Drow
60 creative works found
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It didn’t mean to pull it down.
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“Bad dog! I just had these carpets cleaned!” W’rath admonished his over enthusiastic watchdog.
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W’rath has lots of bad habits, not the least of which is chain smoking clove cigarettes.
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Portrait of Mary Shelley - Caught Between the Moon and Candlelight (1797 - 1851)
by Barbara SparhawkMary Wollstonecraft Godwin Shelley, Writer, Poet, Shooting Star. Oil on canvas. / The author (at 18 years old) of FRANKENSTEIN. A woman of such profound personal courage, of stunning highs and lows, it boggles the imagination. Mary, I adore you. / A rebel who dodged convention, whose parents were famous free-thinker free love radicals, whose mother died giving birth to her, who was sent to Scotland at 15 for a good education, and who ran off to live with two of the most famous, revered, dangerous, and notorious wild-men poets (when poets ruled) Percy Bysshe Shelley and Lord Byron. It had to be like setting up housekeeping with Mick Jagger & Lou Reed. / Ostracized for romping through English tradition, she and Percy Shelley eloped to France, then moved into a castle on Lake Geneva with Lord Byron, proceded to practice Latin & Greek, write, live, and outdo each other. The very good looking bad boys were notorious for debts, affairs, abandoned children, sexually extravagant lives, and a trail of broken hearts. But they wrote gorgeously. Percy Shelley & Lord Byron remain two of the finest poets of the English language. / In what she called “a waking dream” teenaged Mary Shelley started to write Frankenstein, and published it finally under her own name, producing one more shock that an English woman could conjure stirring horror. She and Shelley traveled, changed countries like you’d change socks & became increasingly famous. Mary was pregnant many times, but six children miscarried, or heartbreakingly lived, to die as toddlers. One boy survived adulthood. She was in and out of depressions, trying to keep Shelley happy and produce her own original work. In rough Italian seas near LaSpezia, the accomplished sailor and non-swimmer Percy Shelley drowned. He was 29. Mary was 25, and felt her life ended. The extremes of drama that populated all their days astonishes. Lord Byron and a friend made a pyre on the beach to burn Percy Shelley’s corpse when it washed ashore. One of the two cut out Shelley’s heart (not an uncommon impulse at the time) and after arguing over who should keep it, decided to send it in a box, unannounced, to Mary. / At a time when women had limited rights, freedoms or possibilities, she turned her back on what she was told she must do, with gusto. What is, after all, an ideal life. She risked far more than her peers ever dared. She did not have an easy time of it. But she chose not embrace the comforts or society that would have driven her mad. It’s more than fair to say this woman really lived. Mary Wollestonecraft Godwin Shelley was dead at 53. ABOUT THE PAINTING: There are only 2 or 3 exisitng portraits of Mary Shelley, and one, painted by Richard Rothwell in 1840, was my reference. It is a peculiar painting of her, age 43. When tackling historical figures, one has to account for rigid art standards of the times. I tried to eliminate what might have been purely the painter’s imposition. Along with what I suspect was a purge of her wild history and monster story telling (making her nice, & vapid) he gave her features considered beautiful then: a long oval face, an extraordinarily high brow for heightened inteligence (same things the Greeks did with that full flesh at brow level) thin lips to prove a lack of avarice, matronly to suit her widowhood, and shoulders in such a drastic slope they deny a skeletal structure. (The Rothwell portrait is on Wikipedia under Mary Shelley’s name). All that seemed an exaggeration, his portrait does not look real to me. So I left in her high cheekbones, softened the oval and lowered the forehead a touch, gave her a fuller mouth, kept the deep eyes. I painted Mary Shelley as the 18 year old who wrote Frankenstein, with thoughts of ghoul and goblin fleeting across her eyes, sensing terrors to come, uncertainty in the present, having to rely primarily on herself, an active imagination, great mind and fabulous story teller. / I have her between the moon and candlelight because it seems to me that’s where she lived. / The Hawks Perch
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What exactly is going on here? Well, this is what I imagine is happening… I imagine that there’s some folks off in the woods, camping down for the night, maybe cooking up some game they snagged, and generally settling down. Little do they know that they’ve attracted the attention of some bad boys of the dark elf variety. There they lurk, enjoying the knowledge that they’re about to seriously ruin someone’s night.
