Vaard’s art is, as always, simply spectactular.  I love the scuffed, worn and used look of that armour.

Does anyone here have tips about going back to School after an extended absence? I’m doing some research myself but figured I’d reach out a feeler to you guys <3

I went back to school after about a ten year break. I don’t know that I’ve got much advice, but a few observations. If you’ve worked in the “real world,” school will be easier than you think. Everyone is younger than you think they are. Don’t put off papers until the last minute unless you’re an expert bullshitter. No one cares what you wear in class. Find a note-taking style that works for you (mine was typing bullet-point notes on a tablet during the lecture). Pick a degree that matters to you first or you’ll hate it, but pick something that sells well after that consideration.

Broadly similar experience.  Took a decade break away, the time constraints and work ethic from actually working help a ton.  Just remember that you are more or less your own “boss” within the job of “school”.  Keep track of your deadlines, a big wall calendar helps me.  Be up front with professors.  The earlier you talk to them if you are having problems, the more help you will likely get.  Pace yourself as you come back in.  Better to take fewer classes than overwhelm yourself.

Bees choose to live in the box where they know damn well that a large fraction of the honey will periodically be removed, instead of simply leaving that place like they are perfectly able to do, because the human box comes with an invulnerable titan to guard them against all threats. The bees consider the payment offered to this colossal mercenary to be a pretty good deal.

Bees know about supply and demand

Protection money

Protection honey*

Really fast sketch as an example, but while Vaard is a paladin by title, it doesn’t mean he’s adept or talented in wielding Light. His fading connection has all but left him with only a few good bursts of use. He’s a paladin by the barest minimum.

He can bubble very well, though

:cry:

Maiev Shadowsong by Danni Beth

Here’s W.I.P. update for Stella’s reference sheet. Now with added druid forms.

Designs are not final.

That tree form is so cool, love the leaf hair

I haven’t had time for anything aside from sketches lately, but here’s a few more angle practices from the past week.

Reblog if you are Okay with People Drawing NSFW of your Muse.

((Seriously. I love that shit.))

Catrienne Sevin

A commission for a friend!

Where They Stand - Catrienne Sevin (Delahaye)

Bold for the main responses, italics for conditional/complicated

PLACE IN SOCIETY

✖ FINANCIAL – wealthy  / moderate / poor / in poverty

✖ MEDICAL – fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged / deceased

✖ CLASS OR CASTE – upper / lower / middle / working / unsure

✖ EDUCATION – qualified / unqualified / studying

FAMILY

✖ MARITAL STATUS – married, happily / married, unhappily / engaged  / partnered / divorced / widow or widower / separated / single / it’s complicated

✖ CHILDREN – has children / no children / wants children / adopted children

✖ FAMILY – close with siblings / not close with siblings / has no siblings / siblings are deceased / it’s complicated

✖ AFFILIATION – orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by both parents / other

TRAITS & TENDENCIES

✖ disorganized / organized / in between

✖ close-minded / open-minded / in between

✖ cautious / reckless / in between

✖ patient / impatient / in between

✖ outspoken / reserved / in between

✖ leader / follower / in between

✖ sympathetic / unsympathetic / in between

✖ optimistic / pessimistic / in between

✖ hardworking / lazy / in between

✖ cultured / uncultured / in between

✖ loyal / disloyal / in between

✖ faithful / unfaithful / in between

SEXUALITY & ROMANTIC INCLINATION

✖ SEXUALITY – heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual / omnisexual / demisexual

✖ SEX – sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favorable

✖ ROMANCE – romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favorable

✖ SEXUALLY – sexually adventurous / sex experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious / uninterested

ABILITIES

✖ COMBAT SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

✖ LITERACY SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

✖ ARTISTIC SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

✖ TECHNICAL SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

Tagged by: @an-honest-waltz​

Tagging: Anyone that would like to do it! 

The back room of the bar in Freehold vibrates from the crowd outside. It’s almost all pirates and criminals, of course - but, then, she’s hardly the most law-abiding either, the woman who killed four of the Silver Covenant (and who had, once, used her Argent tabard to justify being part of vigilante justice). And it’s hardly as if she’s here to be a criminal.

Well, perhaps if dubiously legal brawling made one a criminal.

