View allAll Photos Tagged Finalization
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Bathed in the golden blaze of a dying sun, a lone warrior queen stands at the edge of a shattered world. Clad in obsidian armor etched with glowing runes, she faces the colossal presence of a fire-breathing dragon—her ancient companion, forged in blood and legend. Around them, molten embers swirl like celestial fireflies, igniting the cliffs in a soft cascade of light. In the distance, jagged mountains slice the sky while a river of pure arcane energy winds through the scorched earth, illuminating the remnants of a realm forgotten by time. This is a final moment of unity before the storm of destiny—where myth meets mortality in the heart of flame and shadow.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by a Second Life image from ✿Maytika.Coleslaw✿ and Reimagined
"Where the night blooms, the impossible howls."
From the darkness of a blooming night-garden rises a wolf no mortal would dare approach. Its eyes burn like living amethysts, claws dripping with cosmic fire, while luminous butterflies dance around it as messengers of a forgotten heaven. Each flower does not open to the moon, but to the threat of its fury. Here, beauty collides with nightmare, and the boundary between dream and doom dissolves in violet lightning.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
In the ruins of a forgotten cathedral, beneath the ghost-lit gaze of a fractured moon, she stands — a spirit suspended between time and sorrow. Her translucent form, cloaked in spectral threads of light, radiates an eerie elegance as she faces the remnants of a world that no longer remembers her name. Once a dreamer bound by hope, now a wraith bound by memory, she searches for the echoes of lost truths whispered through shattered stained glass. This haunting vision is not of death, but of yearning — a soul defying oblivion, standing alone in a sanctuary of broken faith and silent stars.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by and Reimagined
“He does not rule a kingdom — he devours eternity.”
From the endless void he watches, his gaze burning brighter than dying suns. Scales forged from the marrow of collapsed stars, veins pulsing with the fire of creation itself. Neither beast nor god, but something older, something eternal — a sovereign of silence and storm. Where his eyes fall, worlds tremble, and in his breath lies the memory of the first thunder.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
Zor’Mezzar is not merely undead — he is cosmic ruin given form. Once a celestial warlord forged in the heart of a dying star, he was cast down during the Celestial Sundering — his soul fused with the heart of a supernova and buried in the hollow space between dimensions. But stars do not sleep forever… and neither does he.
When Zor'Mezzar rose, the sky cracked.
His visage is terrifying and godlike: a towering skeletal demon with obsidian armor etched in galactic runes and glowing violet starstones embedded in his chest and crown. His red eyes blaze like binary suns, and from his back spread immense, tattered voidwings — wings that eclipse entire battlefields in shadow and silence.
His horned headdress, crowned by a glowing amethyst core, resembles a collapsing constellation — chaotic, radiant, and impossible to behold without madness. His mantle of shadowfeathers stirs not in wind, but in gravitational tremors, as if each movement disrupts the laws of the universe around him.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by and Reimagined
Clad in tattered layers of midnight-black linen and charcoal-dyed wool, the Hollow Inquisitor emerges from the storm-lashed moor like a shadow torn from the pages of a cursed tome. His skeletal visage—worn and yellowed like ancient bone—glows with malevolent amber fire, eyes smoldering beneath the brim of a weather-beaten witch hunter’s hat. Chain-linked medallions inscribed with protective sigils dangle from his vestments, brushing against his ashen fingers as he stalks the cobbled paths of a forgotten village, where flickering lanterns tremble against the encroaching dark. Behind him, the sky fractures in violent purple lightning, illuminating bare winter trees and the silhouette of timber-framed homes—echoes of a time when hysteria ruled and whispers of witchcraft spelled doom. He is both relic and revenant—an eternal seeker of the wicked, lost to the ages, but never to silence.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Deep within the ghost-lit halls of The Haunting at the Mississippi, behind a warped wooden door sealed by silence and salt air, sits the last remnant of the ship’s soul — the captain.
