#constructive criticism needed

I used to know how to draw side profiles in a way I liked but recently… they kinda look like shit in my pov?

Like: that is NOT Elesa from pkmn HHHHHHHH..

I tried to do this thing where you align your front profile to your side profile and make it consistent thanks to lines but uhm:

It looks like…. THAT-

HEY, I NEED SOME GOOD CRITIQUES AND TIPS ON THIS!

So it has come to my attention

that people aren’t aware of this.

I created this survey because I have no friends with which to playtest my material. I run concepts and rules through a handful of friends with experience both as players and as DMs, and I try my hardest to ensure things are balanced, but unlike the official designers of the game, I don’t have “over 175,000 fans of D&D” providing playtesting for me (Player’s Handbook, Credits page, page 3 of the errata PDF).

This is where you come in.

I am posting things on tumblr and on the DM’s Guild with the express hope of getting feedback. I’ve made it as easy as I know how with this survey, not to mention that my messages and asks are both open.

So please, if you don’t share any thoughts with me, consider taking the time to do so. I would greatly appreciate it.

Alternatively, if you feel the need to point out that something is unbalanced, please do so in a manner that helps me to correct issues and improve my brews in future iterations. Scrolling through the notes on one of my posts to cries of, “lol, this was cool until I saw how broken it was” and, “I would never let a player use this, it’s too OP” serves only to heighten my anxiety and decrease my interest in posting additional content without improving the balance of the homebrew in question.

Before I link to the google doc, I want to preface this by saying a few things.

Essentially, this story is inspired off of Caesar’s Legion from Fallout: New Vegas. I really loved these villains and they truly inspired fear in me. But I wanted the perspective of someone truly victimized by such a villain, so I decided to take the point of view of a slave within what I have simply just dubbed as “the Legion”. You can also see that Caesar is replaced by a man named “Kenmar”.

But I wanted to follow the story of two women planning their escape from the Legion, one of them being the leader’s favorite who has special, but still limited privileges to help them escape. Of course, I want the two to fall in love, which may sound dangerous at first, but just wait. I’d like to write a very chaotic escape filled with action and violence. A “survive at all costs” kind of perspective to it where these two women fight like all hell for their freedom.

I’d like to lead the audience into thinking i’m eventually going to kill Orianna, who will get captured in her efforts to try and save all the slaves of the Legion. But I want to have it be a trick and she pops up at some point near the end, alive and relatively well due to the main character, Luna’s, ability to take initiative and ensure that the bad men, particularly Kenmar, are no longer a threat, rather than saving her own skin and turning tail like she’d probably want to.

I’ve done it!  It’s far too early in the morning, but I’ve finally finished it!  Oogh...  next time i’m not letting myself take so long.

This is my little artwork for @therealjacksepticeye‘s art challenge/Inktober thing!  I like it!  I worked super hard on it, and even though it’s not all it could be, *cough*my fault*cough* I’m still pretty happy with it!  And hey, it’s the first time I’ve done a glitch animation!  So that’s pretty neat.  Maybe next time I’ll add more color and a background...  and will have learned how to draw arms lol

Jack I know you probably won’t see this, but if you do I hope you like my art!  Thanks for being a nice, funny, and super sweet guy!

Happy Halloween to those that celebrate it!

their stories shift and change as i revisit them, much akin to the way the old greek tales move

warm tears weeping or streaming like a shaded mountain spring or a spring dark-running depending on which Iliad you read

i am her younger self or her younger brother or her best friend depending on how i would like to see her

its not a nice conclusion to draw, that you are nothing to someone but someone else (or themselves) but its the conclusion i must draw

eyes brown in most lights, she asks me how hazel could be her favourite colour, her own blue reflecting back at her

its not her own fault, thats what i told her, i told her we were cut from the same cloth so i have no right to hold her to the impossible standard of knowing me outside herself

i am stood behind a one sided mirror and she smiles at her reflection, mistaking her own face for mine

or maybe she sees her brother, the only member of her family i scarcely heard her talk about

my age and just as unknown, a blank canvas that would love her back

an overflow of her family orientation allowing me to bask in the light for as long as it took for me to be too dissimilar to him

or perhaps i was her best friend, as she said

Titled “Protection,” this is one of my latest works and I am still very proud of it.  Yes, I know the mother’s reflection isn’t in the puddle, that’s the point of the piece.  The raindrops were very fun to draw, and I definitely need to do more scenes in the rain after this.

