Shadar-Kai Monk

The second post of today, this time with today's warm-up sketch, since today I have to tackle a large, late, gift piece so I did my usual random character rolling to get out a shadar-kai monk chick, and I figured it would be an opportunity to practice some Raven Queen tattoos on a chick.

Gnoll Ardent

Yesterday's warm-up sketch was the result of opening the D&D 4e Character Builder, closing your eyes, and picking a random race/class combo, it came out really weird. But the colors themselves are accidental, originally his clothes would be all green and purple until I realized purple just ruined the line art and i stopped, stood back, and realized the white fit perfectly. Yay accidents.

Taking a Warm-Up Sketch Too Far

Here's the finished product.

And this was the innocent little warm up sketch I did in my new sketchbook that started this whole thing.

Stylization Much

As of late I've noticed my art sort of losing it's luster and sense of life, which I've traced to the fact that I've been hung up on too many minor details and totally forgot about the stylization I once had. Now I've decided to change this.


Firstly, my pride and joy Orea. I've tried to take away all sense of roundness from Orea's figure and posture, in an attempt to show her as being a bit more jagged and not necessarily evil, but less caring than she looked before.
Jam on the other hand is designed to look sleeker and more agile, while still retaining her childishness. The Jam seen here is the Jam you'll see within 2 months of in-comic time.

To The Dogs

Despite having a busy day (it's now officially 3am) I've still managed to crank out some unnecessary concept art once again. The top drawing, the War Shepard, is the main mode of individual land transport, are similar to German Shepard/Hyena hybrids, they're like modern day sled dogs, only 6 feet tall. The one shown would be more of a scout or messenger shepard, seeing as it lacks the barding and muscle mask a battle shepard might wear. The bottom drawing is just my interpretation of lycanthropic lupines, y'know, werewolves. In my setting they're not only rather intelligent and eloquent, they bear resemblance to the stereotypical brit. These kinds of werewolves are also impervious to silver, that whole "you can only kill a werewolf with silver" thing was just a misconstruen translation, or the equivalence to a world wide game of telephone.

Butterfly Babe (UPDATED)

Mostly the product of boredom, but I've just been trying to populate the regions of my world I call "The Savage Norths" with various totemic tribes, some druidic, some shaman, some barbarian, some a mix of the three. But I forget what exactly triggered this idea, but it's essentially a halfling butterfly totem druid, who can transform into a swarm of butterflies, in this case, nice teal blue ones, the clan itself is very pacifistic, preferring to spend their time planting various flowers and growing things, rather than fighting or adventuring.

Just designing some general gear for the butterfolk, setting rules for their culture too.

Dem Youngins

Reworking Orea's timeline so that she was around 16 when her village was burned, then she spent 2 years with the White Raven Clan where she learned the ways of shadow and reforged her bastard sword, then found her way to Dockmoon and met up with little Jam. Though, I've always had the idea of her having burns under her gloves, uncontrolled arcane magic can do that to ya.

Night Sketchin!

First off, an idea for a steampunk fairy culture, they build their wings, they're flying marksmen, they're the size of elves, they replace the wild-archers role elves typically fit, except they use some degree of tech, steam tech.

I am watching Sweeney Todd. It is my favorite movie

It is late. Full sentences aren't happening.