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I wanted to see if I could manage drow skin in Carrara. The first time I tried it was a disaster – she came out looking pinkish grey – definitely not black. No idea what I did wrong that time, but I decided to try again and this time she looks quite a bit better. I also intended for this to be a more sophisticated image than it turned out to be. It would seem that the new armor I picked up at DAZ is an amazing memory hog. Gorgeous work – really love it, but by the time I added it in I was running low on memory and I still wanted to put hair on the poor girl. So that meant no fancy weapons, extra monsters or Poison’s very cool cave props. We have ourselves a simple portrait, but one that I’m pretty happy with.
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The Corruption of the Dragons Dragons are known for their greed, their hoarding of treasure and their insatiable need to keep others from having as much as they. But this wasn’t always the case… In the early days of the world the sentient races sought out the dragons to drink of their wisdom, and to grow stronger from their vast knowledge. But not all were pleased by this arrangement. One in particular, a drow known as Lord W’rath, a trickster by nature, was especially displeased with the great strides humans, dwarves, gnomes and the wretched halflings had made in light of the knowledge the dragons had given them. Though powerful, W’rath could not destroy the dragons, and it did not please him to do so anyway as the spread of chaos was much more amusing than outright destruction. Lord W’rath was a clever fellow, even for a drow, and he had noticed over the years the similarities between the birds of the forest and the massive dragons. Others missed entirely the commonalities of the two creatures, but W’rath had observed that they shared similar bone structures. Many of the dragons flew and even a few sported feathers. They laid eggs and cared for their young in much the same way as the predatory birds of the high steppes. And all of these things started the drow to wondering what else they had in common. One day, while leading some gnomes on a merry chase with their stolen jewels, a gem slipped loose from the bag W’rath carried and fell to the ground. As the drow watched, a bird spotted the glittering gem and snatched it up and stashed it in its nest. And just like that W’rath knew how he could put an end to the alliance between the humanoids and the dragons. W’rath searched through the bag he’d stolen and found a particularly impressive specimen. It glowed with a rosy hue and caught every available mote of light on its perfect facets. With a thought he transported himself to the lair of a certain green dragon that he knew of. The great creature rose to meet him and said in a booming voice, “How may I be of service to a son of the elves?” W’rath shook his head and smiled. “This day, noble dragon,” he said, “it is I who is only too pleased to reward you with a gift befitting your superiority over all other beings.” So saying, the drow produced the giant gem and held it before the dragon’s astonished eyes. Never before had the dragon seen such a beautiful sight, and he was instantly captivated by the way the gem seemed to have a life of its own. He was dazzled by its sparkling inner fire. Instantly he desired it more than anything else in all the world. And it occurred to him that the elf was right. For all these great many years the soft creatures of the world had come to him seeking much but offering little in return. THIS… yes, this, was a gift worthy of a being such as himself. W’rath saw that his plan had worked, that he had found the one weakness of the great dragons. He feigned surprise. “Surely, this is not the first such gift you have received?” he said, innocently. “Because of your help the dwarves have evolved to where they pull magical metals from the earth from which they craft glorious items of shining silver and gold. Your knowledge has raised the gnomes from savagery and they now cut fine gems like this and create beautiful jewelery. The humans and halflings, once no better than…” “Enough!” The dragon cut the drow off. For a moment he thought he’d gone to far and the dragon had seen through him, but then the green plucked the gem from his hand and clutched it to its breast, it eyes shining with its newborn avarice. “You have opened my eyes this day, young elf,” he said. “The dwarves, the humans, the gnomes, and even the halflings, they keep these things from us? Learn from us and then hoard this beauty for themselves?” “I-I-I had no idea,” the drow said. “Oh, forgive me for being the unwitting bearer of such hurtful news.” The dragon looked upon the drow with the last vestiges of kindness in his heart. “Do not fret, my child, for you have saved me and others of my kind from this mockery. Go in peace and know that you have done a great service this day.” W’rath bowed, as was befitting a servant to a great being, and took his leave. Oh, how he wanted to tell someone of this, his greatest hoax, but alas there was none he could trust with this knowledge and so he had to settle for watching from afar as his plan burst forth like a wildfire and consumed the dragons. For the green quickly called upon his fellow dragons, and showed them his gem and told them that those they’d loved as they would their own children were laughing at them behind their hands and keeping such beautiful items all to themselves. The other dragons were captivated by the beautiful gem and desired it greatly. As the green’s story ended their hearts were filled with anger and greed, and their eyes turned to all corners of the world where the two-legged people’s of the world lived with their treasures. And so came to pass the the poisoning of the hearts and minds of dragons.
