crouchingbacon

Free Art by Art Newbie

It's been a while since I did some art, and making more happens to be a resolution I'd like to make good on.

Offering free art for your OCs or requested fan art, just make your requests in this thread. First come, first served.
Though please temper your expectations, as the title says, I am not the best, but I'd like to get better.

Sample of my art here:
https://www.deviantart.com/fightingham

Note:
Gore is okay, but I won't draw R-rated sex scenes.

ARTIST NEEDED (Sketch Artist and-or Graphic Artist)

Hi, still looking? I'm not a pro, but I'd be happy to try to do a sketch for you.
Here's samples of my work, it's been a while since I've made some art and this seems like a good way to practice.
https://www.deviantart.com/fightingham

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖 [Accepting 2nd Wave of Applications] - Cyberpunk Political Roleplay

Very interested. Will make a character in a few days.

THE OUSAMA GAME | a Short-Term Horror

"Six? I don't know when we decided to label one another--"

While he took note of her name, Orwell didn't much care whatever she called herself. The less everyone knew, the better, and she was giving information away for free. Then again, she was just a teenager. Two more of them were, and both of them looked just as - if not more - unstable than Somi did. Whatever the case, Orwell had already walked away as she continued her tirade. Did she really want to risk being the first one to experience the King's punishment? By all means, she was welcome to. At least that would answer a few questions.

The door did open to the key he was given, and as he activated the light switch, it revealed something like a kitchen. The sound of the dumbwaiter made him look back, and doing so, he realized that Five had decided to follow him, but then went back to read whatever it was on the card that Somi had just taken from the dumbwaiter.

"Player #3, rip out all of Player #4's eyelashes. Player #6, consume the blood, tooth, nail, and lashes."

Whoever the King was, he had a sick mind, Orwell decided. The order was almost surreal in its violence - who in their right minds would get a kick out of watching someone eat eyelashes? He thought of people like Corvus and wondered if this was all a part of their plan to get back at him. It wasn't impossible. Money could buy anything, even amusement like this. Perhaps they were being filmed for a snuff production, commissioned by rich bastards. Nothing was out of the question.

He stepped into the room, quickly followed by Three and Four. Three's presence irked Orwell and he wished the King would order someone to shut him - he was about eighty percent certain that Three was a him - up. He listened as his eyes roved around the room, looking for answers, or at least clues to answers. The dining table was covered with several sheets of paper - receipts, upon closer inspection, and he went over to read them silently as both Three and Four -who now identified as Ryan Watts- bickered about the details on how to fulfill the newest order. His head started to ache given the fumes from whatever was in the sink, and he started breathing slowly in an attept to take in less of the fumes.

Several details in each receipt were blacked out with a marker, and try as he might, Orwell could not read any of the hidden information even as he held them up against the light. Giving up on that attempt, he continued to read the information that remained unhidden.

There was a veterinary bill, a receipt for repairs done to a funeral home - Four identified himself as a mortician, clearly a link to him -, a medical bill for a boy with the surname Cruz - his eyes narrowed upon seeing this, but he set it aside for now -, a receipt for industrial strength cleaning supplies - a highly suspicious purchase, given the bleak context they were in -, a college tuition bill - not surprising, given the age of the people involved -, as well as two payments. One payment was addressed to Somi Baek - Six, apparently did use her real first name and now her identity was fully revealed -, and the other payment involved Three - apparently the Velskaya family was an affluent one.

Here were some clues, but they only led to more questions than answers. There were exactly seven receipts, and it would be a fair guess to say that each receipt had something to do with each player. Six and Three, Somi and Riley, were possibly linked to something shady involving an exchange of money, while Four, Ryan, was linked to a funeral home, perhaps as someone linked to the mob to hide bodies. Strangely enough, Orwell did not have the same receipt of payments - a testament to how careful Corvus was, perhaps, only paying him in cold, hard, untraceable cash.

The only receipt that could possibly be linked to him was the medical bill, and then again, perhaps it was a bluff. Iris wouldn't be stupid enough to keep their kid, would she? After all, she wasn't ready for that kind of responsibility - hell, she couldn't even take care of herself after ladies' night. As far as Orwell was concerned, that kid didn't exist, and if he did, he was on his own. He took the medical bill, folded it, and kept it in his pocket, leaving the rest of the receipts on the table. Then he turned to Riley and Ryan, who were still undecided about the order.

"The order said to rip your lashes out, Ryan. That's what the order said, and it's not as bad as losing a tooth or a nail. It's your call to make. I think you're risking your neck for nothing. And maybe you're not the only one who gets punished by your mistake - what about Thr- ah, Riley and Somi?"

Orwell picked out two receipts and held it towards them.

"Funeral home maintenance bills and some kind of big transfer to the Velskaya Corporation. Sounds like you two might know something about this. I found mine too, and Somi's. This King sure did some research before he went after us, didn't he."

