Art: Mondigan 100 (Black and White)

And eighty hours of work later... happy birthday to my fictional character, haha. I'm finally glad to do a piece of this magnitude, especially for myself. Thank you all so much for the support, reading my weird writings and everything. You guys don't know how much it means to me.

This will be the cover for when I collect all 100 of these theme pieces. You can check them (and the story) out here: [link]

Click to full-view on deviantART!

Art: 045/100 Themes - Illusion

"Ilujia." Illusion. - 45/100 Themes.

I suck at writing flirting, but I admit, Rivek is a bit of a pervy dick.

Rosmyne is a re-work of an old character who used to be Willow's room-mate (and Rivek's ex) in high school. Now, she is a former servant girl with a penchant for money. She is the kind of woman who hops from man to man to achieve her goals.

As a teenager, she slept with Rivek because she thought he would marry her and give her noble title (no one else was troubled or rebellious enough to sleep with servants). When his title is stripped away, she is coincidentally ruined. As an already "lesser" person who is no longer a virgin, she has lost her social value.

She continues to work at the castle behind the scenes, hidden in shame, until she serves dinner to a handsome prince from the north. Empathetic to her drive for self-worth, Sorian sees value in her still. He tells her he can give her back everything she lost. He buys her, and she willingly undergoes his experimentation. It gives her magic ability to manipulate others' thoughts and dreams through touch.

Slowly, she falls in love with him and the possible royal title he could provide, but he is too wrapped-up in his own quest for power. Both Sorian and Rosmyne are people who define their internal value by rewards from external sources.

At first, I was iffy on re-purposing Rosmyne due to possible "sexploitation," but I think her addition actually rounds out my female cast. Each balances power and gender differently: Willowren has tons of power, but her culture's expectations of women restrict the ways she can express it to traditionally feminine paths. Mirab expresses her inherent power through masculine means. Perrin is born with very little, so she joins the male-dominated military to achieve status. Rosmyne exploits her feminine nature to climb the social ladder.

Specifically, I want Perrin and Rosmyne to serve as contrasts to one another. Perrin is forward - to the point of bullheadedness - in achieving her dreams. Rosmyne is manipulative and uses others to get what she wants.

Also - Rivek verbally denies it, but he highly values his relationship with Willow. So, since Alisian culture treats men and women as military equals, Rivek has no qualms about beating the crap out of a girl who threatens it.

 

Rivek wandered through the dark corridor. The mage-lights had been extinguished much earlier, so only moonlight guided his passage. He ran his hand along the wall to avoid walking into potentially painful objects. Most of the castle's inhabitants would be asleep by now. He thought he would be as well. He did not understand what kept him awake.

The warm, night air blew in through the marble archways and licked at his bare skin. Given the late hour and lingering summer swelter, he had not bothered to find a shirt. He paused as his hand slid over a familiar carved handle, the door to the great hall. The vaulted ceilings seemed like a much better alternative to the confined corridor.  He had to throw most of his weight into it, but he managed to create enough of a opening to slide sideways in.

Blue light streamed in through the stained glass windows, casting hues that turned the white ground into an ocean floor. As he looked up from the patterns on the tile, his eye caught the glimmering, gold, hem of a piece of cloth. In light, it would have been rich crimson, but the night transformed its shadows into a deep violet. A woman sat in the throne at the front of the room, swathed by this mass of red silk, gazing at the moon. Noticing his entrance, she stood. The cloth fell from her shoulders, revealing her pale skin. She wore nothing.

He laughed. "Willow. I'm not going to lie, but this is pretty odd."

She smiled. "Come here."

He obeyed, stopping at the foot of the throne's platform. "I thought you'd be in bed. As in, I expected you to be in bed until noon tomorrow."

She laughed, and it echoed like bells off the stone walls. She moved closer, leaving only a few inches between their bodies. "Same as you, I couldn't sleep."

"Maybe you should try again." He smirked, doing a poor job of keeping his eyes and hands off her exposed breasts. "Not that you'd get lost in your own house, but if you need someone to take you back to your quarters - well, 'escort' is in my job description."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and left a quick peck where the two scars crossed on his cheek. "Not to dismiss your acts of chivalry, but, no, I'm going to stay here, thank you. It's a nice enough night, isn't it?"

He wrapped one hand around her waist and used the other to brush her long hair out of his face. "You're going to sit naked for an undetermined period of time in a public place that will be quickly populated in a few hours. Good plan."

