C O S M O⭐️R I D E R

https://artfight.net/~PureCosmoRider

I'm currently doing Art Fight 2026 and I’m on Team Mystery! I make mixed media pieces and my goal is to fill up my sketchbook this Art Fight, so I’m trying to draw as much as I can! If you are interested in any of my OCs, feel free to pop by! I prioritize Comedy and Tragedy for regular attacks, but I revengeregardless of team! While I will attack and revenge almost anything, I love attacking fantasy and Pokémon characters in particular (Tieflings, satyrs, and fauns are some of my favorite fantasy species)! If you share any character types with my own, I’d love to exchange fire! I’m down to exchange fire either way! Below are some examples of my attacks this year!

Here are some of my own character sheets (these are my favorites that I’d love attacks for — I would be ecstatic to receive art of Angus and Crius in particular before the season ends 🙏 )

⭐Here are some attacks I’ve completed this year! Below feature the following characters:⭐

✨Amie the Stufful (ShasCarnival — https://artfight.net/~ShasCarnival)

✨Abi and Poppy (LylaKiki — https://artfight.net/~LylaKiki)

✨Eximas (Thoura — https://artfight.net/~Thoura)

✨Rayne (Tiara- — https://artfight.net/~Tiara-)

✨⭐️✨

My sister was the first to vanish. The last time we saw Gracie, she waved farewell from the train carrying her off toward the capital. Her university couldn’t— or wouldn’t—explain what happened after that. It was as if the universe wiped her from existence the second the train doors closed. Despite our many theories, it did nothing to change the bitterness we felt planting a cross in the pasture. It was a painful reminder that our family of shepherds found every lost sheep, but never our own flesh and blood.

Crius was the second— a different mystery that hurt all the same. I still remember the chorus of yelping howls waking the family one summer night. I awoke to the slam of the front door, and Ma reported seeing him run from the house with his crook. The coyotes claimed innocence in his disappearance, denouncing any possibility that a human boy died at their paws: we had no evidence of the contrary. Instead, we were left with another empty chair and unresolved grief.

I understand why he did it. In the hours leading to his disappearance, I saw him with someone in the sheep pastures. I didn't approach: the raised voices deterred me from checking. Not long after, a faun strode past the house. She was too distracted to notice me, but I overheard her hiss, “Always the self-righteous lil’ thorn…”

Crius returned with a chip on his shoulder. Before I could ask, he admitted, unprompted, “Did you see Agnes? She wanted to know about Gracie.”

“Oh,” I replied. “What did you tell her?”

“That we don't need her kind of help. She thought in her great wisdom she could just promise Gracie back if I helped her with another ‘grand adventure’. Some search for a magic compass, or something. She… she can’t understand that things have changed and it’s all just–”

Crius paused, clutching his fist to his chest as if tearing out the heartache. “You can't make promises like that, you know? After all that… what a thorn…”

He trailed off, not speaking the rest of the evening. I didn't press him on the matter. Agnes wasn’t just any faun— well, any girl for that matter. I wasn't close to her myself, but she was Crius’s closest friend until skipping town two years before. They departed on bad terms, and I refused to poke the wound of grief and betrayal. Despite all that, he still searched for her that night. He knew the coyotes wouldn't hesitate to slay a faun, but perhaps they would spare her if she was with a human. I always thought if he did meet his end against a massive coyote, it was the most noble way to go. It was easier for me to believe he died fighting.

Then I received the letter:

Damarius Warbler

Please meet me at the entrance of Illborn Woods tonight. Come after nightfall. I ask that no one learns about this meeting. I have news from your brother.

—A friend

I received it from the carrier midday yesterday. I questioned him on the sender, but he shrugged; “Dunno, but definitely a satyr— or a faun? I ferget the difference… but he had huge horns. Couldn’t really hide them under his hood.”

Dread shredded my spirit as I gripped the crumpled parchment. I only pocketed it when the sheep realized its enticement. I knew what must be done, but my fear of the family curse weighed on my mind. My parents already lost half their children to thin air: what if I added to their mounting grief by answering?

In the end, it was the state of the dining room which encouraged me to go. The chairs of Gracie and Crius were pushed against the wall, now bearing vases of wilted, shriveled flowers. It was just me, Ma, Pa, and little sister Sophie at the table. From the outside, you never would’ve guessed anything was wrong. But I remember when it was all six of us under one roof— that was authentic happiness, not strained smiles and long pauses. I thought that maybe we’d have true closure if we knew the truth about one of our departed.

I waited for the last bedroom door to shut before making my move. I grabbed my crook and lantern by the door, finally escaping into the night. I am no stranger to watching flocks by night, but something felt off as Illborn Woods came into view. The full moon glowed overhead, but even with its light, the woods remained thick with foliage and shadows. It was an unavoidable experience for those traveling by traditional means, but it was hazardous to travel through by night. I prayed that none of the nocturnal beasts lingered on the edge.

The mouth of the woods never looked more uninviting. I squinted into the dark, not daring to call out. Pa always warned us to never give the forest our name— it’s always the first step toward losing yourself in it.

“You… you actually came.”

I jumped at the sudden voice on the path ahead. I took a few steps back as a figure edged out. Even with my lantern, I couldn't see his face, but his horns were indeed difficult to hide under his hood. Aside from his remarkably tall, twisted horns, what stood out most was his eclectic outfit. His weathered green cloak and orange skirt contrasted horribly with one another. Through the split in the skirt’s side, I saw shaggy goat legs. However, his hooves dragged across the ground as if he wasn’t accustomed to using them.

“Who are you?” I inquired, my voice firm and fearless. “How do you know Crius?”

The faun bowed his head low, his eyes cast to the ground. He refused to move away from the forest’s mouth and into the light.

“Oh, our…” the faun began but immediately paused, clearing his throat and continuing, “I’m… Angus. Yes… yes, I knew Crius well. You see, he… he wanted me to deliver this to you.”

The faun pulled a full envelope from under his cloak and set it on the ground between us. I knew something was off about the faun's words, but I couldn't confirm why.

“Why a letter?” I remarked, disregarding my racing heart. “Why couldn't he tell us himself?”

I stepped closer to Angus, but he pulled back. His heavy breathing escalated under the hood, stuttering, “P-Please, just read it. It will explain everything. We can't—”

“If you know where he is, please, just tell me.” I pleaded, refusing to back down. “If it’s really from him, you must’ve seen him. You’re our only hope in months—”

I gestured to the path which I came, back to my family’s sheep pasture and home.

