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If you haven't heard, I've started commissioning again. I've got one finished already. Go me! And I actually, for the most part, like the turn out, Painter 8 is so much better for commissions.
My list is below:
zephyree - Torso and up - Finished 12-1-04 - Payment recieved
http://jadedinnocence.system-online.net/Art/zephcom.JPG
Yuko Okami - Head Shot - Finished 12-3-04 - Payment Recieved
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v496/shavera/Gallery/yuki.jpg
Kiriko - Couple Torso and up - Sketched, drawing clothes and inking
I've also posted in a few topics already, so, no more commissions except for the one's I put in. I've got a pm in my box from the one, and I'll be answering it in the morning, and I hope to have another one as well. Weekend is coming and it's all for art! I'll be doing commissions this week, next week I'll probably slack off and take only a couple, as I got my PE Masquarade exchange in, and I get to draw for one of my favorite peoples! Joy! Plus the animal that represents the character, I love, falcons! Yay! Happy!
Not taking orders, but,PM me for details and info and pricing. I'm flexible and fast compared to a lot of people on the R&C. I'll put you on the waiting list and pm people when I get through with my queue.
Still running that bloody auction, think I'll just close it down and take that commission, as I need not to be worrying about the darned thing and bumping it to heck.
Freiheit is supposed to do a lineart for us to color so we can start a coloring business again, yay! I prefer that over doing full commissions, but full commissions can be interesting time and time again, long as it's an original character. Avatars are just plain boring. heart heart heart heart heart
 TsurukoMaiko · Thu Dec 02, 2004 @ 02:16am · 1 Comments |
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And she stood straighter yet, her shoulders rolled back her chin raised. Her eyes were clear, yet they were strangely clouded by something more etheral then light that drifted in from the stained glass windows.
Turning her head she looked out through the balcony, her eyes falling to look at the water. Her chin dropping, she felt the nauseau of the dispair, felt the bile in the back of her throat. Her fingers fled to the edge of the chair that was by her desk, her body sinking into it without grace. She sighed ever so deeply, her head dropping into her hands. Deep navy hair that was braided with beads fell over her shoulders, clicking softly in the near silent room.
Though the room was cheery, with cream colored walls and aged-ivory white pine wood paneling half way up the walls, and vases filled with every sort of flower, including her favorite, Snow Blossons, the room seemed colored in shades of grey.
And then she spoke, not to anyone, just herself, soft drawling accents of her voice coming out in a hair's volume above a whisper.
"I wish, so ferverently, that I could take what I am, what I think, and what I remember, and crush it, destroy it, burn it, and like the pheonix, rise from the ashes anew, innocent, not jaded. For I have been betrayed, and the hurt of it is worse then the feel of a dagger that rips my skin and sinew from my bones. I wish to forget."
And thus she spoke, squeezing her eyes shut, her hands falling into her lap, the fingers pressing into her knees, the white knuckled grip revealing every white line of scar that seemed to cover her knuckles, that were from the endless battles and training.
Then, with a deep breath, she rose, gracefully and smooth. From there she walked to the bed, picking up the white silk blouse that she pulled over her head, upon her flesh that was only covered with a tank top and a pair of doeskin pants. Slowly, with near ceremony, she tucked in tails of the shirt into the doeskin pants. Then, sitting, she pulled out the boots that were at the side of the bed. Pulling them on delibrately, lacing them all the way up to the knee, they too were doeskin, but were bleached near white.
Rising once again, she glided to a stand that held up a shirt of scale plate. It glittered with purist energy, glistening like gassomer butterfly wings. Her fingers stroked it, feeling the cool metal scales, that were as every bit as fine as those that adorned fish of the sea, but were so many more times stronger. She lifted it effortlessly, for it weighed less then it looked, perhaps a few pounds. She pulled it on, letting the shiver of cool metal run over her body. De'nal was the name of the metal, it was made from crystal and steel, embued with magic of the Kosir'hah, magicians trained in purist magic. The scale shirt ended at her waist and her elbows, black silk ties that tied down into the loops at the sleeves of her blouse, and the belt loops of her pants.
Her fingers scanned over the blankets, pulling of the crushed black velvet jacket that told anyone with knowledge of El'Vai'Shaarhea of who she was. Deep black, black as the bowels of the magnificent city, her fingers pressing into the fabric. As she picked it up, it jingled, the keyed buttons of it knocking into the medallions sewn into it.