"That's not what I mean." She threw him a fake, angry glance and pushed him back playfully. He went along with the act and dropped to his knees.

"Then what do you mean?"

"I simply mean I don't want to go back to my room."

He nodded and rolled his eyes, "That seems like kind of a dumb thing to want."

She knelt to meet him and began playing with his dark hair. She ran her hands down his bare abdomen, tracing the scars that ran down it. She paused, just under his navel, before letting her fingers snake slowly downwards again. He tensed.

"Well, since you've been nice enough to let me have what I want," she bowed her head and looked up to meet his eyes, "I can give you what you so desperately want."

With one quick breath, she pressed her lips to his and slipped her tongue between his teeth.

It tasted like iron, ash, and saltpeter. Quickly, he broke the kiss and bit his tongue. He wanted to wash out his mouth. Even his own blood would have tasted better. He spat onto the ground, narrowed his eyes, and wiped his lips.

Cupping his hand around her fair cheek, he leaned in and whispered into her ear, "No, I'm afraid, you can't. Because this is a dream. An illusion. And when I wake up, I am going to make you regret this. Because - sorry, love - but birds like me mate for life."

He nodded toward the silken cloth spread on the floor. "By the way, Rosmyne, her favorite color is green."

Art: 043/100 Themes - Dying

"Mortaran." Dying. - 43/100 Themes.

Mitharon Ailinar is a very regal man whose actions are steeped in religious tradition. The leader of his tribe, he is very focused on protecting his people and making sure his daughter will be a similarly capable leader. He also wants to connect with and apologize to his son, whom he hasn't seen in fifteen years.

Mirab was very close to her father. However, unlike her father, her half-blood heritage has made her very aware of the prejudices her people face, and she rejects anything that might possibly conflict with her Alisian side - especially helping a country that took part in the genocide of their people four hundred years earlier. It was only her father's desire for a better future that gave her reason enough to provide her prodigal brother with mercenary aid.

As second-born, Rivek does not have the same leadership pressures as his sister. When the relationship with his father is re-kindled, he is unsure where he stands in Alisian society. But seeing his father sacrifice his life to make others' better paves the way for him to make the same sacrifice later.

 

Mirab brought over the last bushel of wood and looked at her brother. Rivek shivered, huddling beneath the wool cloak around his shoulders. Even with the cover, visible goosebumps formed on his skin. 

She grabbed the sheet and threw it to the floor. "You will show some respect. This man is our father. Nothing up your sleeves. Braving the cold will make you grow stronger." 

Rivek hunched over and ran his freezing hands up and down his bare arms. Custom meant wearing nothing, not even the bandages he normally wrapped around his wrists to hide his scars. "Dad has been saying that since we were little." 

Mirab ignored her brother's remarks and stared at the black tattoo on his shoulder. Despite his modifications, it was still a brand, labeling him as a heretic and practicioner of evil magic. And she couldn't stand it. 

"Respect?" he said, covering the six-pointed star. The ink he'd added, an Alisian prayer, still trailed out from under his fingers. 

She turned, wordlessly, and took a flint from her belt. She picked up a thick rod of cedar from the pile of wood and lit its end, letting it burn until the smoke began to carry its fragrance. As much as she did not want to, she approached the funeral pyre before her. The man on top who had towered over her in her childhood seemed so small amongst the tangle of dry branches. As the eldest, this was her responsibility. She gave her father's pale face one last glance before lifting the linen over his head. She slowly ran the torch around the edge of the pyre, letting it light. She reached over the growing flame and placed the torch on his breast. The linen caught fire immediately. Now, his people had become her people and her responsibility as well. 

She made the sign of the Lady of Death across her chest. "Argia dena pilio. E leva ei senta ni pienara. Em korvi redukta ta tarri en zinera." 

He brother recited the same ancient prayer in common tongue, "Wrath begets Pardon. I depart and feel no pain. My body returns to the earth in ashes." 

They stood by the burning mountain until both shivered, and every bit of smoke had blown away into the night sky.

Art: Character Relations and Outfit Guide for Mondigan

Every time I start a new sketchbook (roughly every six months or so), I draw Rivek in whatever is outfit design is at that point. it's a way of seeing how far I have come and how far I need to go. These are usually done in airports and on planes since I like having new sketchbooks for trips - and because the whole character centers around flight.

