Placeholder: a young man paladin in chainmail and zweihander, a half-orc cleric female (green skin, scars and yellow eyes) with a dagger, and an old ranger, on the body of a vegetal and wooden dead elemental a young man paladin in chainmail and zweihander, a half-orc cleric female (green skin, scars and yellow eyes) with a dagger, and an old ranger, on the body of a vegetal and wooden dead elemental

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Prompt

a young man paladin in chainmail and zweihander, a half-orc cleric female (green skin, scars and yellow eyes) with a dagger, and an old ranger, on the body of a vegetal and wooden dead elemental

distorted image, malformed body, malformed fingers

1 month ago

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Model

SSD-1B

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

1248 × 832

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Griz the half-orc cleric with her leather boots in the mud. 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.
Griz the half-orc cleric with her leather boots in the mud. 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.
Gul'khar the orc knight
[art by Le Tendre et Loisel (la quite de l oiseau du temps)] two woman warrior after a battle in a cave surrounded by dead bodies of orcs and goblins
Griz the half-orc cleric with her leather boots on the mud ground. 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.
Griz the half-orc cleric with her leather boots. 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.
Liriel, the Cliffbound Ranger, The Edge of Peril. Liriel, a wood elf ranger, is known for her agility and fearless navigation of treacherous landscapes. She traverses high cliffs and deep ravines with unmatched skill, often scouting dangerous paths for her companions. With her bow always at the ready, Liriel has an unparalleled connection to nature, using the terrain to her advantage in battle and survival. Her sharp senses and unwavering focus keep her grounded, even on the brink of danger.
He was called the Precursor of the salvation of the Orcs, who he enjoined to follow the laws of the sky Gods to end the Crisis. His charisma and growing following were enough to summon together the despairing Dukes of the great Orc clans for parley. The Precursor’s Laws were declared to all, and the Dukes agreed to a truce. Miraculously, the Peace held. The lights in the sky ceased, and although the desert never released the equatorial lands, a semblance of normality returned. There was room en
Griz the half-orc cleric. 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 broken pac
Griz the half-orc cleric with leather boots. 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.
A Dragonborn Princess in plate armor, perched atop a siege ladder, ready to unleash her might upon the castle gates. The scene is set with her army blurred in the dust below, a formidable force rallying behind their fearless leader. The clash of steel, the roar of battle cries, the promise of victory in the air.
Ser Wylla of Thornhelm was once a novice archivist in the Grand Library, her days spent cataloguing ancient tomes. When desecrators broke into the catacombs beneath the keep, she seized her late father’s blade and donned battered armor to defend the forbidden archives. Now she patrols the silent halls, ever vigilant against intruders who seek the lost relics of her order.

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