THE OUSAMA GAME | a Short-Term Horror

I'll be posting soon! Had the same concerns, as I didn't want to take all the opportunities for action by posting too frequently. Also it's kind of suspicious when your character is the one trying to investigate everything hahaha

In search of the unsearchable..

Hi there! I'm interested in the mafia, gang leader x rival's girl, and workplace scenarios. I'm also down to play either M or F roles. Let me know if you're still looking to RP.

I also have Discord if you prefer OOCs to be done there.

THE OUSAMA GAME | a Short-Term Horror

The situation, as it was unfolding, was progressively becoming bloodier with each order carried out.

Two decided to literally take her nail out in the most agonizing way possible, stomping on her finger and pulling on the thing until it separated itself from her bloody flesh. For a scared girl, she put up quite a display of resolution, carrying out what the King asked without a moment's hesitation. Even he would have tried to find a way to delay or minimize the damage done to himself, had it been him given the order. It seemed that she really didn't want to die and was ready to go through any amount of pain to see it through.

In other words, she was a contender. Orwell decided to keep a watchful eye on her, sizing her up discreetly, but throwing his necktie in her direction, motioning wordlessly to her that she could use it as a bandage.

After that gruesome ordeal, the silent girl finally spoke, making some astute observations about their chances of survival, as well as the legal repercussions of murdering someone during the 'game'. Apparently, One didn't care much about living or dying, which relieved Orwell. If anyone was going to die first, it would probably be her. Without much ado, One did a faceplant onto the pliers, and off came her tooth, which she promptly threw towards the rest of them. He glanced at the bloody thing, then back at her. A mess of red now flowed from her mouth, which stained the floor as she salivated, like some injured animal. The pliers clutched tight in her hand also meant that like him, One was now armed with something.

Before anyone else could speak, Four made a sudden outburst.

"T-that's... That's Cruel! L-look... I'm just saying, don't you think that's... a bit much? We don't even know if one of us is the King! The dumbwaiter comes down from above, so wouldn't that mean he's upstairs?"

Orwell was still beside the dumbwaiter, and he peered at it as Four continued speaking. It was true that the King -or at least another person- might be personally placing the items, but it was just as possible that a remote-controlled device was used to load them into the dumbwaiter. Although Four's theory did feel congruent to the disrepair that the stairs were now in. It might be possible to send someone up, if two or three people made a human ladder.

"I mean... We have three hours to complete an Order, right? L-let's say the King is down here - He probably wouldn't target himself, right? We have three hours until we need to do anything drastic, we can think this over calmly..."

It was true that they had time to search around, but they did not have forever.

"We have about seventy two hours before we die of thirst - probably even less for those already injured, unless we decide to start drinking blood, or unless the King decides to send us some supplies, which I find highly unlikely."

Orwell raised his arm and briefly showed them his watch, which indicated that it was a little past midnight. For some reason the date displayed on the watch was tampered with; the month was clearly wrong, almost seven months past the date he last remembers, and he guessed that the day was probably changed as well. As if the King were trying to tell him that a dead man has no use for time.

Well, he wasn't dead yet, and he doesn't plan on dying any time soon.

"It might also be true that someone... maybe even another player... is up the stairs, but it would mean sending one smaller person up there to check. If there is someone up there, they are likely to be armed. Let me know if there are any volunteers willing to put their neck on the line for a shot in the dark."

He remembered the key in his pocket and started heading towards the only closed door. If there was something horrible waiting for him there, Orwell decided that he wanted to get it over and done with. The crumpled picture in his pocket felt like it weighed a ton.

"The rooms - could be something useful in them. Hints, tools, bandages, food? Wouldn't hurt to find out. There's got to be a reason why the King chose us."

As Orwell reached the door, he took out the key and to placed it in the keyhole right below the worn knob to see if it would fit. He could have sworn that the room had gotten much colder - or was it just his imagination?

• 葉隱 •

Haruki was in a haze the whole time, her eyes wide open but her mind far, far away. It would take her hours to notice that she was no longer in an empty room, but a crowded and filthy jail cell with people of questionable integrity. Upon realizing this, she closed her eyes and mentally retraced the steps that led her here, wondering where she had made a mistake.

Was it when she had helped a deer escape from a hunter's trap, and mended its wounds? No - the hunter was not fast enough to catch her anyway, a heavy-footed stranger to the part of the woods she frequented.

Was it when she swindled a spoiled poet by selling him a fragment of the dream she promised by watering it down with bone-white ash? No - he didn't know the difference, and the clueless man even thanked her by paying her more than the usual sum.

Was it when...

She winced. The memory of a young girl dying in her arms despite everything she did and the anger of her grieving parents tore at her conscience, making her wish she could sleep it away and forget who she was once more. But it was too late. The effects of her concoction had already worn off, and she would have to forage to create more. And anyway, the familiar reek of alcohol was making it difficult for her to return to her peace.