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Raven is about as nice a drow as you’re ever going to meet. She’s strong, brave and there for those in need. Her sword never wavers in battle, and she is loved and respected by those she leads – the Black Gryphons. She has one fatal flaw though… her taste in men. And W’rath is… W’rath. He’s a sneaky, scheming fellow, who’d just as soon implode the brain of a non-elf as help them. That much of the known world isn’t in ruins says much about his feelings for Raven. But when she’s not looking? Well, he can’t resist having at least a little fun!
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this is a picture from the park in my small town. / its basicly a relfection shot taken during early fall of 2008. / (lyric is from “Stan” by Eminem)
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This is a collection of my various images of dark elves
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On Zazzle / On DeviantART / T-Shirt on RedBubble Original date: 27th January, 2008 / Edited date (and uploaded here): 24th December, 2008 / (Face and hair repainted completely) A very simple white on black painting in ArtRage 2.5 and graphics tablet By the light of my spider I traverse these midnight realms… Vague thoughts of Ariadne and the Labyrinth from the Beast in its labyrinth in Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman, mixed with memories of Drow and their spider priestesses…
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I figure the conversation went something like this: “Well, she did say she’d cause a distraction,” grinned the young Lieutenant. “Yes,” W’rath scowled, “though I was expecting more steel and screams than skin and cheers.” “She’s a kindhearted lady, boss. She just wanted them to die with smiles on their faces.” “The only smiles these slavers deserve are the ones we put under their chins, lad. Now stop enjoying the view so much and concentrate on the task at hand. You take the guard, and I’ll take the two rotund mages. We’ll let Raven finish off the last fellow.” “Uh, with what, boss?” W’rath chuckled. “Don’t be taken in by her sweet demeanor. All she needs to ruin that bastard’s day are her bare hands.”
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W’rath’s merry band of throat slitters (known as The Raptors) usually work in pairs, but some of his more experienced lads sometimes receive solo assignments. While they rely heavily on their impressive psionic powers, W’rath insists they become skilled in more mundane martial abilities.
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But I’ve got a good hand / Bob Dylan’s Song: I’m a rambler a gambler… / Im a Rambler, I’m a Gambler, I’m a long way from my home / If the people don’t like me / they can leave me alone / Come sit down beside me, come sit down right here / Come sit down, long as you want to / Love will always be here …... For theres changes in the ocean / Theres changes in the sea / Theres changes in my true love / There ain’t no change in me….. Original Cards: Photographed with Nikon D700 and D40x both at ISO400. / Water Background: Captured Ripples. / Photoshop Elements: Distorted Cards, added shadow, faded some cards to look like they were submerged. Simple really. Theme: Gambling will make you drown in the end:-)
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With so many agendas combined with their chaotic natures, it’s amazing that the Elven High Council can ever agree on anything.
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Smile at this Life, Even when it’s hard. there’s always worst. / :D
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Photo used with permission of greeneyes
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a photomanipulation done with a tube. added various layers of texture, created by myself.. on the tube itself i also did some changes in PSPX Drow are Dark Elves
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