In-game paintings/art/rooms!

Comments

• Kurut

  November 2014

  A lush and wondrous field of flowers sprawls across the bottom three-quarters of this painting, 

  extending far into a horizon of ash-clouded skies. Bits of glowing embers appear to be raining down, 

  each one carefully painted with vibrant oranges and yellows. A figure stands within the field, a 

  human woman with hair of orange and red, and the flowing robes of the Illuminati. Her hands are 

  transparent, as if ethereal, yet still they cradle a great grimoire that is opened before her 

  questing eyes. She seems completely baffled, as if it were her first time seeing a book. Around her 

  feet, amidst the flowers, are nearly a dozen other tomes with bite-shaped chunks missing and the 

  occasional scorch mark. Below the painting, just above the frame, are the words, "Books gots 

  squiggly lines in them what means things! Yes yes!"
  
  Seems the last painting got cut off.

  I occasionally like to pretend that I'm replanting all of these herbs to attract bees, and might one day form an alliance with the bees and take over the Basin. Then we could have a wonderful tea party with plenty of honey and the best tea blends.

  2
• Daraius Shevat The juror's taco spot

  November 2014 edited November 2014

  Ooh, I got a few. Sorry I fail at spoiler tags.

  
  

  These first ones are years old, and were gifts for people.

  
  

  [spoiler] 

  
  

  The Heroes of Hallifax

  
  

  Cast in the vibrant golds and violets of a blazing sunrise, three intrepid figures gaze out from this canvas with expressions of stalwart determination. Perched atop a rocky promontory, a humbly-attired human stands with his arm outstretched, flanked on either side by his two companions. On the left, a tall female trill holds a static-wreathed crystal staff at the ready, her form wrapped in a concealing robe of fine emerald silk. To the right, a handsome male trill surveys the unseen vista below, dutifully recording his findings on a shimmering crystalline tablet. The human at the center points boldly towards the horizon, so full of adventure and inquisitiveness that the skin sloughing off his arm is easily overlooked. Likewise, the weary bloodshot eyes, grotesque facial tumors, and heavily molting wings of his companions are barely even noticeable. Even the unsightly calcification of the subjects' skin has been rendered with the greatest care and discretion, such that it is only slightly repulsive and but a minimal detraction from the generally hopeful tone of the piece.

  
  

  (It's Phoebus, Ridley, and Ileein in the midst of that skinrot event a few years back!)

  
  

  
  

  The Skyplumes of Hallifax

  
  

  Rendered in airy pastel hues, the glittering Matrix of Hallifax floats majestically behind the subjects of this portrait, its pristine spherical shape serving as a frame around the three trill women who stand on the platform before it. To the left stands a gracefully slender woman with crystal staff in hand, her russet-feathered wings folded neatly against her back. Her bearing is elegant and orderly, her headfeathers and clothing meticulously tidy, and her ivory skin unmarred by any manner of imperfection. But despite this apparent austerity, a broad, warm smile brightens her face and dimples her cheeks. On the right, another figure leans casually against the guardrail around the Matrix, carefully preening her creamy, light brown wings. The tousled, wind-kissed mop of unruly copper feathers atop her head lends her a tomboyish charm, but her feminine contour is unmistakable. She, along with her sister on the left, directs her gaze fondly towards the centre of the scene, where a third figure spins with wings spread wide and arms thrown out in wild abandon. Her petite frame bends with the breeze, and her golden wings shimmer in the sunlight as brightly as the Matrix itself. A radiant smile of unfettered joy graces her youthful face, and she seems to float on air as she dances her delicate waltz. The entire panoramic vista is framed in rich black, which casts the colours of the image into high relief, making them appear all the more vibrant.

  
  

  (Leta, Phoebus, and Sylandra back when they were Skyplumes. ( )

  
  

  
  

  Gadritan walking away from a huge explosion

  
  

  A towering conflagration of smoke and flame consumes the canvas, its billowing plumes rendered in stunning red and orange. Bits of shrapnel and other debris appear to fly in all directions, some buzzing the head of the lone figure depicted walking away from the blast. The large, excessively masculine loboshigaru boasts rippling muscles, massive biceps, and glossy white fur. Embers and ash swirl dramatically around the bare-chested warrior as he prowls down a rubble-strewn street. He is garbed only in tattered canvas trousers, most of his clothing obviously having been destroyed as he rescued some baby or puppy from the blaze. He is not even looking back at the cool explosion behind him. The drying blood smattered on his paws and face suggests a recently pummeled enemy, while his lupine snarl and the look of fierce determination in his golden eyes says, "You're next."

