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Mirchie's re-purposed spot of ground area.


Mirchie

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Hue hue. Since I couldn't find my old thread in this Artwork place, I figure I'll just re-upload all dat shizzle etc etc. You get the picture! Let us begin. Some of them are pretty big, but I'm afraid of screwing things up by editing the sizes. Still, any feedback is appreciated.

Cynthia North - Original sketch:

FMA-style Cynthia North - 1:

FMA-style Cynthia North - 2:

Baini Matamyr - Original sketch:

Baini Matamyr - Argent Crusader sketch:

Anauri Mistrunner - Dark Ranger:

Elvonia Duskwalker - Original sketch:

Elvonia Duskwalker - Slightly more recent sketch:

Heather the friendly succubus - Original sketch:

Jeannae Mablethorne: Ebon Tactician:

Mirchell Albaque - Original sketch:

Mirchell Albaque - Bloodied throne:

Mirchell Albaque - Somewhat more up-to-date-shitty-quick-sketch:

My first WoW character, waaaay long back, but I liked the drawing I did of it:

Banner of Silvermoon - Was done on A3 paper, only have A4 scanner, so bleh. Also big picture is big.

And that's all she wrote for now. Let the criticism fly <3
 
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Mirchie

Mirchie

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Re: Mirchie's re-purposed spot of ground area.

One I did at work today. I think it went really well! By my standards at least. First time I think I've done decent-ish wings. Used as the character portrait for my Dark Gate thread now.

 
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Mirchie

Mirchie

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Re: Mirchie's re-purposed spot of ground area.

So like, done a few things, not gotten around to posting. Might as well do dat shit now. The images are quite big for some reason, and I don't want to resize them for fear of fucking stuff up, hence spoilers.

Felwynn Moonchaser, another Dark Ranger.

The alternative version of Mirchell I use in WoW, with a relatively long-time companion. Also my first real practise at foreshortening.

Original Mirchell, i.e the Dark Gate one, in a human form.

An unshaded Mirchell and Simone, Tass' angel in my DG thread. Might shade it at some point. First attempt at angel wings, whoo.

Tarnil, DG Mirchell's now-dead brother. Shaggy mother fucker, he has been described as.
 
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Mirchie

Mirchie

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Re: Mirchie's re-purposed spot of ground area.

And to save on making more threads than necessary, I'mma post my stories here too. Soooooo... To begin with, one that I just finished and haven't properly checked, but basically some backstory for Mirchell in DG. Prelim to it is that she and her brother were plotting against their father, got discovered, now fight to the fuck because yay. Disclaimers being uhhh... Some gore smattered about, some of it in the middle of the smut bits, but yeah.

Crimson Queen: Beginnings

The sky was dimming, though that could only be attributed to the tattered drapes that hung from the rooftops changing their direction, flapping in such a way that they cast long, waving shadows over the ground. Below the battered old building though, that was rather difficult to see. Dust swirled on the wind around the outside, scraping past another layer of the fading white stone, pitted and scored by countless years in the barren, exposed landscape. The building was tall, and circular, and roofless. The only cover from the piercing aurora that lit up the otherwise blank skies were the tattered old flags and drapes that might once have portrayed something significant. No longer. Disuse had rendered them as little more than reminders of what glory this place might have held before. The centrepiece of the building grounds was a blank stretch of dirty red ground, dust and sand building around the edges, while benches arose around the arena floor, going higher and higher towards the top of the building. Hallways led up from the ground, archways covering the entrances and exits, while an overhanging construction with stone chairs rested centrepiece. At ninety degrees from this, two rusted, battered portcullis lay shut and dormant. Through these, ramps descended into the bowels of the arena, where the light of the aurora never penetrated. Cells lined the dark, dry passages, though only two were currently occupied.

At opposite ends of the dungeons from one another, two demons lay, one male and one female. Both had been down there for days. Their cells were locked, leaving them in complete darkness, only the lights which emanated from their eyes indicating anything was there at all. There was a bracket on the wall where a lamp would be hung, though neither was currently lit. In the male’s cell, a pair of pale, eerily blue lights swung about, illuminating their surroundings. He was not the tallest, perhaps 5’8” at a stretch, and neither was he particularly heavily built. His face handsome, though pinched and hungry. Two short stubs that were on their way to becoming full horns protruded from his forehead, while tapered ears about three inches long rose out of his shaggy, dark auburn hair. It came down past his shoulders, extremely rough-cut and thick, rather like a mane, especially when one counted the equally scruffy stubble which covered his chin.

He wore a ragged, torn shirt over his pale skin, though his trousers were discarded in the corner of the room, leaving the demon nude from the waist down. A long, flexible tail sprouted from the base of his spine, a creamy colour, though it had no definable tip, simply tapering into nothingness, about the length of his leg. The cell smelt of musk and female arousal, the lantern holder still smoking slightly from the last visitors to his cell. Succubi, mostly demons of low birth, though a few of equal or higher too, had come to feed on him over the past few days, denying him any of their own souls. Half-starved, and weak from imprisonment, he had been unable to even try and force his way into taking a portion for himself. By now, he looked rather bedraggled, thin and weak, his eyes gleaming lustily as he paced his cell, flexing his long, claw-tipped fingers, desperate to supply his own spiritual hunger.

Over at the far side of the dungeons, his sister rested. The demoness was taller than her brother, by a considerable margin. 6’3”, and still seemed to be growing. Her skin was an even paler shade than her brothers, seeming almost to gleam in the semi-darkness, though her cell was somewhat lighter than her brothers, due to the intensity of her eyes. Compared to his icy blue, the sister’s gaze was a fearsome crimson, blazing in hate and hunger as she strode the room, occasionally hollering in ravenous fury as she slammed herself against the door to no avail, only succeeding in rattling the reinforced door, and hurting her shoulder or leg. Her hair would be the purest white when clean, but not now. Dust and dirt marred the colour, while dried seed stuck the white locks of hair into clumps. It was not quite as long as her brothers, perhaps coming to the base of her neck, though that was the only thing about her that was smaller. Her tapered ears were at least five inches long each, flicking slightly as she listened to the echoes of her own screams rattling through the halls. Two long, fully-fledged horns sprouted from her skull, just in her fringe so that the skin break would be hidden from immediate view. They arched downwards for an inch or so, before sharply curving, and heading straight up, ending in vicious, gleaming points. Her canines were rather large, larger than normal at least, and sharpened to points as well.

The albino lacked her brother’s claws, but she made up for it in a more muscular build. Her shoulders were large, but not grotesquely so, and should she calm down, and clean herself, she might be pretty. As it stood, the demoness was naked, her clothes in scraps about the cell, which stank to high heaven of semen. The demonic spunk was dried onto a good portion of her body, though some of it was fresh, and still running over her arms, ample breasts, and down her legs from both her entrances. From her back, a pair of wings sprouted, though they were not yet fully formed. Batlike in construction, they might have served to lift a smaller demon from the ground, but they were nowhere near large enough to do anything more than slow a fall for the hulking albino. Much like her brother, she had been trapped here for days, being fed upon almost constantly by gangs of demons. Unlike her brother though, she had continued fighting for a far longer time, and the would-be-rapists had been beaten back bloody once. After that, they started bringing magi or weapons to suppress the demoness first, to which she succumbed quickly, starving and weak as she was. Even if she was fully satiated, she would not have stood much of a chance beyond the first group anyway, whom had expected her to be docile and obedient.

Brother and sister, similar by demonic standards by their bodies, were very different in that regard. When the trio of demonic knight’s had burst into the young demon’s hideaway, he had surrendered after being disarmed by the superior Knight’s. She, however, despite being vastly outskilled and outnumbered, fought viciously, maiming one of the Knight’s arms before she was finally clubbed into submission. A half plate and robe with a simple sword was little to compare against a suit of Darksteel with accompanying weapon, regardless of size difference, which admittedly was not much between the fledgling demoness and the veteran Knights.

Their plan had been a good one. Their father had been planning for a long time to seize parts of the neighbouring Lord’s lands and people, and they had every faith in his plan succeeding. They had rather hoped though, that he would turn a blind eye to his own people in the meantime. It had been nearly time for the plan to be put into action, they would lead their father away from the battlefield, having coerced a few demons within the opposing Lord’s defences to act as bait and an excuse for the siblings to get their father away from his main defences. Confident they were in their ability to overpower him together, the brother an expert spell weaver, while the sister’s ferocity and brute strength would hopefully be able to match their father, at least for a few moments. How he had learnt of their plan was a mystery to them both. Both suspected the other, naturally.

