Placeholder: Aye, Fiona's got a gift for blending the ancient with the avant-garde like no lass I've ever shot. She slips between worlds smooth as a sigh, but that warrior spirit of her foremothers beats strong in her core. Take today's shoot down by the surf - there's Fiona prowling the shingle in her leathers and braids, windswept hair flowing wild as the sea. But wrapped around her shoulders, a modern patchwork cape stitched with tales from the sagas. Each symbol pops against the ragged leather, keeping o Aye, Fiona's got a gift for blending the ancient with the avant-garde like no lass I've ever shot. She slips between worlds smooth as a sigh, but that warrior spirit of her foremothers beats strong in her core. Take today's shoot down by the surf - there's Fiona prowling the shingle in her leathers and braids, windswept hair flowing wild as the sea. But wrapped around her shoulders, a modern patchwork cape stitched with tales from the sagas. Each symbol pops against the ragged leather, keeping o

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Prompt

Aye, Fiona's got a gift for blending the ancient with the avant-garde like no lass I've ever shot. She slips between worlds smooth as a sigh, but that warrior spirit of her foremothers beats strong in her core. Take today's shoot down by the surf - there's Fiona prowling the shingle in her leathers and braids, windswept hair flowing wild as the sea. But wrapped around her shoulders, a modern patchwork cape stitched with tales from the sagas. Each symbol pops against the ragged leather, keeping o

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

1 year ago

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Model

SSD-1B

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

832 × 1248

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Aye, Fiona's got a gift for blending the ancient with the avant-garde like no lass I've ever shot. She slips between worlds smooth as a sigh, but that warrior spirit of her foremothers beats strong in her core. Take today's shoot down by the surf - there's Fiona prowling the shingle in her leathers and braids, windswept hair flowing wild as the sea. But wrapped around her shoulders, a modern patchwork cape stitched with tales from the sagas. Each symbol pops against the ragged leather, keeping o
Raven Blackthorn reached for the sword that had been her constant companion for fifteen years of bloodshed and betrayal. The ornate patterns etched into her armor weren't mere decoration – they were a record of every contract fulfilled, every oath kept, every life taken in service to the highest bidder. But this contract was different. The sunset painted the wheat fields golden, much like that day sixteen years ago when she'd watched raiders burn her village to the ground. Now, she'd discovered
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There ye stand bare as the forest, yet clad in every ounce of her wild glory. Hands propped on those lean flanks, chin tilted just so - and by the gods, have ye ever looked more every inch the Celtic queen? Each slow stride brings ye closer, bare feet whispering past pine boards as silent as mist. Your magic pulls me under like quicksand, click click, my camera's the only tether to mortal shores. And those eyes, greener than any glen I've ever wandered - they see straight through to my core, jud
[Endor, tattooed Tori Black warrior] On the city's edge a darkness gathers, seeking entrance where vigilance has flagged. But it has not reckoned on the ink-spelled sentinel whose fate is bound to these groves. As a sigh, Tori Black lifts her hands. Vined flesh seems to ripple and come alive as magic called since time immemorial answers her will. Sparks dance between fingers bearing tales of wars past, spells to shield and strike. With grim purpose she turns them on the encroaching night, unleas
And with each kick and leap I can glimpse those warriors of eld, fighting to safeguard their green and growing lands. Newcomers stop to stare like I did first time, eyes following her flow like flickers round a flame. But Fiona pays them no heed, mind staying housed in misty glens where heather blooms and stags run free. She may live with one foot in the future but her heart and body belong entirely to the wild. Just how I like my subjects - primal power wrapped up in a pretty package! So while
[tattooed Barbarella warrior] Old runes crumble near a wall, near-lost to time - but in them she sees echoes of fates endured by this barren city's forgotten wardens. Did hardship and hardship alone forge these battlements against some nameless horror stirring 'neath the dunes? Did their defenses crumble at last when even valor and will broke upon its dreaded sands? Ah, riddles crowd the mind this gloaming. Yet one truth stands stark: a Warden's vigil holds while yet one stone stands upon anothe
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