[Image Description: a dark-skinned woman in profile, with green-dipped hair in long twists. One of the twists is curled into a spiral and pinned to the side of her head. She is wearing a cloak and frowning. Behind her is a bighorn sheep descending into frame. End ID.]
Combined OC-tober days 6 and 10 - "Symbol" and the pumpkin patch palette!
In my as-of-yet unnamed OCverse/worldbuilding sandbox, one of the religions is a very solitary one, typically picked up later in life but sometimes taught at birth, where the person gains an affinity for an animal and worships it collectively. Other characters practicing this are Owen (snow hare) and Axer (ibex). Ether's is a bighorn sheep. She spirals her hair to the sides of her head to mimic the horns of a ram.
These characters' connections to these animals makes me think of them as symbols for the characters. I was going to draw Owen and his snow hare, but I saw the pumpkin patch palette and knew I had to draw Ether!
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My beloved monk rogue got banished to the shadow realm, so I had to make a temporary character that my dm may or may not kill off after my party rescues my original character. Note to self: don’t get too attached to the pretty fairy.
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breastily boobing in a hot pink eldritch way for pride month 🏳️🌈🥳
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huevember #1 - my oc Ether. in her canon, she’s a government-employed doctor that gets sent out to remote and inaccessible areas in the region to provide aid.
I have long days so I might post these pretty late lol but I hope to do all or most of huevember!
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“I thought there might be some measure of hope still left for you.”
“Hope?” The word was uttered with disdain. “I thought you were smarter than that, elf,” Miraak said, turning his ethereal form to the surrounding peaks. “I don’t want it. I don’t need it. I would sooner spend a second eternity in Apocrypha than allow it to poison my mind.”
He turned to Solinar again.
“There is no hope, only action.”
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commissioned from sdfjmeng
Crimson splatters groundwards from gloved fist, a lurid display of tantalising gore—the garish exhibition of a defense visibly breached allowed its moment to last in the limelight.
A defense breached, and yet, somehow still a boast—even though their nature meant it was a quiet one. Silent, and yet, utterly undeniable, particularly when it had not been his doing and instead was entirely their own.
In outstretched, wounded hand, a blood weapon pours, coalescing into form with an immediacy to arch even the most unimpressed of eyebrows. Liquid crystalised into solid, unyielding steel, it settles most satisfyingly within their grip.
By now, the bleeding’s stopped.
‘This one’s new.’ Ais grins, a gaze bright with something eager.
‘You’re welcome to ask for a weapon.’ Their voice is far steadier, but it is not for lack of enthusiasm—more so a commitment to propriety. At least for now.
‘Don’t need one,’ is his response. One they’ve long come to expect but the reassurance in checking regardless had them going through with such a ritual anyway—necessary for them to achieve complete certainty.
After all, he had to be entirely willing. That was the only way.
They shrug, readying themselves. ‘It’s your body. And your loss.’
His amusement in implacable place, he continues, matching their readied stance with one of his own.
‘Isn’t it always?’
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