Howling again, the albino female flung herself at the door, rattling it on it’s hinges, before the naked she-demon fell backwards, panting for breath as she fell to her knees, long black tail flicking out behind her back lazily, tipped off with a spade-shape, which she had a long while ago perfected the art of manipulating her natural shape-shifting ability into localisation, turning from soft and safe to hard and razor sharp. The echoes of her fury resonated down the corridors eerily, and the albino huffed, coughing and wiping her mouth, tasting salty spunk on her lips and hand. They had been fed and watered, but only by the mortal definition of such. It kept their bodies healthy, but their spirits were starved, and it was affecting their minds as a result.

Both demons, male and female, heard the clanking doors at the same time, and the sound of metal clad feed beating down the stairs. The brother sulked, drawing his arms about his barely-clad torso briefly, shivering slightly, while the exhausted sister merely growled bestially, getting up to her knees, placing one hand against the wall as she forced herself to her bare feet. The armoured guards split, some approaching each of their cells, and as they got close enough to hear the individuals through their cell doors, both siblings reacted differently. The brother drew himself up to his full height, adopting a noble posture and expression, or as good as one as he could while his nature and spiritual starvation drew him back, but he did his utmost to keep himself in check, as difficult as it was. He was still highborn, and would not lower himself. Would not… His thoughts trailed off as the cell door clattered open, revealing a pair of demonic knights, dark-skinned females both with flowing long hair, though the rest of their bodies were clad in Darksteel. One with a crimson ponytail, the other blonde but loose, and both grim-faced. The redhead held a pair of faintly-glowing cuffs, and the brother grimaced, before nodding. They did not speak, and so neither did he, simply holding his hands out for the magic-suppression cuffs to be clipped onto his wrists, and then they led him away.

The sister, on the other hand, was greeted by three hulking demons, one female and two male, as her cell door opened, and she hissed aggressively at them, near-feral from her hunger and anger. As she made to jump at them though, the female stretched out her hand, and bolts of arcane lightning arched from her Darksteel-clad fingertips, causing the naked albino to howl in pain, thrashing about as she fell to the floor, twitching and screeching as her own hands were cuffed behind her back, despite the pitiful flapping of her half-formed wings and her lashing legs. Unable to shape shift, and too hungry to cast magic, the hulking demoness was dragged kicking through the corridors, each sibling taken to a different exit from the dungeons.

Soon, both brother and sister were shoved into the entrance hall, staring out through the rusted portcullis to the dusty, but brightly lit arena, enough to cause both to wince, and be temporarily blinded, which the Knight’s took advantage of to strip both demons of their cuffs. Even as the albino rounded about in anger, a heavy Darksteel gauntlet knocked her back down to her knees, coughing as her tail drooped limply down between her bare legs. Across the arena, the brother simply lifted his arm to shield his eyes, and looked around, just in time to find the blonde Knight pressing him back against the wall, and his arms and legs twitched and shuddered, blood rushing to his groin as he felt part of the fullblood’s essence flowing into him, causing his glowing blue eyes to roll. Half-finished memories with no context to pin them to flooded into his mind, and when the blonde pulled back, the half-starved demon collapsed to his knees, panting even as the two Knight’s turned to leave. The doors slammed shut, and the two siblings were left alone.

For a few moments, all was quiet, until with a shuddering, ear-splitting screeching sound, the rusted portcullis began to raise, causing both demons to wince in pain, slamming their hands over their long, tapered ears. The albino was the first to stagger out onto the hot, red earth outside, falling to her knees and grimacing as the portcullis slid all the way home, and with a final jarring thud, fell quiet. After another few moments, both brother and sister stood upright once more, he flexing his newly energetic fingers, knowing well the likely meaning of the Knight gifting him some of her energy, while she twisted about, growling ferally as she looked for an opponent.

All of a sudden, a deep voice boomed out across the arena, and both siblings looked up at the sound of their father, speaking from the platform, flanked by a pair of demonic Knights. “Mirchell, Tarnil, it has been too long.” he began, to which his daughter Mirchell screeched in fury, her half-formed wings flapping and her tail whipping about angrily. Tarnil at the other end of the arena glared coldly at his father, before he turned to look at his furious sister, perhaps a hundred feet away. He crossed his arms over his ragged shirt, pursing his lips as he looked back up at his father. Lord Albaque smirked above his two offspring, his gaze wandering first to the naked, cumstained body of his daughter, scowling in disgust before his gaze turned to his calmer son, their eyes the same cold blue colour, and he nodded, receiving the gesture of respect in return. “I am sure you know why you are both here.” the Lord added, glancing back at his raging daughter before finishing off. “One of you may feed, the other may suffer. By your leave.” he finished saying, his voice calm, but carrying easily throughout the whole arena floor.

Mirchell span on the spot in the dusty ground, her fearsome red eyes blazing brightly as she stared about the arena, spying her brother, before she looked back up to Lord Albaque. She snarled viciously, spittle flying from the albino’s lips as she did so. “Monster! Monsteeeeeeeerrr!” she screeched out, long ears standing upright, and her half-formed wings spreading out behind her back, stretching as if trying to catch the wind. Up above the furious, starving demoness, her father simply smirked, and waved a hand down at her. “Call me what you will beast, I would hurry if you wish to feed.” he mused, before stepping backwards, and he settled himself into the large stone chair, layered with soft fabrics, and he smirked as he gazed down into the arena, watching his offspring.

Tarnil frowned deeply, gazing across at his naked sister. Revitalised by the Knight’s offering of energy, he inhaled a deep breath of the dry, dusty air, filling his lungs while his glowing blue eyes closed for a brief moment, Mirchell was clearly too busy ranting and screaming to attack him just yet. The air crackled briefly, and then his features darkened. The demon opened his eyes again, a faint sheen of blue mist escaping his eyes as he began to stride forwards. The energy had temporarily blunted the edge of his incredibly hunger, and lifted the haze from his eyes. He could see his sister properly now, and though every instinct in his body wanted to run at the naked demoness, he restrained himself. He had grown up alongside, fought with and against, and both raped and loved his sister in equal amounts through the passage of time, and had the same in reverse. He knew her well, and he knew more than well enough that once she got close enough, she would be more than capable of overpowering him. That though, did not take a genius to figure. The albino was huge and feral, half a foot taller than him, and he very much doubted that she had been fed as he had.

And indeed the naked female had not, and her father’s lack of responses now drove her to finally turn her attention away from him, and towards her brother, striding across the sands. She growled in the back of her throat, a low, threatening rumble as her fiery eyes blazed in the dimly-lit arena, the aurora did not penetrate so well past the high walls. She crouched down briefly, still growling as her knees bent, watching her brother approach. Days of being fed off of had torn down the barriers of sanity, and thinking in a straight line was an intensely difficult task. So she didn’t bother, and with a venomous howl, Mirchell sprang forwards, her long tail whipping about in the air behind her as she sprinted forwards.

Tarnil grimaced, and took a deep breath once more as his sister charged, waiting for a few moments before he drew his hand back, pulling upon the power that he had been supplied. Little sparks of electricity coiled around his clawed fingers, and when Mirchell was barely twenty feet away, he launched his hand forwards. Unlike his sister, he wasted no breath on howling, the only sound that escaped him was a low grunt as he thrust his palm forwards. Brilliant blue bolts of arcane lightning crackled from his fingertips, slamming straight into his charging sister’s bare chest. She screamed in the pain, though it did little more than stagger the feral demon. That though, was enough to give her brother chance to dodge, leaping lithely to the side as the hulking albino charged past him. He crouched, dust rising up in a puff as he slammed his feet back against the ground, long, pale tail swishing briefly. Both hands he drew behind his back, calling deeper upon his reserves as Mirchell came about once again, much like a bull, and he regarded her as little more at the moment. He knew well the fragile state of his sister’s mind, and starvation and humiliation were powerful tools against one such as herself, and he had no doubt that humiliation had been given to her plentifully.

Mirchell’s half-formed wings drooped slightly as she skidded past her brother, panting for breath as she wheeled about, stomping her bare feet into the dusty ground. She panted for breath, giving Tarnil a few moments to prepare himself through her own need to pause, before the albino reared up to her full height, bellowing in rage as her arms flashed out. Sparks of felflame flew from her fingertips, though she was far too starved to call upon any real magic, before the crazed demoness lowered herself slightly, long horns glinting in the dim light, before she charged once more. The straight lines she took though, proved to be far too easy a target for her brother. Tarnil’s next bolt of arcane lightning struck Mirchell’s right knee, and she screeched in pain as her balance was torn away, and the albino crashed to the floor, throwing up a long plume of red dust as she rolled and tumbled, partly crushing her fledgling wings beneath her hardly inconsiderable weight.