His cabin is a shrine of sorrow, untouched by time. Maps marked in blood still lie open beneath his pale, spectral hands. A rusted compass spins endlessly beside a broken spyglass. Bottles gather dust, clocks hang frozen, and lanterns flicker in rhythm with the river’s secrets. Outside the cracked window, lightning tears across a storm-wracked sky as the cursed Mississippi churns endlessly beneath.
The captain himself is a ghost of command — seated upright, gloved hands steady, his face lost to shadow, but his eyes burning with unnatural blue fire. Mist coils around him like breath long exhaled. Some say he still charts a course no living soul can read. Others say he’s waiting for one final passenger.
He does not speak. He does not sleep.
He steers the dead.
And so the riverboat drifts, its cursed wheel turning through eternity — because the captain never left his post.
Right after I finalized shooting with Yo Akalu she took advantage of the few minutes that remained of sunlight to layback and unwind on the beach while I made my way over to the one lone fisherman who I had spotted earlier from my periphery and who I hoped didn't trail off too far from where we were.
Initially it became difficult to grab his attention over the heavy wind and pounding of the waves but when I did, we chatted a bit and he was more than willing to stand in for a few portraits with the requisite that I email a few of the best ones. It sounded like a more than a fair deal and quite honestly the least I can do for his time.
Thank you Victor!
After six months of building I finalized my first large scale US truck. As the K100 is one of my favorite trucks I wanted to have such in my collection. I disassembled my old Scania 141 tow trucks and used the bodywork and Holmes 750 for the KW. Fitted with an underlift it make the truck even more versatile. Quite some parts of the model are chrome which my mate Bricksonwheels supplied me. I had to use a lot of unconventional building techniques to get the cab into the right shape. Turning pieces upside down, building things off set etc. and without glueing anything. I already typed the full story for this model on my website. If you would like to see and read more about it, please take a visit: www.dennisbosman.nl/lego/no59.html
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
Legendary Item: The Mirror of Fusion
Essence:A legendary relic from the Hollow Veil, the Mirror of Fusion stands as the only surviving bridge between mirrored memory and broken echo. It does not merely reflect — it confronts. Those who gaze into it from both sides may become whole again, or lose themselves entirely.
Item Type: Legendary Wondrous Object (Sentient Mirror)
Appearance:A towering, oval mirror with an ornate frame split down the center: one side floral and silvered, the other blackened and overgrown with twisted roots. Its glass glows faintly, never fully still.
Powers:
Echo Reconciliation: Once per moon, a character may attempt to fuse with a denied aspect of self (mechanical benefit: remove 1 major flaw, regain lost memories, or awaken a sealed power).
Twin Reflection: When standing between enemies, the mirror can reflect their most feared version of themselves (Illusion/Fear effect).
Mistwalk Portal: Can open a one-way path to the boundary between the Mirror Crossing and the Mire of Mirrors.
Soul Split/Unite: In a ritual, the mirror can divide a person into two selves — or rebind them under great cost.
Drawbacks:
Cannot be moved from the Veil.
Once every use, it reflects something even the bearer has forgotten — which becomes real.
Lore:
Legends say the mirror was forged from the moment the Crossing broke — a single shard that remembered both peace and ruin, and refused to choose.
Quote:
“You are neither who you were, nor what you fear to become. You are what stands between.”
Boeing and Xiamen Airlines have finalized an order for six 787-8s. Originally announced by Xiamen Airlines in May 2011, the order is valued at $1.3 billion at list prices.
This image shows a 787 in Xiamen livery.
Boeing provides this photo for the public to share. Media interested in high-resolution images for publication should email boeingmedia@boeing.com or visit boeing.mediaroom.com. Users may not manipulate or use this photo in commercial materials, advertisements, emails, products, or promotions without licensed permission from Boeing. If you are interested in using Boeing imagery for commercial purposes, email imagelicensing@boeing.com or visit www.boeingimages.com.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Bathed in the light of a swollen moon, Noctara stands where the veil between realms thins. Her violet eyes burn with eldritch flame, a power drawn not from stars, but from the darkness between them. Cursed tattoos trace her skin like living runes, whispering forgotten names of power. Her presence is a paradox—mesmerizing, yet terrifying; divine, yet drenched in shadow.
