Welcome to Gaia! ::

I'm always around, and yes I did.

Gabe, thank you for rendering my avi, I am very grateful and proud to display it on my sig and profile.

Well why couldn't you have said that from the start, instead of saying "I don't draw demons"?
Because, later you seemed hypocritical. And just in case, no, I'm not whining about not getting art, (even though I'd like some quite a bit, since I'm fascinated by your devotion to detail, which makes the characters look more lively) just trying to clear stuff up.
*Shows the 'peace' sign, and gets the phuq out*
rolleyes

Hey there, if you're still offering, I have a short story for you! I hope its good enough to get me some of your spectacular art!

Profile first:

General
Name: Malag Im’Tyrr
Age: One hundred and seventy years.
Race: Drow
Gender: Male
Profession: Assassin, Living Sculptor
Where do they live: In Ulorbbath


Appearance
Complexion: He has the classic Drow skin tone.
Hair Color: Whitish-blue
Style: Mid length. Messy, but easily tamed.
Eyes: Crimson
Glasses: No
Height: 5’ 5”
Weight: 130 Lbs
Build: Lean and toned
Distinguishing Features: Severe burn scarring on his chest and torso, and an eye patch.
Health? Good, but prone to catching mild fevers on the surface.
Disabilities? No left eye.
Clothing: Deceptively ragged clothes over an adamantine chainmail shirt
Prized Possessions:
His father’s Vorpal Sword, Hushed Whisper: It appears to be crafted of ebony.
His mother’s Spider Dagger. It is a +2 dagger with a venom chamber in the hilt, leading up to the blade.
His mother’s ring, The Sculptor’s Chisel, enchanted a Flesh to Stone spell.

Background and Family Relationships
Relationship With Mother: Positive.
While his family was of humble means, they were still able to afford a few luxuries that they passed down to their only son. She taught him the spells he knows, how to wield a crossbow, and the prayers and rituals of Lolth. She also taught him the art of creating living sculpture.

Relationship With Father: They are friends as well as rivals. His father taught him how to hunt on the surface, and the art of close combat. He also taught him how to stalk his prey and to blend into the shadows with ease.
Siblings? None.
Lover? None.
Pets? Several spiders that he keeps out of respect for Lolth. He also has a small bat, but it’s more of a friend than an assistant, though it tries to help him out. He found it in his backpack one day, and was about to kill it when it fluttered away and returned with a gold coin. He was amused by this, and decided to keep the creature, naming it Plak‘la Vress’lvel, or Gold Talon in common. While it isn’t very strong, it has a knack for finding bits of gold and other coins, so Malag keeps it around.


History in detail

Equipment:
Hushed Whisper: Vorpal Sword.
Spider Dagger: Dagger +2 with room for five doses of poison.
Blowgun
Hand crossbow
The Sculptor’s Chisel





Abilities:
Hide in Shadows (Great)
Lock Picking (Decent)
Trap Finding (Good)
Pick Pocket (Decent)
Flesh to Stone (Once a week)


Personality
Greatest Fear/Phobia: Being quadruple crossed and ending up thinking what he thought at the beginning of the treachery, only to discover he was right.

Pet Peeves? Nosy people.
Most at ease when... In large groups.
Most uncomfortable when: Being questioned with the aid of a lie detector of some sort.
Most embarrassing moment(s):
Being caught lying to a Lolthian Priestess and sentenced to a public whipping, and having his father take his place.

Underestimating a human mage, and earning the scars to prove his foolishness.

Understimating an Elven archer and losing his eye for it.

Darkest Secret: He is deeply envious of the Lolthian Priestesses ability to use magic as easily as they do.
Greatest Strength: Stealth, clever wit, and a crafty mind.
Greatest Weakness: Tends to overplan a great deal, and often underestimates himself.


Good/Bad habits:

Good Habits: Always covers his tail. He keeps at least three back-up plans at all times, just in case.

Bad Habits: He is a compulsive liar. He’s managed to rein it in significantly over the years, but the joy of watching others dangle in a web of lies is just too satisfying, especially on denser races like trolls, orcs, and goblins.

Biggest accomplishment: Creating statues out the people that maimed him.

Biggest regret: Underestimating so many opponents.

Mental Disturbance? Formerly a compulsive liar, but he’s getting better.

Interpersonal Skills
Perceived by others? He is fairly easy-going, but he knows when to separate business and pleasure.

What do others like? His easy wit and wily planning. He is rarely caught off-guard.
What do others dislike? The fact that they can rarely tell when he’s lying and when he’s telling the truth.

