#frostingai

There are so many creatures in this world—strange, snarling, skittering things that lurk in caves or guard forgotten treasures. But not all of them are enemies. Some are stories with fur and fangs. Some are just very large problems with very specific boundaries.

I’ve seen beasts made of moss and bones. I’ve outwitted a mimic disguised as a confession booth. Once, I shared a campfire with a creature that only spoke in riddles and snored like a foghorn. I’m still not sure if that was a dream or not.

These sketches are just a handful of those memories, captured the only way I know how, quick strokes, smudged edges, a bit of mystery left in the corners. I never draw them as they are. I draw them as I remember surviving them.

Adventure isn’t about the fight—it’s about what you carry back with you… teeth marks and all.

The temple on the hill in Ulthar has always fascinated me—not just for the gods it honors, but for the quiet dignity of those who serve within. These sketches aren’t portraits, mind you. Their faces are left blank, because this isn’t about who they are—it’s about what they wear.

This little study focuses on the robes and vestments of the temple folk I grew up watching… and now walk beside. From the practical layers of the temple priest to the flowing silks of the priestess and the heavy ceremonial garb of the high priest, each stitch whispers something sacred, something secret.

The high priest seldom speaks, but when he does, it's like hearing thunder over still water.

Anyway, I tried to capture them how I see them—not their faces, since so many wear veils, but the weight of knowing too many truths. Or maybe not enough.

Today’s pages come from three very different corners of the world:

1. A ruined temple in the jungle of Kled, crumbling under vines and mystery. I’m pretty sure something is still living in there.

2. The port of Dylath-Leen, where the ships creak, the fog bites, and the merchants definitely overcharge wandering bards.

3. A glimpse of the Summer Court in the Feywild, dreamlike, dazzling, and just a little too fond of riddles.

All conjured with my trusty mirror-muse, Frosting.ai!

You may call me Flower. I am a Tabaxi, an Ulthari daughter of mischief and moonlight. I am a Troubadour of Shadows, a Velvet-Fingered Minstrel and a frequent guest of the Summer Court of the Fae. I am many things—collector of earrings, liberator of baubles, chronicler of glances stolen in candlelight. I go by she or they, and I do not mind which you choose—so long as you speak it with a little tenderness (or a whole heap of admiration!)

Each entry you’ll find here is a page from my travels, conjured through the sorcery of Frosting.ai—my magic mirror to the realm. Whether I’m immortalizing a cursed crown, sketching a campfire flirtation, or remembering the way moonlight hit a hero’s jawline, I do it all for the joy of sharing stories the way bards should—out loud, in color, and with just enough mischief to keep things interesting.

I was born in the city of Ulthar, where cats are sacred and stories purr from every rooftop. I learned to climb before I learned to trust. These days, I do both—with varying degrees of grace. I once followed a ghost ship across the Dreaming Sea and left my heart in the safekeeping of a woman who wore shadows like perfume. Her name was Ariella Grimm, and she taught me that even thieves can be kind.

This little corner of the realm shall be my Bard’s Sketchbook—a living, glowing journal of art and memory, filled with the people I’ve met, the trinkets I’ve “borrowed,” the monsters I’ve danced around, and the strange places I’ve loved too briefly.

Expect queer longing wrapped in silk, a touch of glitter, and probably a few cursed rings I "borrowed" from a lich’s sock drawer.

If you’re soft for oddities, if your heart has a lock that only music or magic can pick, then I think we’ll get along just fine.

Stay curious, stay kind, and never let a merchant tell you a fair price.

—Flower the Bard of Ulthar

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