She stares at her reflection in the salt-stained mirror, weaving her hair into a tight braid before pinning it up, and pulls on her hood. The blue glow through it is an enchantment - she certainly has not focused any effort on training up any arcane practice; for all that she is a high elf, all she can do is still minor cantrips - but it signals what she is as well as having her ears out would, without putting her ears in danger of damage.

Mierette flashes the reflection a dangerous grin - she ignores the echo of Shanda pointing out that she grinned like her cousin’s adoptive mother - and makes her way out to the ring at a military clip, vaulting herself over the haphazard fence full of rusty nails that surrounds it and squaring herself in front of her opponent as the pirate that narrates these matches announces her arrival with a resounding “Ladies, gentlemen, and amorphous beings, the Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaack Fox!”.

Fiend is a self-described freak; half-kaldorei, half-vrykul, ancient outcast and pariah, and all muscle if short for both her heritages. Mierette likes her, when they’re not fighting; her real name is Maren Vold and she reminds her of Aunt Merinne, a tall woman who fights well, takes absolutely no shit, and can match her drink for drink until they are both under the table.

When they’re fighting, the Black Fox would consider her an iron-clad bitch even in light leather. But she had never gotten better and farther by fighting in her own weight class.

As the pirate calls the fight to start, she hurtles herself towards the Fiend with full force, shoulder first, knowing full well that, unlike the more sanctioned fights she has been in elsewhere under this title, these fights are to first to call for mercy, not to first blood.

And it is she who draws first blood.

It is a good fight. It is a close fight. She is tenacious, where the Fiend is powerful, and she knows, from the din around the sidelines, that they are putting on an outright spectacle. A cheering fan slaps her shoulder encouragingly when she is thrown bodily into the fence, shaking it dangerously, sends her back into the ring to break the Fiend’s jaw. In more sanctioned fights, that would be the end of it.

It is not. In fact, it is not until she has also broken multiple of her friend’s ribs and managed to slam her into the ground a few time, and sustained a good bit of rib damage herself, a freshly broken nose pouring blood down her face, and a few broken fingers from a poorly made fist that the Fiend calls for mercy, the Black Fox still straddling her rib cage, her unbroken hand pulled back and ready for another hit.

She rises off of Maren, hands rising to pull her hood off and stare around the cheering crowd, unable to contain the grin even as the blood courses over her teeth. As the healers rush in to haul Maren off the ground, she raises her arms in the air, makes her way around the edge, accepting congratulatory slaps with her good hand until the healers drag her away as well.

As she is forced onto a bench outside the ring, Mierette’s gaze slides to the side, seeing her cousins’ adoptive parents, and she looks away as swiftly as she had looked. She’s not ready for having new parents, even if Shanda would say it is entirely too late. 

Instead, she locks eyes with the opponent she will have on the morrow, grinning that dangerous grin again and watching them give a wavering one right back. They, too, outclass her in size - a robust Kul Tiran with strong Drust blood, this one one who isn’t too fond of her - but she keeps winning.

The Black Fox may be small, but the Black Fox is strong.

IRL has not been kind to me, so it’s been a few months since I did any art. But I also wanted to update art of Bowan after she lost her eye and started sinking Horde ships, so!

tried my hand at that model editing thing goin around on twitter

i was gonna fix her whole outfit too but my god 3 hours on her head alone was enough my dudes

:o that is amazing

Click on it twice. These are your two super powers.

everyone else always seems to fucking get cool shit and i always get like “gel manipulation” and “using dust along w/ your fighting style”

This is literally the most bomb-ass D&D story I’ve ever read in my life oh my god.

Holy shit ._.

Some RP sessions have better stories than actual fiction. I mean, goddamn.

For those having trouble reading the text:

We had a campaign in D&D where we assembled a steampunk-ish time machine. After many sessions travelling through time, uncovering mysteries and learning harsh lessons about changing history, we had to stop a time-travelling cult from destroying the gods, and therefore the world. We failed.

Our machine crashed, we were stranded earlier than we had ever been able to travel. We found the Gods, but only a few of them were present - it was as if some had never existed. Then we realised - we had to become those Gods. Our party was entirely divine (Cleric, Paladin, Avenger, Invoker), and each of us was a worshipper of a god who had been unmade - and we were the only people in existence with enough knowledge of the forgotten deities to assume their roles.