She is the stillness before the storm, the breath before the incantation. When her gaze finds you, there is no place left to run—only surrender to the ancient magic that binds the night to her will.
A haunting embodiment of beauty and ruin.
Done in Ai, Refined in Bloom, Finalized in Photoshop.
“Her heart is a forge of runes, her gaze the verdict of forgotten gods.”
Amidst the crumbling vaults of a forsaken citadel, she emerges — a sovereign bound not by crown or throne, but by the searing fire of runes carved into her very flesh and steel. Her skin, obsidian-blue and cold as voidlight, glows with veins of crimson energy that pulse like living lightning. The curved horns upon her helm are not adornments but conduits, drawing in whispers from forgotten realms and channeling them into power.
The armor she bears is no mere plate — it is a living scripture, etched with glyphs that shift and shimmer as though aware of their own dark prophecy. At her chest burns the Crimson Sigil, a heart of light encased in shadows, radiating an energy that bends stone, silence, and spirit alike. Behind her, a circle of ancient symbols ignites the air, a halo of damnation that crowns her eternal dominion.
She is not a queen to be served, but an Empress to be feared — the architect of oaths broken, the judge of worlds undone. In the glow of her runes, hope falters, and the strong remember what it means to kneel.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by a SL Picture of: ★ HELLSCAIT ★ - Cait
Bathed in the crackling glow of violet sorcery, the High Arcanist stands at the heart of a storm-wracked sanctum, her obsidian armor etched with sigils that pulse like a living language. Her skin, a spectral blue-green, shimmers beneath arcane circuitry threaded with magic, while her glowing lavender eyes mirror the storm she commands. Horns crowned in runes curl from her brow like a diadem of power. With every motion, her crystalline staff radiates fractal lightning, tearing the air asunder. Behind her, ancient pillars tremble, and the sky churns with unnatural force — for where she treads, the fabric of realms frays. She is not merely a wielder of power, but its architect. The Violet Dominion is her throne, and magic, her law.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by:
FUR WARS
May the Paws Be With You
In a galaxy not so far away, where litter boxes are moons and yarn balls orbit like stars, the eternal battle between the Purrside and the Scratchside rages on.
When young Whisk Skywhisker discovers an ancient laser pointer, he must learn the ways of the Pawdi Masters and resist the dark temptations of Darth Hissious — a fearsome feline with claws sharper than reason.
Armed with glowing yarn sabers and guided by the wise Master Meowbi-Wan, the cats of the galaxy fight for balance in the furce. But beware: one accidental red dot may change destiny forever…
🐾 Epic battles.
🐾 Purring betrayals.
🐾 And naps. Lots of naps.
Coming soon to a scratching post near you.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Wyrdweaver of the Withering Path is an ancient necromantic shaman, more ghost than man, whose power is drawn not from fire or force—but from slow entropy, disease, and the rot that follows time’s passage. His flesh is long decayed, revealing a cracked skull etched with weathered runes, his empty sockets glowing with necrotic green light. Thick, matted dreadlocks hang like withered roots, woven with bone beads, dead vines, and the feathers of carrion birds.
His robes are patchworks of tattered hides, stitched with sigils of decay and time-forgotten cults. They sway heavily with every movement, as if soaked in centuries of damp earth and sorrow. Around his hands swirl sickly green tendrils of magic—energies not meant to heal, but to break down, infect, unravel. With a mere gesture, moss creeps, flesh blackens, and stone weeps moisture from within.
He walks the old stone sites—the Hunebeds, the cursed groves, burial fields where the wind no longer sings. Where he appears, animals flee and plants twist in his wake.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
A Special one for today's World Lizard Day
When light meets magic, even a lizard can be a legend.