Goals : First to secure employment from a House, and second to bring honor to his family. However, his personal goal is to make a sculpture out of a dragon of some sort, though he somewhat doubts the feasibility of this.
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Malag Im'tyrr surveyed the small palisaded construct carefully; he had been here for at least an hour, plotting the patrol routes of the guards along the walls. Dawn was only hours away, but Malag held his calm. There were far too many guards for him to take alone, but the Orc raiding party in the area had been more than willing to cooperate with him in exchange for the Horn of Blasting he had acquired and the promise of looting rights. They waited in the glen just south of the fort, itching for battle. He finally concluded his research, and drew his hand crossbow, notching the Light arrow into its place. He cocked it, and eyed the wall carefully, waiting until the guard passed. He fired the quarrel on an arc above the wall, and it illuminated most of the area, giving the orcs their signal. With a tremendous war cry, the leader surged forth with his party following closely on his tail. Horn in hand, the Orc dashed up to the wall and blew a loud, brutal blast on the horn, and marveled as the magic took effect: the sound smashed the wooden walls to tinder, and knocked several guards off the wall, plummeting to their dooms. Malag smirked deviously, and made his way to the wall, drawing his grapple and launching it over the wall. He scaled effortlessly, and as he crested it, was unsurprised to discover that the Orcs had distracted the guards, allowing him a clear path to his objective. He slid down the ladder nearest him, landing behind a squat building of some sort, probably a provisions storehouse judging from the rats scurrying about. He cursed silently; he hated rats. Kicking one out of his path, he made his way to a clearer space, and got a look at the layout of the small fort: several semi-permanent buildings had been erected of wood and bits of iron, and many tents were scattered between; only one caught his attention though. As the battle raged inside the fort, blasts from the horn going off, there was only one tent that seemed unshaken, undisturbed, and unburnt. Unsure for a moment, Malag scanned it a moment more: the magic missile that erupted from within, blasting a nearby Orc to bits confirmed his suspicions. Making his way around the battle, a low whizz suddenly came to his ear. Rolling to the side, a black arrow hissed past him and buried itself in the dirt. His hand vanished into his cloak, re-emerging with a small tube which he placed to his lips. He blew once, and the archer seized his throat and began convulsing: the venom of Lolth's children worked so quickly on humans... Taking the moment of respite, Malag reloaded his blowgun, and his crossbow, then proceeded toward the tent in question, casually ignoring the Orcs and humans around him. The tent had been given a wide berth; Orcs were superstitious creatures, and the power within had frightened them away from it. Malag was not intimidated in the least: human mages were lazy and fat, growing wealthy and decadent from their talents. They had no clue what to do when their lackeys failed them however, and that was exactly what they were doing. Frenzied shouts could be heard from within, and another swarm of magic missiles erupted from within, blasting a few more Orcs to bits. Malag finally came upon the tent, and slipped around behind it stealthily, drawing his trusty dagger. He slit the fabric ever so slightly, and peeked inside; the wizard was crouched behind his overturned table, watching the battle. Malag finished the slit, and stepped through quietly, dagger at the ready: he could have shot the mage, but the twang of the string might have given him away. No matter how much disdain he had for humans, he knew better than to underestimate them: the scar across his chest gave testament to that fact. As he crept closer, his eyes scanned the area swiftly, making certain that this was indeed the wizard he sought; the small globe in the corner gave him all the proof he needed. He struck quickly, every bit the testament to his name: his blade slammed through the wizard's back, cleaving the fat and muscle aside and finding its mark: black arterial blood gushed from the wound, pouring down the wizard's back and pooling on the floor. Malag's lips moved silently as the wizard's last breath passed.

"Lolth, Elggin ilhar, ja'hai nindol or'shanse."

Lolth, Killing mother, accept this sacrifice...

He withdrew his blade, its adamantine blade glutted with the wizard's blood, and its silver arachnid filigrees turning crimson. The wizard slumped to the floor, dead. Malag wiped his blade on the fallen man's cloak, and pulled a scroll out of his pack, reading it aloud. Instantly, the Detect Magic spell activated, and a faint glow emerged from beneath the wizard's cloak. Malag knelt and reached inside, withdrawing the spider shaped talisman within. He turned it over in his hands, and smiled. Finally, it would return to where it belonged. However, it was just then that the Orc commander walked into the tent, a large sack of gold in one hand and his brutal, bloody axe in the other. He grunted at Malag.