“I know,” Angus stammered, backing away. “I-I’m sorry, but this is for the best. I will only make it—”

Angus’s goat legs tripped each other as he tried avoiding my approach. He fell back with a bleat-like yelp, crumbling onto the ground. As he tried to push himself back up, his hood slipped off his horns, revealing his face.

I stared down at him, determining whether I was imagining or not. I don't know what made it all click for me: the same round-rim glasses I often saw on the bedside, the long, dark curly hair now laced with white streaks, or the star-adorned compass hanging loose around his neck. The face was different, but I knew I wasn’t mistaken.

“Crius?”

Crius— or Angus —scrambled to his cloven hooves. He watched in horror before turning tail and bolting into the woods. I didn't hesitate chasing after him, calling, “Wait— Crius! Come back! I won’t lose you a second time!”

Despite the dark, Angus’s galloping hooves gave away his position ahead of me. I was ready to chase him all night, but the path vanished beneath me. I missed the turn completely and tumbled down a steep ridge. My lantern and crook toppled out of my grasp. I saw the lantern plummet into the deepest levels of the woods, swallowed whole. I thankfully caught myself on a dead tree root protruding in the ground.

A long wooden hook protruded from the dark in front of me— a shepherd's crook. Crius’s crook. I took hold of it, allowing it to guide me up the trench and onto the path. On the other end was Angus. He pressed his forehead against mine, the base of his horns grazing my hair.

“You stupid idiot,” he scolded breathlessly. “Why must you always be such a thorn?”

I didn’t hesitate to throw my arms around his neck. “I’m not the thorn who ran away.”

His shaky sigh hinted he was on the brink of tears. “I’m sorry. I just… fell off the path and couldn’t find my way back. It was safer to just continue forward with A-Agnes...”

Angus fell forward as if in prayer. His hands clutched at the ends of my cloak as if begging for his life. He kept his eyes downcast, and he began to weep, “I am not Crius anymore. The journey since that night… it changed me— it changed us —in ways I cannot even comprehend. Crius and Agnes, we… I did things— felt things —that I’m… so ashamed of. I-I can barely look at myself without feeling repulsed, let alone show myself to my family. I wanted you to remember Crius for what he was, not what he became. I-I didn't want you to suffer for my mistakes, but I also didn't want you to be left without answers, like when Gracie…”

I’m still deciphering all that Angus revealed in his brief explanation. I did, in that moment, recognize the shepherd boy and faun that departed into Illborn Woods months before had become something entirely new. It’s the only way I can understand the individual trembling before me, bearing the melded features of my once human brother and the faun he chased after. Regardless, I was given a second chance to amend with one of my lost siblings. I was not about to fall silent, unwilling to aid in my brother’s distress like before.

I pushed away my wonderment and untangled Angus’s hands from my cloak, uttering, “Remember how hurt you were at Agnes the day you left? It didn’t matter what she said or did— you still ran after her, like any good shepherd would. Did you not think your own family— a tribe of shepherds —would do the same? I don't know what happened, where you went, or what you did. At the end of the night, I still love you… even in the dark, even with horns.”

He never raised his eyes to meet mine. I kept his hands in mine while helping him to his unsteady hooves. “Let's go home, okay? You can tell me what happened or not. Everyone will be excited to see you.”

I never should have let him go. I turned my back for one moment to grab my fallen crook. When I turned back, he was gone apart from the distant thud of hooves. I shouted and begged, but I already knew he wouldn’t come back. All I could do was stifle my sobs as I stumbled back out of the forest.

Angus’s envelope was still blessedly intact at the entrance. It’s been a day since then, but I haven’t told Ma or Pa — I don’t know how. I planned to give them the letter once I’ve read it. I tried, but I paused at the introduction alone.

Damarius,

✨⭐️✨

No man can push back the waves of the sea to observe what lies in its depths. Yet even at the bottom of the ancient sea, Leviathan felt a shudder within his kingdom that he had not felt in centuries. He raised his head from the rocky bottom. The oppressing ambience that would drive any normal creature mad seemed to brighten. Even in the silence, a haunting chorus filtered down to the ancient creature’s ears.

After years of stagnancy, Leviathan flared his nostrils and slowly ascended from his bed amongst his deep sea towers and aimed towards the surface. Every fish he passed dared not linger, fleeing with a violent swish of each of their tails. Even the mighty whales and squids steered clear of Leviathan’s jaws. Yet Leviathan did not give them a second thought. The beast that swallowed glory-seeking ships whole with one disgusting crunch could not think of food at the moment. His insides churned in fear— something he had not felt in many, many decades.

The creature breached the sea with a ruckus of crashing waves and a gargling hiss, inhaling a rare breath of air. The deep indigo sky indicated that night laid upon the world, yet he never saw it painted with such bright colors. Leviathan watched the heavens dance with hues of magenta and vibrant green. Yet he did not process the scene long before the sky cracked open and a great light burst forth. Leviathan let out a low roar and hid his face under the waves, but not even the depths of the seas could hide him. His fear mounted, realizing he swam straight into the reach of heaven’s glory.

When he dared to raise his eyes towards the split again, he was greeted by unearthly beings. These beings were each draped with six wings— two covering their face, two covering their feet, and with the remaining two they flew. Now that Leviathan strained to see the seraphim, he realized the heavenly song and praise originated from them. It was indescribable, yet the most beautiful melody to reach the beast’s ears.

Among the surreality came forth a being that looked nearly human. Its features were difficult to differentiate from the bright light, but it descended towards the water surface upon eagle wings. With a great voice, the angel cried out, “Fear not, for we bring good news of great joy! Born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.”

“Alleluia, alleluia,” sang the chorus of the seraphim. “Alleluia, Lord Most High!”

For any other mortal, this would melt away any resentment and fear, sparking joy in the chests of men. But Leviathan carried a hardened heart, leaving him to scoff. He declared in his own booming, gravelly voice, “Why does heaven declare this to me, of all creation? Has my maker not already raised his sword against me?”

Despite his accusations, the angel did not miss a beat. It drew closer to the massive beast, which remained menacingly covered by the waves.

“Leviathan, Dragon of the Sea,” the messenger addressed with no fear in his voice. “The news we proclaim is for all of creation to hear and rejoice in. Especially for the most envious and unrepentant.”

Leviathan’s jaws snapped open and released a low growl, but he recoiled as the sounds of the seraphim’s praise refused to be silenced.

“Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia, Lord Most High!”

Leviathan waded away from the angel, hissing, “Whatever good news you have brought was not designed for me. Take your proclamations to creatures whom it benefits.”

