Placeholder: I liked the old Death better. He was all about fried pickles and tickle babe. This new Death... She's always sticking her scythe where it doesn't belong. There has to be another way. Well, there's not. Now, I know you don't like it, and I don't really care. 'Cause you just heard it from God Himself I liked the old Death better. He was all about fried pickles and tickle babe. This new Death... She's always sticking her scythe where it doesn't belong. There has to be another way. Well, there's not. Now, I know you don't like it, and I don't really care. 'Cause you just heard it from God Himself

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@generalpha

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I liked the old Death better. He was all about fried pickles and tickle babe. This new Death... She's always sticking her scythe where it doesn't belong. There has to be another way. Well, there's not. Now, I know you don't like it, and I don't really care. 'Cause you just heard it from God Himself

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2 years ago

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Openjourney

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I liked the old Death better. He was all about fried pickles and tickle babe. This new Death... She's always sticking her scythe where it doesn't belong. There has to be another way. Well, there's not. Now, I know you don't like it, and I don't really care. 'Cause you just heard it from God Himself
I liked the old Death better. He was all about fried pickles and tickle babe. This new Death... She's always sticking her scythe where it doesn't belong. There has to be another way. Well, there's not. Now, I know you don't like it, and I don't really care. 'Cause you just heard it from God Himself
The Slavs knew well enough to fear him. A god of this primeval underworld, both venerated and cursed in turns. King of this pit where myths were born. But Alex had come to face no mere idol - Khors haunted her dreams, this blight that had driven her mother to the brink. Beyond the tomb's threshold, something was awakening. Slithering over stone like a loathsome serpent roused from slumber. Two baleful orbs blinked open, choking the passage in a miasma like the mouth of Hell. Alex clutched her bl
Infamous Azazel, demon of sacrifice, Bearer of man's sins into the wilderness - What secrets lie beneath your fearsome guise, Your twisted horns and talons sharp as knives? Perhaps you too were innocent once, cleansed By desert winds and baptismal rains. But corruption crept in, sin by sin, Until your heart as black as soot became.
I liked the old Death better. He was all about fried pickles and tickle babe. This new Death... She's always sticking her scythe where it doesn't belong. There has to be another way. Well, there's not. Now, I know you don't like it, and I don't really care. 'Cause you just heard it from God Himself
feature two central characters: a skeletal, death-like figure wearing a dark, hooded cloak, armed with swords, and adorned with intricate mechanical designs, and a pale, ghostly woman with flowing hair, wearing a tattered garment, who appears frightened or desperate. Ensure both characters are prominent and interact within the composition, capturing the contrast between the menacing, skeletal figure and the ethereal, ghostly woman.
An undead man-at-arms. Pens and white-ink.
feature two central characters: a skeletal, death-like figure wearing a dark, hooded cloak, armed with swords, and adorned with intricate mechanical designs, and a pale, ghostly woman with flowing hair, wearing a tattered garment, who appears frightened or desperate. Ensure both characters are prominent and interact within the composition, capturing the contrast between the menacing, skeletal figure and the ethereal, ghostly woman.
[art by Dorohedoro] Necromancy is the summoning of and speech with the dead, as is shown by its etymology; for it is derived from the Greek word Nekros, meaning a corpse, and Manteia, meaning divination. And they accomplish this by working some spell over the blood of a man or some animal, knowing that the devil delights in such sin, and loves blood and the pouring out of blood. Wherefore, when they think that they call the dead from hell to answer their questions, it is the devils in the likene
What dark visions will they unleash? I hear panting in the shadows, a rumbling beneath the floor. Something is stirring in the netherworld, drawn by the call of pen against paper. A sudden gasp tears through the tense quiet. The monsters are coming, scrabbling against the veil that separates our worlds. I must capture their frenzied essence before they tear through, bring strange terrors spilling out into the night. My pen flies, guided by otherworldly hands. A tale is forming, one that will ke
Azazel grins, teeth glinting in the shadows. "Who are you to judge my actions, O hooded one? Your scythe is not my concern." "London still mourns the children you slew," Dahlia replies. "I banished you once before For your wicked crimes. Must history repeat?"
I liked the old Death better. He was all about fried pickles and tickle babe. This new Death... She's always sticking her scythe where it doesn't belong. There has to be another way. Well, there's not. Now, I know you don't like it, and I don't really care. 'Cause you just heard it from God Himself
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