#forestinktober

[iamartzz]

| Inktober. Day 3. The Ancient Wizard. |

He Who Hunts Alone.

Fav ancient egg-wizard ❤️

[etoile-fougeuse]

A brave heart for years, a brave knight forever

[camillebozabdos]

Day 10 of inktober, a little late

[hyriaven]

-THE LOST ROBOT- I know it's not ink for inktober but I'm trying to get back to watercolor a bit so I took it as a challenge to improve my traditionals skills and mostly to have fun So I guess it's more like drawtober? I'm" following"/not following and doing my own thing with the prompt list of character of the forest that i found on pinterest i think it's by Simon Fletcher, so yeah i'm not following any rules ahah

[thestickerlady]

[katy-l-wood]

Inktober 2018 Round Up

A collected post of all my Inktober 2018 pieces. This is my fourth or fifth attempt at Inktober, but the first time I’ve ever finished. I think a lot of factors went into me being able to finish this year; giving myself multiple prompt choices every day, being in a better place with my mental health, being in a better place with my art, being between other art projects. I learned a lot from those other attempts, but it feels so damn good to have finally completed all 31 days! I got some great pieces from this month, and some not so great ones, but they all taught me a lot.

Thanks for following along with me! If you could, reply and let me know which one is your favorite. I’d love to know!

Day 1: Overgrown Ruins

Day 2: The Forest Witch

Day 3: Ancient Tree

Day 4: Sea Witch

Day 5: Cave Entrance

Day 6: Jellyfish Witch

Day 7: The Warrior Woman

Day 8: The soothsayer

Day 9: The Woodsman

Day 10: The Snake

Day 11: Abnormal Formations

Day 12: The Outlaw Kid

Day 13: Underwater Temple

Day 14: Buried Statues

Day 15: Witch Altar

Day 16: Merchant’s Store

Day 17: Pumpkin Witch

Day 18: Inn in the middle of nowhere

Day 19: Witch Cauldron

Day 20: By the Docks

Day 21: The Lost Explorer

Day 22: The Ghost

Day 23: The River People

Day 24: The Wreak

Day 25: The Duel

Day 26: Healer Witch

Day 27: Crystal Coves

Day 28: The girl with a gun

Day 29: Rose and her husband Robert (I went off my prompt lists for the last three days.)

Day 30: Dustin Portrait

Day 31: Vivian in a deconstructed deer skull mask

[mouse-the-human]

Led through the mist,

by the milk-light of the moon,

all that was lost, is revealed.

Day 7: the Woodsman🍁

@littlecrazyfangirl-98

Okay, I'm so glad I finished the first week in time... This is actually the biggest daily drawing challenge I ever did and it's so much fun! So, this is the perfect opportunity to celebrate that with the first fanart of the series~ I genuinely love over the garden wall, and I know its hype is probably almost over by now and everyone here at least heard of it. But. It's such a damn good show. Period. I could watch it over and over. And it's so beautifully autumnal 🍁 it's just the perfect show for this month~

[ryttu3k]

Inktober days 5 and 6. Didn’t have a huge amount of energy yesterday, but I did manage a cute li’l thing for @cutiepatoodieart‘s witchtober (prompt: Friendly Ghosts), and today has @dropthedrawing‘s Ancient Robot from Characters of the Forest!

(I love them what a sweet bean <3 )

[dionysiajones]

Inktober day 5

The Lost Girls

[rireesspellbook]

Inktober Prompt 3- The Dryad, Forest

They say that a forest is never really empty. They say that even if something happens and every animal leaves, every insect, SOMETHING is still there. And I’m here to say that is true. Every forest has a spirit, a nymph or dryad, that lives there. That protects the forest. I am one. For Izznar, the ancient forest. This forest has been here since the beginning of time and it will continue to be here, until…

“Hey, Kingsley, what are you doing?”

Kingsley looked around to see Parker standing right behind him.

“Well I’m recording our history. You never know who could need it.”

“Do you really think anyone is going to care about our small forest in the middle of nowhere?”

“Well actually…” Kingsley starts.

“Oh Kingsley. You’re so naive. No one will read that.” And Parker walks off, shaking his head at Kingsley. Kingsley thinks of what he said. That no one will read his “story”. But you are. You’re reading the story of my forest. Have you noticed something? It’s not in order. Everything is connected, but in what way? I’ve given hints already. See if you can spot them. And continue to spot them. Put together the pieces. Create the picture of Izznar. And at the end, see if you’re right.

*** *** ***

I’m sorry it’s so short today. I’ve been busy so I haven’t been able to right anything too long. But yeah! Hope you’re liking my little stories.

@alexswriteblr

@sleepy-and-anxious

@multi-fandommesss

[iamartzz]

| Inktober. Day 3. The Dryads. |

[etoile-fougeuse]

19- The hunter

21- The gardian

22- The lost explorer

.

La liste de l'inktober utilisé est forestinktober de @dropthedrawings

The inktober list used is owned by @dropthedrawings

.