The shaggy male panted though, wiping the back of his hand over his brow as sweat beaded upon his pale skin. He had not been given a huge amount of energy, and he could not afford to toy with his sister. Feral and crazed she might be, but she was a brute, strong and tough, and he wanted to have enough energy left to feed off of her while suppressing her own attempts to do the same against him. He stepped forwards then, grimacing as he watched his pained sister, a brief pang of sorrow striking at his heartstrings, though the demon quickly pushed that away, he knew well that his sister would feel nothing the same. The naked albino was struggling to her feet already, grimacing as the pale flesh about her knee cracked, partly charred by her brother’s attack, and bright blood spilled out from the damaged skin. With a surge of effort though, the albino jumped back to her feet, bellowing in fury once more as she rounded upon the insignificant, small form of her scruffy brother. That was as far as the notion got, however, before a bright flash burst in front of her eyes, and the albino wheeled around again, howling in pain as her vision was stolen away, leaving only white blurs and superimposed images of her brother’s raised hand.

Tarnil smirked slightly, smacking his lips as he watched the effect his flash had upon his bulky sister, and he swiftly moved in, sparks crackling around his clawed hand once more as the demon bunched it into a fist, before slamming it into his sister’s stomach, discharging the arcane electricity into her body, and causing Mirchell to drop to her knees, wheezing and clutching at her pale belly now. This close, the smell of male musk was rather strong about his sister’s nude body, and he could not help but grimace it, even as the blood rushed to his groin. Taking advantage of her weakened state, Tarnil raised one leg, and then slammed his bare foot down against the side of Mirchell’s head. At least the motion lessened the racket his sister was making somewhat, and she whimpered in pain as she fell to the floor, rolling onto her back.

Satisfied that she was, at least temporarily, beaten, Tarnil nodded, looking briefly up at the podium, where his father sat impassively watching, flanked by his Knight’s. He knew that he stood no chance there, the Knight’s would have him broken into submission before he could cast a spell, most likely. So instead, the shaggy-haired male turned his attention back to his sister, clutching at her belly and eyes as she tried to ease the blinded sensation. Taking advantage of her defencelessness, Tarnil grabbed at the albino’s hips, and twisted her about so that she lay upon her front. The albino’s legs kicked out helplessly, and she whined in a most piteous tone as he did so, and even more as he pulled her hips up into the air, eyeing up his sister’s large curves. He frowned briefly, questioning himself, but swiftly put such thoughts down. He hardly had a huge amount of choice otherwise. Feed or be fed upon, and he had had quite enough of the latter. So instead the shaggy-haired male forced Mirchell’s legs open, grimacing at the distressed screech that she gave out, but another quick jolt of arcane electricity nullified her resistances, turning Mirchell to quivering jelly in his hands. He could feel that his own supplies were dangerously low though, and he couldn’t really risk more spell casting for now.

Instead, Tarnil settled himself between the albino’s legs, panting for breath as he grabbed at himself, guiding his by-now fully stiff member up towards his sister’s already sticky flower, the scent of musk hanging all the more heavily around her rear and legs, and he could feel the previous occupants mark as his shaft pressed against her slit. The blindness in Mirchell’s eyes was fading now though, and she turned her hazy, white-touched gaze back to her brother, a brief expression of dismay crossing her features, before the fiercely glowing red eyes crossed over one another, and her lips parted silently as he thrust home.

Instinctively, as she felt the cock slamming between her folds, the demoness reached out, eager to feed upon her brother, but that proved impossible, he still had enough willpower to suppress her own starved consciousness. The brief moment of silence the occupants of the arena had enjoyed was cut short, as Mirchell howled once again, her body and her feral will at odds and keeping her in place, on all fours as her brother began to rape her. Angrily, the demoness swung a clenched fist backwards, but the angle was off, and Tarnil easily caught his sister’s fight, twisting her wrist cruelly and causing the albino to screech in pain once again, rearing up on her knees, causing her bare breasts to bounce in the dim light. She could feel her soul beginning to drain again, and the notion both infuriated and distressed her in equal measure. This was her pathetic, weakling brother! But not so pathetic, it seemed, as he was seemingly having no trouble twisting her arm behind her back and against her fledgling wings, even as his hips rammed upwards, manhood burrowing deeply into her slit, feeding on the scraps of her own essence as they slipped between her metaphorical fingers.

Mirchell’s second fist swung backwards now, and she grimaced in satisfaction as this one connected, Tarnil too slow to block her, and the smack across his cheek made her brother bend down, grimacing as he clung grimly onto his sister’s bare, milky hip with one hand, the other twisting her left arm behind her back. He spat to the side, blood spattering onto the sand, but he refused to back down, pushing forwards to force his sister back onto all fours as he knelt upright, continuing to roughly slam his hips against Mirchell’s own, growing stronger by the second as he fed upon her diminished soul.


((Cont next post ->))
 
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Mirchie

Mirchie

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Re: Mirchie's re-purposed spot of ground area.

Above, in the pavilion, the purple-haired Lord Albaque frowned, drumming his fingers against his throne. This was not according to plan at all. He wondered to himself just how his son had managed to keep enough energy to electrocute Mirchell into submission. The notion was one he spent a long while thinking over, even as he watched son rape daughter on the dusty ground, the silence only broken by the albino’s screams and the occasional sounds of sex filling the gaps, the wet slapping of hips against hips. The Knight’s flanking him remained impassive, their helms hiding all emotion, their gazes unwavering down into the arena, ready to respond to any threat to arise. This was most troubling indeed, he had fully expected, and planned in the expectation, that between two starved demons, the brute would win, but there Mirchell was, arm twisted against her back, bent on all fours like a bitch. One might even consider it distressing. If Tarnil had sufficient skill and intellect to plan for this, and keep energy hidden in reserve, then he was a threat. Mirchell was a beast, little more than a ravening, sentient animal, and as such, easy to control. Reward her good deeds and punish her bad, and he was quite certain that she could be brought well to heel. Her brother, however, was different. Tarnil was much like a younger version of himself, though he appeared rather distasteful with his shaggy hair and generally unkempt appearance even at the best of times. He was intelligent, cool and calculating, This simply would not do.

Down below, Tarnil was growing increasingly confident, his sister’s struggles seemed to be growing less and less, and her screams were fading to moans as his stiff manhood slammed again and again into her increasingly warm, wet flower. He leant forwards over the pale albino’s back, unrelenting as his thrusts slapped up against her hips. “That’s it, dear sister… Take it quietly like a good bitch and I’ll let you keep yourself. Perhaps I’ll keep you as a pet after this, and then you can continue much the same as you have been so far, brought to heel and leash.” he crooned out, his shaggy mane of brown hair washing over his shoulders as he slammed into his broken sister once more.

Or so he thought at least. Mirchell’s eyes clenched shut, and she grimaced as she was taken like this, her shoulders, face and breasts grating into the sand as her womanhood split about her brother again and again. She could feel herself weakening still further and further, resistance getting more and more difficult as her brother fed off of her already diminished soul. Her feral nature was starting to take over completely, the last shreds of thought starting to fade, but Tarnil’s taunting gave the albino a last clear thought. A grin spread across her pale lips, and she moaned out once more as the stiff shaft slammed into her slit, though as her brother withdrew, her long, slender tail drooped off to the side, while the spade-shaped tip hardened up, thinning out to a razor’s edge, and on the next thrust, as her brother’s hips slapped up against her own, the albino lashed upwards, howling in furious defiance. He had never seen it coming, thinking he had broken the albino, and black, demonic tail sliced through his pale belly with easy, shredding the ragged scraps of cloth that he wore. He stopped mid-thrust, glowing blue eyes opening wide, and his jaw dropped.

Tarnil looked down at the long appendage that had now sank into his belly, and he grimaced, before throwing his head back and howling in pain as it twisted inside the wound. Crimson blood spurted out, spattering across his sister’s back, even as she pulled forwards, her slick womanhood squeezing free of his shaft, and that loss made the male fall backwards, gasping for breath as he slammed onto the dirt floor. Mirchell got slowly up to her knees, panting constantly for breath as she crawled alongside him, her cheeks rosy red, sweat rolling down her pale body, her nethers warm and wet between her bare legs. She grinned though, crimson eyes blazing. “What’s wrong, dear brother? Lost your… Nerve!?” she began in a soft coo, before rising to a screech on the last word as she shoved her tail forwards, piercing through soft guts as the spade-shaped tip cut through him, and twisted, drawing another howl of agony from the injured demon on the ground.

