theiravelproject

[theiravelproject]

i wrote this a few weeks ago and totally forgot and its some good shit if i dont say so myself.

“What a surprise,” Eleste said. “I expected you last. I know how much you enjoy getting ready.”  Solnaer laughed.  “I planned ahead this time, just for you, manetheinin.” This time Eleste laughed, head thrown back. Her black hair spilled over her shoulders. Her horns looked lethal in the sunlight streaming through the window at her back.   “You would wish, wouldn't you?”  “Hah,” came a voice behind Jastfaer. Ornan gently pushed passed them, their various jewelry jangling like chimes in the wind. “We know his true love is Valden. Don't let him try to misguide you.” Valden scoffed.  “If love is what he's after, let Eleste deal with it. To be in love with Solnaer or to be loved by him; that's like laying in thorns.”  Solnaer grinned like a beast about to sink its teeth into its prey. He leaned into Valden so close the other leaned his head back.  “Don't be so jealous, Valden. I've enough fire for the both of you.”

[theiravelproject]

revamping again lets goo

[theiravelproject]

infinite tea dragon for all your tea needs:)

[prompt: tea, butterfly, wyrm]

kinda following @kmccaigue 's list:)

[theiravelproject]

Cold close.

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[theiravelproject]

She mouths a prayer to Jastfaer because she knows he's the only one who will listen. She, who is often pushed aside or shoved into the background. Her whispers are pressed into the forgotten fabrics at the back of the closet. Your kind should be unknown. And why, she wonders, because there is no excuse, really. Fear drives their actions, if not their hate, and she is but an ant in the face of their magnitude and breadth.

Jastfaer of the Long Winter. Jastfaer the Watcher of the Forgotten. He would listen, wouldn't he? The only one who would reach out to find her in the backrooms and caress her face with his kind hands. Tell her that she has been heard, and no longer must she scream into the darkness.

Being an enthys in the world is devastating. All this power and bound by the rules. All this power and still they look upon you in disgust and horror, as if your very existence has invited something they would rather have buried. To be half is even worse. She cannot help being what she is, cast out of her own world to be forced into one that wants her even less.

When he touches her hand, she breathes a sigh of relief. A prayer answered.

Just a moment of your time Jastfaer, I fear the world is ending, she says and Jastfaer gives her an inquisitive look.

You can see the threads of time, my vadya, you can pluck the strings. We are on the brink of collapse. I am on the brink of collapse. She squeezes his hands. He never once looks away, does not mock her words. He does not brush her off or laugh. Instead, he breaks one hand away to gently brush a lock of dark hair from her face.

Yes, the thought bounces around her head and it is not her own. Always ending. We are always ending, on the brink. Could pluck the strings. Would bring us to the end. Yes. What do you want to do before we end?

She has never been asked that before: what does she want? It is always what they want. Be quiet. Remain unseen. Hide away until your needed, not because you are wanted. And not because you want.

Home. She says. Because this isn't one, and the one she had was long tore from her fingers. All because she was not enough of one or the other. To be an enthys. To be an ildrat. Never enough of one or the other. Not enough to be accepted.

Yes... Remember, always have one here. He presses her hand to his chest. Just whisper. Will always hear you.

It's not enough, she says, gripping his ice cold fingers with her clawed ones. What if the world ends and you're not here?

Don't be silly, Alane.

Wouldn't ever leave you behind.

[theiravelproject]

13th Hour

This one truly took so long to paint ;_; I've always loved paintings with lots of tiny hidden details but couldn't work on those very often because of my hand injury. But I decided to really indulge this time. Most of my paintings take 1-3 recording sessions but this one took 10 ahahaha

The character is Dante, a painter from my work in progress novel about artists titled 1000 Words Unframed. He's an eccentric one and likes to paint trompe l'oeil, aka illusions. Here he's painting a bunch of clocks onto his wall, but none of the clocks are accurate, some having 13 hours, one clock is a spiral, another is made of eyeballs lol. He is also a lover of cats, hence all the cat portraits and kitties hanging out. Here are some close ups of all the details!