Si il te plaît ne copie pas et ne vol pas mon travail

Please do not copy or steal my work

[camillebozabdos]

Inktober day 13

[lrhale]

DAY 3 - THE DRYADS

[thestickerlady]

Forgot bout this yesterday

[eirenical]

Inktober Day 1--The Old Man

HI, everyone!  *waves wildly*  I make no promises here, but I thought I’d try my hand at this, this year.  ^_^ 

From this post, Characters of the Forest set: Inktober Day #1 – The Old Man

“I know a man who stepped off the path and didn’t find his way home again for ten years and a day.”

“I heard that an entire legion of soldiers lost their way in there and became so confused they slew each other.”

“Don’t forget the old man!”

“Who could forget the old man?  Isn’t that how LeClerc busted up his leg last month?  Looking for that cursed treasure of his?”

“And we all know what happened to the miller’s boy.”

Sage nods all around.

Cosette had inched around the knot of travelers huddled around their watered-down wine in their rickety chairs, sharing stories none were present for as though they were experts. Everyone in these parts had their stories.  The children knew them all by heart, told them in hushed whispers behind their hands at their lessons or in bold dramatic renditions around their hearth fires while the adults were busy with more important things.

Yes, everyone had their stories.  Everyone knew someone—a cousin, a friend, a third cousin twice removed—who’d been lost, or changed so irrevocably that they may as well have been, on a journey through the woods.  So, anyone with any sense knew you didn’t go into the woods alone, you didn’t go unguarded, and, above all else, you didn’t go at night.  Mothers in these parts were less afraid of their daughters going off to canoodle with the boys under the moonlight because they more afraid that those daughters would wander into the woods and come back as someone very, very different.  Something different.  If they came back at all.

Then again, Cosette had a story of her own.  For if Cosette’s mother had heeded those stories instead of dismissing them as they’d passed through all those years ago, Cosette would have a family, still.  But her mother had gone into the woods—Cosette had been too young to understand why—and never come back out again, leaving Cosette all alone.

Alone.

You didn’t go into the woods alone.

The fairies, the wolves, the hermit, the dark spirits of soldiers still fighting a lost fight, one of them would get you in the end.

Cosette’s hands began to shake.  The bucket. The bucket had been so heavy, and she’d been so tired.  She’d only sat down for a moment, just to rest her arms.  She’d sat down in the middle of the path.  It had been dusk, but still light enough that she should have been safe.  If she hadn’t sat down.  If she hadn’t fallen asleep.  And now… and now…

Cosette was no longer alone.

There was a man in a yellow trench coat crouched just off the path… and he was lifting her bucket, turning it this way and that, as though it weighed nothing.  

But Cosette was more afraid of returning to Mme. Thenardier without the water she’d been sent for, or worse, without the bucket, than she was of the old man of the woods.  Hiding her shaking hands in a skirt so threadbare it barely hid her legs on a good day, Cosette cleared her throat.  “If you please, sir, I’ll be in terrible trouble if I come home without the water in that bucket.”

The man slowly lowered the bucket to the ground and turned to face Cosette.  The hand he reached out to Cosette with was large, callused, and terribly rough, but it was gentle when it cupped her cheek, a touch so light even a baby bird would have felt safe in its embrace.  And it was warm.  He was warm. Cosette didn’t know how she’d missed that before.

“I think it is rather your mother who should be in terrible trouble for sending you out with such a burden so close to dark.”

Cosette drooped, all the warmth leeching out of her with those words, as her mother’s loss still leeched the warmth from every thought it touched.  Her voice barely a whisper, she said, “Begging your pardon, sir, but the Thenardier is not my mother.  My mother was lost in these woods, herself, when I was still very, very young.  She walked into them one night and never walked out of them, again.”

The old man froze for a moment, stilling in his place like a creature startled by a loud noise.  Thenardier.  The magic word that had frozen him in his tracks.  The old man’s mouth worked around the syllables, testing them, drawing them out.  Finally, he let out a deep, juddering breath and turned to look upon her once more.  “Your name is Cosette, then, is it not, child?”

Cosette’s eyes widened, fear creeping in around the edges at that pronouncement, for who but a spirit could distill such information from simply conversing with her?  All she could do was nod in response.  No words would come.  But, at that nod, the old man’s face broke into a smile, bringing back all the warmth that had been lost from the conversation moments hence.  “Then, Cosette, it is glad that I am to have found you.”  And as warm as those words were, they were nothing to the beauty of the ones which came next.  “You need not mourn your mother any longer.  It is she who sent me to find you.”

You didn’t go into the woods alone, you didn’t go unguarded, and, above all else, you didn’t go at night… but as Cosette felt herself lifted to perch on the broad shoulders of the old man as though she weighed as little to him as her bucket, she realized: she was not alone, she more well-guarded upon these great shoulders than she had ever been before, and the old man’s yellow trench coat was warmer than any sun. Certainly, though, this night in the woods had changed her.  That much was as true for her as it had been for the miller’s boy.  But for Cosette, it had changed her for the better.

She was no longer afraid, nor, she thought as she curled into the old man’s warmth, would she ever be, again.