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Description

The air was heavy with the stench of undeath. Pamelyn paced along moss-covered path through the Old Hill cemetery. This time she had taken the precaution of wearing darker, almost black, clothes to blend in with the dusky surroundings. She wore a pitch-leather doublet with leggings of the same colour. Her boots were almost silent against the cobblestone floor. Her semi-gloved hands carried a flimsy oil lantern and a sheet of parchment. Pam glanced on it, ‘Three gold piece reward for any who can recover the Darkshire Registry.’ Nodding, she reminded herself of her goal. One which seemed to be within easy reach.

After placing the lantern on aged tree-stump, Pamelyn approached an old, decrepit mage-tower. The girl looked up, noticing a faint glow emanating from one of the shattered windows. Her straight chocolate hair loosely spread to the sides of her face as she raised her head. Keeping an eye on the glow, she leaned against the door. Lacking the resistance Pam had expected, the door fell inwards as shoon as she reached for the knob. “Who… dares… my… attention?” a ghastly voice called from the heights of the tower. Pam quickly turned and pressed her back against the outer stone wall of the tower. Bushes, which were just recently static, came alight with glaring yellow eyes from behind the leaves, each plant with several pairs. With hardly any time to choose, the girl slammed the door behind her, opting to challenge whatever the tower may harbour. “Finally!” exclaimed the same hollow voice, this time only inches away from Pam’s ear. She twisted around in clumsy swing, falling with her back against the door.

A thin, almost skeletal figure loomed over the frightened girl. The man was vested with a tattered brown cloak. Faded runic writing adorned seams which seem to have been sewed together from several different clothes. His left hand darted towards Pamelyn, pointing across her with a claw-nailed finger. She rolled violently to one side in an attempt to avoid whatever incantation the man intended for her. Creaking and cracking, he produced a wrinkled smile, following Pam with absent eyes. She stood up. The man stepped closes as she did. Pamelyn ran. Ran across the room. Ran up a flight of stairs. Ran into the man, perched on top of the last step. He swung his arm again, this time with far greater speed. The tear was loud enough for Pam to notice this time. Her doublet now had to large slits across her chest. She was ready for the third swing. The man’s wrist met firmly with the girl’s grip. With hardly any resistance the arm tore off the skeletal body as she yanked at it. The damage, however, had already been done. Her top split along the middle of her torso, from chin to belly, all while the figure continued so smile. Pamelyn held the severed hand in her own why desperately trying to keep her doublet from tearing any further with the other.

The robed figure straightened himself with an audible series of cracks and splinters. Keeping his gazed fixed on the girl, he asked, “Fancy… a handshake… with the dead?” Pamelyn gasped as she felt an unholy shockwave depart from the arm, only to pass through to her. She remained immobile as her eyes widened. Slowly, the little flesh that remained on the severed arm began to transform into small grains of sand, neatly falling into the nether, leaving no trace. Pam’s firm grip subsided as she let the bare bones fall to the ground. Just as the arm knocked on the ground did her vision disappear. Her entire body felt light and absent. She fell backwards as her eyes rolled back and her throat moaned, releasing her last conscious breath. The wooden floorboards received Pamelyn’s body without much care. Her limbs thumped and bounced limply against the floor. Lastly, her head lolled to one side before laying still. A putrid, filthy foot protruded from under the exanimate figure’s robe. Rotting toes pressed against the girl’s face, parting her lips as it drove into her cheeks. “Must not… be wasted… Rest... Your time... will come...” The turned to a table nearby, leaving a mark of dirt under her eye. The man pointed at a piece of parchment just as he had at Pam. Lines, shapes and words soon unveiled themselves, revealing a crude map of Darkshire.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A second test with IRay, this one with an older (in all senses) iteration of Pamelyn. Originally I intended for a more complex scene with a lot of imported files. Without the appropriate card though, the engine stopped at 40% convergence. CPU rendering definitely has its limits.
That aside, I really like how this one turned out. I hope the story fits well too. I'll let the readers be the judge of that though.

I'd very much like to improve my art, therefore I welcome any feedback or suggestions!