As Leviathan prepared to dive back into his watery kingdom, the angel glided beside him, trying to remain in the great beast’s vision.

“Leviathan, is your heart so hardened that you will not at least allow me to attempt persuasion? Come,”

The angel held out a hand towards the creature’s massive jaws as if extending a hand in welcome. “Unlike the Adversary, you are not so lost that you cannot be saved. Will you not take this one night to see the beauty of the gift that could be your salvation?”

Leviathan hesitated. Despite his coldness, there was something that stirred within his belly. It cannot be said what emotion prompted him, but Leviathan finally relented, “I shall humor you… for one night. I cannot promise you will be successful in persuasion.”

At his words, he realized the voices of the seraphim had grown louder, like a roar of wind.

“Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia, Lord Most High!”

The beast raised its head in confusion before an odd sensation overcame it. Something warm, yet the sensation of waves constant pushing against its thick skin seemed to disappear. He tried to thrash, but as he craned his neck and snapped his jaws, the realization fell on him that he was no longer in the safety of the sea. The angel caught sight of the fear in the great beast’s eyes, for it glided beside the creature and reassured, “Do not be afraid. The sea will not bind you tonight.”

The chorus of the seraphim became distant as the angel and beast together soared through the sky. It was just like swimming in the sea, but instead of darkness and schools of fish, the sky was a dark pink and purple, filled with robust clouds dotted with stars. The further they went, the more Leviathan realized his thick scales matched the sky, turning him from a giant monster of the deep into a breathing constellation. It was a world Leviathan never thought he could touch, filling him with a rare feeling of wonder.

The clouds parted, revealing a great light from the desert below. Many lights like stars specked the land, giving Leviathan his first full view of a human city. It was a breathtaking sight, but it was not one he could keep forever. The angel beckoned him to follow his lead. His mind raced as they glided just above the city streets, watching as stray men would occasionally rush through the streets. The creature was camouflaged to their eyes, allowing the pair to wander freely. It was as if he was no longer flesh, but only of air. Soon the angel stopped at one small building, quiet, except for the bleating of animals from inside

“Why have you brought me here?” Leviathan questioned his guide, drifting around the inn like a shark around prey. “I see nothing special about this place.”

The angel bowed his head and gestured to the side of the building where the stables were. Curiosity got the better of Leviathan, lowering himself to the ground and peaking inside the open doors. Although the stable was filled with the cries of animals, there was one distinct noise that rose above the rest. The distant cry of a baby filtered out of the stable. Pressing his eye to the door, he saw a woman lying beside a feeding trough filled with rags.

At the sight of the child in the manger, the distant sound of seraphim song trickled through the air like a warm breeze.

“Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia, Lord Most High!”

“Is this your champion?” Leviathan responded incredulously. “This is your savior? A baby unfit for the inn and instead laid to rest in the stables with the beasts?”

“He may not have royal advisors, nurses, or lavish blankets like earthly princes, but is that not the beauty of his coming?”

Sensing the creature’s confusion, the angel continued, “Our Lord has poured himself out, taking the form of a servant. By entering the world in the stables of an overcrowded inn, wrapped in humility, so shall he leave the world when he feels the sting of death. You preserve this as a shameful place to be born. You will not be the last to scorn him and pride yourself over him.”

The angel paused. “This baby will be despised and rejected by men. He will be well acquainted with grief. Despite his humanity, this baby will grow in wisdom and tenderness, preparing himself to bear all grief and sorrows. Then like a lamb, he will be crushed and slaughtered by the very people he comes to save.”

Leviathan found such concepts hard to grasp. Perhaps it was because he, in all his might, had nothing to fear from mortal men nor the other beasts of the sea. Yet as his great eye laid on the baby in a manger, all he saw was fragility. Something so small that could easily be swallowed up by the monstrous world around him. It was not the show of might and power he expected of his executioner.

“You wish for me to place my fate in such a vulnerable creature?” Leviathan croaked testily.

“You must not mistake humility for frailty. The Lord declares ‘By his knowledge shall the righteous one, my servant, make many to be accounted righteous, and he shall bear their iniquities.’ Within his meekness shines his glory, and upon death there shall be peace. The bridge between the Most High and his creatures will be mended through Christ. Tonight, he sleeps in a manager under the watch of his mother and earthly father. The day will come when death will bite his ankle as he crushes its head. But after? He shall return to the heavens and take his rightful place on the throne. He shall reign henceforth, and peace and joy shall be beckoned and spread forth.”

The angel did not face Leviathan, but resumed, “Leviathan, the sword will come to strike all who reject the gift the Lord has given, but it spares all who lay down before the King in humility, just as he came to this earth. He will bear the sins of many, and make intercession for the transgressors. Now that you have seen and heard, is your heart still hardened?”

Leviathan's eye remained locked on the baby. After a pause, his gaze broke free, and he declared, “The stars move still, time runs, the sword will strike, the King will come, and the Dragon in the Sea must be damned. Your plea has been heard, but… My kingdom is great. It remains mine and mine alone. I cannot be parted from it, and my fate has long since been sealed.”

“It need not be so. Your nation is powerful and vast, but it is a fleeting pleasure compared to the Kingdom of the Most High. You need not join the Adversary below, but make haste and heed the warnings: ‘Sheol beneath is stirred up to meet you when you come; it rouses the shades to greet you and all who were leaders of the earth; it raises from their thrones all who were kings of the nations.’ If you continue forth, the day will come when the Lord shall hide his eyes from you. Is your kingship truly worth estrangement from the Most High, your creator who breathed life into your lungs on the sixth day?”

Leviathan thought for a moment. Yet despite the perfect, soft pictures the angel painted, they did not compare to the feeling of power that flowed through his veins as he ruled the sea. Was this something he was willing to disregard for such a small child?

“This child may become the comfort and joy of many. It will not be mine.”

It was like waking up from a dream. He was no longer in the sky or hovering above the land, but wading above the waves of the sea. There were no angels, no bright lights, no splashes of magenta and green across the night. It was as dark as death, leaving only the splashing of waves against Leviathan’s thick skin. He could not tell if it was his imagination or not, but as he descended back into his domain, he heard the distant, watery echo of the seraphim song.

✨⭐️✨

The Haunting of the Valley of Sorrek

I never loved you. When I watched you that final day, dragged out of the dungeons— beaten and blind —I felt nothing but contempt for you. You were a means to an end. All I had to do was seduce and coerce you into spilling your deepest, darkest secrets. Then I could just walk away with silver to sustain me for a time. It was a simple plan… or so I had thought.