I did this waiting to take BUR -> OAK to see some college friends in San Fransisco. It has some stronger linework due to influence from Eric Canete. His costume uses more metal and doesn't have as dramatic sleeves anymore since I wanted to trim the silhouette into one that accents vertical lines (I know, because he's not a skinny whelp enough as it is). And his pose is not relaxed and he's got more of a smirk because I wanted something more excited about life this time around.

 

When I flew back home for a week in August, I lost my pencil case (including my signature stamp). So after flipping out, I bought some cheap pencils to draw with (HB, I am accustomed to 4B). But I still didn't want to do anything fancy, so I decided to try and draw portraits of my characters (a few I have never shown the public before, even!). The goal was to get them to look different but keep nationalities and family relationships similar. I need to draw smaller eyes.
 
Rivek is our socially-stigmatized main character who serves as the personal agent and doer of dirty work to the doctor-princess, Willow. She is as stubborn and bull-headed as she is hopeful. In order to gain an ally and stop a war, Willow is set to marry another prince, Fenne, but he re-negs on the engagement when she proves her feelings really lie with Rivek - costing him his ability to walk.

To take our his frustration, he banishes Rivek and hires Rivek's best friend, Bohren into his guard. Knowing they are now on opposite sides tears Bohren to pieces because he still needs to separate his feelings between friendship and homosexual romance. In exchange for a new pair of legs, Fenne allies with Sorian, the leader of the country invading Willow's territory. Together, they build war machines and commit genocide.
 
Eamon is Fenne's scientific advisor - who helped Willow with her doctor training back in school - is afraid that the princes will murder his daughter, Perrin. So the pair seek refugee status with Willow. She accepts, and Perrin develops a rapport with Rivek due to their interest in dark magic. Rivek looks over Eamon's notes and helps re-work them to use dark magic, thus giving their side an edge advantage.

But to using dark magic requires dark mages, so he seeks the help of his estranged sister, Mirab. She agrees if once the war is over, Willow and her congress stops the genocide against their people. Kai is her adopted son. His merchant father abandoned him when he began to show traces of dark magic.

There are more details, but I think that's enough for now. Those things in the corner are some dress silhouettes from the Alexander McQueen Exhibit. Everyone's name ends in an "n" sound.

 

This is an outfit design guide for the seven countries that make up the continent of Mondigan. It details stuff like climate, color scheme. All designs are based around a central tenet of the countries' value system - represented as a simple geometric shape that gets repeated in the outfit. Countries that are more similar in mindset use more similar shapes. Each also has a signature style item unique to that culture. Unity for the entire continent, though, should be derived from similar materials.

 

Expanding on that further, I went ahead and drew some male and female Alisian outfits. Alisians live in a strict, role-based meritocracy where rank is determined by what you have done and what your forefathers have done. Although there is a certain genetic phenotype common in Alisians (tall, thin, pale, non-red hair, angular skull, hooked nose), appearance, gender, and sexual orientation are not measures of a person's value. Especially if that person can wield a sword. An Alisian is self-defined by their devotion to their religion and having been raised in an Alisian culture.

Despite being a military culture, the central tenet of Alisian religion is "balance" of light and dark. All things in moderation. Therefore, their visual design symbol is a diamond - symmetrical on all sides but still highly dynamic. Given that Rivek and Mirab are half-Alisian and best represent the phenotype, I have drawn them in generic male and female Alisian clothing. The cuts are slightly different to exaggerate how the diamond form falls along each gender, but given that gender is not a defining trait of the individual, the overall design remains mostly the same.

The sleeves are tied to the main shirt body and often not used in summer. They can come in multiple lengths, mix and match for variety. However, it is important to note that - even in the dead of winter - sleeves and arm gear are not worn during religious ceremonies out of respect.

Alisians begin combat training as soon as they can walk, and young adults tend to venture to other countries to seek temporary work. So although much of the Alisian economy is self-sustaining on fish, sheep, and tough grains, they also receive a strong vein of outside income from steel and mercenary work. Unscrupulous, non-religious, private businessmen will usually hire an Alisian bodyguard (this is how Rivek's father and mother met). So, completely illogically, I drew Bohren in a tentative Alisian armor design... which I am not promptly scrapping. It is far too impractical. I also meant to draw Willow in Alisian priestess robes, but I got lazy.

 

Sometimes, I draw my characters in their skivvies. For the record, this is what they would wear to sleep.  Done in the lobby of =ProdigyBombay's ultra-cool workplace while I was waiting for her to hang out with me.

Art: 027/100 Themes - Foreign

"Etrani." - Foreign. 27/100 Themes.