  
  

  (Look Gadritan made a big impact on young Daraius...) [/spoiler]

  
  

  These are the ones where Daraius paints out all his sorrow and then auctions off the work.

  
  

  [spoiler]

  
  

  The Starless Sky

  
  

  Deep violet and fathomless black bathe this canvas, and not a shade or gradation mars the stark duality of the scene. Ancient mountain peaks, their outlines jagged and unrefined, stand sentinel as silent silhouettes against the matte midnight sky. No stars or moon shed light on the peaks below, making them appear unyielding and unidentifiable, devoid of crags or crevasses, or paths for travelers, or any place of comfort for a weary wanderer. The violet sky is as featureless as the mountains below, except for one errant shade: the faintest shadow of a winged figure departing over the forbidding peaks.

  
  

  
  

  Dream in Stone

  
  

  Stippled in delicate ivory and azure, a panoramic swath of cloud and sky stretches to infinity across this canvas, forming the backdrop to an austere marble platform that overlooks the endless sky. Towering crystalline windchimes march in an orderly arc around the platform's outer edge, their perfect, precise profiles standing in stark contrast to the crumbling remains of a formless stone pedestal. Rendered with languid brushstrokes in muted shades of grey, the broken pedestal pays little hommage to the art piece it once supported, bearing only a pair of dainty stone feet clad in stone ballet slippers as the last testament to the former sculpture.

  
  

  
  

  Sanctuary

  
  

  Glistening gilt matting cradles a canvas awash in the resplendent beryl, alabaster, and lilac hues of an opulent musician's studio. Meticulously carefree brushstrokes form a scene of rich silk tapestries hanging alongside woodwinds and brass instruments, which rest behind a row of stately marble statues painted with equally painstaking exuberance. Though only sparsely detailed, the sculptures depict trill and lucidian bards in graceful repose with their instruments in hand, their gazes turned towards a vacant, elegantly upholstered chair and golden floor harp at the centre of the room. A Sentinel's battle-worn rapier rests gently against the chair, its owner as conspicuously absent as the musician.

  
  

  [/spoiler]

  
  

  These are the ones I did for Hallifax's prestige candidates to display at the opera house auditorium while they were playing.

  
  

  [spoiler]

  
  

  A Matter of Eminence

  
  

  Awash in bold swathes of colour and stark, modern shapes, this portrait depicts three monolithic figures against a backdrop of glittering gold leaf and pillars of jade. Framing the left edge of the canvas, a statuesque lucidian draped in a glistening beryl gown stands with her noble head inclined, every nuance of her stance and geometric profile indicative of her effortless authority. Her fine silk fan of pale amber looks as deadly a weapon as any sword in her slender diamond-hewn hand, though she wields it with consummate nonchalance as she gazes across the canvas. There on the right, a hooded figure in a dark cloak hunches in striking contrast to the lucidian's easy elegance. Painted with immaculate brushstrokes in matte black ink, the darkened form looms in the foreground, his features utterly indiscernible save for the faint suggestion of a canine muzzle and two points of pure white peering back at the lucidian from beneath his hood. Between these two, a smartly dressed trill stands at attention, his chin held high and his white wings tucked neatly behind his back. Rendered in crisp, angular black and white shapes, the trill wears the tidy suit of a butler, complete with jacket and bow tie, and in his outstretched hand he holds not a platter or tea service, but a painter's palette. Though he serves as the point of focus and balance, the trill is dwarfed in stature and presence by the two foreboding figures on either side of him.