DON’T STEAL MY ART

DON’T REMOVE MY CAPTIONS

So I was contemplating the mysteries of life (eating potato chips) when I suddenly had this great plot for a book. A rolled it around in my mind for a while and when I was finally satisfied with the outcome I jumped on my computer and started typing it up on Google Docs. I only got the prolouge done, and I’m not sure about the title of the story yet, or even the names. But I thought I should post it on here and get some helpful advice? Yeah anyway here it is! (Do tell me if I jacked up grammar of spelling please)

Prolouge

Chicago, November 9, 1994

The man’s watery eyes slid along the distant blur of the coastline. He had been idly standing on the rickety and unstable overpass for hours now, every now and then letting out fits of coughs that would violently shake his lengthy frame. Despite this, the man reached into his coat pocket and fished out a package of cigars, flipping the top and placing one between his teeth. Just as he was reaching up to set the cigar ablaze, there was an abrupt clang to his right.

There was an unearthly silence, so eerie that the flickering of the small orange flame contained in the lighter could be heard twenty feet away. The man didn’t move a muscle. Thoughts raced through his mind as he tried to control the wild beating of his heart beneath his coat. But how could he? This was an unexpected turn of events for him, and he knew that this was going to end badly, no matter what he did.

He could turn his head and face it, oh how easy it would be to just barely move his neck, but this was rather frightening within itself. Facing it was not something that he, or anyone that even had knowledge of what it was, could simply do. But what choice did he have? He could run, but his chances of escape were slim, at best. He was no longer as fast and agile as he was ten years ago, nor was he capable of fighting the thing next to him, which was probably getting impatient. Making his choice, the man squeezed his aquamarine eyes shut, slowly pivoting on his foot to the right. Either way, it was inevitable. There was no escape. Opening his eyes, the man stared it straight in the eye, knowing full well that he was about to die. And he did.

                                 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Police sirens wailed through the frigid November air, quickly gathering a crowd of people to the scene. Officer Jones squirmed his way through the thickening crowd, exchanged quick words with Officer David and Barley, and ducked under the yellow police tape. The bright color stood starkly against the gray and woeful color of the day, and the scene itself, Jones had to admit, was woeful itself. “Ugh, what happened here?” Officer Jones asked, crouching next to Dr. Brenda, who was gingerly taking samples from the victim. “Looks to me like his throat was torn out…” Jones groaned, rubbing his temples with his thumb and fore finger. “Another one? That’s the third this week! Man, this guy is sick,” he murmured, gaining a rather sick feeling to his stomach.

Dr. Brenda nodded, carefully dropping the now red qutip into the small bag before sealing it closed. She stood, staring down at the gruesome scene. “We need to find them before anyone else gets hurt,” she said, turning to look questioningly at Officer Jones. He shook his head, running a hand through his dull red hair. “We’re trying, but there is never any physical evidence to point towards a suspect. In fact, there’s never evidence at all. Why do you think the media is calling this the ‘Ghost Case’?”

Dr. Brenda bent at the knees, narrowing her gaze before slowly reaching into the victim’s coat pocket. From there she pulled out a wallet. Dr. Brenda opened it as she stood, allowing Officer Jones to peek over her shoulder at its contents. It was rather bare, no pictures or decorations, not even money. But inside was a drivers licence, long expired. The thing was badly faded, but the name was simple enough to read: ‘Gabriel Northson’.