"Oy! Whatcha got dere? We won dis battle, we get first picks! An' I want that!"

He advanced on Malag, but Malag stood his ground. His eye flicked to the horn dangling from the Orc's belt, and his smile broadened.

"I beg to differ. I'm keeping this; and for your rudeness, I'll have that gold, and my horn back too."

The Orc laughed, and raised his axe.

"You'll get nuffing, and I'll get yer 'ead!"

However, at the top of his swing, the Orc faultered, a strange look in his eye. He held the axe there, but was unable to bring it down. Malag only smiled wider: The spider venom took a little longer to work on Orcs, but it was just as effective. Coating the mouth of the horn with the venom had sent it into the brute's stomach, where it slowly paralyzed him. Malag stepped forward, lifting the horn off his belt, and pulling the sack of gold from his rigid fingers. He backed up a bit, and pulled a small case from his pocket, grinning wickedly.

"I suppose it isn't fair to leave you with nothing. Here you go; a gift from our mother Lolth, for helping return her property."

He opened the box, and placed it on the Orc's shoulder. A small black and red spider scurried out, and quickly crawled into his mouth, eager to lay her eggs in fresh meat. Taking the box once more, Malag flicked a wave to the orc, and departed the fort the same way he had entered, leaving the burning rubble behind as the first fingers of dawn broke across the sky.

Hooray! Thank you! I've been trying to find out who was doing all the awesome Dark Elf art I saw in signatures, and I'm glad that I noticed your name at the bottom. I can't wait to see it!

((Figured I'd give it a try. My post will be my character's biography. It may not be too specific on her appearance so I will fill you in. Lithura has long, thick, apple red hair, her eyes are yellow and hawk-like, her skin is ebony, her lips are full, and she likes to wear very elegant-like flowing dresses that mostly covers all of her body. She also tends to wear gloves, a cloak, and a mask from time to time. Her favorite colors are red, purple, black, and white.))

Lithura grew up on the surface lands with her original people. At one time they had lived in the depths of forests with other kinds of elves. But after the elven war they were exiled. But upon their part, they saw it best leave and to protect the traditional ways anyways. So they migrated to live in the depths of mountains. Not as far under the ground as their cousins the drow, but they'd often make trading deals with them while still accepted among the surface races. They mainly kept to themselves and were highly diplomatic. They did not believe nor follow Lolth's way of life, nor did they follow their savage wood elf cousins. They were among the last of the joined elves before and after they segregated themselves. They were a branched off hybrid clan, or so they called it. They did not wash their hands in mud or blood. They were the aristocrats and elders. Bearing gifts of wisdom and sight. They prized books, knowledge, and magic. Naturally Lithura learned much of the elven and drow lore for that was the main focal point in teaching their apprentices for they believed that written and studied history would prevent the past from repeating itself. They also exercised and taught their apprentices of the special power force. Not a god or goddess! But a current of energy that was the continuous flow of information and magic. If one were to die, then their essence would only become apart of the energy current for it takes "information" to tell someone that that person is dead. And it takes "information" sometimes magic to prepare the proper burial. Lithura belonged to a rich family whose mother was one of the high arch mages of the clan. Which in turn, Lithura and all of her sisters became the many priestesses that helped teach others about the energetic flow of information and magics and taught them the drow and elven lore and their own new diplomatic form of belief. They also plan to one day restore their old people. Into the joined elves of the forest.

Unfortunately, from being a priestess of her clan, Lithura had reverted to a new person after her father's death.

Her father, who had been hunting in the forest, he and his comrades were mistaken to be wood elves by a squad of lolth-worshiping females who had been searching for a sacrificial offering for their Goddess and ended up killing all of the males in the hunter's group. As the night went on, Lithura's mother began to grow worried and ordered a scout group to go and see what might have happened to the hunters. The scout group returned to say that they had found only one member of the hunter group who was already dead, they saw the lashed marks and pinpricks of the fangs on the dead elf's body and hypothesized the fact that the weapon used on that particular member must have been a lolth priestess' snake whip. If it was a beast of any sort it probably would have eaten the elf or torn off some limb. But throughout the entire area where they found the elf's body, they found no sort of bloodied carnage. Just some lose dirt and jumbled footprints that looked like it was some sort of struggle. Then further along they found some dragged marks. They followed those marks until they came into some sort of cave risen like a den out of the ground. They tried to see into it using magic but the cave looked very deep and luring. They dared not enter for they feared of getting lost. Enraged, Lithura's mother sought permission from the elder's of the clan and sent the same scouting group to go to the drow city from their less confusing route into the Underdark. The scouting group returned towards the hours of early morning to report that the hunter's group was no longer left alive. They had been mistaken as wood elves by Lolth's priestesses and sacrificed to the Spider Queen. In turn for their condolences, they sacrificed the priestesses for their foolish acts.