I never loved you. The nights we stayed up, fighting with words as sharp as swords, were not out of concern for you or our relationship. It was always about the money. The more I dwell on it, you weren’t much different. You were so stubborn and arrogant. You liked the game of wit, I could always tell. You were as cunning as you were strong— a true equal, if I’m honest. After each attempt to subdue you, you always broke free with swiftness and a booming laugh. Oh, how I loathed that laugh. You did nothing but taunt and mock me. You teased me, filled with gloating arrogance. As a result, I felt no shame in dangling “our love” over your head.

“You have done nothing but mock me and tell me lies,” I shouted at you, tears of anger pouring down my face. “If you truly loved me, you’d tell me the truth! There should be no secrets between us!”

The lies still feel sour in my mouth, although the irony is almost laughable. Alas, my darling, our relationship was full to the brim with secrets and lies. It was a constant dance of deception between you and me—a battle of wits and cunning.

I never loved you, so I felt nothing but delight upon you finally caving into my demands. All my chipping at your spirit and tugging of your heartstrings was finally coming to fruition. You spilled your heart out to me with such soft genuineness. At last, I had coaxed you from your shell. I still remember the kiss I granted you for your truthfulness. I whispered in your ear, “Thank you for your honesty, love. I won’t tell a soul.”

I never loved you, but I didn’t tell a soul— I instead told several. I sent a message out to your pursers with giddiness, and once the night had come, I persuaded you to draw close. I combed my fingers through your long, tangled locks, coaxing you to fall asleep. Despite what happened, I did like your hair. You were so quick to trust my intentions, and I used that to my advantage.

Once the noblemen came, I watched in silence as one began to cut off your seven long locks of hair. Once you were bound and secure, I called you out of your sleep to warn of your enemies. Yet with your hair gone, you could do nothing to pull free despite your insistence. It was at that moment that I realized I had finally won our little game.

I never loved you, so I was swift to leave you to your fate. Despite my satisfaction, why do I still hear you calling my name? The sounds of the beatings you sustained are faint in my memory, so why am I still followed by your desperate pleas? Why do I still wake up to the last sound of my name crying from your lips? I have yet to figure out what was worse. Was it the cries of your once confident voice turned into screams of agony? Or was it the silence as the authorities dragged you from the house, blood dripping from your face?

I never loved you, so why was I foolish enough to attend the gathering of the sacrifice? They continued to remind me of my role in your capture as I wandered the great halls of Dagon. Men would bow to me and smile. I gained their respect at the expense of your own.

The atmosphere of the room seemed to change, and as I looked toward the great entrance, my breath was stolen. I saw you dragged into the room in shackles, and I couldn’t fathom you were the same man I once knew. The powerful judge I knew before was dead and gone, as you were instead frail and hunched over in pain.

But I never loved you. I stayed quiet while everyone else laughed and jeered at the sight of your oppressed frame. You stumbled as you were forced between two pillars. Even from a distance, I could see your hands shaking in the shackles as the servant boy guided you. My eyes met yours, but you never knew. I had heard that you had lost your sight the night I last saw you.

I never loved you, so why did I leave at the sight of you? My stomach became twisted and writhed with agony since your entrance. I couldn’t bear to be in the room with you— but why? You had no idea I was even there. I was safe, distanced from your presence… and yet I wasn’t. Even if you couldn’t see me, it’s as if I knew your God still could. Thus, I packed up my memories and excused myself from the party.

It turns out that small, selfish action saved my life. Less than a day passed when messengers swarmed the city, proclaiming the desolation of the house of Dagon. You destroyed everything. From what I heard, you cried to your God in your darkest time, and he granted your wish. He restored your undeserved strength at the cost of your life. In response to the news, your people fled to the streets, dancing and praising your God who delivered you all. Tales of your great deeds spread like wildfire across cities and countryside. You died a hero and a legend. You are now yet another pillar in a great line of judges. It turns out you were not frail like the pillars you destroyed to level a nation.

I never loved you, yet why do I always think of you? It was foolish of me to believe I could wash my hands clean of this betrayal. I still feel your suffocating presence, even after the whispers of your deeds have died. Years have gone by, and I still wake up in a cold sweat. At the slightest crack, I’m struck with fear that the ceiling will come tumbling down upon me. In the stillness of the night, I’ll still hear your desperate cries or your grand laugh— I don’t know which sound I fear more. Most frightening of all, sometimes I see instances of you as I walk the countryside. I see you dashing through the fields, in the face of wild lions, in the eyes of sly foxes, and even in the spirited sheep that strut with boldness into my path.

I never loved you. I never loved you. I tell myself that every day. Every time I see you flick back into my memory, I remind myself. I used you to gain wealth and respect, yet every day I’m haunted by my memories of you. I have to confront myself that despite our loveless courtship, you have imprinted on my life. I don’t expect forgiveness for what I did to you. I hope you’re satisfied to know you will forever haunt me. Your blood will never wash away from my hands, and I must live with this burden.

As the years have passed by, the people have already begun to forget your name and your God. They have already begun to fall back into dirtying the legacy you died to preserve. I may have never loved you, but I promise, you will never escape my memory. Even if all your people abandon you and your God, rest assured that the truth will live on. It is little comfort that I— of all people —am the one to carry your legacy. It’s not very comforting for me either. I’d be happier forgetting, but your impact on my life is a surprise even to me. This will not be the end of your story. As flawed a hero as you were, your name will not disappear into history. If I’ve learned anything, your God takes pity on those who turn to him— no matter how undeserving.

(This short story was written for a school assignment, where we were asked to write a short tragedy using the techniques in Aristotle’s Poetics.

I will not give specifics because it will spoil the twist, but this is meant to be a bit of a dark, spooky read. Some people may find it disturbing. Happy Halloween 🎃)

The flames in the fireplace had always enthralled the house cat that lived within the cabin. He was always basking in its warmth, especially on the cold winter nights. However, this was the first time the cat was greeted by the flame’s coals. Typically, the coals looked rather mundane— as coals should. Yet now, as the cat stared into the hearth with its large green eyes, it found the ambers staring back, the ashes and burning material shifting into the face of a lion. Its pelt and mane were dark and ashened, but its eyes and mouth were burning and spitting hot flames.

“Great Mouser,” the coals sizzled. “We’ve watched from the ashes as you’ve guarded your grounds faithfully. You’ve worked tirelessly in the nights to defend your household from the creatures who dare to threaten the peace and security of its occupants. It has pleased us greatly. Surely, there is something we can grant you in return as a thanks for your diligence.”