Here's a timelapse of how I painted it. The bottles and table in the foreground started as 3D models in SketchUp. The rest is painted in Paint Tool SAI. The full HD image, 10 art videos, and PSD file will be DMed on Patreon.com/Yuumei on April 5th.

[theiravelproject]

The ballroom was alive with the band playing above them in the balcony. Servers milled about from table to table. His mother, Edeioninkina Ahn Gathin, had already given her speech. She had insisted upon writing it without any of Veria's help. It went as well as he thought it would. Queen Crios of Loesis was red with rage where she sat across the ballroom. It was a miracle she hadn't stood up and launched herself at Gathin. Veria suspected it had something to do with the smirking visage of the very important guest just off to the right of the Royal Table. The very guest who was the reason for this banquet in the first place. “Would you like to place a bet, Rumin?” Veria said, lifting a glass of esol to his lips. It tingled on his tongue. “A bet of what kind?” Rumin snapped, shooting a narrowed look his way. Clearly, she wasn't in the mood for his games. “You just had to say no,” Veria said. “I can find someone else.” Rumin scoffed. “Don't get all cocky just because you put this party together, Veria.” Rumin swiped blond hair behind one long, pointed ear. It twitched downward in irritation. “Tomorrow we'll be back to the usual business, and you'll be back to...whatever it is you do.” Veria shook his head. He set the glass down just a little harder than intended. Red liquor spilled up and over the sides, dripping onto the dark blue table cloth. He grabbed a napkin as he answered. “You don't get it, do you?” he hissed. “We're not supposed to 'go back' to the usual anything. This is serious, Rumin. If we make any kind of mistake, Solnaer vadya will wipe us all off the map. There won't be anything to go back to.” Rumin grimaced. There was a pause as she took up her cutlery and began slicing pieces of meat into thin slivers. “As if Valden vadya would let him do such a thing.” Rumin took a piece in her mouth and chewed slowly, looking as if she were mulling over both her thoughts and her food. “We're far too important.” Veria rolled his eyes. “Spoken like a true brat.” Veria knocked back his glass. “I hope you're right. Because if you're not, and I don't win this bet, we might as well impale one another before the night is over.” Rumin laughed. “Then I guess you better get on with whatever it is you need to do, naado. I can only keep biya entertained for so long and who knows what she might be planning.”

excerpt from The Banquet

[theiravelproject]

It was the littlest things that triggered a walk down memory lane. He was reminded of something mother would say, or he would see a field of yellow pixie flowers and think of home. His peers teased him for the sentiment. Home. It had been over a thousand years since the settlement existed. Why did he feel such connection to a place and a people that had long since died? Jastfaer wished he could explain how the soil was embedded in his essence and there was no amount of time that could ever expunge it. Did Solnaer think of the past as often as Jastfaer? The question had been on the tips of his fingers a million times, only to be trapped by the cage of his fists, and held there like shards of glass embedded in flesh. Jastfaer didn’t ask those questions, didn’t bring up home, and he definitely never mentioned their parents, or if he missed them. Because even with over a thousand years between the present and the past, Solnaer couldn’t reopen the wound. And so Jastfaer was left to remember on his own and swim in the sea of nostalgia. “If you have something to say, enado, give me your thoughts,” Solnaer said without looking away from the mirror he was fixing himself in. The vanity table glittered with an array of jewelry under the light globes above them. Jars of paints and dusts mingled in between to help accentuate Solnaer’s features. He had told Jastfaer thousands of times that even on the cusp of a battle one must look their devastating best. Jastfaer looked away from his reflection and back to the corner of Solnaer's room where Ornan had set a vase of flowers. He wondered how that visit had gone. Had Solnaer taken them with open arms and looked upon the yellow pixie petals with any wonder? Or had he set them down in the corner of his bedroom without a second thought? Had he looked at them since and wondered what they signified? Jastfaer remembered picking those flowers in the fields whenever their clan settled for a few days at a time. He would bunch them up and tie a string about their stems. His mother always took them with a smile, even though she had to have bushels of them, or maybe she tossed them in the morning where he would never see. “Jast?” Solnaer called, and Jastfaer blinked, turning back to look upon his elder, wide-eyed and ears perked. Solnaer’s expression was stern, with just a hint of concern furrowing his brows. “Why is your head so far in the yaidas lately?” Jastfaer looked away again and down at his hands, thinking. Why, indeed. He raised his hands, signing his response, lights dancing on his fingertips and leaving a halo in their wake. <We doing the right thing, Solnaer?>

beginning excerpt from The Dome.

