Not sure why this image came very easily. Only a couple slight revisions had to be done. The more I ink away at this guy, the more I want to build a whole story around him.
There's a certain loneliness to the Javarran who take up the mantle of seer and sentinel. They live between two worlds, but sometimes feel like they are a part of neither. Ferrymen and women for the departed and those still departing, and confidants to the whispers of stone, oak, and the living nature surrounding them.
Ajaatu feels as at home as I do when the trees are becoming bare, reaching black tendrils to the sky, the shed leaves snaking with the breeze along paths and forests. He's much like the spider with far reaching webs of the divine and spiritus sprawled out across his surroundings, able to detect the unnatural cold presence of undead. The plucks and vibrations warning him that the months leading to winter thin the veil between life and death.
He would still eat pumpkin pie, though. And gladly sit by a hearth, dozing with the sound of life rather than the echoes of death. But life has a way of not giving us that constant choice.
Tim J.
2017-10-18 19:30:21 +0000 UTCTim J.
2017-10-18 19:30:05 +0000 UTCDavid J.
2017-10-18 00:06:17 +0000 UTCTygepc
2017-10-17 22:37:24 +0000 UTC