#Crimson-Spirit

[temiree]

A straightforward headshot commission for Crimson-Spirit! They requested two versions of the same headshot, showing off two different seasonal fur patterns. :3

Again, I'm very amused that I went my whole art career only drawing a lynx once, and then I suddenly get two commissions back-to-back involving lynxes, lol. I enjoy weird coincidences like that. =P

[ex0skeletal-undead]

Crimson Peak by karmavirtanen

[ithinktheygotthealias]

IT'S

[azurebolt-fr]

My full pages for @sornieth-zines :)

[neon-zipperooni]

decided to use comic studio to show off my headcanons for the families of the legendaries (and some super epics) (and two bonuses because those blank spaces were gonna bug me)

if anyone sees this and decides to adopt any of these headcanons please lmk i'd love to hear it

[cosmicpopstar64]

yearly tradition

[delyth-thomas-art]

@ocmonthly Has a cute red themed oc share going on at the moment. Sooooooo...

Drops in my boi Aster from my webcomic @spiritcallercomic . A kind-hearted traveller roaming the lands of Telania to help restore the imbalances and conflicts between man and spirits. Skilled in magic, fortune telling, and communicating with animals.

In contrast, an antagonist from the comic is The Crimson Lady. A masked entity delighting in chaos and destruction. Often aggravating conflicts to lethal results all for their own amusement.

In contrast to that, there's my sweet bean Gwydion and Goch the dragon from my other comic, @mythicmayhemcomic .

Gwydion is living in a magical cottage in a strang fae realm nook, cooking delicious food and welcoming guests from all walks of life. He loves sharing a good story. Meanwhile, the energetic and sassy Goch enjoys causing mischeif and stealing roast chickens.

[larrythefloridaman]

WOAH, HE'S BIGENDER? I DIDN'T KNOW THAT!

[hotkingu]

me when red flags: 👩🏽‍🦯

[sidecharactersdomatter]

Another question for my TGCF x ATLA crossover,

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Spirit Cleric

Artist: Jarel Threat TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

[goldklee]

Crimson is one of the first designs I ever did for Spiritiary, and was originally made as a more hostile character for another (since forgotten) project. Compared to other characters I designed for Spiritiary, I always felt she was woefully underdesigned. Might've over corrected here, but I still feel infinitely better about this design over the last one.

---

Name: Crimson

Spirit Category: HOSTILE

"People who find themselves lost in forests often report finding a mysterious hut labeled 'Crimson’s Gift Shop'. While the descriptions of the gift shop itself varies between individuals, everyone has a similar description of the shop owner themselves.

She is described as a sort of bizarre creature of an unknown mold that’s covered in blood. This oddity is, of course, known as Crimson.

Often times, Crimson will sell various trinkets to the lost; shortly after, they’ll find their way out, missing various parts of themselves. Those who appear to be unharmed have been reported to lack emotion or a voice. These particular individuals tend to wander back into the forest and vanish from existence."

[scripted-downfall]

Absolutely adore the fact that both Wei WuXian and Hua Cheng --- for all they're feared and hated and all --- spend most of their time dreaming up self-insert slice-of-life fics

[prog-rock-confessions]

submitted by @summon-the-spirit

[sculptorofcrimson]

Feathers

Unfinished, but my battery is low so I'll post the rest later.

~~~~~

And so this is how an angel falls.

Wings torn to tendons, feathers plucked from pinions, inch by inch, this is how an angel dies. 

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Two brothers, torn apart, fighting for a father who never cared, fighting for gods neither worshipped. Where one once stood, so high and mighty, wings thrown back in the image of noble majesty, and where one has fallen, daemonic energies twisting his face into a snarl. 

There is betrayal, hot and inky and poisonous. And there is love, and possibility, sweet and sickly and horrendous in its blasphemy. 

And finally, there is hate. It boils upon your tongue like ash. 

Horus.

It burns upon your tongue.

Horus. Horus. Horus. Horus.

Such a monster. Such a disgrace. Father offered him everything. Everything! And he turned from His gifts. And he spurned Him and spat in His eye. Graceless, thankless, treacherous beast. 

You know hate now. It tastes bitter, and somehow coppery, like what you imagine his blood will taste like, siphoned fresh from his veins. 

You will die here tonight. You no longer find the strength to care. You are His angel, and in the moments before you fall you will burn the brightest He has ever seen, and then blink out, snuffed, like half-melted candles. 

You are not invincible. But tonight, you are invulnerable, and immortal in your rage. 

You will die here. It no longer matters. All that matters is that you take him down with you.

You have ran from Death for so long, upon wings of gilded silk. It is time to seize it by the throat. 

This is the day. The final day. This is your day, this is his day, this is the day we die. It is endless and eternal and terrible and nothing can stand against it. 

You charge. The Encarmine shines. Your wings shudder, muscles pumping beneath a veneer of feathers, a beautiful dove captured in flight. His mace swishes through the air and you dodge, effortlessly. You revel in the decadence, of the air, of the light, of the flight of your blades.

And then his claws close around your ankle.

His claws tangle through a myriad of fates and threads of spacetime and seizes you close. For a moment, you two hang suspended there, two angels in flight, one fallen, one ascended. And then he brings you down. 

You slam into the ground with no grace at all, with no nobility. There is no time to evade the impact. No death, no glorious end, simply the brutal beating of a dog. He slams you into the ground, again and again. Your bones splinter like unfinished ceramics. A bird,a  beautiful hollow bird. When your noble frame finally gives out, broken beyond repair, there will be a little of you left in each of your sons, a little of you fallen from where he had torn it away. One last cry of rage and sorrow, your sons will scream out his name the same way you have cursed him in your death. His sons will call out his name. So be it. Your sons will call out yours.

[lonksadventures]

Day 4: pollution