In the heart of a bioluminescent dreamscape, where alien flora sways in a hush of emerald mist, a rare lizard perches on a twisting vine. Its iridescent dragonfly wings shimmer like liquid crystal, catching the glow of towering, Pandora-like mushrooms and jeweled moss. Golden motes drift lazily through the air, drawn to its turquoise and gold scales as if to a living lantern. Around it, the forest hums with quiet magic — a place where reality bends, and even the smallest creatures become guardians of wonder.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Bathed in golden twilight, a luminous flower fairy stands serenely in the center of a glowing meadow pond. Her transparent wings shimmer like spun glass, catching every warm ray of the setting sun. A crown of fresh blossoms rests gently in her flowing hair, while vibrant flowers bloom directly from her skin and gown, merging her body with nature. The air dances with floating petals, tiny fireflies, and glowing pollen. Around her, the meadow is alive with colorful wildflowers in full bloom, while ancient weeping willows arch protectively above. The water beneath her glows with ethereal blue light, casting reflections that ripple like magic. This is a vision of harmony—where nature, magic, and beauty bloom as one.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
“They do not speak. They flower.”
Essence
The Bloomkind are a sentient floral people native to the Verdant Veil — gentle, ancient, and deeply attuned to emotion. Each Bloomkind is born from a seed left behind by a moment of powerful grief or joyful sacrifice. They are not cultivated, but emerge from sorrow that has found form. Every one of them is unique in bloom and demeanor, a living reflection of the emotion that gave them root.
Appearance
Humanoid bodies woven from vines, moss, and petals.
Blossoms form their faces, shifting in shape and color to convey expression.
Their movements are graceful, slow, and ritualistic — often accompanied by a trail of falling pollen or glowing spores.
Behavior & Culture
The Bloomkind communicate through scent, gesture, and changes in bloom.
They tend to sacred spaces and forgotten groves, often seen guiding mourners or tending Petal Mirrors.
They perform silent rites that renew the Verdant Veil — seasonal flowerings, memory weavings, and sorrow-burials.
Though peaceful, they guard against those who trample memory with indifference.
Themes
Transformation through feeling.
Beauty born of pain.
The sacredness of remembrance.
Anchor Quote
“A Bloomkind knows what your silence hides — and tends it gently until it flowers.”
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Born in the abyss, it walks where light fears to follow.
Shrouded in an aura of living shadow, The Void Crawler emerges from the fathomless depths between worlds. Its obsidian-scaled form is threaded with veins of luminous violet, each crystal growth pulsing like a heartbeat from another realm. Eyes of searing amethyst slit with predatory precision pierce the dark, seeing truths unseen by mortal gaze. Its tendrils, both root and claw, writhe with a mind of their own, binding the creature to the infinite hunger of the void. It is the perfect antithesis to the light-bound guardians — an ancient force that thrives in silence, waiting for the moment to claim what the light cannot protect.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Emerging from the heart of a cursed forest, “The Phantom Express” barrels forth in a thunderous symphony of iron and shadow. Its monstrous engine, shaped into a grotesque, burning skull, radiates eerie golden light through hollow sockets—eyes that have seen centuries of damnation. Black smoke coils like spectral fingers into the misty air, merging with the twisted silhouettes of ancient, skeletal trees. Lanterns flicker dimly on its sides, barely illuminating the cloaked figures that silently await its arrival at the edge of forgotten graves. This is no ordinary locomotive—it is a vessel for lost souls, a haunted relic of gothic nightmares that never truly rests. Its whistle howls like a dirge through the darkness, echoing the cries of the damned it carries deep into the unknown.
A ghost train in every sense, driven not by coal but by curses.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
He does not conquer. He remains — when all else has faded.
Born from the last breath of a dying empire, the Lord of the Wastes walks the scorched remnants of a forgotten world. His body is forged from ash, sinew, and steel — bound together by dark rituals and the rage of the forsaken.
Once a mortal warlord betrayed by his kin, he was cast into the desert abyss — only to rise centuries later, deathless and merciless. His skull helm is no mask, but a fusion of bone and metal shaped by fire. Golden runes pulse with the fury of ancient gods, and every dent in his armor carries the echo of a fallen kingdom.