The cat didn’t speak right away, rather settling himself better onto the rug that he always occupied when staring into the heart. In the firelight, one could see the cat’s fraid whiskers, dull orange fur, and a mist surrounding his once vibrant green eyes.

“What unexpected praise,” the cat finally spoke to the coals. “And what a generous offer you propose. However, I feel quite content with what I have. I am well cared for and properly paid by my household. I am puzzled on what mere burning coals can offer me for my duties.”

“Oh, but Great Mouser, I am far more than mere coals,” the hearth crackled. “I can provide anything you can wish for— anything at all. Eternal youth, vast riches, bountiful harvest— there are no limits on what I can do for you.”

The cat chuckled dryly at this remark while his tail swept over his front paws. “What if I wish for none of those, Great Hearth? I’ve been around for many moons, and many winters. The loss of my youth has been sad, most certainly, but I look forward to my rest. As for riches, my household has granted me many gifts and cares for my every need. The prey has never been more bountiful during the winter, and even then, my household continues to make sure I am well fed.”

The cat paused. “Yet… as I think about it more, perhaps there is one wish I might ask.”

“Do tell me, Great Mouser, and it will be done.”

“As I just revealed, Great Hearth, I’ve been on these grounds for many moons and winters. In my youth, I was more than capable of tending to my household, protecting my family and slaughtering any trespassing creature. Alas, my strength isn’t what it was. The mice are always so fast, and my bones grow weaker with each passing day. My eyesight grows worse at the same pace as my bones. Yet I don’t want eternal youth. Rather, I want to retire knowing that no crawling trespassers dare intrude again. Great Hearth, if you wish to aid me, I ask that you curse these grounds so no sneaky crawling creature can live on these grounds while I still live.”

There was silence, other than the popping and crackling of the flames. Then the lion in the hearth nodded and spoke in a rumble. “Your wish has been granted, Great Mouser.”

Scarcely a moment had passed when horrified shrieks echoed through the home. The cat turned his graying head in the direction of the sound, barely noticing how the face in the coals had vanished. On instinct, the cat rushed toward the sound of the cries in the house, limping up the house’s stairs as fast as his old bones could take him.

The cat barely noticed that the sound had taken him to the nursery where the mistress and her young child had been playing. The cat watched as the woman sobbed, holding her limp child in one arm while her phone was to her ear. The cat’s mouth had gone dry as it slowly approached the hysterical woman and her limp child. The child was pale and his chest was unmoving. The weight of the situation crushed the cat in a matter of seconds.

The child had only just been learning to crawl.

No one paid the cat any mind throughout the entire ordeal. Many men and women had entered the grounds, some with the sound of sirens and flashing lights. They surrounded the family as they mourned the loss of their little one. The cat sat in mortified silence, but once the living room was free of humans, he rushed to the hearth where the flames were slowly dying. The cat drew so close that his whiskers and hairs singed from the heat.

“Great Hearth,” the cat cried to the flames in despair. “Great Hearth, how could you betray me in such a way? Don’t you know that I wanted to free my grounds of mice, spiders, snakes, and other treacherous fiends? How could you allow this to happen? You’ve brought nothing but ruin and despair to my household!”

The coals feebly reformed the face of the lion in the ashes, and the hearth hissed feebly, “I only granted what you requested of me. You asked for me to curse all crawling creatures on your grounds so you could retire and fade in peace. I did just that.”

The weight of what he had asked for suffocated the old house cat to the point where it collapsed in front of the flames. “Curses! I should have never bargained with you! How can I face my humans again? The child… Creator, how can I live here knowing that I am the one to have snuffed out his life? I should just toss myself into the hearth and rid the grounds of my wretched existence!”

Yet when the cat tried to move toward the flames, an intense wave of heat burst in front of his eyes, causing him to leap back and collapse. There was a pungent smell of burnt fur. As he looked up, the last of the flames had been snuffed out. The coals refused to take the wretched mouser.

As the cat got wearily to his paws, he looked around the dark and deserted living room. The house was silent other than the wails of the parents and family upstairs. The sound of their cries struck his heart deeply. He couldn’t bear to force his presence on them knowing he was the reason they lost their child. His feelings of horror, anger, and sadness were almost maddening. If he had known the hearth would bring about his own unraveling, he never would have basked in its warmth.

Yet there was a small gift left for the cat. The window in the living room just so happened to be opened to bring in cool air to even out the warmth of the hearth. The old cat sadly glanced around the dark and lonely home before limping up to the couch and from there leaping to the open window. He gave one last sorrowful look then slipped outside into the winter darkness.

I saw this little color wheel trend and I wanted to do it with my OCs! My favorite part of character design is choosing the colors, and I’m usually very picky with them. I think the colors of a character can tell a lot about the character’s personality and story.

For each of my OCs, I give them one main color that represents their character. It’s usually the main color in their design apart from a few exceptions. I love talking about characters and colors, so I ended up writing a little bit about each of my OCs in the color wheel (I ran out of space on Instagram, which is why this is going here.)

🔴Philia— My champion fighter has a lot of reckless, passionate energy. Her name is even one of the four words for love in Greek, and in this case means “friendship”. Such a passionate character deserved to have the primary color of red.

🟠Atticus— Atticus’s color scheme is more brown, but his palette was the closest to orange. Brown gives off feelings of stability and dependability, and this is Atticus’s exact role as Cosmo’s companion. It made sense that his color scheme gave the same sense of stability as his personality.

🟡Morganite — Morgan is a secondary character in Moxie’s story and his youngest adopted sister. Of her siblings, Morgan is the most innocent, often leaning on the side of optimism as she hasn’t yet experienced the darkness to which her older siblings have. Like the color yellow, she represents hope and comfort to those around her even in the cruelest places. However, it can just as easily represent caution.

🟢Gul — Gul is a half orc, so I won’t deny that was the biggest reason for choosing green 😅 Green isn’t a favorite color of mine, so I rarely use it in character designs. I’d say his actual character is represented more by purple. However, green is a representation of nature, and the laws of nature are a key theme in Gul’s character. If anything, his sickly green color can be seen as a defiance of nature.

🔷Moxie — Most tieflings in my stories have warm colors, but Moxie is the one exception. Even his adopted sisters all have warm color palettes, but his palette is meant to be cool. Moxie stands out from the world of red and gold he was raised in, representing how he never did quite belong in the world. When he leaves his underground home, his color palette is meant to blend in more with the surroundings of the world above ground. Blue also represents tranquility, and although he doesn’t realize it, that might be what Moxie has been searching for all along.