  
  

  
  

  The Hours, Like Dust

  
  

  Rendered in airy pastel watercolours, the windswept spires of the Beacon of Harmony stand sentinel around the perfect crystal sphere of the Matrix. Diminutive trill and lucidian silhouettes dash about the bridges and walkways, their forms little more than frantic brushstrokes, urgent and kinetic, hastening from dangers unseen and unknown. Below them, sickly, smoky tendrils grasp at the scaffolds and support structures beneath the Matrix. Above, wispy white clouds coil sinuously through the glittering towers, darkening as they ascend into billowing, roiling thunderheads. Emerging from those subtle shades and gradations of stormy grey, three pairs of cloudy visages overlook the tableau, concern and determination writ across their indistinct features as they survey the chaos beneath. Only the Matrix stands as a lone bastion of serenity amid this scene of frenetic foreboding, its flawless surface sparkling in bright defiance of the darkness above and below.

  
  

  
  

  Letters of Love

  
  

  Bound in a pale silver frame polished to a luminous gleam, this canvas is dominated by the striking contours of two female trill. Depicted from the shoulders up and consuming much of the portrait, the profile of a trill matron looks on to the right with chin raised haughtily, her feathered crest pulled up into a tidy chignon and her primly folded wings just visible at the edge of the canvas. Her every exacting angle bespeaks severity and elegance despite the stygian featurelessness of the atramentous black oil paint in which she is rendered. Within this sable shadow stands a second, smaller silhouette of a young trill maiden, her soft, waifish features emerging in an area of pristine canvas left meticulously clean of pigment. Wan and delicate, this diminutive profile gazes to the left, her faceless visage utterly unmarred save for three miniscule drops of carnelian red at the corner of her lips. Pallid white roses cradle the lower corners of the canvas, their crumpled, papery petals spotted with the same hue. A single carnelian feather rests near the bottom of the frame, nestled against the slender neck of the alabaster silhouette.

  
  

  [/spoiler]

  
  

  And some other miscellaneous ones.

  
  

  [spoiler]

  
  

  Jadice of the Ice Plains

  
  

  A vast throne of glistening ice rests at the centre of this scene, which is bathed in frigid pale blue and white hues. Its high back and sweeping arms are gilded with frost, and frame a female figure reclining in its barren, uncushioned seat. Smooth and translucent, the creature's natural curves appear defiantly graceful against the rigid angles of her royal seat. A sari of gossamer white silk rests lightly on her sensuous form, clothing the crystalline goddess as gently as new fallen snow. Though dwarfed by the scale of her throne, the regal bearing of Jadice of the Ice Plains commands attention. She casts her gaze dispassionately over her realm, surveying its pristine desolation with calculating intensity. Her confident, casual pose speaks of proven competence and authority, and her piercing eyes of glowing gemstone bear the look of one whose will is as inexorable as the march of glaciers.

  
  

  (This might have been a gift for Phoebus, but it ended up at an auction. I can't remember if I ever gave it to her, but it's definitely not something Dar would paint without a compelling reason.)

  
  

  
  

  The Panoply

  
  

  Arrayed across the canvas in kaleidoscopic splendour, twelve magnificent butterflies rest wingtip to wingtip in three immaculate rows, each rendered with exquisite detail and vibrant colour. There in the upper left, sable tendrils twine along the lacy edges of one specimen's broad, croceate wings. To its right, a smaller nymphalid boasts bands of vivid cerulean engrailed with black radiating from its slender body. One near the rightmost edge bears the subtle iridescence of nacre annulets across its scaly grey appendages, and yet another hosts a dazzling, ianthine mosaic of irregular polygons in all shades of purple. The largest sample hovers proudly just left of centre, its cape awash in chevronels of kingly gold and crimson. Throughout the scene, minuscule, fluttering brushstrokes lend a kinetic vitality to the sweeping whorls, enigmatic eye spots, and delicate scrollwork that dance across the butterflies' outspread wings, as if they could spring from the canvas at any moment. But no life remains in the insects, for each is speared through the centre of its thorax by a silver pin capped with a pristine gemstone sphere. Though seemingly poised for flight, the creatures are rendered inert and innocuous by the entomologist's careful hand.

  
  

  (This was for the science-art auction we had a little while ago. It was supposed to be a kind of "Eff you, Gaudiguch, Hallifax wins every time!" piece with lots of heraldic language. Why yes, I did use a thesaurus for color terms how could you tell?)