I am the devil

To bugs, that is. So here's how I believe I've earned my title. As I was drawing in my sketchpad, I hear a faint buzz that I've come to associate with the stink bugs that keep finding their way into my house, namely my room, namely my desk next to the window with the broken screen. So I figured "Meh, whatevz" and went back to drawing. That is, until it made it's opening move. As I'm working: PLOP. The beast falls down in front of me, onto my sketchbook, desecrating it with it's foul presence. Now I'm on the move, I tilt the pad so the demon slides off onto my empty second desk behind me. As it's trying to maneuver itself out of it's prone position, I grab the conveniently placed can of hairspray, used for keeping up my old, bullet-proof liberty spikes. It's on. I do a quick test spray of the can, success, then the can's nozzle takes aim at this new invader. CHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. The spray connects, critical success, the demon's wings are now bound to its foul torso. It strains itself to lift it's aerodynamic apparatus from it's durable shell but to no avail, it was stuck, flightless with it's extremities becoming harder to operate by the second. The beast attempted to make a hasty retreat through the portal it had used for entry, but as he was creeping toward the midway point, I had discovered my heat lamps. As lamps turned their gaze to the spot of the horror, they sent their scorching rays in the demon's direction, speeding up the hairspray's immobilization process. This was not enough. On went more hairspray, it's delightful hiss, its freezing breath, all pure pleasure. This continued until the beast ceased movement, at which point, most would assume victory was there's, but not me, I had to be sure. As a test, I opened the window the creature was longing for, now completely agate, zephyrs pouring in. The demon suddenly sprung to life once more and continued it's pursuit of undeserved freedom. But being who I am, I just watched as the demon made its ascension until it's victory was in sight. Window open, it was now perched on the window sill and seemed to halt a moment, get its second wind, maybe think about it's family back home, reflect on his recent folly, or maybe just take in the view. But that moment was all I needed, it was still, perfectly position for the impending. SLAM! The window closes, crushing the beast, ending it's struggle for existence. I love me.

Death by Color Theory (UPDATED)

Just colored the cleric in to match the rest of the scene. The bottom left is where the text goes.

While working on page 2 of the comic, there are some panels that seemed to deserve more attention than others. Namely the slaughter scenes. I've decided to go with the movie-poster cliche of orange/blue for this one for a few reasons. The light blue is an easier, softer color, representing the ease of the kill while the orange is the eye-grabber, really bringing your eye through the picture, instead of just at the picture. And y'know, I can only digitally paint so much before I start to hate it. That's a reason too.

A Preview For Y'all

This is just a little preview for my readers of page one of the comic, sans text. Spent around 5-6 hours on this and while digi-painting the backgrounds of the comic take a lot more time than just inking and coloring like usual, I much prefer it since it's a lot more fun and keeps my falcon punch away from the tablet.

SeaFox Clan

Just some concept art for the nearby primal group within walking distance of Orea's home base in Moondock.

The Seafox clan claim the territory north of Moondock, but west of the main road leading out from it. The Seafox clan hosts the monthly Moonfeast on the full moon of every month, to rejoice in the power it confers. The moon is the master of the seas and the mutual connection between these clansmen and the common traders, pirates and sailors that come through this town, and by making themselves more well known and building a reputation they have become many a trade partner, in return offering blessings of the moon to those who need guidance or the blessing of the fox for those who wish this nights deeds be done without capture. Either way, Foxbeard, the clan warden, leads his druids, shamans, barbarians and kinsmen in their daily lives and festivities, and his dwarven heritage lends him an amazing tolerance for the ales he adores so much.

Elven Designs

So here's the general train of thought: I've been convinced to watch the 2006 movie, "The Fall" and have found it's general character design rather well done. By both taking elements from some of the characters in that journey, in addition to adding a bit of traditional elven flair, I've experimented with the elves I'm using for Orea's world. The elf on top, is loosely based on african tribal warriors, given the colored war paint, then combined with Shaolin monk robes made for one interesting sort of elf...then I got bored and made a different kind of elf. The one at the bottom right, this one, more saracen combined with a little bit of roman cut clothing, but still retaining middle eastern turban and sash. I must say what I'm most proud of is the sword at the left. That creation came purely out of accident. Originally I was trying to combine a khopesh with a kriss, then that idea failed so I figured, when in doubt, just add a second blade. These blades were meant to be pulled apart but then I added the little circle at the pommel of the blade, making it look like a hinge, then I figured that if the blades were to swing open like that, they'd make a pretty fancy bow. So bam. Bow-sword.

Warm-Up Sketches

Just a warm-up drawing. If you don't say "d'awww" you have no soul.

Another warm-up sketch on the same page as the previous, since I have a larger sketchbook I can spend more time side-tracked doodling. But as to what this is, your guess is as good as mine, though, I can say what it was supposed to be: A masked chaos magic sorcerer who used glow sticks as implements. Then he became too buff and his clothes too spandexy, so at this point, it's anyone's say.

I really should be working on the comic, but now I'm just shitting out art.

D'awwwww

While working on the comic, I drew a particularly cute drawing of Orea that actually made me go "D'awwww" and I just really like it.

IZ A POEM!

So basically, Jessa needed to write a poem about Odysseus for a class, and I was able to shit one out in under a minute. It went a little like...

