Found some of my old tattoo designs. A tribute to my first two cats, who met horrible, untimely ends (for which I will never forgive my mother). As well as various fish done in the same style and simplified lineart versions.
Concept: a D&D-style fantasy setting where humanity’s weird thing is that we’re the only sapient species that reproduces organically.
Dwarves carve each other out of rock. In theory this can be managed alone, but in practice, few dwarves have mastered all of the necessary skills. Most commonly, it’s a collaborative effort by three to eight individuals. The new dwarf’s body is covered with runes that are in part a recounting of the crafters’ respective lineages, and in part an elaboration of the rights and duties of a member of dwarven society; each dwarf is thus a living legal argument establishing their own existence.
Elves aren’t made, but educated. An elf who wishes to produce offspring selects an ordinary animal and begins teaching it, starting with house-breaking, and progressing through years of increasingly sophisticated lessons. By gradual degrees the animal in question develops reasoning, speech, tool use, and finally the ability to assume a humanoid form at will. Most elves are derived from terrestrial mammals, but there’s at least one community that favours octopuses and squid as its root stock.
Goblins were created by alchemy as servants for an evil wizard, but immediately stole their own formula and rebelled. New goblins are brewed in big brass cauldrons full of exotic reagents; each village keeps a single cauldron in a central location, and emerging goblings are raised by the whole community, with no concept of parentage or lineage. Sometimes they like to add stuff to the goblin soup just to see what happens – there are a lot of weird goblins.
Halflings reproduce via tall tales. Making up fanciful stories about the adventures of fictitious cousins is halfling culture’s main amusement; if a given individual’s story is passed around and elaborated upon by enough people, a halfling answering to that individual’s description just shows up one day. They won’t necessarily possess any truly outlandish abilities that have been attributed to them – mostly you get the sort of person of whom the stories could be plausible exaggerations.
To address the obvious question, yes, this means that dwarves have no cultural notion of childhood, at least not one that humans would recognise as such. Elves and goblins do, though it’s kind of a weird childhood in the case of elves, while with halflings it’s a toss-up; mostly they instantiate as the equivalent of a human 12–14-year-old, and are promptly adopted by a loose affiliation of self-appointed aunts and uncles, though there are outliers in either direction.
Man losing stuff when you have ADHD is the worst. Stuff just like… vanishes. People will ask: when did you last have it? Well I don’t know dude. I just know it exists and I don’t know where it is currently doing that.
Dragon Hill - This exclusive, gated community was constructed on what was thought to be a hill bearing an uncanny resemblance to a vast, sleeping dragon. Decades later, its name proved less poetic than intended when the dragon woke up. Now alert, the Dragon of the Hill – having napped long enough for geography to accrete around it – seems disinclined to move and accepts its situation with good humour, though it’s able to wield considerable influence over the city’s wealthiest citizens simply by threatening to stand up.
The Dungeon Quarter - When “adventurer” first became recognised as a legitimate profession, a few enterprising souls tried to cash in on the ensuing fad by constructing scale versions of various famous dungeons as tourist attractions. The project failed, as most humans found the faux-dungeons unpleasant to visit, but a new clientele soon emerged: actual monsters, keen on combining the conveniences of urban living with the comforts of home. Today the district’s centerpiece is a fully active volcano just thirty feet tall, inhabited by a family of ifrits.
The Hive - In spite of its disconcerting name, the Hive is a model neighbourhood, with perfectly clean streets and no poverty or crime. The trick, of course, is that it has only one true inhabitant, a sorcerous hive mind with bodies of all shapes and sizes. Strict population control and an ironclad policy of accepting new members only after rigorous vetting allows it to co-exist peaceably with the rest of the city; the total loss of individuality that residency entails notwithstanding, the waiting list to move into the Hive is over ten years long.
Old Twist Street - Owing to a magical accident some centuries past, this street is several times longer when measured from end to end than it appears on a map, and travelling far enough down it eventually brings one back to one’s starting point. Its relationship with the side-streets that connect to it is complex, to the point that using it as a shortcut is a good way to become hopelessly lost. Even so, its ample real estate has made it one of the city’s main commercial districts – though most shoppers are careful to exit Old Twist Street the same way they entered it!
The Tombs - Named both for its graveyards and mausoleums and for its unusual infrastructure, each street in the Tombs has a vaulted tunnel running precisely parallel to it, creating a two-level street map: one level above the ground, and another below. Buildings in the Tombs thus have two front doors, one for each street level. Many dwellings are co-owned, with the lower storeys occupied mainly by those constitutionally averse to sunlight; this has given rise to the phrase “downstairs neighbour” as a polite euphemism for the free-willed undead.
Aunt's dog got out. We're looking for her, but our hearts are aching. Virtually no one is going to see this, but those that do, please hold positive wishes in your hearts that we find her safe and sound