  
  

  
  

  Tosha the Meditative serving tea beneath the cherry tree

  
  

  Fine black ink applied meticulously to a long, ivory-hued silk scroll outlines the indistinct forms of distant mountain peaks and nearer cliffs and crevasses, emerging in delicate stippling and languid brush strokes from hazy mists that part just enough to grant a glimpse at the fleeting, solemn tableau within. Nestled among forbidding grey crags alongside a narrow, treacherous path, a quiet clearing lies free of the boulders and gravel ever-present upon the mountainside, where a lone cherry tree, its black, lanky, petal-laden branches grasping gently at the gossamer fog, stands sentinel over the tranquil, windswept cloister. Depicted with precise line work that contrasts handsomely with the nebulous surroundings, four figures, each dressed in shapeless grey robes and distinguishable as loboshigaru by the exquisite detail of their canid features, sit cross-legged in a semicircle around a small, well tended fire pit, their muzzles tilted reverently towards a fifth monk seated at the base of the cherry tree. Notably larger than the rest, either due to his prominence in the setting or to his actual size relative to the others, the grey-furred leader wears a robe of shining silver, rendered in glistening thread embroidered into the silk canvas itself. In his right forepaw he holds a delicate porcelain teapot by its handle, tilting its slender spout just enough to issue a steady stream of steaming tea into the cup cradled in his left.  The relaxed set of his brow, the slight upward curve of his lips, and the posture of his pointed ears cast an expression of unmistakable benevolence across his lupine visage, a warmth in his gaze which he casts across the clearing to his disciples, each of whom holds a full tea cup of his own. Borne on an errant gust of wind, cherry blossoms spiral tenderly around the edges of the scene, vanishing at last into the very cloud banks that encroach upon the meditative ritual.

  
  

  (This was inspired by my trip to the VMFA Forbidden City exhibit, and wouldn't you know it Master Quettle decided to talk to me that very night? :x )

  
  

  [/spoiler]

  
  

  Some of them are pretty okay.

  I used to make cakes.
  
  Estarra the Eternal says, "Give Shevat the floor please."

  4
• Shaddus , the Leper Messiah Outside your window.

  November 2014

  This one first was painted by the lovely @Thayan, and the other was painted by myself for an auction.
  
  Subotai, adrift upon a sea of donuts.
  
  Daubed upon a canvas fully a metre wide, this exquisitely refined composition depicts the person of
  Subotai, a fine and manly dwarf, lying blissfully prone atop a shifting sea of donuts. The latter
  appears to be the reason for the generous space allotted to this composition, as they are
  extraordinarily detailed and infinitely varied; no donut appears twice. They appear in every
  possible size and colour, their fat little forms variously sprinkled with candy, dusted with sugars
  and covered in heavenly chocolate. They have been painted in loving detail, bringing to mind all
  manner of delightful flavours and fillings; and the painting's subject has partaken of them rather
  freely, judging from the jam, sugar, chocolate and all imaginable other good things coating his
  beard and hands. His suit, undeniably sophisticated, is likewise stained, and the apron that covers
  his noble gut has surely seen better days. The expression upon his bearded face is, however, one of
  pure, unutterable bliss; a more convincing picture of perfect happiness can scarcely be imagined.
  --------
  The Love of a Governess
  
  This oblong painting bears gilded scrollwork around the edges of the frame, giving it a fanciful
  appearance. To one side rests a large, twelve-posted bed covered in mounds of pillows and blankets.
  Firmly ensconced in the middle of the bed is a small, sleeping trill child. Eyes shut and both hands
  clenched underneath underneath a tiny chin, this innocent waif sleeps with a soft smile on her chin.
  On the far right of the painting is what can only be described as a nightmare; claws and fangs gnash
  in swirls of midnight black and sanguine. An unimagined horror reaches out from a cloud of the
  dreaming to rip and tear at this paragon of childhood, and would likely have done so if not for the
  intervention of an older, prim trill woman in the middle of the painting. Clad in dark satin and
  gripping an ivory-handled cane in one hand, this guardian of innocence stares implacably and
  unapprovingly at the monster before her, lips pursed in what must be an overwhelming anger at the
  temerity of the beast before her.
  

