artcg | friday fundamentals

Arts:

Do 3 studies that are at least halfbodies of a character under 3 different lighting conditions. At least one sketch should be in color.
Simple cell-shading is fine, but try to use different colors of light in each sketch, or use 2 different light sources - this exercise is about considering not only the placement of light on 3D forms, but how the colors of light and shadow interact with each other.
Award: 2 Random Stamps and 1 Notoriety Point
Example links:
- https://orig00.deviantart.net/e13c/f/2016/236/7/3/face_lighting_reference_9_by_faestock-d661r24.jpg
- http://power.arc.losrios.edu/~worsfob/Images/Studio/Portrait/portrait_cheat_sheet_yossi.jpeg
Bonus stamps:
- 2 additional Random Stamps for an additional 2 sketches using differently colored light sources.
- 2 additional Random Stamps for turning one sketch into a partial background or scene (as long as the light source is indicated and there are suggestions of atmosphere, middleground, or background, it will count).

Writes:

Write 3 drabbles (no word limit) for one character that each capture a different strong emotion.
Award: 2 Random Stamps and 1 Notoriety Point
Bonus stamps:
- 2 additional Random Stamps for never explicitly stating the character's feelings in at least 2 of the drabbles, and purely showing the emotion through actions or the reactions of another character.
- 2 additional Random Stamps for expanding one piece to at least 400 words.

You may choose to fill both the art and writing task for full points. Additions to your submission can be commented separately if you want to return to the prompt for the bonus stamps.

As usual, you can put "screen" or "hide" in any comment title to leave it screened.

This post will be open until Monday 11 December.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

warning for nudity & mild spoilers for COC (daughter appearances)
i feel like i didnt do this properly but im claiming 2+2+2 stamps anyway

legne 19, malkuth 08, wiegenlied 16, triga 10, highking 05, triga 15

fevertime 03

01 you suffer because you are weak
if you hate your circumstances,
then become strong enough to overthrow them

Black steel. The man in the mask, the wolf in a mortal form, had never once raised a hand to her. Had never even raised his voice to her. And yet, he must have sunken her fingers past the her bruised skin, through her yielding flesh, into her heart, into her very soul for his words echo, even now, inside her. She clenches hands against her horns, scabs catching on scales, ripping open old wounds, but it does nothing. The words echo still. Loud. Resounding. Throbbing in her veins in a rhythm half-a-beat out of tune with her heart.

That man is behind her. Days and days and yalms and malms and rivers and trees and mountains. She tells herself this over and over, first in her head and then out loud.

But sometimes, sometimes when Ileane is standing still after the fight, when she looks around her and sees the bodies at her feet, she wonders if he is truly gone.

02 She can feel the steady beat of her heart in her throat as her axe smashes into the Garlean conscript’s ribcage. Though the armor absorbs most of the impact, the soldier still flies off his feet. She draws her weapon back too late and catches a downward blade with the bulk of her vambrace. The steel splits the layers of leather but is unable to pierce the chainmail beneath. A savage grin greets the soldier who looks at her as she throws the blade away with a fling of her arm and kicks them in their exposed torso. The man stumbles backwards, his helm crashing to the sandstone beneath and revealing a man-boy, no older than Ileane herself. This is not what makes her heart stop.

It is his eyes, eyes that are the color of the sunlit sea, impossibly azure. This takes the edge off her battle-high, fills her with anger and sorrow inexplicable and inescapable. Her grip tightens on the axe and she has to mentally bite the memories back, cut them off before they come spilling forth like a river undamed.

Once, Alphinaud had consoled mercy. The vast majority of the Garlean forces were conscripts taken from conquered territories. They do not fight because they wish to, but because they are forced to. Surely she can understand the difference? Once, his words might have given her pause, but those days are behind her. If anything, it makes her walk forward, dry Gyr Albanian stone ground beneath her sabatoons as she advances on the felled soldier. The primal fear and knowledge in his eyes gives her a feral sort of satisfaction.

Mercy, consoles Alphinaud in the back of her mind, mercy.

Begone, she snaps at it, I am not yours to command anymore.

She brings her axe down in one savage swing into the soldier’s chest. Flesh and bone give way beneath her weapon. When she lifts the the blade, she watches the last life blood bubble in the soldier’s mouth, his dying words lost in the spit of blood, in the Gyr Albanian wind.

*

She strips the mask from her face and collapses into the pile of hay bone-tired and exhausted. There are no dreams that night save for the echo of bloodlust in her body, the aching tiredness of a body well used, the whisper of a name in the mists between waking and sleeping.

Quiet, she tells it.
word count 404

03 The trouble with Haurchefant, she discovers the next day, is that he isn’t very good at keeping secrets.

Ileane sits down at the breakfast table and she feels every single guard, every single knight of House Fortemps, smiling at her with knowing eyes. Yaelle even digs an elbow into her side that Ileane tries her best to pointedly ignore. Someone gives a wolf whistle. She tries to pretend not to notice the attention, but it certainly doesn’t help when Haurchefant of the Silver Fuller himself walks in and shoots her the most radiant and dazzling and well-sated smile she’s ever seen.

If she stares hard enough at the porridge, maybe it will swallow her up and this miserable existence can come to an end. If she stares hard enough, maybe Halone herself will descend from the aether and carry her away. Nymia, she thinks, I’ve never been a faithful follower, but if you can hear me, save me.

The porridge, Halone, and Nymia each fail her in turn.

Ileane remains in the hall surrounded by bemused guards, a satisfied lord, and her own burning face.