Placeholder: something that moved with impossible speed, something that left no physical evidence but filled the air with a putrid, metallic stench: the settlers blamed a group of Native Americans, leading to a brief but bloody conflict. But it tells a different story. something that moved with impossible speed, something that left no physical evidence but filled the air with a putrid, metallic stench: the settlers blamed a group of Native Americans, leading to a brief but bloody conflict. But it tells a different story.

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Prompt

something that moved with impossible speed, something that left no physical evidence but filled the air with a putrid, metallic stench: the settlers blamed a group of Native Americans, leading to a brief but bloody conflict. But it tells a different story.

distorted image, malformed body

6 months ago

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Model

SSD-1B

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

1248 × 832

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don Quixote with his lance as a desert nomad by Bruce Pennington, the fat Sancho Panza walks on his side
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the rugged landscape, the Orcs' firecamp flickered in the distance like a malevolent beacon. The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke and the harsh sound of guttural laughter carried on the wind, sending shivers down the spines of those who dared to draw near.The Orcs, dark silhouettes against the dancing flames, seemed to revel in their cruel merriment, their rough voices blending with the distant cries of prisoners, muffle
What fish of all fishes, Swims strong in the flood, But hath learnt little wit to beware Thine head must thou buy, From abiding in hell, And find me the wan waters' flame 'Andvari folk call me, Call Oinn my father, Over many a force have I fared; For a Norn of ill-luck, This life on me lay Through wet ways ever to wade.
Molly Hatchet as Frank frazetta's Death Dealer All is lost. The frontier outpost seemed like a reasonable place to defend while gathering additional support to resist the illegitimate sovereign. Their screams of pain and suffering echo as they are dispatched all around him. Even in death, they call his name, begging forgiveness for their failure to win the day.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the rugged landscape, the Orcs' in the distance like a malevolent beacon. The air was thick with the acrid scent and the harsh sound of guttural laughter carried on the wind, sending shivers down the spines of those who dared to draw near.The Orcs, dark silhouettes , seemed to revel in their cruel merriment, their rough voices blending with the distant cries of prisoners, muffled and faint.
don Quixote with his lance as a desert nomad by Bruce Pennington, the fat Sancho Panza walks on his side
Behold the visions you have seen. That which you have viewed. That which you now view. “Complex, isn’t it?” Viewing that which was, ye have seen the age of science and logic. They ruled them you know… Yes, ruled… Those bible-thumpers were put to rest, don’t ya know. And… From rubble and slime and filth… Science but… an Arcadian civilisation!!! Yes, yes… eh… They had a hand in you, too, laddie… Yes, they did! And wot do ye think happened? I’ll tell ye wot buddy ‘appened! For a millenium, science
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting its golden light across the land, a group of primal warriors stood silhouetted on the crest of a hill. Their figures were stark against the fiery sky, outlined by the fading glow of the setting sun. the group of primal warriors on the hilltop appeared to be guardians of a forgotten realm, keepers of ancient knowledge and wisdom.
medieval star trek camp: In the mine's dark depths, shadows dance with malice, Captives enslaved by massive scavengers' cruel malice. Axes and pikes wielded, herded like cattle to doom, Tribe's ruthless ways assign mining, sealing captives' gloom. Toiling under watchful eyes, pickaxes clang in the dark, Echoing through tunnels, a reminder stark. Flickering torchlight casts eerie shadows, foreboding air, Stale and oppressive, burdened with despair.
[art by Ray Harryhausen] the landscape of Mahabharata, the celestial battle of symbols and faith
[art by Ray Harryhausen] the landscape of Mahabharata, the celestial battle of symbols and faith
You will die of old age, we will die of distress
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