  Everiine said: The reason population is low isn't because there are too many orgs. It's because so many facets of the game are outright broken and protected by those who benefit from it being that way. An overabundance of gimmicks (including game-breaking ones), artifacts that destroy any concept of balance, blatant pay-to-win features, and an obsession with convenience that makes few things actually worthwhile all contribute to the game's sad decline.

  5
• Eritheyl ** Trigger Warning **

  November 2014

  ...this one time, Crumkane's order was going to make a sexy calendar-style exhibition. This happened:

  
  

  The Confection Collection, featuring Xaldrin Somnius.

  Eyes half-lidded and head tilted back, as if to regard the viewer with a pointedly casual, yet still enticing glance, the loboshigaru subject of this portrait is depicted at rest amidst hundreds upon thousands of tiny glass bowls: some clearly having been licked clean, while others offer bounties of ice cream, sorbet and other delectable frozen treats. Shown reclined against this cascade of dish and dessert, the loboshigaru looks to be one himself, red-white fur overcast with a preternatural pattern of frost now slickened by the outpouring of sliced strawberries, caramel and butterscotch sauce and a hundred other things that stream from the parapet of leaning and upturned dishes behind him. Though depicted nude, knees bent before him to support the elbows of lazily-stretched arms, a risque flourish of culinary cover works to obscure the more private bits of his anatomy: a boat-shaped dish of ice cream, piled high with peaks of fluffy whipped cream and divided down the middle by one less than subtle banana. A silver spoon pinched delicately between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand completes the piece, substantiating that tell-tale gleam of allure in his otherwise emotionless eyes of liquid gold.

  Crumkane, Lord of Epicurean Delights says, "WAS IT INDEED ON FIRE, ERITHEYL."
  
  -
  
  

  With a deep reverb, Contemptible Sutekh says, "CEASE YOUR INFERNAL ENERGY, ERITHEYL."
  

  6
• Maligorn Windborne

  November 2014

  Daraius said:

  snip

  You didn't show the one Maligorn made for you. I am literally heartbroken. Or I would be if you were a Researcher.
  

  
  
  

  0
• Portius Likes big books, cannot lie

  November 2014

  a painting of in the Collective's service
  
  At the edge of a platform, overlooking a height so great that all the ground below is blurred, a
  solitary figure kneels - his hands bound with rope in the small of his back. Clothed only in a thin
  pair of grey trousers, the lone trill's back is exposed; displaying two hacked and painful stumps on
  his shoulder blades where his wings have been cruelly and brutally severed. The last of his plumage
  has been cast about the ground beside him, the flared tips of his sundered wings just visible at the
  edge of the canvas. Otherwise monochrome, the only colour on this painting is the deep crimson of
  his blood as it trickles down his spine and into his clutched hands. Turned in profile, his face
  looks up to the sky - a contented smile turns up the corner of his lips, and even as he leans gently
  into the abyss of what lies below, his eyes glisten with belonging.
  
  It bears the distinctive mark of Maerad Windwhisper, MTS.
  
  I love it because it's a painting of a scene from one of my books. We hung it up in the library and everything.
  
  

  Any sufficiently advanced pun is indistinguishable from comedy.
  

  4
• Daraius Shevat The juror's taco spot

  November 2014

  Daraius said:

  snip

  You didn't show the one Maligorn made for you. I am literally heartbroken. Or I would be if you were a Researcher.
  

  I will, I will! I didn't know gifts from other people were fair game to post. 

  Portius said:

  
  I love it because it's a painting of a scene from one of my books. We hung it up in the library and everything.
  
  

  Stand by for a few more...

  I used to make cakes.
  
  Estarra the Eternal says, "Give Shevat the floor please."