Rivek and Mirab are Alisian on their father's side and Brennan on their mother's. Prejudice, violent history, and no effort from either side to understand the other resulted in both societies growing increasingly xenophobic of the other. Each child was raised and assimilated into one of their respective countries but their peers would make sure they always knew what it was like to be foreign. Not completely relevant, but Rivek is 5'10" and Mirab is 5'8".

Funny how those lambasted for being foreign consider those that ridicule them just as foreign. And those with half-blood are foreign to both. In addition, Mirab was much more of a crybaby when she was little.

If there's a sudden change in writing quality (be it better or worse, it's because this excerpt was written over three years ago.


The wooden boat skidded to a stop on the rocky shoals. “Careful not to poke a hole in ‘er,” muttered one of the two actual seamen on board. “These islands aren’t friendly. In more ways than one.”

Rivek stepped out of the boat and rubbed the light drizzle off his eyelashes. Ocean travel had never been his thing. He dropped his dagger and sword in the bottom of the craft seeing as he wouldn’t need them. “You all stay here. Don’t go exploring until I’ve returned.”

“Not like we’re particularly hell-bent on being slaughtered by you demon-blood types. I’m happy right where I am,” muttered the sailor. Rivek threw him a glare, but decided that reprimanding him was not worth the effort.

The shallow water lapped at his boot heels as he circled the cliff base to find a passageway he hoped he had not forgotten, but a decade was a long time to remember a secret road. Despite the cliff face, this was the easiest place to dock ships around the entire island. Any other inlet threatened to rip off the outer layer of one’s hull.

There it was. The path looked smaller, but he suspected it would since he had been only a child when he last left it. It was a little thing, meant for people to move single-file up the rock.

He ascended slowly, unsure of his footing. He kept his dark cloak wrapped around him, hood over his face, to keep the salt spray away from his eyes and to keep the chill out from under his shirt. He forgot how often it rained and how cold it became. Occasionally, he put his hand out on the rock to steady himself and wondered how many extra calluses he would have if he had lived his whole life here.

At the top of the cliff, he walked to the side of the road and let the pine branches brush against his arms. It was something stupid he had done as a child. People had made fun of him for it, but he hadn’t noticed them enough to stop. The trees felt the same. All things considered, they probably were the same, just older. He was the one who had changed as he aged.

The road itself was little more than footpath. Horses were too large to be commonly used on the islands. Things like plowing and pulling carts were usually done by people. Te tens, te resbilas. “Your things, your responsibility,” was one of those Alisian-mother phrases burned into his head, one that had carried over into his Mainland life. Albeit, in his case, his father was the one who usually did the Alisian reprimanding. His mother never bothered to learn much of the language outside of what she would need in a marketplace. He rubbed a drop of water off the tip of his nose.

“Akero.” Stop. More like 'halt,' actually.

Rivek stopped walking before stepping into the sword blade inches from his stomach. “I hold no quarrel with you,” he said, fumbling with the much more formal, now slightly foreign, syllables. “I wear no arms.” What a waste of time, but he had known it was something he’d have to put up with. From what Rivek knew, most Alisian actions were driven by nothing more than tradition, and everyday occurrences – security patrol among them – turned into bizarre rituals.

“Your accent is unfamiliar.” The other man sneered. “Where are you from?” Rivek knew there were probably now at least two other people behind him, also pointing something sharp in his direction.

“Mainlaid, Tirid.” He felt those two other weapons close in to rest against his back. The extreme xenophobia of his own people – although justified in most cases – did prove rather inconvenient on occasion. “I am here to speak with Ailinar Ailinar Mirab Imrin.” He carefully reached up to put down his hood, revealing the distinctive scar on the right side of his face.

The guard blinked a few times. It was uncommon to know someone’s fourth name let alone to use it. The blade poked at Rivek’s navel, but he knew the man wouldn’t try anything. To draw blood was an action with many connotations, over half of which could get you into trouble. The patroller motioned to a bush. Or rather, someone hiding in a bush. Rivek’s guess would have been someone with a blowgun, just in case things had taken a turn for the worst.

Waiting with three blades pointed at your torso was not something Rivek enjoyed doing, but it was something he would put up with. Even so, he hesitated to roll his shoulders a bit despite their stiffening up.

