Placeholder: Behold, the obsidian huntress! Her beauty is as captivating as a storm cloud, with dark skin that gleams like polished ebony under the flickering torchlight. Pointed elven ears, reminiscent of a Castlevania vampiress, frame a face as striking as a panther's. A smile, both alluring and predatory, bares sharp fangs that glint with an unnatural sheen. Her eyes, the color of smoldering embers, seem to hold the secrets of forgotten battlefields. Behold, the obsidian huntress! Her beauty is as captivating as a storm cloud, with dark skin that gleams like polished ebony under the flickering torchlight. Pointed elven ears, reminiscent of a Castlevania vampiress, frame a face as striking as a panther's. A smile, both alluring and predatory, bares sharp fangs that glint with an unnatural sheen. Her eyes, the color of smoldering embers, seem to hold the secrets of forgotten battlefields.

@generalpha

Prompt

Behold, the obsidian huntress! Her beauty is as captivating as a storm cloud, with dark skin that gleams like polished ebony under the flickering torchlight. Pointed elven ears, reminiscent of a Castlevania vampiress, frame a face as striking as a panther's. A smile, both alluring and predatory, bares sharp fangs that glint with an unnatural sheen. Her eyes, the color of smoldering embers, seem to hold the secrets of forgotten battlefields.

statue, doubles, twins, entangled fingers, Worst Quality, ugly, ugly face, watermarks, undetailed, unrealistic, double limbs, worst hands, worst body, Disfigured, double, twin, dialog, book, multiple fingers, deformed, deformity, ugliness, poorly drawn face, extra_limb, extra limbs, bad hands, wrong hands, poorly drawn hands, messy drawing, cropped head, bad anatomy, lowres, extra digit, fewer digit, worst quality, low quality, jpeg artifacts, watermark, missing fingers, cropped, poorly drawn

2 years ago

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Model

SSD-1B

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

1024 × 1024

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Behold, the obsidian huntress! Her beauty is as captivating as a storm cloud, with dark skin that gleams like polished ebony under the flickering torchlight. Pointed elven ears, reminiscent of a Castlevania vampiress, frame a face as striking as a panther's. A smile, both alluring and predatory, bares sharp fangs that glint with an unnatural sheen. Her eyes, the color of smoldering embers, seem to hold the secrets of forgotten battlefields.
I am the slayer of evil and the bane of the burning hells. I went back to the darkest depths of Hell, where Lilith, the daughter of hatred, awaits me. I will not falter, I will not fear. I am the Nephalem and because of our lineage, they loved us. And because of our difference, they feared us. Our existence would forever alter the balance of power in the Great Conflict.
heroic fantasy scene: Norgal's eyes narrow slightly, captivated by Zhaania's words. He senses a profound truth in her words, a recognition that there is more to their encounter than a mere battle of strength. He lowers his weapon slightly, a sign of respect for Zhaania's words. "You speak with a wisdom beyond your years, Zhaania," Norgal concedes, a newfound appreciation evident in his tone.
In the shadowed glade, where the moon cast an eerie glow, a figure emerged from the darkness. A demoness, with goat horns spiraling from her head, stood tall and proud. Her vestal linen dress stained with the blood of the sacrifice she had just made. The demoness wielded a sword, gleaming in the moonlight, a weapon of ancient power and dark intent. Her eyes, a fiery gaze that spoke of untold secrets and forbidden knowledge, surveyed the scene before her with a mix of satisfaction and hunger. The
he flickering flames cast eerie shadows on the walls as the female demon, with her yellow skin shimmering in the firelight, stood tall and imposing. Her horns curved menacingly above her head, exuding an aura of dark power. The air crackled with a sense of foreboding as she began to chant ancient incantations, her voice both melodic and chilling. Within the confines of a large iron cage, the demon performed her ritual with precision and grace, her movements fluid and hypnotic
In an ethereal realm, an Afro-American harpy stands proudly, clad in a dark costume that clings to her skin like a second layer. Her wings, resembling those of a bat, flutter gracefully behind her, adding a touch of mystery to her imposing presence. From her perch on high, she gazes down at the world with a mocking smirk, her piercing eyes scanning the distant horizons.
I am the slayer of evil and the bane of the burning hells. I went back to the darkest depths of Hell, where Lilith, the daughter of hatred, awaits me. I will not falter, I will not fear. I am the Nephalem and because of our lineage, they loved us. And because of our difference, they feared us. Our existence would forever alter the balance of power in the Great Conflict.
nightgow
the mystical vampire huntress adopts a powerful posture, her form shrouded in mystery as she stands against her foes. With an over-the-shoulder view, her bespoke warrior ensemble decorated with onyx tracery and darkness symbols shimmers under starlight, throwing spectral forms across the landscape. In this imposing Victory Position, she reveals her commanding nature through her midnight warrior garb and bearing, embodying her might and self-assurance in instances of crisis.
the mystical vampire huntress adopts a powerful posture, her form shrouded in mystery as she stands against her foes. With an over-the-shoulder view, her bespoke warrior ensemble decorated with onyx tracery and darkness symbols shimmers under starlight, throwing spectral forms across the landscape. In this imposing Victory Position, she reveals her commanding nature through her midnight warrior garb and bearing, embodying her might and self-assurance in instances of crisis.
Griselda, or Griz as she preferred. You recall her striking appearance: greenish skin marked with ritual scars, yellow eyes that burned with a rare intelligence. She was an outcast among her own kind, drawn to divine magic despite the taboos. Griz's yellow eyes follow your approach, her stance shifting subtly as you draw closer. The ritual scars on her arms pulse with a faint inner light. "Support," she repeats, the word heavy with meaning. "You know what's waking, don't you? What Thornbrook's
nightgow

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