Up above in the podium, Lord Albaque leant forwards, frowning deeply as he watched the sudden turn of events. The elder demon refused to let the enjoyment show upon his features, he did not want to give himself away to the two Knight’s who flanked him, even though their pose had yet to even waver from staring down into the arena at the two struggling demons.

Mirchell continued to grin, taking a moment to catch her breath while leaving her tail lodged inside Tarnil’s stomach. “Why don’t you take it nice and quiet like a good bitch, dear brother!?” she shouted into his face, laughing cruelly as she raised one fist, and then slammed it downwards. The punch caught straight across Tarnil’s cheek, and he gasped as his head snapped to one side, a sharp tooth flying out of his lips along with a splatter of blood across the ground, which quickly soaked into the sand. “Maybe if you’re nice and good, I’ll still let you cum before I rip your throat out, hmm?” she taunted, laughing as she yanked her tail back harshly, crimson blood spraying from her brother’s gut wound, and causing the smaller demon’s back to arch, a scream of pain filling the arena.

The albino demoness just laughed though, as she looked down at her gore-soaked tail, grinning before she straddled herself over her brother’s hips, smirking as she felt his still-stiff manhood grazing against her. “And if you resist me now, dear brother, I will make you scream till your voice gives out.” she snarled viciously, stabbing her tail downwards once more, to open up a deep gash on his bare leg as a warning, yet more blood spilling out onto the sand. The only response she received from Tarnil though, was a pained groan, and so the hulking demoness smirked, landing a slap against her brother’s cheeks. “I thought so, bitch!” she snapped, cackling cruelly, before she lurched down, moaning loudly to the arena as her warm womanhood wrapped about her brother’s member. She spared him further injury for now at least, as it seemed the male was submitting to her will, and so the demoness simply moaned in pleasure, throwing her head back, white, cum-encrusted hair splaying over her shoulders as she began to rock herself, pale hips slapping down against her injured brother’s, while Tarnil could do little more than whine in pain, clapping his hands over his deep belly wound, blood seeping between his fingers nonetheless.

The bulky albino did not seem to care for it though, a tendril of drool running down her chin as she rocked her hips back and forth eagerly, ample breasts bouncing slightly each time Mirchell bucked her hips downwards, shivering in pleasure as her slick flower pressed down against Tarnil’s crotch. She could feel him in more ways than one, now that she was on top, and not blinded, the albino could very much enjoy herself, letting her demonic nature take over as she rode the male below her, enjoying the sensation of the scraps of spiritual energy which flowed back into her own body now, strengthening her all the while.

Eventually, Tarnil managed to pry his hands away from his pierced belly, groaning in mixed pain and pleasure as his bloodied hands rose up, and clamped down onto his sister’s thighs, tilting his head back into the sand, closing his glowing eyes as he felt himself draining. He had already been low on energy, and now, with the albino draining him still further, he felt magic slipping further and further from his grip. He made one last attempt, but all the male managed to accomplish was a few sparks between his clawed fingers, which did little more than stimulate the towering albino, drawing a loud moan from her lips as she slammed herself back down onto him. Realising that such wouldn’t work, Tarnil tried a different tactic. His two-inch long claws tipping each finger rose, before turning, and he clenched down firmly, grimacing as his claws sank deeply into Mirchell’s thighs, splitting the milky skin while crimson blood poured out over his fingers. This at least, caught the albino’s attention, and she gasped out, pausing in her ride to glare down at her brother, and the sheer intensity of her blazing crimson eyes caused him to waver briefly. The albino’s angry expression turned to a grin though, and she winked slyly down at her brother, licking her lips as she pressed her hips down, grinding herself wetly against his crotch, letting him savour her clenching walls, even as his claws dug deeper into her legs. “Dear brother~ Do be so kind as to remove yourself… Before I do so.” she cooed, smirking as she brought her long, black tail around, wiggling the gore-soaked tip at Tarnil.

Grimacing, her brother acknowledged her with a nod, before he gasped, pulling his fingers back, and as soon as the sharp claws left his sister’s thighs, her strong hands gripped at his wrists, and the demoness slammed them into the ground, squeezing at him to the point the thought his wrists would snap. A loud howl filled the arena floor, before Tarnil was left panting for breath as the grip relaxed, his wrists still surprisingly intact. Mirchell grinned down at her brother, leaning forwards to let him view her ample, bare, cumstained breasts, and she licked her lips once more as she lifted Tarnil’s hands up to touch at the jiggling orbs, even as her hips ground down against him. “Mhm~ Enjoy yourself, dear brother, while you can~” the demoness purred, her lust growing as she drained more and more of the demon’s strength to fuel her own, allowing her will to suppress her feral side by now, making speech easier and easier in the process.

Tarnil could do little but groan in response, clenching his eyes shut as his hands closed about his sister’s breasts, and though his claws were so close to her heart here, he could not quite bring himself to try and kill her, his demonic nature nurturing his natural lust even as his thighs clenched up, blood drooling from both his wounds and all ten of Mirchell’s, but neither demon was at the point to care about it, her tail had missed vital organs, though whether on purpose or not was yet to be known. Instead, the long claws retracted into Tarnil’s hands, and he simply moaned out as his sister rode him, squeezing at her ample breasts as her hips slapped again and again down against his own, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to resist the draining effect she was having on him, both through his own lack of energy, but also his rising lust as his stiff member throbbed within her clenching walls.

Mirchell too, was enjoying herself more and more, feeding for the first time in days and revelling in it, feeling her body heat up in both pleasure and health, her slick cunt squeezing down about her brother all the while, pink nipples rigid atop her ample breasts, while her breath was starting to come out in lewd pants as more and more of her demonic side began to show, thoroughly enjoying herself as she fed upon her brother.

It did not take long from there, the albino demoness riding her brother amidst the dry sand, the feeling of blood running over her thighs doing little to even slow the she-demon as her slick flower milked at the stiff cock within her. She resisted herself somewhat still, despite her mounting pleasure, eager to win every victory she possibly could. One down already, pinning her shaggy-haired brother down to ride him, and the next she could feel approaching, the albino throwing her head back, stuck-together clumps of hair waving about and her long ears flopping slightly as she bucked and ground her hips eagerly against him. Tarnil was moaning too, unable to resist himself as his hands released Mirchell’s breasts, and instead slid down over her hips, taking a hold of her and clenching at the pale skin, though without his claws he did no harm, clenching his eyes shut and moaning as more and more of his soul slipped away helplessly, until finally, he could take it no more, the tight, squeezing wet tunnel of his sister’s womanhood proving too much, and the shaggy male threw himself back, spine arching upwards as he moaned in pleasure, his shaft erupting within Mirchell’s clenching passage.

Think white spunk poured forth, both brother and sister moaning happily as they ground together, sweat running over their similarly pale bodies. The taller demoness continued grinding her hips in avid fascination against Tarnil’s own, wet pants of breath escaping her lips even as his seed drooled out of her pink, warm slit, feeling the sensation of his released soul pouring into her as well, swelling the albino’s chest up in pleasure and pride, as she moaned out even louder, filling the arena with her pleasure as she came to her own climax, pressing herself down firmly enough to make her brother groan uncomfortably as his crotch was crushed beneath his sister’s bulky weight. Her warm womanhood clenched down firmly, milking at his stiff member, forcing more of her brother’s sticky seed to squeeze out of her flower even as she threw her head back, her own pale hands clamping onto her brother’s own at her hips. Mirchell’s body convulsed a few times, her ample breasts bouncing up and down a few times as she rocked herself against Tarnil, until finally, she began to calm down, her long black tail flicking from side to side pleasurably as a low purr built in the demoness’ throat.

Below her, Tarnil lay limp, his eyes glazed over, the only sign telling that the shaggy-haired male was still alive was the rising and falling of his chest, and the continual leak of blood from his belly, and the occasional throb of his member still lodged within Mirchell’s flower. She grinned though, licking her lips, feeling so reenergised after her meal, and she raised her hand, delivering a slap against her brother’s cheek, the motion causing him to stir from his drained, exhausted reverie. He mumbled something, but it was drowned out by the sound of clapping from the podium above. Mirchell turned her gaze up to meet her father, blue and red meeting, though rather than rage, the demoness rather placidly waggled her tail, and fluttered her fledgling wings.

Lord Albaque smirked, if it was this easy to tame his daughter, he would not struggle at all with her. The half-armoured Lord leant against the balustrade, clapping his pale hands together as he watched his naked, horny daughter. “Well done, Mirchell. Well done indeed. Now kill him. Devour him. Take his soul for your own and claim it as your reward, and then I shall allow you to return to my side. Perhaps if you remain loyal, you will have great power alongside me.” he offered, extending one hand towards the arena floor.

