The Fine Folks In My Patreon Discord Did NOT Want Me To Have An Easy Time Drawing This Dragon

the valiant never taste of death but once

@emilyenrose was my 1500th follower and so gets a fic of her choosing; she asked for something with Fingon. This is a complement to and one man, in his time, plays many parts; it covers the same time period but the other host.

                                                           act i.

Elves could see eight colors, depending how you counted them. A prism split them, always in the same order: on one side the far-red that hot things gave off, the color of living things in Endorë’s dark. Then red, then orange, then yellow, then green, blue, violet, then true-purple. Flowers were often true-purple because bees could see it best.

That these were the only colors the Elves could see had been unknown to Aulë until the Noldor had advanced the study of light far enough to describe it, and then it had been a source of delight and astonishment to him. To Aulë there were a thousand colors visible when a prism split, hundreds to the side of far-red and hundreds on the other side of true-purple, colors that the stars spoke, colors that the Eldar could not see. The  range of light that Elven eyes captured was just a tiny sliver of the true thing; the whole was vast beyond comprehension.

It was dark now, and the only color was the far-red of shivering Elven bodies and the distant pinpricks of cold and unforgiving stars. The fire on the opposite shore had long since burned down and out. Findekáno had not moved since it had, but in the long night his thoughts had already hit all their notes - grief, anguish, hatred, betrayal - and now circled idly around this, around colors.

His skin was going grey with cold, but that barely registered. His breath kept clouding his view, then dissipating in Araman’s harsh winds; every time he imagined he would see something different on the other shore. Every time he saw nothing at all. 

Even if they now regretted it, which they assuredly did not, what would he see? It was too late. The ships had burned.

Keep reading

Aegor Rivers, work in progress.

As partial as I am towards Bloodraven and the Blackwoods I do like Bittersteel as a character. And I will spend the next 20 years detailing his armour.

(the circles floating in the background on the sketch are the golden skulls of the Golden Company. Because I just love that concept. But I don't know if I will have the strength to render them in the final piece. We shall see who will win, if my lazyness or my love for creepy and awesome things)

Forest study to try out a new brush.

One of the best-written, cleverest, and loveliest fics I've ever read. Yes the premise is SO crack but the realization is simply a masterpiece. Also it comes with amazing art. What's not to love.

The epilogue is out!

That's it, darlings. This is finally it. So it ends, after three full years of smitten work. The last 50K is out there on A03 and there will be no more. Freude is over, and yet, never-ending.

The story of those eternal idiots will remain on the Archive and there it will wait for its audience of oddities to find it. It might take time, and it's just fine, time is hopefully what I have. I will be there to cherish the comments, even in 3 years from now.

I'll keep that blog rolling for as long as I have things to draw, write or say about those lovely idiots of mine, and after that, eh, who knows what else my obessive mind might dive into? Cheers to you all, close and far, chatty or silent, old or new. Find pleasure where it lies, fight for it if you must. Remember joy is resistance.

The Mad Dreamer, chief Archivist of the Library of Alagadda, Master of the Alchemic Arts. Sworn to the White Lord, Albedo of Alagadda.

The Dreamers that freely roam the Darkling Plain and the people of Celephais and Serannian, who live under King Kuranes call him by many other names :The Lost One, the fool, the forsaken . But more often he is known as the Prisoner, because in his folly he bartered for his life and the scraps of his sanity with his freedom.

He was a Dreamer on a leash, a political advantage to the Faction of the White Lord . He was a cherished tool for his master, feared and respected, until he vanished from the City, leaving behind his citizen's mask and rumors of betrayal.

For Chandra however he was mentor, friend and father all in one, and she would not forsake him.

Concept sketch/ WIP for the Mad Dreamer.

@amyma-ymamy feel free to add.

the thing that sucks is that people love saying sleep early is good etc etc and yeah it is. I've seen some benefits before. but I think it sucks to ignore that late night is the only time with any freedom. I think it sucks to not acknowledge the dread in waking up and it's a work day again

Nero and Seneca, by Eduardo Barrón (1904)

I love this statue so much because it really captures the fact that Nero is just a grumpy teen going through a phase and Seneca is desperately trying to teach him something so he doesn't get exiled again

Where are we going, boys??

Portrait study of Olenna Tyrell one of my favorite characters from A Song of Ice and Fire, as portrayed by Diana Rigg in the HBO series