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HOLLOWTOBER
- Thread starter HollowWorld
- Start date
electricwisekid
Legend
Day 3: Mutation
I was initially going to color this more realistically, but, uh, it seems I am not good enough at art to do that lol. So, I did flat colors instead.
Anyway the rose itself a one mutated by Lana to have void, pitch black petals, grey stem and leaves, dulled thorns, and glow a subtle white.
the glow can be seen in dark mode
Day 3
Mutation
Less of a speedpaint today and more of a sketch I colored in real quickly. Took some inspiration from Electric's piece above, and some from "The Flood" - a faction from Halo.
A mutagen of plant which grows like fungus upon the dead. Rumor has it, some of these plants are able to reainimate whole sets of armor.
Mutation
Less of a speedpaint today and more of a sketch I colored in real quickly. Took some inspiration from Electric's piece above, and some from "The Flood" - a faction from Halo.
A mutagen of plant which grows like fungus upon the dead. Rumor has it, some of these plants are able to reainimate whole sets of armor.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Passencore
Legend
4. Curse
“There is a kind of curse, glossed over in folklore and gossiped about in whispers where the superstitious congregate. They call it the ‘evil eye’. A glance given in anger by a witch, to mark one for lifelong misery or death. I found mention of it lodged in the pages of a book. Nodding off into its pages, my forehead resting the entirety of my slumber on the page detailing it, I dreamt thusly:
There was hustle and bustle by the quay, and I was invisible. Flitting from stall to stall and pocket to pocket, an invincible thief on the breeze. At one, fortunes were being read. A woman, twine and bone charms hanging from matted hair, using cards as an augur. A black cat nearby, and In childlike cruelty I pulled its tail. By the poor thing’s yowl, she knew I was there, then, and fixed me with such a stare...
How to describe its character? It felt the kind of malevolence that can exist only in dreams. One knowing by instinct everything below the stars regarding you with hatred.
I fled, but in truth nowhere was safe. Underneath the fish-stalls, the eels fixed me with the evil-eye. In the sewers? It was the rats, and when I fled far from civilization, the wind raking its fingers through the trees felt like that same gaze. The last thing I recall is arriving home and finding each stone with a new character of ill-intent, and screeching at them to stop staring.
Thus my dream ends.”
“There is a kind of curse, glossed over in folklore and gossiped about in whispers where the superstitious congregate. They call it the ‘evil eye’. A glance given in anger by a witch, to mark one for lifelong misery or death. I found mention of it lodged in the pages of a book. Nodding off into its pages, my forehead resting the entirety of my slumber on the page detailing it, I dreamt thusly:
There was hustle and bustle by the quay, and I was invisible. Flitting from stall to stall and pocket to pocket, an invincible thief on the breeze. At one, fortunes were being read. A woman, twine and bone charms hanging from matted hair, using cards as an augur. A black cat nearby, and In childlike cruelty I pulled its tail. By the poor thing’s yowl, she knew I was there, then, and fixed me with such a stare...
How to describe its character? It felt the kind of malevolence that can exist only in dreams. One knowing by instinct everything below the stars regarding you with hatred.
I fled, but in truth nowhere was safe. Underneath the fish-stalls, the eels fixed me with the evil-eye. In the sewers? It was the rats, and when I fled far from civilization, the wind raking its fingers through the trees felt like that same gaze. The last thing I recall is arriving home and finding each stone with a new character of ill-intent, and screeching at them to stop staring.
Thus my dream ends.”
electricwisekid
Legend
It’s the fact that it’s on a black background. It’s haunting. Provocative. Where is the rest of him? Why is just his head visible? So many questions are evoked from such a simple image, adding to the cursed nature of the piece - it forces the viewer to question themselves, their view of the world, the way they see other humans, but the answers to these questions come from within: in the end, the real cursed isn’t the art or even the questions stemming from it, but the answers we find in ourself.4. Curse
Have a cursed Ruvan.
I_am_Wake
Legend
It's been a pretty bad day for art, but I managed to churn something out eventually
Day 3 - Mutation
Day 3 - Mutation
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Passencore
Legend
It's past midnight where the server is hosted, so I'm posting this before i pass out and forget
5. Treat
“There exists in scent and smell perhaps the most visceral of memories. A kind of recollection that worms its way up from the heart into the mind-at-sleep, tantalizing with ephemerality and sweetness. The chest aches, the lips twist, in the haze of early wakefulness wanting to cry out for what is lost.
This was one such dream.
I dreamt of first the scent of hibiscus-flowers. A precious glimpse of my namesake, the heady and humid air of my father’s greenhouse. I plucked a petal to nibble on, chafed fingers, still raw from the earlier writing-lessons. I recall those too, but in the dream my mind was elsewhere: the kitchen, where my favorite scullery-maid was preparing a treat. My mouth watered for sugar, dough, lemon zest, and dried hibiscus. I was forbidden from fraternizing too heavily with the servants, but on such weeks where my father refused to leave his study, she let me help prepare these cookies.
We would chat while the cookies baked.
She would tell me of her childhood spent, how she learned to bake from her mother and father, both bakers in turn. This was to be her stepping stone, a means to climb higher than even that profession.
She, such a hard worker, in her twenties already with gnarled fingers! I miss her dearly. A few figures of that time that made my life under father’s thumb bearable, and she was among them.
With that reflection the dream ends, but the melancholy lingers.”
5. Treat
“There exists in scent and smell perhaps the most visceral of memories. A kind of recollection that worms its way up from the heart into the mind-at-sleep, tantalizing with ephemerality and sweetness. The chest aches, the lips twist, in the haze of early wakefulness wanting to cry out for what is lost.
This was one such dream.
I dreamt of first the scent of hibiscus-flowers. A precious glimpse of my namesake, the heady and humid air of my father’s greenhouse. I plucked a petal to nibble on, chafed fingers, still raw from the earlier writing-lessons. I recall those too, but in the dream my mind was elsewhere: the kitchen, where my favorite scullery-maid was preparing a treat. My mouth watered for sugar, dough, lemon zest, and dried hibiscus. I was forbidden from fraternizing too heavily with the servants, but on such weeks where my father refused to leave his study, she let me help prepare these cookies.
We would chat while the cookies baked.
She would tell me of her childhood spent, how she learned to bake from her mother and father, both bakers in turn. This was to be her stepping stone, a means to climb higher than even that profession.
She, such a hard worker, in her twenties already with gnarled fingers! I miss her dearly. A few figures of that time that made my life under father’s thumb bearable, and she was among them.
With that reflection the dream ends, but the melancholy lingers.”
- Pronouns
- She/Her
CastleSuperbeast
Legend
Hello I have been busy so I dont know if I can do a catchup day or not but I will anyway just in case.