The bare demoness tilted her head curiously at the offer, pursing her lips briefly as she watched her father, before turning to look at her weakened brother, who’s lips parted, and he whispered out “Do it then, dear sister… Feast~ Sink to his level and devour me… And then what? Be father’s lapdog for the rest of your days? I don’t…” he trailed off, coughing, and bloodied spittle splattered from his lips, and across his own chin and chest. “I don’t think that is you, Mirchell.” he continued, managing a weak grin as his member throbbed within his sister’s slick womanhood. “So devour me… And then you c-” he was cut off there though, as Mirchell leant down, moaning in pleasure as she sealed her lips against her brother’s own, kissing him deeply. Her tongue snaked out, and the crimson eyes closed as her lips smushed wetly against his own, her hips gently undulating to grind against Tarnil’s crotch, milking at his still-stiff manhood eagerly, even as fresh, warm semen drooled out of her creampied flower.

The motion might have been sensual and caring, bar the fact that in doing so, Mirchell’s spirit was tugging at the dregs of her brother’s soul, too lusty, hungry, and drunk on victory to bother listening to what might have been wise words, and as she kissed and fucked the last remnants of her brother’s soul, her gore-spattered tail raised up, slipping between both bodies, before it twisted, and plunged downwards, piercing through Tarnil’s skin, thrusting between his third and fourth rib.

The albino moaned out again as she felt flesh part beneath her long black tail, piercing through lung until she skewered her brother’s heart. He coughed and thrashed beneath her, but the hulking albino was too strong, pinning Tarnil down as his lifeblood poured out of his chest, while her tail twisted about to open the wound further. He choked, coughing up blood and phlegm, but Mirchell kept her lips locked against his own, moaning and crooning pleasurably all the while. Tarnil was dying, and swiftly at that, and as a result, his soulgate had opened up completely, and Mirchell was drinking it all down, absorbing everything that was her brother into herself. His skin began to blacken and crack, before it began to collapse, and only then did Mirchell break the kiss, purring happily as she pushed herself up to her feet, legs spread wide and sticky white spunk drooling down her legs as her tail slipped free of the disintegrating corpse.

She stood to her full height, enjoying the gentle, dry breeze that rustled the disintegrating ashes of her brother, washing over her nude body. Her beaming crimson eyes closed, and Mirchell panted softly for breath as memories swarmed through her mind. She groaned, the sensation suddenly unpleasant, and the albino reeled away, sinking down to her knees. It was coming in reverse. She was seeing herself, atop of her brother, feeling his pain as her tail plunged into his heart, feeling everything from his point of view. She gasped out in pain, clutching her own breast, tail writhing about. Whatever Tarnil had been about to say before she killed him remained a mystery, his own thoughts and memories were muddled by his death. Flowing backwards, faster and faster, the events of the past few days, meeting people she did not recognise, the past few weeks, plots and plans, backwards and backwards, hurtling faster all the while, until the memories were but a blur. Mirchell cried out in anguish at the sudden rush of emotions, every colour of the aurora filling her mind until it became one blinding white blur.

Mirchell fell backwards, quivering and thrashing as her mind and soul were assailed by her brother’s own, and the pair began to merge, even as the naked, sweaty, cumstained demoness’ body began to relax, and she fell still in the dust and sand, eyes staring blankly up into the sky, seeing glimpses of the great aurora, before the blinding whiteness of emotion faded to grey, then towards black. She closed her eyes… And then nothing.


/end


Whelp, thar ye go. Have fun with that. Any constructive criticism is appreciated, you know how this song and dance goes : )
 
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Mirchie

Mirchie

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Re: Mirchie's re-purposed spot of ground area.

Have a picture of Tass' angel, Simone.


Quick doodle in the workplace ^^
 
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Mirchie

Mirchie

The user previously known as Hero-in-the-Dark
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Re: Mirchie's re-purposed spot of ground area.

Story time once more. This details a part of one of my WoW characters, Felwynn Moonchaser, story. Basically, an undead High Elf, now a Forsaken Dark Ranger, so a banshee in control of her original body, returning to what was once home.

The character:

And now the story.


Facing the ghosts of the past.

Almost perpetual gloom shrouded the Ghostlands. The fat that night had long ago fallen did not help, and an eerie darkness and silence had settled over the dead land. Years had passed, and yet the Ghostlands were still cold and dead, though at the very least most of the Scourge had been purged from the land by the combined efforts of the Forsaken and the Sin’dorei.

Felwynn Moonchaser strode along the stony, broken-up path, her toes occasionally dragging along the ground. She was garbed in her Dark Ranger guise now, after she had left the festivities at Falconwing Square. It had been a strange event. She did not know what to think of it. She did not know what to think of anything. The undead elf shook her head, veering slightly to the side before she recovered, and staggered back upright. By her side, Nalli blinked her feline eyelids, and looked dolefully up at her master. Felwynn sighed, a hoarse, ragged sound as air whistled out through the hole in her cheek, and she turned her crimson eyes towards the sky, which was cloudy, only a few stars twinkled tonight.

The wind was picking up: A howling gale that occasionally picked up and whistled through the dead, grabbing trees. The newest gust picked up the hem of the Dark Ranger’s dark cloak, a length of deep purple-dyed hide and fur, fairly heavy, and for someone still living, it would likely be very warm. Felwynn felt nothing though, merely looking over her shoulder as her cloak flapped about her legs, the string on her bow sang, until the Forsaken ranger held it up in front of her chest to protect it, and the sword hanging from her hip bumped against her leg, rattling slightly.

After a few moments, the wind died down to a mere breeze once more, and Felwynn returned her bow-arm to hanging at her side, and her feet rose and fell once more as she plodded onwards. Nalli obediently straightened out, having huddled slightly against the wind, and trotted after her mistress. Up ahead, tarnished gold glittered in the sky, and Felwynn raised her gleaming red eyes to watch. The wind gusted again, and she brought the bow back in front of her face to protect it. Her long ears wafted in the wind, sticking up through small slits in her hood. The right ear, as in-tact and straight as it had been in life, while the left was broken about half-way up, and the top half hung limply, flopping uselessly in the rising wind.

Up ahead, a tattered Quel’dorei banner fluttered in the wind, dangling from the top of one of the tarnished, partly broken spires. Crimson eyes watched it move, seeing the silvery head flutter. One of the rips in the fabric looked like a tear rolling from the beasts eye. Felwynn watched how it flowed and seemed to roll down the unicorn’s cheek in the wind, her feet plodding endlessly on. The wind died down again, and the Forsaken elf sighed, closing her eyes briefly. She did not need to see to know this path. How many times had she walked it? Hundreds. Thousands? Too many to count.

That said, it came as a complete surprise to the Dark Ranger when her foot sank into the gap where a paving stone had been torn from the ground, and the undead Quel’dorei gasped as she tripped, managing to fling her arm to the side and let her bow drop gently and safely to the ground, even as she herself smacked into the stone, grimacing as her breastplate shoved up against her chest, she could feel her ribcage bend slightly, the breastplate was already so tight that even a noble-lady would swoon at it. Luckily, as the case stood, she did not need to breath, so the corset-tightness did not bother her.

After a moment of lying face-down on the cold stone, during which Nalli the lynx whined slightly piteously, and padded up to nuzzle into the undead she-elf’s greasy hair, which had been partly exposed by her hood pulling back, Felwynn’s hands moved once more, the padded, enchanted gauntlet of her left hand rising up, and pressing into the ground, lifting her upper body from the floor. Unkempt, dirty hair dangled around her face limply, masking the Dark Ranger’s features as she got to her hands and knees, still just looking silently into the ground. Nalli crouched slightly, her dead eyes looking into Felwynn’s face, and after a moment, the undead she-elf smiled slightly, and she reached up to stroke her hand through the lynx’s mane, and she leant in to touch her forehead against the beastie’s own. “Nalli.” she said, her jaw muscles visible through the fatal wound on her cheek, twitching slightly as her lips curled back into another smile. The lynx tilted her head, recognising her name, and Felwynn chuckled slightly, ruffling her pet’s ears as she pushed herself up to her feet with a groan.

The Dark Ranger pushed herself upright, her good ear twitching slightly as she looked around the dead forest, the grey trees, the blue-hued undergrowth, the wilted and dead flowers. The wind blew again, rustling her cloak, and her bow down on the floor began to whistle once more as the taut string caught the gusting air. Hurriedly, the undead she-elf bent down to sweep her precious weapon up, and she held it against her chest, taking a few moments to close her eyes, and feel the air whipping her hair, ears and cloak about.