"Brave was this man called Odysseus,
He even blinded a cyclopseses.
Evantually his posse were turned into pigs,
And for a year, he shagged a witch in her digs.
Then the survivors killed some bitchin cows,
And the next morning, they were all like KA-PLOW
Evantually this fucker found his way home,
Where some dumb hobos wanted to get blown,
By the the wife of this man Odysseus,
Which made him even more pissed,
So then he trapped and killed them all like wild boars,
But I still say his wife's a little whore."

Now with an epic reading by Samwise the Ostrich

Fanart Updated!

Yup! Added another recently received piece :3

Fan Art FTW!

Sadly, I usually pay/work for the fanart I get, but here's what I've received thus far!:


My favorite piece ever by one Adam Law, inspiration and webcartoonist.

This piece was one of many 10 dollar sketches drawn by Megan Lawton

And this piece in particular, is framed and hanging from my wall, the first and most favorite piece of Orea fanart ever drawn by my bestest artist friend ever: Jessa Rempel!


I HATH RETURNED THE WHIPPING I HAVE RECEIVED FROM THIS! MWAHAHAHA!...done by Logan Streu :3

Anyone who reads this is more than welcome to contribute to my ever-growing dragonhoard of awesome.

Thus Far v2 (UPDATED (AGAIN)

DONE! Finally! (NOW IN BLUE)

___________________________________________________________________

Since the last drawing was insufficient with countless errors I'd rather not point out, the whip has been cracked again, "DO IT AGAIN!" yells the harpy. So I did. This time I'll wait for approval before I start inking.

Presenting: Jam Sharp-Ears!

Once a refugee gone street-thug, Jam has always had quite the adventurous spirit. A few winters back, some of the other children, mostly humans, were particularly cruel to Jam, constantly mocking her elven bloodline until she couldn't take it anymore and ran off into the woods for the night. Little did she know at the time, her retreat had saved her life. Around what most would call the late night, and others, the early morn, from her temporary treetop dwelling, Jam awoke to a smell that reminded her of the blacksmith and a sound resembling crushing a page of parchment. It didn't take long for this little lady to realize what was really going on. A fire. Not here, no. Back home. She skittered down the trunk of the large yew she slept in, and let her elven instincts guide her through the labyrinth of forests. When she finally reached her town, she couldn't believe what she saw. "It must be an illusion," She thought, "A foul, foul, prank!" but it was not. Her village was one large blaze at this point, and standing amidst the black, endless smoke, a group, not large by any means, they didn't need many. They were war-wizards. She would never forget their alliance, their crest, or any of their faces. Ever.

Fast forwarding a few years, Jam is now a city dweller, her heritage now accepted and barely noticed. She's in league with the local cutpurses and burglars. It's not a great living, but she has them and they all have each other. Fortunately and unfortunately, she stole from the wrong person one day. While she was giving her usual high-noon musical performance in the the town square, one on-looker caught her eye. A pale, slender woman, unusual facial markings, and a large, hefty sword. Big swords, big wallets. After the show, Jam quickly packed up and blended into the crowd, following the woman into a local tavern, "The Eighteenth Kobold". The woman drank heavily and seemed to be having a merry time, totally distracted. Now was Jam's time to act. She kept close to the shadowed wall, unbeknownst to her, the shadows themselves are what gave her away. But as her small hand wriggled it's nimble fingers in nervous anticipation of the reward her stealth would earn her. A few more inches. Just a few more. In the blink of an eye, maybe even half the blink of an eye, the woman's hand grabbed the little thief's wrist, she knew this was no ordinary woman, and this woman knew this was no ordinary thief.

I Always Have to Hinder Myself

Y'know, it'd be fantastic if I actually planned out the comic before I started to draw it, instead of making it up as I go along. Today's example: Realizing the character that was supposed to be in the final panel still has to be designed. Go Team Petar.

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Thus Far

Being held against my will with the pictured shotgun to draw this. I'll work on it tomorrow. For now, I'll try to subtly grab some tranquilizer darts. That'll last a while.