She lifted the jacket into her fingers almost cautiously. Slowly, as if putting on the jacket for the first time, she slid her arms into it. Her fingers putting the keys of the buttons through the button holes. Then, looking at herself in the mirror, she straightened the lapels of the neck, then pulling the tails of the jacket accross the doe skinned pants.
Her fingers ran over the fabric, feeling the shiver of the scale metal under the soft material. Fingers slid down the to medallions that ran down the shoulder seams to the collar, each one intricate, each one awarded to her for a test of a military campaign. They were much akin to the white scars that crisscrossed her slender, once-beautiful hands.
Slowly, she looked up from her hands to stare at the reflection in the mirror. Her face could still be considered beautiful by some, but it seemed so much more cold. She had once been tan for one of the Shaarhea, but now she was pale, not quite deathly pale, but enough that her face was vivid against the contrast of the dark hair atop her head. She pursed her lips carefully, her eyes were still deep and dark, the only color of them were the inner and outer iris. She noted how differently she looked from when she was young. She had once been considered "delicate." It would've been one of the worst words to describe her now. She was not bulky, but she was certainly not thin, not with her arms and thighs toned to fit the atheletic standards of her house and clan both, House of the Aren'Shai, or the Hunters, and the Clan of Ciel, the highest clan of Shaarhea, marked by their pitch black coats.
She remarked to herself that her brother, had only worn a jacket of wine red, coat color did not always mean skill, more so the ambition of the warrior. She closed her eyes as she pulled a tie from the stand, black silk, with that, she reached round, to grasp the multiude of braids that hung to her mid back, then tied the throng of silk to it. From the mirror, only the bowl like section of her hair was visible, the only part of an Aren'Shai's hair that was not braided, but instead cut short, just above the shoulders in a tapper that got longer as it reached the back of her scalp. Pushing her fingers through the small mane, she looked again at herself in the mirror.
Fifteen years of war, fifteen long years of the Intermatrine. The genocide of all races, it had first been the Ar'zhein, the war of the Rithani and Artherians, then the Sky Fall, the mass killings of the Armarnians, and now had come the Intermatrine. Artherians were determined to kill any race, any race that was different from theirs. They threatened Shaarhea, the deep caverns that ran throughout the world, the ran into the Over Dark, that was inaccessable except from the deep caves and tunnels that ran from Shaarhea. Shaarhea was her home, even if it was not of her blood.
The legions of Shaarhea were fabled, never large armies, but strong and powerful, but now they were starting to wear thin. The very battle she would be riding to could very well be the last, the army she would lead would be ten thousand, under normal circumstances, that was very large for the Shaarhea, but they were facing an army of 40,000, if not more. Good odds, had their been more dark coats, but too many white coats were among them to leave her feeling at all confident.
Deeply she sighed, she did not like this, she did not like the idea of leading an army to its death. With a deep roll of her shoulders, she picked up a bandolier many instruments that were used in the Great Hunts, almost useless on the battlefield, but she never did feel confident without them. She buckled it, her fingers touching the well wax leather, and the many pouches that adorned it. She looked to the other side of the room, where on the table laid a sword of a silver and bronze veins. Upon closer observation the sword seemed to have bronze blood, the vein like tendrils seemed to beat the bronze blood. She picked the sword, which had been left unsheathed, letting a finger slide down the kill line.
Unlike the scale mail, the sword was strangely warm. Her fingers slid to wire wrapped hilted the closed around several bright blue stones that glowed from within. She whispered to sword, the sword humming in her grasp in response. Setting it down, she quickly buckled the sheath, which layed near by, to the bandolier at her hip. Picking the sword of, she sheathed it, the sword letting off a shing that was not metal, but more like glass. Fingers gripped the hilt in reconition of the sword that served her so many times.
She turned to the door, a door she would probably never touch after this next turn of the knob. She expected the battle to be her graveyard, her resting place, and she nearly relaxed at the comfort of the thought. She had seen in the words of wandering gyspy, seen her death long years ago, and now it was upon her, and it felt surreal.
And she walked through the door, her shoulders rolled back, her chin brought up, she would not balk at the sight of death, even if it would be her own.
TsurukoMaiko · Sun Nov 21, 2004 @ 10:52pm · 0 Comments |
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Ah, hello. Yes, I'm ticked of livejournal, and yes, I just finally crawled back to gaia. Go me.
Ah, so bitter, so very bitter.....
Die, Muse, die!
TsurukoMaiko · Thu Sep 30, 2004 @ 05:57am · 2 Comments |
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