Letting out another melancholy sigh, mostly lost in the wind, Felwynn turned again, looking down at Nalli, who was watching her with a tilted head, and the Forsaken smiled, before clicking her tongue, and nodding towards the burnished spires up ahead. They began to walk again, paws and soft boots padding almost silently across the stones as the abandoned, dead town came into proper view. Goldenmist Village was as dead as it’s surroundings, the wind stirring dead trees, small bits of wood from buildings and stalls, torn and shredded banners fluttering from the few spires. Most of the buildings were destroyed, or at least heavily damaged. Holes in roofs and walls. Scorch marks along most of the once-white marble, though vines had started to overgrow them, creeping through windows and blasted holes, over the roofs, over the steps, over everything. Occasionally a glimmer of elven face would appear, slink along a pathway idly, and fade away again. The ghosts had still not been entirely banished from this place, though the ones that were left seemed to be non-aggressive, and really just completely oblivious to anything else other than each other and the buildings, which they behaved as if were still intact.

Onwards Felwynn trudged, Nalli obediently padding along at her side, occasionally wandering off to smell some familiar rock by the side of the road, some tree she had clawed in years past. The Dark Ranger watched distantly, the edges of her dull, grey-red lips twitching upwards into a vague resemblance of a smile. The undead lynx behaved so lifelike still, going through old patterns, still so faithfully loyal. Had she been alive, it might have brought a tear to Felwynn’s eye. Instead, the crimson orbs turned back to her old hometown. It was dead and broken, much like herself, but she still felt a faint warm sensation, that of home. Home. Such a pathetic word really. It brought a condescending laugh to the Forsaken she-elf’s lips, and she shook her head as she walked on.

They were in the town centre now, where all the pathways that spread through the village met. There was no well here: The river was so close it was unneeded. There had been a market here once. Some of the burnt out wreckages still remained. The market had actually been on, the day the Scourge came. Villagers crowded in, bartering, talking, laughing, living. No longer. A loud crunch filled the air, and Felwynn whipped around, in the blink of an eye an arrow was in her hand and nocked to the bowstring. It had just been one charred market stall finally giving up after all these years, and had collapsed into a pile of ash, charcoal, and broken wood. The Dark Ranger sighed, returning her arrow casually to her quiver upon her back, and she then looked at her hand. Her fingers flexed, it at times still felt strange. She could feel her fingers, control them… But it was different. Different to the feelings Aelyra Sunchaser had felt when lifeblood pumped through her veins. She sighed again, looking around for Nalli. The undead lynx had wandered off, sniffing around some of the old stalls, and for a few minutes, Felwynn just watched her companion with a vague smile. At times, she wished she could be like her companion, simply doing things. Not thinking. Individual, yes. Conscious, yes. But primal, simple. Sometimes it seemed so appealing. Not having to worry or think…

Her thoughts trailed off then, and a content sigh rolled past the Dark Ranger’s once-pretty lips. She let Nalli do as she pleased, and instead the brunette turned down to the eastern path from the town centre, and down she began to walk, past dull, burnt, or broken marble walls. Halfway down the road, she stopped, and looked back. Nalli was padding after her, slightly lopsided for a while, but she straightened up, and trotted over to Felwynn. The lynx turned too as Felwynn did, to look at her home. The place she had been raised. The Elrendar river was in sight from here, and could easily be heard, flowing to the Northern Ocean. That at least, had not changed.

The home she had been raised in was mostly ruins. The roof, and three-quarters of the round wall had collapsed. A few rooms were left, but most of it was burnt. She knew for a fact that no one had been inside when the Scourge came. The home she had moved into with Cylandil was further south. She had never seen him, nor little Nimari. They had probably died in the first couple of hours of the Scourge invasion. The notion upset her, even after all these years, and the undead she-elf felt a pang of guilt and misery in her chest. She sighed though, hanging her head. Her fingers loosened on her bow, and it dropped to the ground again with a clatter of iron-hard, undead wood. Nalli looked up at her master, and rubbed up against Felwynn’s leg. She smiled, reaching down and gently stroking along her companion’s feline body, before she reached up, and undid the straps of both her gloves, pulling them off and clipping them onto her belt.

Felwynn then looked at her hands, grey, dead flesh, yet it was still soft, but cold. Not that she could feel that. She turned them over, flexing her fingers, watching them move at her command with an expression of vague interest, before she held her left hand up, looking at the tiny stump that was all that remained of her ring finger. Dark, clotted blood formed a stiff scar over the wound, but the faint hint of bone could be seen still if one looked hard enough. Her left glove was padded in that finger, and enchanted so that it would mimic the movements of her pinkie finger.

Her thoughts drifted back once more. That bastard. The human, a Knight converted to Arthas’ sick march. He had still been alive. He had come with the necromancer, a cultist. She had learnt their names. Stephen Whitetree, whom had shattered her sword, removed her ring finger to mock her marriage, and had his way with her. Kevin Marbuck, the cultist whom had nailed her to a ritual table, and ripped her soul from her body. A spasm of rage crossed Felwynn’s once-pretty elven features, and her left hand clenched into a fist, trembling slightly from the power of her grip. After a moment, a scream of rage, so loud and high pitched it made Nalli whine pitifully, and cower down, covering her ears with her paws, left Felwynn’s lips, and she pulled her sword from it’s scabbard, the cruel, barbed blade reminiscent of Quel’dorei design gleaming in the half-light that filled Goldenmist Village, and she swung it down, shattering an old lantern that hung from her broken front doorway. She let go of the sword, and it sunk a good few inches into the soft soil, and then the Dark Ranger carried onwards, her fist slammed forwards, and smashed a hole in the small shed next to her house, the wood rotten with age.

For a few seconds, she remained there, her arm stuck through the rotten wood, and the undead she-elf’s chest heaved, even though she did not breathe, it was an instinct of the flesh. Eventually, her fingers slackened, and then slowly, Felwynn pulled her arm back, a few large splinters stuck in the pale grey flesh of her arm. Slowly, one-by-one, she plucked them out, dropping them into the grass. The wounds left by them did not bleed, but the flesh closed, even if it didn’t seal up properly. It looks slightly grim, and the Dark Ranger scowled as she turned her hand over, watching the damage she had caused herself.

The grey, undead she-elf sighed again, and she turned back, her right hand grabbing her sword hilt as she went by, and she habitually slid the blade back into it’s sheath. Nalli looked up, frightful of her master’s anger, and cautiously began to pad after the undead elf when it became apparent the fit of rage had subsided. Felwynn picked up her bow, taking a brief moment to look at the trusty weapon, before she stepped into her broken old home.

It was awkward going, rubble and charred wood littered the floor, but Felwynn eventually ended up in the kitchen. It looked almost the same as she remembered it. Except for the vines creeping over the walls through the missing wall at the end. And the sense of death that lingered still. Grey fingers caressed the chipped and scorched marble work surface, then reached up towards a cupboard. The handle snapped away from the rotten wood as she took a hold of it, and she sighed, dropping the metal knob down with a clatter before she grabbed the rotten wood, and pulled half of the rotten door away with a single tug and groaning of wood breaking. The Dark Ranger discarded it behind her with a clattering and crunching sound. It was the seasoning cupboard. Jars of spices and herbs still stood there, untouched. A smile spread across her lips, remembering all the times she had cooked with her mother when she was young.

The smile twisted downwards though, as she looked out through the hole in the wall, out across the Ghostlands which lay bare outside. Felwynn turned back to the cupboard, and she grabbed the pot labelled “Saffron” in her mothers handwriting, the label faded and worn, stowing it away in the little pouch that hung behind her rear. The undead Quel’dorei turned to leave, into the main hallway habitually, and she turned right, clambering over the remainders of the walls and ceiling with Nalli at her leather-clad heels.
 
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Mirchie

Mirchie

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Re: Mirchie's re-purposed spot of ground area.

Continued.

The next room which was not entirely collapsed was her bedroom, and Felwynn hesitated outside it. She was not sure if she wanted to go into the place. After a moment, Felwynn steeled her nerves, an agitated spasm twitched the she-elf’s nose, and then she pushed aside the tattered remnants of the drape which covered the doorway, parts of it falling away at her touch like cobwebs. This at least, was almost exactly the same as she remembered it. It seemed the flames had not reached here, unfortunately. It was dark, the large window was caked in grime, soot and a vine had clambered over it. The eerie red glow of her eyes let her see though, and Felwynn turned her gaze this way and that. The bookshelf next to the door. The long, comfortable bed beneath the window. Her wardrobe next to that. The lantern hanging from the ceiling that father had had to light for her in the evenings. The makeup table on the opposite side. Her very first bow, covered in dust and probably rotten to the core. Her toy chest was there too.

