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sunrise

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countless people told me that my artstyle resembles dredge's so. this was bound to happen. i had to get it out of my system

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The human body is such bullshit, I hate having to google shit like "why am I having stress symptoms when there are no sources of stress in my life".

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More Dredge fan art 💚 I just really love the whole mood of this game so much.

Ink linework, scanned then coloured with Photoshop

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DREDGE (FANART)

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i dunno how to feel about this project. i think it came out good but i kinda ran out of steam 😵‍💫😤 lemme know if yall like it! anywho i got really into dredge again cus i was recently gifted a collectors addition of dredge for the switch. its so fun and i love actually learning about real fish species. something about games that are informative to everyday experience is really fuckin cooooool

comms open! DM me

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Thought to myself “hey, what are the aesthetics of the subclasses?” Then proceeded to create this

Solar: Straddling the fence between vigilante and outlaw. Justice. The gleam of a pistol in an old leather holster. The smell of oil. Passion. A table full of empty coffee cups. Rebellion, revolution buried deep inside a battered soul. A hood pulled tight, eyes low, piercing. Denial, deflection. The repetitive click of a firearm’s hammer. Easily misplaced trust. Gasoline coursing through veins in the place of blood.

Void: Air too thick to breathe. The shrill shnnnk of a knife being sharpened, echoing in the deafening silence from an unknown source. Exhaustion. Rage. The quiet, methodical fraying of the last remaining shred of sanity. A dangerous smile. A deep and insatiable craving. An internal kryptonite. A glare sharper than daggers. Eyes watching from the shadows. A muffled cry for help that nobody can hear.

Arc: Anticipation. Buzzing veins. Thriving, prospering only in chaos. Loud music thumping behind closed doors. The metallic smell of an old chemistry lab. Jubilation. Exhilaration. The crackling of broken comms. A thunderstorm, loud and strong, echoing from miles away. Raging rapids in a calm river. A battered helmet, thrown off in the heat of battle. An excess of energy begging to be released.

Stasis: A dusty violin that’s slightly out of tune. Echoes. The clinking of ice in a watered down glass of bourbon. A last resort. A new song, different than the last, but just as enchantingly beautiful. Mesmerizing. A long untouched book with stained pages. Swirly handwriting with a story hidden between its lines. Shattered glass. Resonance. Mystery. Frost settling in fingertips. Moonlight glimmering on snow covered peaks.

Strand: A knife hidden beneath layers of clothing. Addiction. A puppeteer thats never seen. A whisper in a dark alley, alluring, captivating, but eerie. A siren singing in the sea. Mesmerization. A dead tree standing in the center of a golden field. A starved soul receiving nourishment from something it shouldn’t. Poison. Acid rain in a desert. Falling in love with an enemy. Enjoying the pain, the fear, the dread, if only for a moment.

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Titans do not understand the void. They make crude shield to let their enemies break themselves upon. They wield it, they do not feed it. They let their enemies do that for them.

Warlocks think that they do. They think that through all their study and their practice, they understand what it means to become one with absence.

But they do not deny themselves. They do not seek to tear free endless need and want from their bones, absence purely to truly understand it.

But they cannot truly understand it. To use, to study, is not to live within. It is not to give yourself to. It is not to feed. Not to deny yourself sleep and food and drink.

As long as the Titans stay behind their walls, and Warlocks remain in their libraries, they will never understand the Void.

But they could. One day. If they left.

If they left for the far edges, learn to deny themselves everything and become one with absence, drape themselves in the shadow and learn to let the crushing weight of gravity lighten their steps.

But they never will.

They will stomp and flounce about.

They will never stalk.

My kin do not understand the Void. Oh… but they could. If they would surrender their fear. Of it. Of me.

They burn and crackle, laughing and living lives of want, dressed in fire and storms.

None of them will deny themselves.

They still fear it.

I see it in their eyes. When I reach into emptiness, and hold together dusk and moonless nights and black between stars, when I pull together absence into my hands and draw it to a singularity.

They do not see the web.

They do not hear the whispers.

They come in here, thinking of the feasts and celebrations and rest.

I know no such trinkets.

I hunger. I wait. I remain awake.

I walk on the edge of midnight, that glorious endlessness before after dusk and just before dawn.

And I glimpse beyond.

Let them fear me.

Let them stay in their fires and storms. Let the Titans stay behind their walls and the Warlocks in their libraries.

I alone know the Void. Know the hunger and the absence, hear the whispers as I draw denial into arrow. Let them feast on Light I leave in my wake.

I alone prowl forward. I alone know the color of the shadows.

I alone stalk the night.

Let them fear me.

And let my enemies come.

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Hunter super ability display

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“You know you’re running a big risk carrying something like this into the City.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Very funny. How’d you get something with volatile arc conductors through the cordon detectors anyway?”

“That’s for me to know and you to wish you could find out. Anyway, they’re disengaged. Harmless.”

“Sure they are. Anyway, what’s so important you had to sneak them into town?”

“Vekkis wants to see them.”

“Vekkis? That scrawny little tinkerer?”

“She’s a first-rate weaponsmith. Barely a teenager by Eliksni standards, but she’s as good with their guns as anyone I’ve ever managed to talk to about Eliksni shooters, and better than most at figuring out how to work their tech in with ours. When she heard about this piece here, she couldn’t stop asking about the arc conductors.”

“And what does she want with them?”

“Hell if I know. Maybe she’ll just study them, or adapt new designs from them, or even figure out how to reproduce them better than we can.”

“You’re not worried she’ll tear them off your gun and start messing around with them.”

“If that’s what she wants to do, she’s welcome to go for it. It’s a privilege just to see her work.”

(Riskrunner w/ Third Rail)

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Guardian, fighting with their gun: Hey, Grandpa Banshee?

Banshee, looks away from Telesto for a second: hm? *looks around and has to wrestle it into a cage*

Guardian, setting down Riskrunner: My kill counter is broken. Stopped working after I hit 10k.

Banshee, sits on the cage door to try to stop it: Well, let me see it.

Guardian, hands it over: Why are you sitting on that?

Banshee, struggling with the gun: ignore it. It's paracausal in the worse way possible.

Guardian: huh...

Banshee, jams a screwdriver in: there- *removes the screwdriver* - we go. Wow... that's a lot of kills.

Guardian, smiles and nods: yep, also the gun is clipping out of the doggy crate.

Banshee, sighs and hands back the gun: Zavala doesn't pay me enough for guns like these...

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I`m a riskrunner enjoyer. I wish we could use shaders on exotics.

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one time, as a kid, I watched someone make an omelette. after stewing on the idea for a full day, I asked my mother how it worked, got a basic lesson, and then proceeded to spend the next three months in the omelette mines making 3-5 omelettes every single day (depending on how many of my siblings were left with any tolerance for eating them) until I felt I had really truly certainly gotten a grasp on the concept of the omelette

I then repeated this every time I learned a recipe, which is funny because I didn't even like cooking beyond a passing interest, I was just really interested in the idea of being able to max out the skill or something

as soon as I demonstrated mastery over something, I immediately dropped it and moved onto the next thing, and this was an understood pattern to the point where my siblings would try to prompt me into spending a period of fixation on whatever they wanted to eat at the time, and then they'd have several servings of it a day until they got sick of it and started to hate it

but them enjoying it wasn't really the goal. largely tangential. I mostly just wanted to get it down and then move on.

moral of the story: none

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one of the deans in beijing dance academy rehearses with students