[PHOTOS TAKEN: APRIL 3RD, 2024 | Image IDs: Four photos of an orange, black, and brown skipper butterfly on a light wooden object /End IDs.]

WIP of a dream from last session

Moltar, oil painting by Joey Edwards

This artist’s Instagram // Facebook // Etsy // Full Linktree

From the artist (via reddit): Back in 2005 my beloved millipede Moltar passed away and I was really sad about it. I loved him dearly.  Not long after he passed I somehow was able to send an entire term (3ish months) in my college oil painting class creating this gigantic 9’x4’ painting of Moltar ascending his mortal coil.

anatomically correct heart necklace

Tattoo designs I did for a customer!

forget-me-not

Citheronia laocoon, or the Brazilian Horned Devil Moth (:

Is there a bug you would like to seen drawn? Please consider commissioning me!

Godfrey Gwilym, the prettiest revenant in Barovia.

Free free to use in your home game! Want to support me on my quest to take over D&D illustration? Give me a couple of bucks over on my Patreon!

Thanks!

Dinner at Castle Ravenloft

I've been thinking about Rudolph van Richten attending the dinner at Castle Ravenloft. He'd be in disguise, hiding behind his fake name and accompanying some group of heroes into the dragon's den.

His companions don't know who he is yet, simply that a traveling bard named Rictavio lost his son to the vampire lord of Barovia, and that he'll help them where he can. Anything to avenge his son.

The dinner seems to be going smoothly, with the Devil making conversation with the newcomers, surrounded by his consorts. But one of the heroes notices that their bard companion is far less chatty than usual, and won't stop staring at one of the consorts.

Said consort is a young blond man, his exposed shoulders a tapestry of old scars from battles, all but one survived. If it even was a battle. He is at ease here, leaning against the Devil as he would a lover, enjoying the attention of his companion and the visitors. His eyes are clouded by death, and hidden behind thick red lenses, but are still the same familiar shade of blue.

Its not the staring that Escher notices first, but a familiar smell that reminds him of home, coming from one of the visitors. He tries to shrug it off, to enjoy the night, but as the staring grows ever more obvious, that bard begins to remind him of someone.

It's commission time (:

had an idea, drew the idea

They Rolls up into a Ball…

I will find you.

anyone who thinks dostoevsky's writing is dry and humourless is missing out on passages like this

Thank you for booping me. Each one feels different and luxurious. Some feel like a furtive sip of lavender tea with honey on a cold night. Some feel like a millipede curling around my neck. Some feel like the crisp thwack of a rolled-up newspaper. And each one makes me stronger.