Felwynn hesitated again, gulping nervously. A fluttering sensation filled her chest. Was this… Fear? Fear of an old bedroom that she had spent her childhood? The realisation made another spasm of anger cross the Dark Ranger’s face, and she clenched her hands into fists, a low growl escaping her lips. Eventually, the rage passed, and Felwynn reached up, running a hand over her smooth, once-pretty face, closing her eyes. When she opened her eyes again, the Forsaken she-elf walked forwards, running her fingers over the bookshelf. Most of the scrolls had fallen to dust, though some still remained. She plucked one off, and unrolled it. It was a fairy tale. A story of a lone unicorn, in faded lettering, whom was searching for home. Red eyes narrowed as they scanned over the page, until she reached the ending, illustrated what had once been colourful, of the unicorn prancing with it’s mother with the rising sun in the background.

A tear really did rise to the she-elf’s eye now, though it was old, partially-congealed blood, which slowly began to roll down her grey cheek. Three grey fingers and a thumb rolled the fairytale up, and she rebound it, hands actually shaking now as the Dark Ranger fell down to her knees, staring mutely at the ground. A memory rose. The young brunette lying tucked up in her bed, gazing up at her father as he sat at the end of the bed, bathed in the lantern light as he read from the scroll to her. Constantly she interrupted him, with interruptions as to what the unicorn was doing, why he was doing it, how he felt. Her father just smiled, answered her questions, and then carried on reading until the next question arose.

Felwynn closed her eyes, her lower jaw trembling as she remembered such things, her hands shook, holding the scroll in them. The half-congealed tear continued to roll slowly down her cheek, until Nalli padded gently up to her master’s side, and licked the Forsaken she-elf’s cheek, and the tear with it. This at last, brought the Quel’dorei back to her senses, and she turned to Nalli, dropping the scroll to the dusty floor as she leant in, and hugged the undead lynx tightly against her chest. A guttural purr rose from her companion’s throat, and a stifled sob escaped Felwynn’s own. After a few moments, she managed to let go, and she picked up the scroll again, closing her eyes momentarily before she tucked it carefully behind her back.

The Dark Ranger took a few more moments to compose herself, before she slowly stood up, using the end of her bed for balance, before she went over to her bow on the wall, the very first bow she had ever owned. It was old, small, weak, yes… Carved from yew. The string had snapped from age already. Cautiously, Felwynn reached out to touch it. The first time she had hit a bullseye with this thing… She had been so happy. So proud. Oh how mother and father had cheered for her as she pranced in a giddy circle. She had only been… Twelve, perhaps, at the time? Another sigh escaped Felwynn’s lips, and the hole in the side of her cheek, as she wrapped her fingers around the grip of the bow. It still felt sturdy enough, so she picked it off of the wall, and held it up. It was so small, so light compared to what she used now. Understandable, yes. She had been a child then.

Bitter regret welled up in her dead heart. Not regret of what she had become. No… She lived to serve the Banshee Queen. For Sylvanas. Regret of what she had lost. Oh what she would give to hold her daughter and husband again. Her mother and father. All in service to the Banshee Queen. But alas… Such was not the case. After a moment, she realised her fists had clenched again, her nails threatening to pierce her soft grey flesh. Slowly, the Dark Ranger forced herself to relax, and let out a long sigh. Then she looked down again, and a pang of misery ran through her chest once more. She had been clenching so hard, that the ancient bow had snapped. It was perhaps not surprising, the weapon was the best part of 150 years old. The two limbs lay upon the floor, looking so forlorn and hopeless among the dust.

Felwynn sighed again, turning and leaning against the wall sadly, as Nalli came up and gently nuzzled against her hand, the she-elf’s palm idly, instinctively reached up to ruffle the undead lynx’s mane. It was probably for the best. Keeping the old bow would be difficult and awkward. Reassuring herself with this fact, the undead Quel’dorei gently pushed herself up to her feet once more, sighing sadly as she strode further into the room. She pulled open her wardrobe next, and winced. Clothes that would still fit her, though moth-eaten and would probably fall apart when she touched them. Dresses, robes, shirts and trousers, elegant belts emblazoned with tarnished silver prancing unicorns. To confirm her suspicions, Felwynn reached out to a dress she remembered wearing one of the last days before she had left this place to live with her dear Cylandil. Sure enough, as she touched it, part of the sleeve crumbled away to dust, and out of respect for the past, the Dark Ranger stopped there, withdrawing her hand sadly. She could not take anything from here, so after a few more moments of looking forlornly into the wardrobe, Felwynn turned away, pushing the door shut with a loud creak. Nalli had curled up at the base of the bed, expecting to be resting there the night, but looked up curiously as her master walked towards the door. “No Nalli… Stay. Rest.” Felwynn said gently, a smile creasing her lips briefly before she turned, and went onwards. The rubble had formed an impenetrable wall now. The rest of the house was lost forever.

There was one more room though, and the Dark Ranger knew which one it was. Her parents bedroom. The window in this room was shattered, and so dim light was filling it up. It was so dusty though. Vines were starting to creep in through the broken window, and looking down, the undead Quel’dorei could see the shards of glass on the floor, starlight glinting off of them. It looked much the same otherwise, just dark and forlorn. Several faded paintings hung from the wall. A scene of Silvermoon, dark and dull as this whole place. A portrait of her mother and father, before her own birth, they looked so happy. Her mother, Rulah Dawnstrider, looked so radiant, even in the faded painting. A smile spread across her lips, her blonde hair washing down over her shoulders, garbed in deep greens and silver. Her father, Deralnah Dawnstrider, took an imposing, yet kindly figure, his stern gaze staring back at the Dark Ranger so lifelike that she could feel her body tense and quiver. Slowly, she reached up, and pulled the heavy cloth hood back from her head, her right ear twitching while the left hung limp and dead. Her lank, greasy brown hair pooled at the base of her neck as the undead Quel’dorei stared at the painting. Her father had been good for her, she knew. Stern, he always kept her on the right path, scolded and punished her for misbehaviour, yet he had been such a loving, doting father too.

Unable to bear looking into her father’s stern gaze any longer, Felwynn turned away, jaw tensing, and she stifled another sob. It was a long while before the undead she-elf could stomach to look up again, and when she did, her gaze met another picture. It was her. Painted shortly before she reached full adulthood. She had been so pretty, such a long time ago. Her hair was a dark, reddish-brown, and had been braided to fall behind her back, halfway down her spine. She had still been an apprentice at that time to the Farstriders, so she had not yet cut it short. Her bust had been modest at the time, and the tight-fitting green and blue shirt she wore in the picture accentuated it well. A single silver earring dangled from her left ear tip, that had been torn out by that sick knight too. Her facial features were still the same, but so warm and full of life in the picture, as opposed to the grey form it took now, the gash in her cheek showing off her jaw muscles and teeth.

This, she found, was easier to look at, so for a while, Felwynn watched the painting. That sweet smile upon her young self’s lips. The best she could manage now in most circumstances was a sneer. The life and expectancy in her painted eyes, compared to the cold, unfeeling, merciless gaze that so often filled her now-crimson orbs. Her fingers, all still present, knitted together in a fashion that seemed adorable. Once more, the Dark Ranger’s gaze drifted down to her left hand, turning it over and over in the dim light of the room, looking at the stump of her ring finger.

Finally, Felwynn turned away, sighing as she walked over the full-length mirror next to her parents wardrobe. Frowning, the Dark Ranger pulled up her cloak, and used it to wipe the dust away, until she could see her reflection staring back at her. Compared to her painting. She was taller now. Leaner. Meaner. Her shoulders were broader. Her belly slimmer. Her hips wider. She was still recognisably herself, that much was definitely certain. But as opposed to the vibrant glee of life that filled her young painting, Aelyra Sunchaser now stood a broken, slightly hunched, miserable shell of her former self. Filled with rage. Filled with sorrow. Filled with misery. Filled with the lust for vengeance. Clad now in black. In grey. In deep dark purple and void-like swathes of darkest blue. So different from what she had worn earlier, the ceremonial garb of the Farstriders. Blue, gold and silver woven together so intricately and prettily, it was almost difficult for her to believe just how different she was now.

But the Banshee Queen had freed her from slavery, and her unlife she willingly gave for the Dark Lady. The past was gone. Gone. The Forsaken she-elf’s fists clenched again, and after a moment she screamed again. “Gone! It’s all gone! It’s all GOOOOOOOOOOOONE!” she howled out to nothing, the voice of a banshee so high and shrill that the mirror cracked. When Felwynn finally calmed down, and opened her eyes again to look back into the mirror, she winced miserably, her reflection so distorted by the crack that had sprouted in the top corner. Tenderly, the Dark Ranger reached out, trailing her bare grey fingertips over the cracks she had made unwittingly, before her hand curled into a fist once more, though not out of rage this time, but of regret. She had broken mother’s favourite mirror.

