comission for arganalth
A2 size
watercolor
Story by walydes
— M-m-m, that's sweet. How much do I owe?
— For this? Months of lifetime and patience of a deadman, — the leopard's raspy chuckle was comfy as a kind old man's company despite his average age. — There is nothing to collect debts from. My gran-gran grew them up for our own pleasure only, and if a person is a no less pleasant company, why shouldn't I share a bit of it?
— Glad to know... — the guest interrupted for another juicy bite of a tasty horn-shaped fruit. — Some folks remain friendly to us humble wayfarers.
— In our lil' town we welcome you even more than you could expect, — the land owner leaned on armchair's back. — You offer some interesting talk, we offer a meal and a bed.
— I can't name your town small, you know, — said traveler with a note of concern thinking this man is making a joke out of him.
— You've seen much more than me and think the opposite, — this kind, likeable face was just as simple and honest as a hatchet. — Yet you say so... Strange.
— I've visited lots of withered sleepy villagers. Their eternal sleep comes up slowly, gently crawling inside faded walls and minds as...
— Aren't you a poet? — a sudden question interrupted the upcoming tirade and brought a brief confusion to speaker's mind.
— Wha? Nope, it's just if you'll speak with so many as I do, you sure catch something in you "most trustworthy arsenal", — the wayfarer gently knocked his own head with a tip of a dry finger.
Another relaxed chuckle responded to him. Relatively full, he felt the strength slowly flows from stomach to all other parts of his body. Some more rest and he'll be ready to depart again. His thirst sharpened with every step, the whole body like an intertwining of strings got tighter and tighter it was ever hard to sit still. He pushed a half-empty plate away on the table.
— You look like some sorta power seeker, — the townfolk mumbled glancing once again at his staff. — There are a lot of your kind these days when secrets of forgotten eras float up from the depths of history... — now he sounded throughtfully and more like in a light trance.
— You are quite poetic too, — the traveler admitted.
— Yet I'm not so courageous to try writing, — his muffled laugher changed like a wind. — My hobby is a furniture. The table we're sitting at is my doing.
— And the chairs?
— These one I've bought long ago. But the lanterns at the entrance is also the result of my work.
— Lanterns out of wood?
— Ridiculous if you don't know how to light it up right, — the landlord nodded. — Many say it to me even after all those years. It's like a queue to a closed door: every newcomer feels it his personal duty to pull the handle. I'm proud of the fact they are safe and sound. The local alchemist sells some cold-flame powder and oil, but let's be honest, if I ever use it, the magic of tidiness will fade away completely.
The tail wagged in eager and kicked the table's stout legs. Even through his eye watched his conversionalist tactfully, the folk was smart enough to catch the mood. He stood up with a warm smile:
— Enough chit-chat for you, am I right? It's very nice of you to lemme relax a bit, but I remember you question clearly. I guess there are a lot of ruins. Some of them you might heard about. Some of them not, — the leopard put his palms together and crossed all fingers except the thumbs, half-moon shaped claws scratched each other constantly as he spoke. — But they all fascinating, especially the ones fully covered with gemstones. The caves of colors as we call them here.
— There are they? — a shine of pure interest flashed in the jaguar's perceptive sight. — I must see them.
— They're great places to take rest or even heal your mind. The glitter and light play are mindblowing. Once you glare at them it's hard to look away. This... is almost pulling you deeper, — the leopard trembled a bit. — They grant a unique feeling of calm, yet if you'll stay there too long, in replaces with an anxiety growing to paranoia and horror. Like the one full of amethysts. The deeper you go, the worst it gets, so it's better to stay close to enter. I guess it's just our social nature. We average folks cannot stand total loneliness for too long.
— Are there only gems in there?
— As I said, — the tone of folk's voice bounced with slight irritation. — There also ruins. Statues of ones we have so little knowledge. Their colossal gates are sealed or buried under the stone and moss. None of whose who have a sanity will descend in these cold depths... — calmly the friendly craftsman watched his guest standing up. — Still you want to reach their secrets. If it was so simple, do you think they still remain secrets? — suddenly his smile turned mocking. — If you're lucky one, you will hear one of our local musicians playing inside the amethyst cave. They love this. And other kind of artists, But, — his voice turned mysterious. — The ancient legends tell about guards which defend the legacy of forgotten ones zealously. However we never met one.
The guest in cape left the land in a haste, gripping his staff tightly and looking only forward. He will find someone who will tell him a right way or find it himself even if it takes days or weeks. No goodbyes, no thanks. A strange and scary feeling went down his spine as he crossed the border and shut a nice wicket wish force. It felt just like this butter face leopard was a part of some kind of conspiracy. The wayfarer knew he should hide for a while. And then find it. No matter what. His tail froze still under the cape when his feet carried him away as fast as they could. The feeling of approaching meeting which pursued him for so long and led him so far through unknown lands. A meeting with something or someone.
A2 size
watercolor
Story by walydes
— M-m-m, that's sweet. How much do I owe?
— For this? Months of lifetime and patience of a deadman, — the leopard's raspy chuckle was comfy as a kind old man's company despite his average age. — There is nothing to collect debts from. My gran-gran grew them up for our own pleasure only, and if a person is a no less pleasant company, why shouldn't I share a bit of it?