  1
• Daraius Shevat The juror's taco spot

  November 2014 edited November 2014

   the sundered Emerald Road
  

  
  

  The Emerald road is thrown into high relief by ruddy reddish skies painted fiercely onto the canvas. The road is broken and melted in many parts, and some sections of the road are shattered entirely, revealing the mountainous terrain beneath. The painting focuses on two creatures in the middle of the road, one loboshigaru and one krokani. Further examination shows a dismal scene: the loboshigaru's once finely tailored suit is in disarray, cut and burned in many places, and the krokani is revealed to be a dominator of the Goloths. The krokani lies completely still, missing an arm and covered in gore, a red spray of blood underneath his broken form. His single eye is particularly savaged, long claw marks running red through the glassy, unseeing optic. A tahto stands among the shattered ribs of the grotesque krokani, seeming to ring stoically. The loboshigaru fares hardly any better, a broken pocketwatch strewn far away from the two creatures, both of his wrist bones shattered into a visible compound fracture. The loboshigaru's eyes are open, however, shining with beryl luminescence that his fur would match if it were not covered in dirt, blood, and shards of emerald. The loboshigaru seems to be in the act of slowly getting to his feet; the observer can clearly see a twining wolves wedding band on one of his furred digits. Off in the distance, a bird, or perhaps a trill seems to be swooping downward at a fast, possibly concerned clip.

  
  

  
  

  This was a gift from @Maligorn, based off of this vision where a growling monk falls off Hallifax defending Tulemrah and Phoebus. It was supposed to cheer Daraius up from one of his nostalgic widower fugues, but really just serves as a constant reminder that alternate realities are a thing and Sylandra could be in some of them. @-)

  I used to make cakes.
  
  Estarra the Eternal says, "Give Shevat the floor please."

  5
• Lavinya Queen of Snark Australia

  November 2014

  I am a devoted and completely (un)biased wife.
  
  
  A painting of The Great d'Murani Warlord
  
  Austere and imposing, this portrait has been painted with meticulous detail of the great Warlord, Silvanus d'Murani. A shadowy cloak shrouds much of his gaunt figure, the deep hood doing little to hide the nobility of his features. His shoulders are hunched and yet his bearing is regal, erubescent eyes blazing dispassionately at the world beyond and his mouth set in a grim, implacable smirk, as though weighing the threat of his prey and dismissing it as nought. His hands are all that can be seen of his body, the skin showing ragged orange scars and decaying, burned flesh. Upon one finger a platinum ring gleams, a majestic kestrel of Great House d'Murani in flight, and on another a simple signet ring. Arrayed behind the impressive figure is a large black banner, rippling in the breeze, the cloth slashed with a line of vivid red. Upon the banner is a massive hawk-like kestrel, its wings spread wide and talons splayed as though in the act of the hunt.
  
  

  
  
  
  

  7
• Irillia

  November 2014

  The only one of my paintings that ever sold for 100k+ (I don't remember the exact amount, but yay for bidding wars) at a painting auction!

  
  

  "Two for Tea"

  A gracious, high-ceilinged drawing room forms the backdrop for this warm, tenderly detailed painting depicting the simple, yet delightful act of sharing tea with friends and loved ones. Slanting beams of honey-coloured sunlight pour within through huge sash windows, drenching the room's ivory-and-blue-striped walls, polished marble floors, and elegant furnishings in a mellow golden glow. A low, lacquered table rests in the centre of the room, bearing a vase of pearl-white skyblooms and a gleaming silver tea-pot with a trickle of steam rising from its spout. On the right side of the table sits a dignified loboshigaru gentleman in a crisp, tidy black suit that contrasts handsomely with his immaculately groomed beryl-hued fur, cradling a rose-red porcelain tea-cup between his paws. Despite his perfectly rigid posture, the loboshigaru's expression has softened and his tail is just beginning to wag, as he swivels his floppy ears toward his companion across the table. The slender trill lady on the left side of the painting smiles teasingly at her companion as she lifts the rose-coloured tea-cup to her equally rosy lips. With her luminous silvery-grey wings artfully folded to enhance the rich amethyst of her gown, the trill lady forms the very image of languid grace in comparison to her solemn loboshigaru companion, who has brought out such a sparkle to her violet eyes.  The two gaze across the table into each other's eyes, deeply and raptly, evincing an affection and intimacy so profound that, even painted flat upon the canvas, it seems almost a trespass to behold it. A gentle tranquillity pervades the painting, implicit in the smooth brushstrokes and subdued colours that compose it and the balance of the loboshigaru gentleman and trill lady with the tea table between them. 

  Avatar created by the amazing Feyrll.

  4