The fourth guard would have to run back to town center, or whatever the Alisian equivalent was, to get Mirab. There was probably a fifth somewhere, a magic-user in all likelihood, someone who didn’t need to be seen in order to fend off intruders. Alisian patrol tradition tended to have two or three groups of five circling the community at once. It was an odd version of town watch that most adults took part in although it was usually unnecessary, and the only things they killed were feral animals.

Rivek wasn’t sure if he could call this place a city. It was too small, and the physical structure wasn’t like that of a town. If you wanted to buy something, you wouldn’t go to a store. You would simply knock on the door of the man you knew made the things you wanted. Domara, the word for Alisian community, derived itself directly from the word for ‘family,’ and the two were usually considered one and the same no matter how confusing lineages became. Lacking space on the island, the Alisians had built upwards rather than outwards, and carved homes into hillsides and stacked shelters up trees. A record number of small children died from falling off of things. Even Rivek still had a few scars.

The runner returned, followed by a tall, blonde, woman whose long hair, decorated with random braids, flapped against her lower back as she walked. She would be what, now? Twenty-seven? She was four years older than he. Few people would see the similarities between the siblings. Her eyes were green and her nose significantly smaller, but they shared the same thin, regal, skeleton trademark to the wiry Alisian people. Lucky her, though, she got the prettier traits from mom.

“You’re dead,” she hissed.

“I sure don’t feel like it,” he replied in Common, their mother’s language, the language his sister and him used to speak between themselves when they didn’t want other people to know what they were talking about. Although, most people who had been off the islands at some point or another had picked it up. “Although if you don’t call these fellows off in a second, I very well could be.”

It took her a minute to process the words. She hadn’t heard this tongue used in ages. It struck her that she would have no idea what her younger brother looked like now. The only resemblance between this man and the eight-year-old boy she once teased was the scar across his face. And, well, scars were relatively common and easily lost and gained. Ten years, you’d think it would have faded. She was not about to get her hopes up. “I need verification.” She nodded at the runner. “He says you came across the channel, and we do not take kindly to strangers.”

Rivek sighed, but he had come prepared for this. “You have a birthmark on your shoulder that looks like a pig,” he said, switching back to Alisian.

She scoffed. “Everyone knows that. Try again.” He could feel those pointy things in his back sinking into his skin.

“You’re missing one of your back teeth because it rotted out when you were seven.”

She made a face. Obviously, not her favorite piece of information. “Someone could have told you that.” She reached for her own sword, a curved, one-sided blade that one could visibly tell received regular usage.

He sighed and switch to Common. He didn’t know why, it just made him a little more comfortable. “When you were nine, you had a pet snake, Dudu, and he died when our cousin stepped on him. We gave him a funeral in your best friend’s back yard and scattered the ashes over the ocean, but that night, you slept outside with the sheep because you didn’t want anyone to see you cry. And I went to look for you when it didn’t look like you were coming back. And then, I found you sobbing against a ewe. And then - you made me promise never to tell our father.”

Mirab inhaled sharply as the whole story played out in her head. She waved the guards away. “He has my custody. Go finish your duty.” They bowed and walked off, glancing backwards on occasion. Rivek took the opportunity to stretch his shoulders.

“I really thought you were dead. Word got back that Mom was caught in a fire…”

“That’s not the nicest thing to say to your prodigal brother when he first comes back, is it?”

“Fine, how’s this? You got tall.”

He smirked and hugged her. She came up to his chin. “Better. And you got short.”

She flicked him in the ear. “Still talking to birds?”

“As if I could stop.”

She laughed and returned his embrace.

“Welcome home.”

Art: Magnum Original and Miscellanous Sketches

I'm archiving my sketchbook before I move, so I finally got around to scanning the original sketches and unshaded comic sample page I used for the Magnum design. If you're wondering: Yes, I got in. No, it won't be posted here. And the person I'm up against is Zimmay, and I am super intimidated since she can, you know, actually draw comics.



And also, here are some Mondigan sketches for 100 Themes which need to be re-done (I may save "Mother Nature" and "No Time," but in order to do so, I must re-do "Cat"). In addition, I have an unfinished sketch of a winter uniform inspired by Sam Weber's cover for The Shadow Rising, a painting which pretty much incorporates everything I love, haha.

Art: 017/100 Themes - Blood

"Sanguion." Blood. - 17/100 Themes.

That isn't red wine they're drinking. The dark-mages in the Alisian warrior castes will drink human and animal blood for religious reasons. The magically higher pH of dark-mages reduces chance for infection but can make open wounds more disastrous.


