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posted 2 hours ago, edited 2 hours ago
I've been really bad at posting my art, I have so much I need to post but it'll take weeks... so I picked 15 things and i'll ty to post them all within this next week.
Merry Christmas, but i know it's late. This is the last thing I drew of my main which brought him to 159 pieces of art.
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Your Soul Is SickHe came back to his senses slowly, as if waking up from a dream that had continued way too long. First he registered the chilly air that lingered, then how stagnant and a little bit moldy it smelled. He opened his eyes and got greeted by white ceiling and walls. Was he in a hospital? He looked around the room, but it was empty, except for the hospital bed he had been resting on. He got up and swung his legs over the bed, placing them on the cold floor. What on earth had happened to him? He tried and tried, but couldn't really remember anything... apart from a vague memory of a car crash. Had he hit his head really hard on something and lost his memories? But he didn't feel any pain. All of this seemed so strange. He stood up and walked to the door. He placed his hand on the knob and – to his surprise – the door opened. Cautiously he peeked out to see the corridor, like a little mouse that was afraid of meeting a cat. But the corridor was empty, only rows of doors were lined up on both sides. On the other side was just a dead end, but on the opposite end he could see a reception room. He sneaked out of his room, his destination set on the reception room. The room fit perfectly hospital's empty theme, having only reception desk and few withered plants in the corners of the room. Strangely, there were no doors that would possibly lead outside of that rotten place. He scratched his head pensively. What would he do now? This didn't feel real at all. “Can I help you?” He flinched and turned around to see who had startled him. He faced a woman who definitely wasn't from his world. The woman was really tall, easily over two meters in height. But the strangest part was the fact that she had four arms. She was wearing white, clean long coat as if she was a doctor. “Can I help you?” the woman asked again with a calm voice. “I... I...” he stuttered. “What... What is this place? Where am I?” “Oh dear, this must be really confusing to you! Let me introduce you: this is a hospital for lost souls”, she answered and smiled a really unnerving smile. “Don't be afraid, you are welcome here.” “A hospital for lost souls?” he repeated, perplexed by her response. “Am I... dead?” “Only if you think you are”, she said. That only made him feel even more confused. It seemed he couldn't get direct answers from her. “So, umm... Who are you?” he asked. “Doctor Myriad”, she replied. “I am the one who takes care of every soul that ends up in here, including you.” Somebody's crying sound started suddenly somewhere from the corridor. It made the situation feel even more unnerving to him. “So, umm... How can I get out of here?” That question took much more courage to utter out loud than he dared to admit. His heart went wild, pounding his chest like a hammer. It felt like an eternity before Myriad answered: “Oh no, no, no. You're not going anywhere before your soul is cured.” Her disturbing smile only grew wider. “You're not leaving anytime soon. So please, go back to your room and let the healing process begin.”EndlesslyThe stars are falling from the sky and I do not know why; are they escaping the blackest void that has spread across the heavens or are they tired of shedding tears to the world below that is now full of misery? The sight of their departure is beautiful nonetheless and when I shift my gaze away from the heavens and look back at you, I can see how the starlight is reflected from your glazed eyes, your body motionless as you wait for the sign that makes our bodies move like puppets controlled by strings. It seems like tonight you do not remember our earliest memories; I can see it from the way you are looking at me. No matter how many times I experience it, it always feels like a stab to the heart. I do not know if it is better this way, I am being torn apart anyway. Either we both retain our memories and are forced to face each other in the battlefield or one of us does not remember the other and thus only sees an enemy that has to be defeated while the other one is suffering from an unbearable heartache no one should ever have to endure. It never gets easier. But this is how our lives are, this is how it has been for a thousand years. Everything around us is dead and still, we remain. The soil under our feet has been lifeless for centuries, completely dry and cracked and nothing can grow from it. There are a few dead trees standing, like dry corpses, their branches like the fingers of the deceased as they desperately reach for the uncaring sky, begging for something, a rain or a sunshine, that would rejuvenate their withered carcasses. But the heavens ignore their silent cries. The trees here are the last ones remaining of a beautiful landscape before the war destroyed and butchered it all. Now they are nothing more but mementos of the days when everything