Description

The air was heavy with the stench of undeath. Pamelyn paced along moss-covered path through the Old Hill cemetery. This time she had taken the precaution of wearing darker, almost black, clothes to blend in with the dusky surroundings. She wore a pitch-leather doublet with leggings of the same colour. Her boots were almost silent against the cobblestone floor. Her semi-gloved hands carried a flimsy oil lantern and a sheet of parchment. Pam glanced on it, ‘Three gold piece reward for any who can recover the Darkshire Registry.’ Nodding, she reminded herself of her goal. One which seemed to be within easy reach.

After placing the lantern on aged tree-stump, Pamelyn approached an old, decrepit mage-tower. The girl looked up, noticing a faint glow emanating from one of the shattered windows. Her straight chocolate hair loosely spread to the sides of her face as she raised her head. Keeping an eye on the glow, she leaned against the door. Lacking the resistance Pam had expected, the door fell inwards as shoon as she reached for the knob. “Who… dares… my… attention?” a ghastly voice called from the heights of the tower. Pam quickly turned and pressed her back against the outer stone wall of the tower. Bushes, which were just recently static, came alight with glaring yellow eyes from behind the leaves, each plant with several pairs. With hardly any time to choose, the girl slammed the door behind her, opting to challenge whatever the tower may harbour. “Finally!” exclaimed the same hollow voice, this time only inches away from Pam’s ear. She twisted around in clumsy swing, falling with her back against the door.

A thin, almost skeletal figure loomed over the frightened girl. The man was vested with a tattered brown cloak. Faded runic writing adorned seams which seem to have been sewed together from several different clothes. His left hand darted towards Pamelyn, pointing across her with a claw-nailed finger. She rolled violently to one side in an attempt to avoid whatever incantation the man intended for her. Creaking and cracking, he produced a wrinkled smile, following Pam with absent eyes. She stood up. The man stepped closes as she did. Pamelyn ran. Ran across the room. Ran up a flight of stairs. Ran into the man, perched on top of the last step. He swung his arm again, this time with far greater speed. The tear was loud enough for Pam to notice this time. Her doublet now had to large slits across her chest. She was ready for the third swing. The man’s wrist met firmly with the girl’s grip. With hardly any resistance the arm tore off the skeletal body as she yanked at it. The damage, however, had already been done. Her top split along the middle of her torso, from chin to belly, all while the figure continued so smile. Pamelyn held the severed hand in her own why desperately trying to keep her doublet from tearing any further with the other.

The robed figure straightened himself with an audible series of cracks and splinters. Keeping his gazed fixed on the girl, he asked, “Fancy… a handshake… with the dead?” Pamelyn gasped as she felt an unholy shockwave depart from the arm, only to pass through to her. She remained immobile as her eyes widened. Slowly, the little flesh that remained on the severed arm began to transform into small grains of sand, neatly falling into the nether, leaving no trace. Pam’s firm grip subsided as she let the bare bones fall to the ground. Just as the arm knocked on the ground did her vision disappear. Her entire body felt light and absent. She fell backwards as her eyes rolled back and her throat moaned, releasing her last conscious breath. The wooden floorboards received Pamelyn’s body without much care. Her limbs thumped and bounced limply against the floor. Lastly, her head lolled to one side before laying still. A putrid, filthy foot protruded from under the exanimate figure’s robe. Rotting toes pressed against the girl’s face, parting her lips as it drove into her cheeks. “Must not… be wasted… Rest... Your time... will come...” The turned to a table nearby, leaving a mark of dirt under her eye. The man pointed at a piece of parchment just as he had at Pam. Lines, shapes and words soon unveiled themselves, revealing a crude map of Darkshire.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A second test with IRay, this one with an older (in all senses) iteration of Pamelyn. Originally I intended for a more complex scene with a lot of imported files. Without the appropriate card though, the engine stopped at 40% convergence. CPU rendering definitely has its limits.
That aside, I really like how this one turned out. I hope the story fits well too. I'll let the readers be the judge of that though.

I'd very much like to improve my art, therefore I welcome any feedback or suggestions!