But two of the players were worshippers of Io (in his twin forms of Tiamat and Bahamut, who would of course form later after Io’s ‘death’), and only one could become Io. The other would have to be the un-created Asmodeus.

So the most just, honourable and dedicated Lawful Good paladin I’ve ever seen roleplayed became the god of tyranny and evil. If he hadn’t, the gods would never have defeated the primordials, and the world would never have been completed.

In our setting, Asmodeus is every bit the epitome of evil you would expect him to be. Nobody but the gods who abide his presence know him as otherwise. He adheres to his role because he knows he has to - and that in doing so, the world can exist. He can never tell anyone his duty, and no-one who knows can ever discuss it.

In the farthest recesses of the Nine Hells, in a chamber sealed tighter than any other in existence is a pocketwatch of finest gnome craft with a photo of his family in it - his wife, son, and little baby girl.

They were killed by an orc army marching under the orders and banner of Asmodeus. Their deaths are what drove him to become an adventurer.

Goddamn

Imagine the other end of it tho.

Imagine that time has passed almost back to where they had begun. Asmodeus knows the date—of course he does—and watches as an orc army destroys all the loves of his life. Again.

He cannot, of course, go and comfort his former self. That would be the temporal-mechanics equivalent of sticking a fork in a toaster and would probably set the universe on fire.

But what becomes of the souls of the dead here? Most particularly, that of his wife, who, one presumes, loves her husband, and for whom a good afterlife would of course include the promise of him being restored to her?

I can think of two possibilities. One, that she is brought to the Paradise of Io, and asks after her husband’s fate, and watches as he becomes an adventurer, travels through time, and meets the fate he must shoulder to right the universe—at which point she would, trembling with some sort of hope mixed with fear, depart from the halls of Io to go and confront Asmodeus, whom she now knows to be her husband.

The other is that Asmodeus claims the three of them (or the one of them? perhaps she bargains for the release of her children to Io’s halls), and gives them comfortable quarters in his palace and shows up for dinner every night, and she is frightened and angry and grieving but unharmed, and she asks him why she is here, why is she in his power, why is she comfortable and not tortured, et cetera. And he answers things like “this is as it must be,” and when she presses further he asks if she will hear a story.

It may be some time before she agrees, but he will not tell it before then.

He tells her about a man, a follower of Io, who became an adventurer after the deaths of his family by a follower of Asmodeus. He tells her about that man’s adventures, about time travel, about a threat to the world and how that man and his companions met it and failed. And he tells her of the burden demanded of them, and the most terrible fate which one of them, the bravest of them, the best of them, shouldered: to become him.

The understanding that he is talking about her husband grows slowly in her, and the understanding that he who stands before her is her husband dawns more slowly than that, and the understanding that even though he is her husband, the man she knew and loved for his kindness and goodness, he is also everything Asmodeus is and can never again not be, comes upon her great and terrible like the advance of a glacier, and he stands up, not to approach her, but to unbar the door.

This path leads to the halls of Io, he tells her. She is more than deserving of paradise, he tells her. He will never bar or hinder her; she may go where she will. (This is a tweaking of the Rules, perhaps, permissible only because Io holds a claim on her for her own faith. Or perhaps, because his orders have killed her, it is his prerogative to do what he wants.)

She looks to the door, and she looks back to him. It is as heavy a choice, in its way, as his at the dawn of the universe, but with no press of duty in a singular direction to ease the making if not the consequences. He waits.

They say, afterwards, that Asmodeus the Lord of Evil has a wife. Nobody knows how, nor why, for she is kind and sweet, yet she is no captive, and she loves him. They call her the Lady of Mercy, or sometimes the Lady of Hope, and alone of all the universe he is said to raise no hand against her. They say he has a son, and a daughter, but these have yet to make themselves known. Sages and philosophers make much over the argument of whether Evil can love, but it is pointed out that Good can hate, and anyway, the other gods do not destroy Asmodeus when surely they must outpower him, but suffer his existence.

Asmodeus listens to their conversations sometimes, and perhaps smiles a bit as he continues his dread work. His Lady listens too, and smiles perhaps a bit more, and lays a soft hand over his, and they continue, jointly, to endure that great and terrible burden by which the universe may exist.