🔵Iousa — Iousa is a darker shade of blue than Moxie, representing more of his maturity. However, he also is meant to give off a more tranquil presence. He’s seen and expect a great deal of pain and suffering, but has refused to let it keep him down. He is a Paladin with a strong, unshakable faith, and I wanted him to give off that aura of security.

🟣Cosmo — The heroine of mystery is of course represented by purple. Purple is meant to represent mystery, power, and ambition, which perfectly describes Cosmo’s masked persona. Cosmo is meant to be a very secretive character, so I felt it would be perfect to have her cloaking herself in dark purple.

💖 Ecstasy — Finally, the playful Ecstasy is rather self explanatory. She is incredibly bubbly and carefree, but also open hearted and empathetic to the struggles of others. She greets the world with open arms, and thus tries to show those around her the joys of living to the fullest.

✨⭐️✨

To my dearest sister, Alda,

I must be frank— if you hadn’t sent your last letter, I never would have written back. The idea of writing such a letter overwhelmed me. However, your words were a great comfort to me, and I felt the need to respond.

I rejoice to hear that you and the other women are standing firm in this time of uncertainty. I’m sorry I haven’t come to visit, but it’s been proven difficult. I wish I could be present and see Edith, especially on her birthday. I send her my happiest wishes. My duties on the frontline keep me tightly bound, but I do have a little trinket for her when I return. I found a magnificent fossil when on a short expedition to the treasured land. It brought me such delight— I can barely fathom the secrets and beauties still undiscovered within the treasured land.

However, I must digress. You were quite insistent in your last letter about receiving news from the front lines, and I will not withhold the news from you. I’m afraid Edith’s present was the best to come from my most recent expedition into enemy territory. The contents of this letter must remain between you and me. I do not wish for this word to get out. Yet you, my dear sister, I know to be strong even in the harshest of circumstances.

Here is the truth— I took a group of a dozen men to the walls of the treasured land. At first, it raised our spirits to see the beauty and prosperity of the land. I’ve never seen so many fruits in my life, and the taste can’t compare to even our sweetest cakes. I wish I could’ve brought some back for you and Edith, but alas, we were forced to abandon our findings.

I shudder to relive what came next. As we were deciding on whether to take the food or not, we heard a great rustling in the greenery around us. We all scattered and hid at the sound of the heavy footsteps of the enemy. Just as the last of us hid among the leaves, we saw the massive beasts. They were scarcely men at all, taking on the appearance of bushy-haired giants speaking only in grunts.

It felt as if we waited for years in tense silence, praying for the beasts to carry on their way. For a few minutes, there was only silence, and I dared to move first. There was a loud grunt and a horrifying blow came down on my face. I don’t remember the struggle that ensued, but I remember the fleeting sight of ugly distorted faces.

Only five of us returned of the twelve that left, and even then we had severe injuries among us. I… may not look like the same man you knew before. However, my appearance does not startle me as much as the men I lost. I led them right to the slaughter, and I can’t help but question if I’d be doing the same by sending the men back to the city as an army rather than a band of spies.

I full-heartedly believe the land is a gift from our heavenly ruler, yet I fear the creatures in that land are too powerful for our small forces to combat. I cannot conceive of a scenario in which we will come out on top, and the rest of the men fear that cursed city too. Too many of the scouts have perished— valiantly so, but the remains we have gathered forever haunt me. I cannot risk anything which I’ve seen happening to you, let alone the rest of our people.

Once again, I must stress that this remains between the two of us. Simply continue to pray that we will be granted safe passage and hope in this time of sorrow. I must request prayer on my behalf as well. To be blunt, my ability to lead has been shaken. I simply cannot accomplish what my master had done before me. Even if I cannot find a way out of this darkness, we must remain steadfast in our beliefs that our God will deliver us. I hope I can reunite with you soon,

Your brother,

Iosua

*~*~*

To my dearest sister,

Praise be to the Great Inspiration! Dearest Alda, something most magnificent has occurred! I’ve tried explaining what I’ve witnessed to the rest of my men, yet they think me mad. I am only madly overjoyed.

I must start from the beginning. I regret to inform you that after my last letter, I found myself in a hideously dark place. I couldn’t bring myself to even look at my men, let alone command them back to the promised land. I was struck with great tribulation— the power of our enemies and the men I had led like sheep into their hideous jaws haunted me endlessly. I often found myself out in the canyons. The cavern was quite empty of friends or foes— it was simply me and the Great Inspiration.

I wish not to frighten you, but one night I decided I would not return to the encampment. I cannot utter the depths of my despair, but it had become too heavy to bear. I don’t recall much other than my many bitter tears. Alda, I had considered many horrible things that night— my failures weighed heavy on my shoulders. I cannot utter them again, even to you. Yet despite all my pleas, all my laments appeared to fall deaf on our Lord’s ears.

As shades of deep pink began to trail through the desert skies, my ears began to hear the light crunch of sandals on gravel. I had taken my sword in preparation for an attack, yet when I turned to see the source, I was greeted by an old traveler overlaid with wares. He was crumbling under the weight of his burden, and even in the dim light, I could see the throbbing blisters on his hands.

I inquired of his business, and he feebly explained that he was traveling to trade wares in the promised land, but had gotten lost in the night among the precipices. He requested directions, and I was left with a difficult choice. I was suspicious of his motives, yet I knew if he was being honest with me, I feared he wouldn’t make it out of the precipice alive on his own.

Instead, I offered to take up his burden and guide him through the canyon myself. He appeared surprised but grateful for my offer and didn’t object. I took on his baggage and led him through the high crevices of the desert. We didn’t speak much, but when we did, the gentleman asked me what brought me to this treacherous area. I vaguely told him my predicament, but never specifics. However, even with the little information I gave, it watched me with a knowing expression and a soft smile. It wasn’t until now that I think he might have known the answers long before we met.

Dawn had fully broken through the dark sky by the time we reached the border between the canyons and the promised land. I had barely caught a glimpse of its beautiful hills before the man took my hand while thanking me vigorously. Yet once I returned the bags and turned to leave him, he asked for me to wait and began rummaging in his giant travel bag. I was cautious and stepped back, waiting for him to draw a weapon. Instead, he pulled out the most glorious work of art I’d ever seen.

The banner to which he pulled from the depths was a towering one— I can scarcely comprehend how it fit inside such a large but squat pack. The fabric is ivory white with stunning gold embroidery aligning the edges. Stitched in the middle with faint glowing gold are the words in our language, “May we shout for joy over your salvation, and in the name of our Lord set up our banners.”