THIS. IS. ENTREPRENUERSHIPPPPPPP

It sure is. That's where I'm blogging from. School. Surprisingly they've blocked my beloved twitter but not this blog giant. One tabs got google wave open, the other has this time killer and the last last my goddamn business plan. Letting my mind wander a bit: The concept I've been a tad obsessed with recently is the concept of a primal paladin for my dnd game. The crunchy breakdown of it is a warden/cleric of avandra gnoll hybrid, so it's out there. I figure the warden's "Circles" are almost exactly like the paladin's "Orders" so that conversion in itself is a solid mechanic. Then, my other half takes over, the cleric, seeing as I'm sadly both the group's tank/healer/leader/scout/tactian since the rest of my group consists of a barbarian who hardcore dances as a precautionary ritual, a brazen bugbear avenger who wears a human head as a necklace/amulet of Bane, and a tiefling warlock who should learn to STOP THROWING DAGGERS AND UP THE PEWPEW. So naturally, it's a burden to keep the group not only progressing, but alive and well. Seeing as our DM plays with the "Critical Failure" rules, dying is a big, constant, issue that has to be resolved with some hot, hot heals and some dues ex machina from time to time. Last game I was a druid/shaman elf hybrid who was more concerned with his own well being than that of his comrades, but hey, I didn't go down once. Thank you fox form. For our next session, everyone seems to be partly or wholly rerolling to better fit our DM's adventure. His style is more of a story-driven indulgence, only leading us to the bigger boss battles, saving the random encounters. Thus far, I know now im a primal paladin, our bugbear is considering hybriding up to a cleric or fighter, our fighter/barbarian hybrid is now going full up barbar, and I'm going to see if I can convince our warlock to go assassin. There's nothing more awesome than strangling someone with their own shadow.

Art DUMP

Honestly? I'm just throwing up my favorite pieces from my deviantart and twitpic, you can click on any of them to get the full-size. Descriptions can be found at their respective locations.

The Amazing Me

Honestly, there's never much to say about the creator as much as his creation, so for my first post, I'll introduce my main character: Orea Ahr'lenndar.

Orea was born in The Savage North's, where the fey creatures of legend and horror live, and only the hearty dwell. Born into a clan of barbarians, Orea was trained from a young age to be a tough, gruff, fighter, though there was always something a bit off about her. Her lineage admits to mingling with Storm Giants many generations ago, granting them a natural affinity for the arcane that only truly revealed itself to few who had Storm Giant blood coursing through their veins. Since about age 6, Orea had been able to cast minor magical cantrips, prestidigitation, her favorite. Despite her barbaric up-bringing, she, like many of the other clan females, were trained to be more agile than strong, taking up a more roguish mantle, but Orea rejected that path. With her arcane ancestry, came the spells to enhance her physical prowess, letting her wield her birthrite bastard sword as if it were a common rapier. In time, she was more accepted into the Boar Clan hunting parties, ascending the ranks from being a common hunter to a much desired clan rank, a charger. Orea's unnatural speed gave her the momentum to deliver crushing death blows with momentum alone, ensuring her spot as both a scout and a party leader.


Orea's bastard sword has always had a special enchantment that would be a deciding factor in her life later on, the ability to deflect spells. As soon as her bloodline revealed itself, runes of arcane deflection were carved into her blade, knowing that her magical abilities, combined with her curiosity, might get her in deep with some other arcanists or magi. But no would could have anticipated what happened next, the village burning. Wizards, war mages, on a crusade for land and power, burnt down the boar clan village and scorched its halls and its people, charring both weapon and wielder, leaving them defenseless and afraid. No one would destroy what Orea cherished without retaliation, no one. As the onslaught persisted, Orea rose up to defend her home, knowing she was the only one who could. Like snowflakes into an oven, the wizards fell, their magic turned against them, their glory and hubris met with fury and rage. That sect of war mages died that day, taking all but one of the boar clansman with them, the one who really mattered. After a period of mourning, Orea made her way to a neighboring clan, The White Raven Clan, and stayed with them for a halfyear, learning their ways and coping with her loss. In this time, Orea started worship of their deity, a death god, who viewed death as a means of balance, not of cruelty. Through her, Orea made a pact granting her power over darkness itself, though, she had to give up some free will. As long as Orea carried out the deity's agenda, she can keep her shadow powers. The deity sends Orea's missions in the form of white messenger ravens, who can orally relay missions to Orea where ever she is.