was well. Winds play with their branches, twisting them, clinging onto them like mischievous spirits, not letting their dried-up corpses rest in peace. Tonight, however, the winds are in a different kind of mood. They are blowing across the vast field of nothingness in an ominous way and I can hear them whispering. They want blood, they want misery. I do not know what kind of sadistic glee they will gain from what is about to transpire here, but they will get what they wished for. With the vile winds came legions of soldiers of the past, groups of people I have seen for the past thousand years, but whom I cannot remember anymore. In my eyes, their bodies are translucent and their facial features have been smudged like ink stains. I simply do not recognize who they are anymore. Perhaps that is how they perceive me, maybe I am like a ghost to them, too. We are all supposed to be dead and gone now, and yet, here we are. Legions of ghostly soldiers have gathered behind your back and without looking, I know that I have comrades behind my back as well. We are all standing here, silent and motionless, waiting for the sign. Soon it comes: a blast of an ancient horn rushes throughout the battlefield, reaching every corner. The battle will begin and troops of soldiers who have spent a thousand years fighting the same war over and over again are engaging in a conflict once more, and some of them have forgotten why they even are here and what they are fighting for. But I know that losing your memories completely will not give you salvation. A luxury like a free will is something we do not have. Countless times I have raised my weapon against you and it just keeps getting harder – except on those days when I do not remember you. I do not want to do this anymore! But no matter how much I have begged or demanded this to end, it never does. My body is moving on its own, swinging my weapon, causing pain to you and every time my blade cuts your flesh, it feels like I just got cut, too. I never wanted to be part of this war and neither did you. The ancient mad lords forced us into this; they called it a holy war that would purify the land. But which side was the wicked and which was the righteous? There was no answer to that to begin with, the lords just wanted an excuse to steal the lands from the other one. This never was a holy war; it was a cursed one. We are still here, in the middle of a senseless battle, and where are the lords now? Have they died or just abandoned us, forcing us to repeat the war endlessly, unable to break out of this cycle? Just like our memories, the battlefield itself is flickering. It is unstable, a lot like our minds, and is unable to stay in its current state. Like ripples in time, flashes of various shapes of the field are echoing from the past, not sure which form to take. We can see past battles through the flickering and we are dancing macabrely together with the ghosts of our former selves. We will keep fighting even when our bodies start to break down. When do we stop? I do not know. Maybe when all of it is too much for a mortal mind to take and we get consumed by madness. Maybe when the land tries to reset itself and as a byproduct, so do we. Or maybe when whoever is pulling the strings gets tired. It definitely is not death that grants us a moment of rest and soothes our restless and rotten souls. Ah, how I see death as a friend… However, I have come to the conclusion that the world will die before we do.trophyThe Dark Flower Will BloomA lightning split the dark heaven for a moment, only to disappear as fast as it had appeared. A merciless rain which originated from the black clouds was pouring down and unfortunate were those wretches that had to travel around that night, getting soaked by the cold water. The winds played their part too and harsh were their fangs as they traversed across the land, gnawing at anything that came in their way. The weather conditions surely were abysmal that night, forcing most folks to remain in a shelter, waiting for the storm to pass. However, in a concealed tower, built from black stone, there was a boy who was attempting to tame the storm. He was standing at the very top of the tower, on a circular platform that had no railings or anything else that would ensure the safety of anyone who would make their way to this part of the building. There were just a handful of columns that supported a roof that did give a little bit of shelter from the awful weather. The boy was protected from most of the rain, but this just agitated the winds and they were being even more cruel to the child, grasping his clothes and wanting to pull him down from the tower altogether so he could experience a gruesome end. But the boy ignored their howls and snarls, focusing only on one thing. There was someone else on the platform at that moment. A man was quietly observing the boy's movements, every single motion the child made with his hands and feet. He watched how the boy beckoned to the clouds, bending them to his will. And indeed, he managed to gain control of them. The black masses would take any shape the boy desired and in a short period of time, different kinds of entities were running around the tower, from horses to dogs, from rabbits to even