I’m not sure if you recall, dear sister, but our people used to have many of these banners waved in war before the Conquering. They all were destroyed or repurposed once our people became oppressed.

I was at a loss for words, but the gentleman pushed the pole into my hand and said, “I know what suffering has plagued your people, and you will continue to face the sting of sorrow and death for centuries to come. Take heart, for our God has not forsaken your people, but has great plans for your people. Remember, your strength and refuge are found in our Lord, the Great Inspiration. Carry the banner with pride, Mister Norelor.”

I continued to stare and inspect the beautiful banner before my words came back. When I looked up again to thank the traveler, I was astonished to find he had vanished before me. There was not even a sign of his footprints.

Yet off in the distance of the treasured land, there was a tall, glimmering silhouette. The man was close enough for me to see the magnificent silver armor and a giant sword sheathed on his back. The helmet was the most notable as it had silver wings protruding from its sides and a long flowing ribbon protruding from its crest. I wish you could have seen it, sister.

I swear I saw it nod in my direction, but as I blinked, the divine messenger was gone. The only proof I have of the encounter is the banner, which currently waves at the center of the camp. My men think I found it in the desert and imagined the warrior, but I refuse to believe it was anything short of a nod from our Lord himself. He did answer my prayers in the end.

No one may believe my claims, but I’ve never felt more rejuvenated in my duties. My pain is still present, but I’ve been given a new purpose and motivation. I cannot let down my people, least of all our Lord. I shall continue to fight and lead, but also encourage my men in the promise and protection of our heavenly ruler. I hope my tale can inspire you in the same way. Continue to encourage the women and children in the Great Inspiration, dear Alda, as I will the men— carry the banner with me.

Your joyful brother,

Just a little line up of my cute lil guys and gal to revive my Tumblr once again. Since I don’t post much, I’ll do a little introduction for each from left to right.

✨Cosmo— also known as the Clockwork Witch —is a wandering vagabond/hand for hire. She will take up and odd job, whether it be small errands to monster hunting. All that’s really known about her is she originates from the tyrannical city of Gearwell and avoids all discussions of her in Gearwell and before.

✨Moxie Lowlson is a tiefling circus stage magician with a dark secret— that being he is actually a trained wizard assassin from a underground matriarchal cult known as the Syndicate of Lowl. He was the first and only male member of the warrior sect called the Daughters of Lowl, but has since left that life behind. He is still learning more about the person he is behind his mask, as well as learning to integrate into ‘normal’ society (as normal as it gets working for a circus).

Lately I’ve been working on writing the first draft of my character Moxie’s story, but I’ve recently gotten a little unmotivated writing forward. I decided to make a sort of cover illustration for the story to help inspire me :’) It certainly isn’t going to be the official cover or anything, but I still really enjoyed making it!

I was heavily inspired by the song “Hell’s Coming With Me” by Poor Man’s Poison, which I think fits Moxie’s backstory and character almost perfectly! I used that song to help me decide what to put in the illustration. I kept changing the illustration beneath Moxie’s cloak, but finally I decided on one of the central characters of his story— the High Priestess of Lowl.

I apologize again for the lack of new posts! I try to space out my tumblr posts so I always have stuff to fall back on when I go through a period of little to no art, but sometimes that means long breaks in between 😅 A lot has been going on in my life, and I’ve also begun writing a novel around Moxie! New pieces will most likely become a little more frequent once I start making illustrations the further into the story I get.

✨💙✨

This was a sketch I did of Moxie without his mask. Similar to Cosmo, his mask covers a lot of scars— physical and emotional. Unlike her, however, his physical scars were actually created by his mask.

The Daughters of Lowl all wear imprinted masks in the hopes that someday they too will become imprints and pass their skills down to the next generation. It is hoped that each new generation of imprints would form an even deadlier force. The training of a Daughter of Lowl is an intense— almost lethal one, though. In order to avoid risking any accidental or unexpected deaths that could prevent an imprint from passing, the masks are strapped to the Daughters’ faces and are only to be removed to bathe.

“What adorable little bugs have come to visit us! Don’t look so starstruck, darlings, I promise I don’t bite… much.”

“Now, now, dearest— please don’t scare off our guests this time! We want them to feel welcome! Forgive my wife— I swear, she wouldn’t hurt a fly!”

✨🌟✨

I struggled a lot with creating a ton of characters for the drawtober prompt of “Living Curiosities”, so apart from Honey, these two are the only characters I’ll be doing for this prompt!

Introducing Angaste the Spider Woman and her husband, Zeke, the One Eyed Satyr! They are also the adopted guardians of Honey from the previous illustration. Together this couple gives off a rather frightening appearance, and many visitors (specifically children) end up deterring away from the two. When they do get an audience, Angaste has a tendency to frighten them off with her near sadistic persona. Zeke, on the other hand, has a much more hospitable personality than his wife.

Meanwhile, there’s a rumor that goes around that Angaste’s second pair of arms might not be real, but they seem to move just like the others… and it’s not like she’ll let you get close enough to test the theory.

“I do hope you’re enjoying the shows so far… oh, you might want to take a few steps back. The spores can cause headaches and other… uncomfortable symptoms. But you’re welcome to stay and chat— I’m sure you have questions.”

✨🌟✨

Now is the start of Drawtober’s “Living Curiosities”!

Starting with Honey, the Elvish Fungi! Most onlookers and even her fellow circus performers have to avoid coming into close contact with her. She will claim the fungi growing on her is part of an ancient curse that was passed down to her through her family— of course, nobody knows if she’s telling the truth or not.

Honey is often seen with crystals that are not only supposed to help combat the spread of her disease, but also protect those who come in close contact with her from experiencing any intense symptoms.

“Goodness, look at all these poor peasants! Not a smile in sight… Popsy, ready the machines! These poor people are in need of a Queen— a Queen who can bring them to their feet and dancing at my bidding!”

✨🌟✨

For the last day of Drawtober’s week of Clowns, I bring you the Queen of the Clown Quartet herself, Queen Evilia! Despite her frown, she does love a good laugh, and wishes for others to laugh with her! Her goal is to rule the land and create a country full of smiles and laughter. Although, her methods are somewhat questionable. She manages to succeed in making her audience laugh regardless, yet most of her (failed) techniques are a bit forceful and possibly disregard the subject’s desire to smile or not.

“They’re all incompetent fools, the whole lot of them… nothing can be done. At least you all have some brains left between the three of you. Besides, if you want something done right, it’s best to do it yourself.”