"Little brother, prove to me that you are true Alisian. Drink with me."

Rivek lifted the class to his lips. The contents, now congealing, flowed like salty syrup onto his tongue. He tasted iron, better than any pedestrian ambrosia, and he'd never been more satiated in his life.

Art: Art Half-Marathon 09, Day 09 or 007/100 Themes - Heaven

"Evan." - Heaven. 7/100 Themes.

"Heaven" is not a word or concept that exists in Alisian, so the word is a phonetic translation of Common.

Rivek calls on his older sister, Mirab, when he needs help. Four years older than him, she used to tease him and beat him up when they were children. He has, however, always respected her as the stronger fighter and better leader.

She is a formidable fighter because, unlike her brother, she showed no magical prowess as a child. Her peers blamed her Brennan blood. It was a shock when her powers manifested late during puberty. She is based off the king cobra. Therefore, her magic power involves venom. What happens when she gets stressed in a ring cuts itself into the skin of her upper arm, and she begins bleeding. The blood actually forms a protective surface that is - at will - also poisonous and corrosive. They're referred to as the "Gloves." Yes, the process hurts.

Mirab abandoned her Brennan nationality entirely and adopted the mercenary business of her Alisian side. She shows no mercy towards foreigners who disrespect her culture.

In the effort to maintain their cultural identity, the Alisian hold on to many out-of-date rituals. The cross on the right cheek is the symbol for the Ailinar state, so many Ailinar citizens paint it on before battle. Mirab uses blood.


"Unfortunately for you, we Alisian do not believe in heaven. When we die, our ashes will go back to the earth. Where our souls go - well, that no one knows. My brother would say, that is proof that we should live our lives respectfully. But unlike my brother here, I am not so kind."

Sketches: Tailors Daughter, Mondigan, Gore & Pokemon

With finals, soon followed by my grandfather's passing, followed by my grandmother's epic quest to get into a nursing home, I haven't had the chance to post. But I've been drawing a lot of the sketchbooks I'll be selling the convention season.

Drawn in the hospital when my grandmother fell and broke her arm. In story, Rivek gets thrown into prison and nearly executed. Bohren is the one who pulls his wretched body from the fire. I really like how Bohren's face turned out.


"One perfect summer." The vacation after Bohren and Rivek's "junior" year and Willow's "freshman" year of secondary school, they spend some time in Cordelain - Rivek's mother's city. It's a quaint beach port. Bohren is the kind of guy who shows off how strong he is by giving girls piggy-back rides. Rivek thinks it's stupid.


"Psittacinus" means "parrot" in Latin, so my friend tells me. A symbolic piece, trying to show the pseduo-homosexual relationship between Bohren and Rivek, one that Rivek is blind to. Rivek's throat is garrotted, and Bohr's lips sewn together - a dual symbol of silence. The channeling beads - what Bohren uses to amplify magic - are tying them together but in the same process, binding Bohren's arms or ability to do anything about the situation.


I tend to draw Bohren topless. This is just a posing, pretty shot of him. Fun fact: He's named after chemist Niels Bohr. I am such a nerd.


Mirab, Rivek's elder sister of four years, is a legendary leader and warrior amongst her kinsman. Equal to, maybe even more, powerful than her brother. They call her, "The Gloves," because she ends up with so much blood on her arms. She is a tall, hot, sexy, skinny, small-breated blonde who can kick your butt.


Drew this in the funeral home while discussing stuff. What an arduous process. I was trying to come up with a (mildly) heavier, not-cloth, armor for Rivek more along the lines of traditional fantasy.


More Pokemon on the way. I don't know if they're cute, but I colored the first set here.


And finally, some Tailor's Daughter stuff. I didn't do as well as in the course as I had hoped, but I got whe I deserved given that I pooped out on the project from taking so many other classes.


I settled on their character designs. Nothing too fancy - this is the small-time romance between the daughter of a tradesman and a youthful sailor. Tried something odd for the cat, though, and I'm not sure I like it.


Also, just some random shit sketches.

Sketches: The Bow and the Rose

Woohoo. I've been debating for awhile if I should enter the Steampunk competition on CGTalk. Now, I finally have an idea - crafting a movie poster style piece using my old characters in a Steampunk setting.

Here are the head figures I draw which will adorn the frame-elements of the poster. The left picture is the test run, the right is the updated (after Ted's one sentence crit "needs moar gadgets"). Some still need work.


And here's the (horrible!) accompanying first-draft story I wrote.