[theiravelproject]

part 6 of this comic

[theiravelproject]

Aliteira, The Knowledge art by Lauren

Deep in the seas there live the varg, a mysterious race who rarely visit the ocean's surface. Varg who decide to do so are unusually curious. While a peek at the surface won't cause much of a stir, Varg who leave, are transformed permanently. They cannot return to the sea.

Aliteira's insatiable curiosity drove her to leave. She had learned all she could among her people, but she wanted to know more. There was a world beyond the oceans she wished to travel, and so she undertook the painful transformation that would banish her from the oceans.

In her new life, she once again did as she always had. She learned, she became skilled and travelled. She devoured every inch of the world, testing the limits of her abilities and Praxon. One day, she came upon a tear in the fabric of the universe-- one she had been warned about time and time again. The inba.

Aliteira's desire to understand tugged at her. Maybe if she crossed its threshold she could return and make Praxon less fearful of the unknown. Aliteira passed through the tear and into the inba. A month passed before she found her way back, unscathed but changed in ways no one would ever understand. The yaidaseyii found her to be truly and utterly unique.

[theiravelproject]

Chal The Seer drawn by Nia

A rare sight to behold, Chal was exiled from her enthys village and forced to find a new community. If that was difficult for most people, it was especially difficult for Chal. She had no ties with any ildrat or veruna. Her appearance made her stand out like a sore thumb even in the most diverse of communities. And she had the unfortunate ability of future sight.

She had been protected in her enthys village. Away from the "outside world" and in their own bubble, Chal only had to deal with a few visions here and there. Now, the interference was everywhere and from everyone. At first, she tried her best to help the other Praxonites. She warned them of their futures, told them of dangers, gave them good news. People didn't want to hear any of that, or didn't even believe her. Chal was ostracized everywhere she went, never finding her place.

Despite this, Chal chose to embrace her status as social pariah. The yaidaseyii embraced her.

Chal is a creature of moods, uncouth and uncaring of social norms. She's a tornado when she wants to be. Her best friend is Jastfaer, for obvious reasons.

[theiravelproject]

The god of spring.

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[theiravelproject]

Iravel has a long timeline broken up roughly into three parts.

There's the vadya era, the untitled middle era, and the end of the world era which is just a working title lol.

(there's also an era of the ancients and adjacent B, C and D etc timelines that branch out of a story currently in the draft stage during the end of the world era, but that's not important right now.)

We are working on events in the vadya era that will directly impact events in the second and third eras.

The current series of pieces is called "the untitled mini series". Yes I know I'm so amazing at titles. There's about 6-7 parts / short stories and I'm slowly struggling through number 3. Once that draft is complete and edited, I'll be sending them out into the vast world as I work on 4 and the rest.

[theiravelproject]

Some behind the scenes sketches of Solnaer. I think it's important to give a full-body version of him. This one is drawn by me, Raive.

[theiravelproject]

Hi please pay attn to the woman behind the curtain.

Making content for this blog actually takes so much more work when I'm trying to be in character instead of just yell about how much I'm writing and drawing and creating and as much fun as I have with Enleis and their library, it's also extra work that's been difficult to keep up with.

So I'll be posting more chill work updates about characters and stuff, and if you decide that's enough to peek into the rp server and join, then I'm happy.

Because it's still very empty and I'm not consistent enough to get things out there clearly.

So I'm taking away the barriers and just throwing things out there.

You might still see a post here and there from Enleis and the library and the founder but this blog won't be in character as much anymore.

[theiravelproject]

“How beautiful is it that someone could make your heart beat so fast when you don’t want it to beat at all.”

— Unknown

[theiravelproject]

The dancer feasts.

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