— Glad to know... — the guest interrupted for another juicy bite of a tasty horn-shaped fruit. — Some folks remain friendly to us humble wayfarers.
— In our lil' town we welcome you even more than you could expect, — the land owner leaned on armchair's back. — You offer some interesting talk, we offer a meal and a bed.
— I can't name your town small, you know, — said traveler with a note of concern thinking this man is making a joke out of him.
— You've seen much more than me and think the opposite, — this kind, likeable face was just as simple and honest as a hatchet. — Yet you say so... Strange.
— I've visited lots of withered sleepy villagers. Their eternal sleep comes up slowly, gently crawling inside faded walls and minds as...
— Aren't you a poet? — a sudden question interrupted the upcoming tirade and brought a brief confusion to speaker's mind.
— Wha? Nope, it's just if you'll speak with so many as I do, you sure catch something in you "most trustworthy arsenal", — the wayfarer gently knocked his own head with a tip of a dry finger.
Another relaxed chuckle responded to him. Relatively full, he felt the strength slowly flows from stomach to all other parts of his body. Some more rest and he'll be ready to depart again. His thirst sharpened with every step, the whole body like an intertwining of strings got tighter and tighter it was ever hard to sit still. He pushed a half-empty plate away on the table.
— You look like some sorta power seeker, — the townfolk mumbled glancing once again at his staff. — There are a lot of your kind these days when secrets of forgotten eras float up from the depths of history... — now he sounded throughtfully and more like in a light trance.
— You are quite poetic too, — the traveler admitted.
— Yet I'm not so courageous to try writing, — his muffled laugher changed like a wind. — My hobby is a furniture. The table we're sitting at is my doing.
— And the chairs?
— These one I've bought long ago. But the lanterns at the entrance is also the result of my work.
— Lanterns out of wood?
— Ridiculous if you don't know how to light it up right, — the landlord nodded. — Many say it to me even after all those years. It's like a queue to a closed door: every newcomer feels it his personal duty to pull the handle. I'm proud of the fact they are safe and sound. The local alchemist sells some cold-flame powder and oil, but let's be honest, if I ever use it, the magic of tidiness will fade away completely.
The tail wagged in eager and kicked the table's stout legs. Even through his eye watched his conversionalist tactfully, the folk was smart enough to catch the mood. He stood up with a warm smile:
— Enough chit-chat for you, am I right? It's very nice of you to lemme relax a bit, but I remember you question clearly. I guess there are a lot of ruins. Some of them you might heard about. Some of them not, — the leopard put his palms together and crossed all fingers except the thumbs, half-moon shaped claws scratched each other constantly as he spoke. — But they all fascinating, especially the ones fully covered with gemstones. The caves of colors as we call them here.
— There are they? — a shine of pure interest flashed in the jaguar's perceptive sight. — I must see them.
— They're great places to take rest or even heal your mind. The glitter and light play are mindblowing. Once you glare at them it's hard to look away. This... is almost pulling you deeper, — the leopard trembled a bit. — They grant a unique feeling of calm, yet if you'll stay there too long, in replaces with an anxiety growing to paranoia and horror. Like the one full of amethysts. The deeper you go, the worst it gets, so it's better to stay close to enter. I guess it's just our social nature. We average folks cannot stand total loneliness for too long.
— Are there only gems in there?
— As I said, — the tone of folk's voice bounced with slight irritation. — There also ruins. Statues of ones we have so little knowledge. Their colossal gates are sealed or buried under the stone and moss. None of whose who have a sanity will descend in these cold depths... — calmly the friendly craftsman watched his guest standing up. — Still you want to reach their secrets. If it was so simple, do you think they still remain secrets? — suddenly his smile turned mocking. — If you're lucky one, you will hear one of our local musicians playing inside the amethyst cave. They love this. And other kind of artists, But, — his voice turned mysterious. — The ancient legends tell about guards which defend the legacy of forgotten ones zealously. However we never met one.
The guest in cape left the land in a haste, gripping his staff tightly and looking only forward. He will find someone who will tell him a right way or find it himself even if it takes days or weeks. No goodbyes, no thanks. A strange and scary feeling went down his spine as he crossed the border and shut a nice wicket wish force. It felt just like this butter face leopard was a part of some kind of conspiracy. The wayfarer knew he should hide for a while. And then find it. No matter what. His tail froze still under the cape when his feet carried him away as fast as they could. The feeling of approaching meeting which pursued him for so long and led him so far through unknown lands. A meeting with something or someone.
Category Artwork (Traditional) / General Furry Art
Species Lynx
Gender Female
Size 1517 x 1080px
Listed in Folders
This is stunning. The colours of the crystals, the water coming out of the mouth of the statue, it's really remarkable.
thanks for the praise. I will try to continue to do only better.
Wow! The colors in this are absolutely gorgeous! The flora is so beautiful and I love the stone's texture. The water reflections are amazing as well. This scene is just breathtaking.
This is incredible! Reminded me of a mineral I have called vesuvianite. The crystals alternate between green and purple and are sometimes both.
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