mythical beasts. Never did the boy lose his focus and he controlled his creations like an experienced mage. And after watching the child's performance for a while, a slight smile appeared on the man's face. “Very good, Nokhi”, the man praised the child. “Are you sure this was your first time shaping the storm clouds? To me it seems like you've been doing this for a good while already.” Nokhi released the black clouds from his control and they were quickly swept away by the winds, their shapes mangled and torn apart. The boy turned to face his master and was clearly very pleased with himself. He had a radiant smile on his face as he gave a quick and respectful bow and said: “Thank you, master Jeskel!” “Now, let's go back inside”, Jeskel spoke, gesturing with his black wooden staff towards the set of stairs that were in the middle of the circular platform, leading down to the insides of the tower. The man was the first one to begin the descent, but Nokhi wasn't far behind. The stairs spiraled down for a little while and there were a handful of ghostly blue flames scattered around the walls of this section to emit some sort of illumination. They did contribute in giving an eerie atmosphere for the stairs, especially since they ignited and extinguished themselves depending on the position of Jeskel and Nokhi. In the earlier days, Nokhi had found these flames to be a little unnerving, but nowadays, they didn't bother him at all. Eventually the man and the boy came to a black wooden door, decorated by golden imprints that mimicked various plants. Jeskel made a quick motion with his staff and the door swung open, granting Jeskel and Nokhi an access to their dwelling. Carefully placed candles were keeping away the darkness, along with strong flames that danced in the fireplace. Countless books were piling up in every corner of this place, some of them neatly stored in various bookcases, but quite a lot of tomes that all had something to do with magic were just left lying around in a disorganized manner. Various other objects shared the same fate as books, not really having an assigned place and were just sitting wherever Jeskel or Nokhi had dropped them. This included different kinds of trinkets, skulls of small animals, jars that contained several strange contents ranging from body parts of mysterious beasts to weird liquids. All of these things together created a rather messy environment, but they also made it home for Jeskel and Nokhi. This was their little safe haven, a place where they could be themselves, not persecuted by the outside world. “You should warm up a little before heading to bed”, Jeskel said as he walked towards a desk that was almost completely hidden from view by stacks of books and parchments. He sat down on a chair and left his staff to lean against a wall. The man took a blank parchment and grabbed a quill, dipped it in an inkwell and started to scribble down what had happened that day and to document Nokhi's improvement. Meanwhile the boy was sitting on the floor by the comforting fire, his hands reaching for the flames, yearning for the warmth. After being out in such awful weather, the heat of the fire felt like a great blessing and indeed, Nokhi was grateful for having a warm shelter at that moment. It hadn't always been like this for him. If it wasn't for Jeskel, he would probably be in the streets getting utterly soaked, most likely then getting very ill. He hadn't gotten a great start for life, but he was getting in a better direction. For a moment the room was almost completely silent. The raindrops were heavily striking the windows, the flames were cracking in the fireplace and the quill's scratching on the parchment were the only sounds a human being could hear. At some point, Jeskel got a little distracted by a thought that crossed his mind and he stopped scribbling for a second. He gazed at the boy who was still enjoying the warmth of fire and he thought to himself how Nokhi's messy black hair reminded him of a raven. And just like a bird, the child had managed to soar. Then an idea struck the man's mind. “Nokhi, would you like to learn to fly?” Jeskel asked. Nokhi turned to look at his direction and Jeskel could see excitement sparkling in his eyes. “Really? You really could teach me that?” “Of course”, Jeskel responded, smiling at the boy. “And I think you will learn it in no time.” “Thank you, master Jeskel!” Nokhi's eagerness was something that just warmed Jeskel's soul. He was always ready to learn new things and he was always respectful. The man had found a great apprentice. “Well”, Jeskel said as he dipped his quill into the ink again, “I think you should go to sleep now.” “Yes, master Jeskel”, Nokhi replied and he raised his little body from the floor. The boy headed to his own living space, which was just a corner with a purple curtain serving as a door. It was small, but cozy and Jeskel had let him decorate it however he liked. “Good night, Nokhi”, Jeskel said as he began to scribble again. “Good night, master”, the boy answered and disappeared into his room. The man was left alone to write his thoughts down regarding the boy. He was impressed with his progress, especially when considering Nokhi's young age. The child had seen probably eleven