Shortly after her father died however, Lithura came across a book that was filled with the abyssal lore and set off to attend to an arcane academy in the Underdark where she took up necromancy and discovered there her powers of the mind and took additional classes on psionics. She would then discover the cursed Necromancer Journal after her professor had let slip and mentioned something about it during class. The students pressed the subject and the professor told them all he knew.

A man, a mere human mortal who had written this demonic scripture filling it with his very soul, every ounce of knowledge known to man and beast of necromancy and deamons of the planes. Its pages are made from Felwood trees. Its leather binding however, was skinned from the great deamon Elrothe, which had terrorized his people and his home village for decades. In his years of training as a necromancer, he was able to create a spell which turned out to be the downfall of Elrothe's reign. Feeling overly achieved the necromancer decided to make a his own Journal of the Dark Arts to teach others and let others know of his triumphs. The necromancer became obsessed with completing his book. He long forgot the triumph he had over Elrothe, he forgot about his people and his home, he became a recluse. Forever in his studies as he read, researched, and wrote in its pages. He learned more of the Dark Arts and soon came up with the conclusion that he wanted to be the most powerful necromancer of the Realm. He wanted to ascend to the levels of Godhood with his power. He wanted to be able to summon Gods under his control and do his bidding. A mere mortal with god-like power where the gods actually groveled at his feet became his ideal. Such work, obsession, and even blood brewed in the Necromancer Journal's pages.

As Lithura listened attentively she lusted, for this book. Lusted for the knowledge it contained within. She needed this book. After careful persuasive interviews and research, Lithura found the whereabouts of this man and sought him out. She would fear that she would have to fight to the death with this man. For he would know all that Lithura had been taught tenfold. But Lithura was relieved to find the man on his death bed. Though he shouted many harsh words, it was the last the man could do before Lithura watched before her eyes, the man explode into dust. Laughing almost manically, Lithura rushed to pick up the book and starred in astonishment, the book began to bleed all over her hands. Then slowly the book began to talk to her and filled her head with lies, just as it had done with its creator. Oblivious to the far fetched lies Lithura gave in to the book with only the thoughts of ambition. The book first persuaded her that she should return home, for now she has all that she will need to learn of necromancy, and psionics was merely a gift to be practiced with. Lithura did as she was told, and went back to her city.

For days she isolated herself in her room and poured into the book. But the book began to get restless, the book started to become hungry. The book casted an illusion over Lithura's eyes to where she would be in a blank void for one day. When Lithura finally had awoken, she noticed that her dwelling seemed unusually quiet. All of her family members had been slaughtered and were around the bloodied necromancer journal, at first Lithura was enraged! But carefully and persuasively, the book told her that she had done it. She was the one that created the seal and from that seal the book needed to feed and she would have to feed it. But through the feed, she will be rewarded with new and powerful necromancer spells that have not yet been introduced to man. So though she will know every ounce known to man and beast, she will also know even more. Molding her into the perfect and powerful necromancer. And the book told her lightly another reason why he murdered the family, and through her head the book showed her the hidden fortune her family had left behind in a enchanted, hidden tomb in the cemetery. The same cemetery her father had been buried, in the lands of their old people. The book told her to take the money and treat herself nicely. Even though she put harm toward her family, there was still no wrong in mourning for their death. But treating yourself with jewels and materials will help ease the pain. Lithura listened to the book and did as she was told once again. She found the fortune and stuffed it into her travel bag, for she knew that she couldn't stay in her home any longer. After slaughtering her family, she would be sentenced to death by her people, plus it was time to move on according to the book. And so Lithura then took refuge back in the Underdark. It was there that she discovered, if she should not feed the book then it would turn on her and give her burns symbolizing deamonic runes upon her body. Through each rune, she loses an X amount of time of her remaining life span. Unlike most female drow, she had no desire to start a House with her riches, no, she had other plans. Lithura wanted to become a God. For when she will be a God, she will be born again and thus her remaining life span will quadruple.

((And here's her profile.))

art for Raziel.
Siggy sized. Save to own server.

Finished art...Save to own server please.
Siggy Sized




full sized:
priestess Briza
mage Lithura