He speaks no words — only commands. Where he walks, the wind dies and the ground cracks.
My earlier Huey renders were outdated so I made some more with all the changes. I switched out Brickmania tail for the much more accurate Brickdesigner’s one.
I will try to incorporate both my Huey and Phantom into a Nam build soon.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by a image on the feed of: Kyron. - A. (What Falling in Love Feels Like, but now in vampire style)
Beneath the veil of moonlight and tangled black rose thorns, two ancient souls meet in silence.
He, clad in obsidian velvet laced with gold filigree, a noble predator with silver strands and eyes that have forgotten mercy.
She, a vision in midnight lace, corseted in shadow, bearing lips kissed with crimson and eyes soft with danger.
Together, they stand framed by withered beauty—an arch of dying roses and whispering candlelight,
their vow unspoken yet eternal, a bond not of love alone, but of hunger, memory, and blood.
Time holds its breath as they remain frozen in their gothic eternity—
a dark romance carved from the bones of centuries.
I think I've finalized the design. The back ridge tessellation is now based on thirds instead of halves or quarters. The folding sequence is much more streamlined, and there are some added details (like the heel spurs on the front legs). Time to make a display version now!
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Clad in obsidian armor etched with glowing violet veins, the Queen of the Void Flame rises from the ashes of forgotten realms. Her spectral white hair whips like silk in the cursed winds, ignited by the magic pulsing through her veins. Arcane sigils shimmer on her skin, and her dual voidforged blades hum with silent fury. She is both executioner and enchantress — a warrior of ruin, wrapped in shadows, lit only by the fire she conjures from the abyss. Behind her, broken stone and violet flame mark the remnants of a world that dared defy her reign.
The big day is drawing near... It's been pretty stressful the last week as we finalize preparations for the wedding. Work has been a nice distraction, leaving me little time for flickring. Although I spent a nice chunk of time this morning regaining my sanity! I love looking at all the beauty in the world. Thanks so much for sharing that with me and being such dear friends. I'll probably be sparse after this - until mid-November and will look forward to seeing everyone's creations.
About the Image: This is the atrium of the Hyatt Regency San Francisco on Embarcadero and Market. I pass by it often and come in to use the restrooms when I'm shooting along the Embarcadero.
Hollywood Casting Calls (according to Wikipedia):
1) The Hyatt Regency's atrium lobby served as the lobby of the Glass Tower in 1974's The Towering Inferno. Replicas of John Portman's trademark pill-shaped elevators were built for use in the film and are featured throughout, including in an extended sequence where one is lifted from the stricken tower by helicopter.
2) 1977 Mel Brooks Comedy High Anxiety
3) 1977 Telefon
4) 1979 Time After Time, a tale of H.G. Wells chasing Jack The Ripper into the "future" of 1979.
Bonus Fact: As well as being a setting for numerous films, the lobby is itself inspired by a film. Architect John Portman has stated that its design was suggested to him by viewing the 1935 science fiction film Things to Come.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
In the heart of an enchanted forest, where twilight never fades and fireflies guard ancient secrets, a lone fairy kneels on a forgotten stone tablet. Her golden wings shimmer with quiet intensity as her fingers trace the glowing runes, reading echoes of a magic long lost to time.
This piece captures the delicate balance of wonder and reverence — a moment where myth breathes again through glowing symbols and whispered light.
♀️ Created with AI and touched up with care.
Let your imagination follow the fireflies…
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
Essence
The Shardveil Crucible is a fragmented, shifting plane where reality splinters along the lines of perception. Fog rolls like spilled memory across cracked obsidian ground, and broken glass litters the land like fallen stars. It is a place of refracted truth, forgotten selves, and shadow-versions that never quite became. The Cathedral of Mirrors and the Inner Sanctum of Mirrors reside at its heart, pulsing like a cognitive wound in the veil of existence.
Landmarks
The Cathedral of Mirrors: A gothic structure of impossible angles and color-shifting glass. Home to Amon, the Warlock of Glassed Shadows.