summers. Jeskel himself hadn't been able to do half the things Nokhi already mastered in that age. And the little boy hadn't even known that he was bearing the gift of magic… In Jeskel's mind, it was truly fascinating to observe how the child's abilities kept growing stronger. There was no doubt about it, he could become an extraordinary individual if he continued to study magic. A moment passed by as Jeskel was scribbling his notes. The length of the scattered candles had shortened quite significantly when he was finally done. He put the quill down and stretched his arms a little as his position had been quite stiff. The man scratched his dark brown beard; though some of the hairs had already turned white. Unlike many other men of his age, he wasn't afraid of growing older, he was beyond that. While the ordinary men had to come in terms with their mortality, Jeskel was only thriving. One of the reasons was his apprentice; not even a single second of his time felt wasted as long as he was able to teach someone as special as Nokhi. Jeskel attempted to arrange his messy desk a little bit by stacking all the parchments he had written about his apprentice. They were the perfect record of the two years Jeskel had been teaching magic to the boy. Flipping through them was like diving back into the memories. And what a story these scribbles told… Jeskel placed the parchments as a neat stack on the desk. His gaze wandered to one of the windows and for a brief moment he just stared into the darkness, recalling back his earliest memories with Nokhi. They met each other by pure accident on the streets of a town. The boy hadn't had an easy childhood and it was pretty clear from the way he acted. Nokhi had told that his mother never wanted him and he had no idea who his father was. He had been on his own a couple of years living in the streets, just trying to live to see the next day. Nokhi had become distrustful towards people and arrogant as well. He didn't owe anything to anyone. But just by a mere glance, Jeskel could tell that the child was gifted; it was an instinct which common men didn't have. Of course, when the man had brought forth the idea of him teaching magic to the boy, Nokhi had just laughed at him, thinking that he was messing with him. However, after Jeskel had shown him a few simple tricks using magic and telling him that he could possibly do the same exact things, Nokhi suddenly became interested. Jeskel had then taken him to his tower; a place that was built on the same soil as the town, but it was concealed by magic so ordinary people couldn't see it. Following Nokhi's first visit to Jeskel's tower, the boy grew even more intrigued and soon began his apprenticeship. The crude shell Nokhi had put on in order to survive was shed after some time and he learned to be respectful towards his master. But Jeskel wasn't just a mentor, he had also become the father figure he had never had. The man had given him shelter, food and clean clothes and the boy had told him how grateful he was for that. It seemed like the little boy's life was finally starting. A smile spread on Jeskel's face. Truly, Nokhi was like a rare and spectacular flower, grown from a cursed soil. But despite his origins, one day he would bloom like no other and then the world would surely know his name. He just needed guidance and nurturing and of course, Jeskel saw himself as the right person for that task. The man would be the rain and the sun so the dark flower could flourish. He would make sure that the boy would learn to embrace his inner darkness and remain fearless in front of the black-hearted beings. In the following years, Nokhi would surely become one with the forces the common men misleadingly called wicked, and when he would take the dive into the depths of his dark powers and shatter the fragile border that lingered in between the being's consciousness and the hidden black part of the soul, that would ultimately become the day when the greatest mage in history would emerge from the shadows. And that was the day Jeskel wanted to see and experience. The boy just needed to be guided to the right path. Jeskel would make sure that it would happen. The man stood up. He grabbed his staff and slowly walked across the small living space. Just like Nokhi, he had his own slice of personal space as well, but unlike the boy's little corner, he had an actual room – even though it wasn't spacious, either. It was located right by Nokhi's quarters, the door to Jeskel's room was a couple of meters away from the curtain of the boy's living space. Once the man was by the black wooden door that guarded the access to his room, he could hear faint snoring coming from behind the curtain. The sound of a sleeping child… It was something Jeskel had got used to only recently. Jeskel waved his staff a little and in unison, all the candles got snuffed out and the flames in the fireplace simply vanished. All that was left were curls of smoke dancing in the dark air. The man opened the door to his little residence, then carefully shut it behind him as he didn't want to wake the boy. After all, he was still a little child. He needed his visits to the land of dreams. The time for tainting them with nightmares would come soon enough.trophy