Shamefully, Felwynn turned away, biting her lip as her gaze met that of her parent’s portrait again. Her eyes looked into those of her painted mother’s, and she could have sworn that there was a look of disappointment there. Her gaze turned to her father, and the expression upon the undead she-elf’s face was almost pleading as she sought recognition like a little girl. She was met only with silence though, and if anything, her father’s face seemed to have gotten sterner, as if he was telling her off for damaging her mother’s things. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry… Please… Forgive me father… Mother… I love you.” the Dark Ranger begged, running over to the wall where the painting hung, and she dropped down to her knees in the dust again, a sob escaping her lips as she leant her forehead against the wall, another bloody tear leaking out of the corner of her squinting eye to begin the painstakingly slow descent down over her grey cheek.

For a long while, Felwynn remained there, occasionally sobbing as she curled up with her forehead pressed against the dirty, dusty marble. Eventually, the sound of padding paws came to the attention of her long ears, and the Dark Ranger looked around, her jaw trembling slightly as she watched Nalli gently, cautiously approach. “At least you are still here…” Felwynn murmured beneath her breath, her lips trembling and hands shaking as she reached for the undead, partially-rotted lynx, and drew the beast into another hug, choking back another sob as she nuzzled into Nalli’s mane. The large feline purred gutturally again, and nuzzled into Felwynn’s shoulder, obediently remaining in her master’s distraught embrace.

It must have been at least ten minutes that Felwynn remained there, clinging to her undead companion in her parents dusty old bedroom. When she finally relinquished her grip, her arms felt stiff, and the Dark Ranger flopped backwards against the wall dejectedly, taking a few minutes to flex a bit of warmth back into her tired, dead limbs. Eventually, the she-elf managed to clamber to her feet, and she turned around, to her mother’s bedside cabinet. Tentatively, the Dark Ranger reached forwards, and reached out to open it up. There it was. That tiny, ornate mahogany box. Slender, grey fingers reached out, trembling as they picked it up, and with a well-practised flick, it opened up. Inside was her mothers wedding ring. She had not worn it the day she died. The slim gold band, with it’s beautiful ruby surrounded by sapphires. The gems were miniscule, it was a cheap ring, but it meant so much. Another tear leaked out of Felwynn’s eye as she watched the tiny loop of metal glint in the dull light, reaching down towards the existing one which was now halfway down her cheek.

Flinching slightly, Felwynn snapped the box shut, and pocketed it, looking up to the painting of her parents and whimpering shamefully. “I am sorry, mother… But… I… I did not turn out like you wanted. But at least it is better if I have this, than some looter?” she asked the air, gulping, looking to her father for approval and finding none, and with another sob, the undead she-elf fled the room, boots beating softly on the dirty marble as she fled into the hallway, and down, back to her own room. Once there, the undead she-elf flung herself onto her bed, which creaked in protest at the sudden weight after so many years, dust flinging itself up into the air that had accumulated over the long decades of disuse.

Eventually though, the Dark Ranger’s sobbing subsided, and she rolled onto her back on the bed, the room was so dark… Only the faintest sliver of light penetrated the grimy, covered window. She could still see and hear though, and her glowing red eyes turned to Nalli as the undead lynx padded into the room, and then raised up, placing her front paws on the side of the bed. A nervous smile spread across Felwynn’s lips, and she patted the bed next to her, letting out a sigh as her long-time companion curled up underneath her arm, her head resting upon the undead she-elf’s breastplate. “Nalli…” she murmured, sighing as her grey hand placed itself in the lynx’s mane, and then Felwynn’s head fell back onto the dusty pillow once more, sighing miserably as she stared at the ceiling. Slowly, slowly, that which equated to sleep for her now began to creep up. A trance, where vivid dreams haunted her, but she rested her dead body. A slight wince creased Felwynn’s features, but she did not fight it, and slowly, the Dark Ranger drifted off to ‘sleep’ in the bed she had spent so many years in.

/end
 
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Mirchie

Mirchie

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Re: Mirchie's re-purposed spot of ground area.

Another picture for you. Another picture of my Dark Ranger, Felwynn Moonchaser.


Enjoy.
 
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Mirchie

Mirchie

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Re: Mirchie's re-purposed spot of ground area.

Another one of Mirchell for DG~


Didn't like how the head turned out, but the rest of it is alright. Quite liked her hands in this one.
 
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Mirchie

Mirchie

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Re: Mirchie's re-purposed spot of ground area.

MOAR PICTURES.

Just a picture of Rheka this time, since I wanted to practise some more fluid poses, struggling for the right word there. Wanted to do less static poses, I think is the best way to put it.

 
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Mirchie

Mirchie

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Re: Mirchie's re-purposed spot of ground area.

And yet more. Oh aren't you people who open this thread lucky tonight!?!?

Mirchell again this time. Being all rawr and bat-shit crazy. I love how her face went in this one, makes her look rather insane in my opinion. ^^ The rest of it went quite well too.

 
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Mirchie

Mirchie

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Re: Mirchie's re-purposed spot of ground area.

Yet more sodding stuff!? What madness is this.

First up: Mirchell again. Known issues: Right arm, both hands, waist/hips. Purpose of the drawing: Practise faces (think it went well!) and muscle definition (Also quite good, I am hoping.).

Then, a couple of really old drawings. Like, four years old. First, a Mk.23 Mod 0 handgun.

And an AK-47. Well d'uh.

Next: Some couple-month-old drawings, practising bodies interacting with one another. First: Dancing.

And then, the smut, yay for lesbian elves with a strapon. The blindfolded one is actually supposed to be narrow, for once, instead of me just failing to give them proper-shaped hips.
 
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Mirchie

Mirchie

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Re: Mirchie's re-purposed spot of ground area.

Edited, fixed and cleaned up the anatomy practise sketch, for those interested.

 
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Mirchie

Mirchie

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Re: Mirchie's re-purposed spot of ground area.

For those who care, I did a step-by-step sort of how I draw shit thing. Ate up the evening pretty well. Caution: Big images are big. Uncropped A4 pages (except for step 5).

1: Skeleton

2: Basic shapes

3: Detail

4: Shading

5: Cleaning up / Finished product
 
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Mirchie

Mirchie

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Re: Mirchie's re-purposed spot of ground area.

My most recent drawing, that I forgot to upload here first. Regardless, here you go. I'm using this picture as the proper profile picture of the WoW version of Mirchell, though her legs could stand to be a bit longer. Regardless. As usual, caution: Large picture is large.


On an off-note. I now have a graphics tablet, so I will be fiddling with that for a while. The better outcomes of that will be splurged out onto here.
 
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Mirchie

Mirchie

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Re: Mirchie's re-purposed spot of ground area.

And as I promised, the half-decent result gets splurged. Have at thee!

My paladin in WoW itself, in her Argent gear.
 

Djinbu

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Re: Mirchie's re-purposed spot of ground area.

I don't know if you're expecting constructive critique by any means, and I'm still learning myself, but you really need to focus on shapes and construction. You've expressed no real improvement in any of the pictures and part of your problem seems to be no motivation to improve. By let me address a couple of things here in your artwork.

You're clearly trying to go for an anime style which is different from a realistic style. In realistic drawings the human head, when viewed at 0 degrees is a more vertical oval shape. If you spun it 90 degrees, the skull of the human head would be another oval jutting backward perpendicular the face at the top of the face's oval.



The eyes, when placed on this image, should go roughly around the line for the skull's oval. But what about in anime?

In anime, an oval is not the base shape of the face; instead ovals and circles are. Ovals are masculine shapes and circles are feminine. To transform the circle into a feminine anime face, I recommend first drawing to short lines from the side downward, then a triangle with rounded sides for the chin. After practicing this a couple of times, practice rounding the chin from the circle without the two straight lines.

As for your bodies; the armor doesn't look right because you didn't construct the character beneath the armor at all. Until you're much more experienced, all of your characters should be completely naked at first - and then, step-by-step, you should add clothes/armor. If you did this, then your sense of anatomy is terrible and you should exercise it by drawing from life - specifically nude models. At first, find some pictures of a nude model posing/standing, then slowly work into different poses and do some small gesture drawings.

When tired of this, draw your five different shapes: cubes, tubes, pyramids, cones, and spheres. Draw them together in perspective with foreshortening as well.

Mostly, practice from life. You can transform anything into anime from there.
 
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