The Inner Sanctum of Mirrors: A transcendent chamber accessed only by surrendering something to Amon. Here, the true soul is remade.
The Echo Swale: A field of mirror-pools that reflect only your worst memory — and whisper what it cost.
The Prismrift Cliffs: Jagged, glinting canyons where falling means fracturing into a different you.
The Reflection Maw: A chasm that eats reflections. Anything cast within it loses its identity.
Inhabitants & Creatures
Glasswights: Shard-bodied wanderers who exist only when seen. Their gaze can trap a victim in self-reflection loops.
Falseborn: Mirror-doubles who believe they are the original — often hostile, always tragic.
Veilgnawers: Crawling things that feed on doubt and trail memory-smoke.
Fractured Heralds: Servants of Amon made from broken pacts and reassembled lies.
Themes & Dangers
Identity is unstable; players risk absorbing traits or memories from echoes.
Time stutters and rewinds in emotional hotspots.
Some zones mirror the players themselves — not physically, but morally.
The Crucible can make you question what parts of you are actually real.
Anchor Quote
"To walk the Crucible is to leave fingerprints on the glass of your own soul."
I finalized the camo scheme for the green minifig, the only change I will make is to remove the knee pads.
Credit to CalHigh for the challange to make this. I'll send you a set of decals when I get my supplies.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by the Aza Empyrea - Cosmic Codex
In the heart of a candlelit sanctum, surrounded by shelves overflowing with ancient tomes and glowing potions, the High Priest of Aetherium bends the laws of reality to his will. His black and violet ceremonial robes shimmer with silver filigree as streams of vibrant magic spiral from a spellbook bound in arcane leather. The air hums with alchemical energy — glass vials pulse with strange colors, brass instruments gleam in the flickering light, and the scent of burning incense mingles with the tang of rare ingredients. Within these walls, knowledge and power converge, and every whispered incantation shapes the destiny of worlds.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
Born of ash and bound by flame, Malrakar stands in the shattered crypt-throne of his long-dead enemies. His flesh is carved from the void, a deep violet hue over skeletal contours, with eyes that blaze like the hearts of fallen stars. Crowning his head is a blackened infernal headdress, laced with violet crystal runes and chains that whisper curses as they sway. Twin horns rise in perfect menace, arching like scythes above his skeletal visage, while obsidian filigree and engraved bone wrap his armor in regal ruin. He is draped in shadow and adorned in agony, a warlord of silence and sorrow, commanding death not with sound, but with presence.
Behind him, the crumbling stone walls of the crypt pulse with imprisoned souls, each whispering fragments of the oaths they broke to him. At his chest, a glowing sigil marks his pact with the Voidborne Thrones, a price he paid long ago, and has never stopped collecting.
Finalizing my next journal that I will start in the new year, knowing what I want to focus on in the new year is a great feeling!
Theme: Upon These Pages
Year Ten Of My 365 Project
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop and Photoscape X
In a scorched world devoured by war, Unit 13 stalks the remnants of humanity — a zombified T-800 reanimated through corrupted Skynet code and dark biotech. Its once-pristine chassis now rusts beneath rotting synthetic tissue, its crimson optics flickering with undead rage. Exposed wires hang like sinew from its skeletal frame, and its talon-like hands claw through ash and bone with chilling precision. Beneath a blood-red sky, it roams the desolation, neither living nor fully machine — a soulless predator powered by death, decay, and algorithmic instinct.
I finalized flight arrangements today for a second round interview for a "dream" job.
The interview is next Monday and I'm very nervous because I really want this position. The office was beautifully appointed - mid-century modern with awesome views. The department heads I met with during my initial interview were warm and genuine, and it just seemed like a phenomenal place to work. Highly esteemed work, big name clients, and the firm is overwhelmed and badly in need of someone with my level of experience. Oh, and did I mention it would be a huge pay raise?
My current position terminates as of the end of the month. I really, really need this to work.
Keep your fingers crossed for me. Light a candle, say a prayer, shake a rubber chicken... anything.
Please.