It came to no surprise for Haruki to see that she was surrounded by what seemed to be dangerous misfits, all armed with swords. No innocent or ordinary man walked around with swords such as theirs, and two young men in particular caught her attention. They seemed to be quite out of place, apparel hinting at a highborn, remarkable standing in their respective societies. A strange scent wafted about from the black-nailed man, reminding her of bitter and deadly herbs, and looking very much like a coiled viper, waiting to strike. The other one seemed less ominous, yet still had an air of gravitas about him, like a fledgling crane just about to learn how to fly. She wondered who they might have angered to land in such a dreadful place.

The rest of the rabble seemed right in their element - a cripple, an ogre and a drunk. Haruki wondered how the cripple lost his leg and arm, marveling at the skill of whomever saved him if it was the result of an injury, and the wretched luck of the cripple who survived it. Even stranger was that he carried a sword, implying an ability to not only walk, but to fight. A benign, carefree air seemed to radiate from him, which was decidedly unmasculine and very unusual. The ogre close by was quite the creature in comparison, a hulking mass of fighting and no doubt scarred, flesh. She felt that it was highly likely this visit to jail was not his first, and wondered whether he could be coaxed into starting a jailbreak. He certainly seemed to have the fortitude and stregth to break down the rusty cell doors. Finally, there was an old, well-built man stinking of alcohol. Perhaps he wasn't drunk at the moment, but the years of drinking seemed to have broiled the odor into his flesh. Oddly enough, Haruki noticed that he had what appeared to be a string of large prayer beads around his neck. Perhaps even after a life of pleasure and sin, a man has his fill and longs to repent, she thought. He had a friendly face, which oddly enough, put her at ease. Still, she did not trust him enough to talk. She decided to watch and keep silent. Anyway, it was what was expected of her. No use in rocking the boat at the moment.

Eventually, the guards came for all of them and they were brought to a wagon. Now, in addition to the stench of the drunk was the stink of unwashed, sweaty animals and their shit collecting into a sack. Haruki gasped for air and closed her eyes, willing herself not to vomit - not that there was anything to vomit, as she could not remember what, or when her last meal was.

Then all of a sudden, all hell broke loose. Which, at this point, no longer surprised Haruki. Hell had been breaking loose for quite some time now, and she wondered whether or not they were all already suffering in hell, anyway.

Somehow, Haruki found herself tumbling against the wagon's hard walls, no doubt bruises forming on impact. She picked herself up, prepared to break her fingers for a desperate escape, when suddenly one of the captives - who had managed to free himself quickly, a sign of calm and skill for someone as young as him - came back to begin freeing them. Most gave him their thanks - even the ogre, which she took as proof that at the very least, the criminals she found herself with had some measure of civility and were not as lawless or as unreasonable as she had first thought. She also realized that the cripple was a woman, which further served to increase her curiosity. Nevertheless, there were demons about, and that was the concern at hand. Following their lead, she thanked the young man who freed her with a wordless bow, and also inspected the chest quickly, retrieving her hori-hori, as well as her pouch of medicinal supplies. Hearing the ogre speak surprised her somewhat, and she chided herself for thinking him dumb.

"Sir, the beasts would hunt us even as we run. Winds blow down from the hills. They will still follow us with ease."

THE OUSAMA GAME | a Short-Term Horror

@Yankee that escalated quickly :o

THE OUSAMA GAME | a Short-Term Horror

"I don't have any money, but you can tell me what you want, instead of hurting me again. I won't resist."

Fear radiated from the boy's every gesture, his eyes only breaking contact to survey the wound he had just received. Orwell moved back to the group, giving him space - a gesture of neutrality.

“Why didn’t you leave your coffin?”

Orwell faced the tall, teenaged girl, glanced at her hand once more, and shrugged.

"Seems to me that he's more cautious than most... Six. In a sense, you could say this room is just one big coffin, too, if we lose the game."

Pointing to the wall, he then turned to talk to the boy he had just pricked. "We are in a situation, and those seem to be the rules. I don't know about you, but I don't want to be the first one to experience the King's retribution. I'd say a small beauty mark is a small price to pay to survive another round." Orwell then pointed out the boarded up exits around the room. "And quit talking about money. There's no use for that in a place like this."

A sudden, but familiar creak of the dumbwaiter signalled that another round was about to begin. Seeing as he was "tagged" by the last order, he made his way towards the device, peered into it to survey its contents, pulled out the note card and read it aloud.

"Player #5 and Player #1. From one a tooth and from one a nail." He placed the card back inside and stepped away from the device, as if to make way for either Five or One to make a run for the dumbwaiter. "There is a nasty pair of pliers inside... looks like the King's getting serious."