✨🌟✨

I apologize for the delays in sharing these illustrations to tumblr, I usually post most of my illustrations to Instagram and Artfol first (which someday I’ll figure out how to link) For the third day of Drawtober, it’s Mr. Gloom and his goons!

OC-tober 2021

#1 - Journey

I saw a cool challenge for OC-tober by @oc-growth-and-development (link to the prompts at the bottom because I’m still new to tumblr and can’t figure out how to add it subtly :’) ) and I wanted to try and use it to get me writing more often! Since most of my focus is on Drawtober this month, this is going to be a very casual series. I’ll most likely be working on these past October since I also wanted to make illustrations for these, so this is mainly just to get me comfortable sharing my writing again. So in short, there will be a delay in sharing these shorts due to my stubborn insistence on making an illustration for each.

✨🌟✨

“And the fair queen bestowed upon the company many gifts worth ten-times more than the dragon head they returned to her,” Opal concluded at last in her low, soothing voice. “Yet despite her many gifts and her request for them to stay in her kingdom, the company decided to move on to the next quest. The kingdom sent them off in glory, and gave them a very fond farewell.”

The half-orc smiled down at the young tiefling boy curled up by her side, hugging his dragonish tail tightly as he listened to his sister’s tale. Moxie’s overgrown mane of black hair partially covered his face, but his one unmasked eye was still visible and watching her with wonder.

“C-could you do another one?” Moxie stammered at last, drawing closer to his older sister with a pleading look. “Just one more? I’m not tired.”

Opalescent chuckled as she drew her younger brother’s blanket up and over him. “Maybe you’re not, but I certainly am. We have lessons tomorrow, so it’s best if we leave it at that for tonight.”

Moxie’s long impish ears drooped slightly as Opal extinguished the lantern set next to the futon they shared. He had been given a small futon of his own since his first arrival into the “sisterhood”, but it never went well once night came. Every dark corner of the shared chamber seemed to hold either an unknown horror or a glaring set of eyes from one of the older sisters. They didn’t hide their distaste of him very well. He found he slept much better in Opal’s reassuring presence within this unfamiliar place. At least she seemed to be the only person in this strange world to have any patience with him.

“Opal,” Moxie whispered once the young half-orc laid back down beside him after adjusting their many pillows. “Do you think dragons are real?”

“I imagine so,” she answered patiently. “They must live above ground. Never seen one myself, but maybe the others have. Up Grounders slay them every day from what I hear.”

“Really? Do they really kill them for gold?”

“Dragon hoards are full of treasures. Parties will go out and slay them, and not only do they get the hoard, but the prize of killing one as well. But the prize is so high because few actually come back alive, so remember that before going and trying to slay one.”

The idea of going out and slaying a dragon was such a wondrous thought. He couldn’t imagine anyone— not even his older sisters —daring to go head to head with a mighty, fire-breathing beast. Yet the imagery of the glory and wealth made his heart beat at a quicker pace.

“What if we went together?” Moxie asked in a hush, his eyes wide with excitement. “May… maybe when we’re grown-ups we can go and defeat one together! You’re so strong already, surely we could do it together. We could get all that treasure for ourselves.”

“We’d have to find a dragon first,” she reasoned, her small smile faltering a tad. “It’d be quite the journey. We’d need a little more help, too— just in case. Maybe the others wouldn’t mind tagging along.”

Moxie shrank a little at the suggestion, but Opal wrapped her arms around her little brother and pulled him inti her embrace.

“I don’t know if we’re ever going to go and make the trip,” she admitted quietly in his ear. “But if the time is right and we’re both ready, I’ll be willing to fight alongside you. You’ll split the riches, right?”

Moxie nodded hurriedly, to which she chuckled, “That’s all I need to know. Now try and get some sleep, little man. We have a long day tomorrow.”

Opal placed a small kiss on the tiefling’s forehead, signifying for him to settle down. Yet after only a few minutes of silence, there was a chorus of angry voices outside their door. He could recognize those dreadful voices anywhere.

“You had one job!” One of the sisters— possibly Ursula judging by the depth of her voice— bellowed at the rest. “One fucking job— and you blew it! We have nothing to show for our struggle! The High Priestess will have our heads!”

“Maybe if you actually made an attempt to listen to me, we wouldn’t be in this mess!” came Portia’s shrill exclamation. “It’s never you who’s the problem, it’s always someone else! Well I’m sick of your whining and the blame games, let me tell YOU—“

Moxie stiffened as the raised voices turned into all out screaming. At least they weren’t in the room itself, but they could’ve at least taken their usual squabbles elsewhere. Of course, the presence of the young children never deterred them before.

He lifted his hands to cover his ears and curled closer to Opal. Upon glancing at her face, he realized the half-orc’s eyes were still open, and her expression had sunken from calm and motherly, to tired and defeated. Wordlessly, she raised the blanket over both of their heads. They were thrown into more darkness, but the voices outside became mercifully muffled.

“Don’t worry about them,” she assured him in a whisper. “We’re not involved. It’s not our fault. You just need to go to sleep. Try… try to think about the adventure we’ll have someday, hunting for dragons.

Moxie struggled to move his attention away from the shouting outside their door. His heart was pounding against his chest, and he could feel stressful tears pricking at his eyes. He prayed that Plumeria or some instructor would come and tell them to shut up.

Moxie clung to the visual Opal had given him best he could— he and Opal, running far away from their overbearing superiors, terrifying priestesses, and the reach of Lowl. Instead there would be a whole vast world, unexplored, and much treasure to conquer.

It was this out of reach fantasy that eventually lulled him to sleep.

https://oc-growth-and-development.tumblr.com/post/662411584438730752/tis-the-season-for-october-2021-as-always-these

“Oh, silly Popsy, there’s no need to be so grouchy— that’s a job for Mr. Gloom! But, oh, why would you want to spy on the good folks of this sweet little town? Don’t you see they’re watching us right now? Who are the real spies!”

✨🌟✨

My next piece for Drawtober, this time featuring Ecstasy!

If anyone is going to cause mayhem for the clown quartet, it’s going to be Ecstasy! Dear Ecstasy is her majesty’s court jester, and the foiler of many of Popsy’s plans to “spy” upon the town’s folks. Yet despite the many protests from other subordinates, Queen Evilia refuses to dismiss her favorite jester. How could someone throw out such a sweet innocent tiefling?

Ecstasy is currently my favorite of the clowns, and you may be seeing her around once Drawtober completely passes!