When the Whispering Mare fiasco was over, the Imperial Senate launched an enormous investigation into the matter that had brought them under such disrepute. The secret shipyard discovered on the island of Malva was raided and searched throughly, but any useful information has long since been destroyed. Then, weeks later, a suspected Senator was quietly kidnapped and his properties inspected. In a hidden safe in his private villa, a steel case was discovered. In that case were the designs of not only the Jackson's Revenge, but her planned successors.
This discovery became a state secret, and the secret construction of the ships codenamed the "Gruesome Threesome", or the Ravagers, began.
The Finalizer was to be the worst of them all. Modeled after the Achatian Holmfirth, she was designed to be the direct successor of the Mare, to serve the same purpose. Independent commerce raider. With a massive radio tower, she could travel just as far as her predecessor while retaining contact with the Imperial fleet.
She is here to settle the score...
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired on Book 3 Fire Sea from The Death Gate Cycle
In the depths of a ruined Sartan temple, surrounded by pillars scorched with ancient runes, a lone necromancer stands at the heart of a volcanic sanctum—his blackened trident raised toward the ashen sky. Molten cracks spread like veins through the obsidian floor, and the air trembles with the resonance of death magic. This is the moment before resurrection, before the cursed souls of the Sartan rise once more. The red light of the runes pulses like a heartbeat, echoing the ancient vengeance buried beneath centuries of ash. Silence reigns—only the fire speaks.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop and Photoscape X
Once known as Frank Castle, his soul was shattered beyond the grave — and something darker took its place. Resurrected by ancient rites whispered in crypts below the world, he is now The Hollow Mark — an eternal revenant forged from wrath and guilt, wandering the haunted cities of the damned.
His skeletal visage is hidden beneath a tattered hood, and the iconic skull sigil — now charred and cracked — pulses with spectral fire. He carries a cursed firearm forged in the catacombs of forgotten wars, and chains drag behind him like echoes of the souls he’s sent to judgment.
The Hollow Mark speaks not. He only appears when vengeance festers, walking silently through fog and blood, in places where justice has died. A gothic executioner, bound not by law but by the weight of unburied wrath.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Clad in flight-worn leather and frost-tipped fur, the feline ace stands with quiet confidence beside his blood-red plane. The engine still ticks with heat, mist curling from exhaust. Above, the grey heavens tremble — but not from storms. They remember his name.
Callsign: Baron von Whiskers
Unit: Skyclaw 7th Aerial Division
Location: Northern Front, 1917
Status: Airborne Legend
AI-generated with atmospheric fidelity. Where fantasy and history go whisker to whisker.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by and reimagined
“Bow to the fire, or be swallowed by it.”
From the depths of a shattered realm, she rises — crowned in obsidian horns, adorned in cursed armor woven with jewels of forbidden power. Flames curl effortlessly in her grasp, not mere fire but the essence of souls consumed, bending to her will. Behind her, skeletal sentinels guard the throne of shadows, their crimson eyes burning with eternal loyalty. Lightning rips the sky, as if the world itself trembles at her command. She is not a witch, nor a queen, but something far darker — a sovereign of damnation, ruling in silence and fire.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by a Second Life Image of: Razor Cure
Bathed in candlelight and cloaked in shadow, the Oracle sits behind a ritual-stained table, fingers hovering over a glowing cerulean crystal orb that pulses with eldritch energy. His pale, ghostlit face is framed by long, raven-black hair and a towering voodoo top hat adorned with bone charms, metal filigree, and occult sigils. Glowing eyes pierce through the thick incense smoke curling from antique lanterns. Behind him, shelves overflow with skulls, potion bottles, grimoires, and relics of forgotten rites. Ancient scrolls and cursed banners hang on the weathered wooden walls, each etched with cryptic illustrations and forbidden glyphs. Tarot cards, meticulously arranged, shimmer with prophetic energy across the velvet cloth. The scene is soaked in mysticism, decay, and a timeless sense of foreboding — as though the room itself is listening, waiting to reveal secrets to those bold enough to ask.