Never try to teach magic to a dark elf...

When Miss Nori was a wee thing, her father Iridoth attempted to train her in the art of magic. He met with little success, as she had the attention span of a gnat on amphetamines.

'Bout a century later, Mebrit's attempt isn't faring much better...

Honestly, though, I like it better uncoloured. I kind of want to paint it properly and put the knotwork trim on her armour, but that can wait for the time being.

...and Irritating Ilythiiri

I picked at this for most of the night. Miss Nori really does need a shirt (though she doesn't seem to think so). If he gets his climbing gloves, she gets her armour.


It remains to be decided if his long-suffering expression has more to do with the fact that she's not paying attention to whatever spell he's trying to help her learn, or the fact that her right arm is nowhere in sight and likely up to no good at all...

Troublesome Tieflings

Or rather, just one. Mebby has decided to be uncooperative in the extreme, and I'm still beating my head against his section of this sketch... but not quite as much as I've had to fight with Miss Nori's half thus far. After re-drawing her lips about twenty times, I'm satisfied with her expression.

For now.

I never did make up my mind on how to draw her eyes. About half the time, they end up being fairly Asian in shape, and I can't decide which suits her best.

Beauty and a Great Many Beasts

Various people hold a great many different ideals of female beauty. That in itself does not bother me; quite the contrary. What I find irritating is the fact that so many people seem to tout their ideal as the right one--not just visually, but morally.

Health nuts who are not open to the possibility of seeing cuteness in a plump girl and would claim that she was doing herself a disservice by not exercising more--oh, and how unhappy she must be! Fat grrl activists who would look at someone my size and want to cram five hamburgers down her throat because she's clearly starving herself for the benefit of chauvinist pigs.

(I'd balance that out with something from the pro-skinny crowd, but I can't imagine what they're trying to sell, morally speaking. "Gluttony is evil", perhaps?)

It's all the same bullshit, regardless of who it's being thrown by, and the stench is the same: I want you to change and conform to my ideals, because there is something wrong with you. The fact is that human beings are not all created equal, body types are different, and not everyone has to overcome the same problems when staring down at a scale.

Predictably enough, bile directed at scrawny folk is the sort that aggravates me the most, and it has very little to do with having my size derided. It's invariably tinged with condescension, or at best, misplaced concern--and it's rude on a completely different level. Asking a thin woman if she has an eating disorder is about as polite as asking an overweight one if she has a gland problem, and there is often the added implication that she is that size because she's desperately trying to fit a societal ideal. I realise that most of these people mean well, but have they considered the possibility that it is none of their business?

Not everyone is making an effort to be the size and shape that they happen to be. Yes, that thought may well be salt in the wound to someone who is, but having struggled with your own weight does not give you carte blanche to tell someone else what to do with her body.

Postcards from Azeroth

Join us now as Ms. Chala attempts to both distract herself from the cramps and figure out how adding images works by rifling through her collection of stupid WoW screenshots.

Lesson number one: Don't mess with the warlock.


Nor should one ever forget that mages all have twisted senses of humour...
(I tried polymorphing the horse instead, hoping for even funnier results, but they're immune.)


...or underestimate the utter bullheadedness of a holy paladin.
(I did eventually kill them all, but ye gods, did my shield need fixing after that.)


I went for the black bear mount on my shaman back around Christmas. As our army rolled up to the front gates of Silvermoon, we turned a speculative eye on the Winter Wondervolt out in the gardens... and without a word, filed into it on our way to give the elves a merry roflstomping.


Paladins just aren't cut out for undercover work amongst the undead.


And lastly... hell, this guy needs no caption.

Angry Mustelid vs. Ibuprofen, Round 134...

Not feeling particularly well at the moment. Still contemplating the pros and cons of selling my womb on the black market--or at least the rabid wolverine that it contains. What's the going rate on disgruntled mustelids these days, anyway?

This particular art spree appears to be ending, thanks in part to cramps kicking the last of the wind out of me. I managed to finish colouring this tiefling lady, but that may be the last for a while.

Snow (and) Angels

It's snowing. Again.

This is normally the kind of thing that delights me, but with the spring thaw and all, we're getting uncomfortably close to flood territory--and this looks like at least three inches' worth.

Still having art twitches. I'm trying to gauge how predictable my muse is, for which he will likely invert his activity patterns just to throw me off.

I may just have to paint him again.

For now, though... an old sketch of an aasimar that I coloured. I drew her quite a while ago when I was pondering character concepts for the Pharaoh game, but Jammeli was what came out in the end.

Dragon-boys and Dozing Demons

Mikala gave me absolute fits last night. For a character who's such an attention whore, he certainly likes to be coy about sitting still long enough for me to get his likeness just so--and I still haven't, honestly. I finished the drawing, but not without uttering a fair bit of profanity.

I think he's just being difficult to spite me for making him put up with Faenori again. *snerk*

Painting this may be next on the list, but backlighting Miss Nori with a window may be tricky business.

I have a trio of Terry Brooks novels sitting on my dresser. They shoot me hopeful looks on occasion.

They are (thankfully) not mine, but were loaned to me quite some time ago by my ex, who loved them and thought that I would as well. I am uncertain where he came by this idea, and hope that he has since found a new supplier.

I made it through Jarka Ruus a while back--or rather, I think I did. I honestly can't remember if I bothered to finish the book, or how it ended. Only three things remain in my mind: A very predictable and clichéd death, a single good mental image, and one of the most laughable romantic subplots that I have ever read.

I have a dream that someday, more fantasy writers will realize that A) romance is not a strictly necessary addition, and B) that it takes a lot more than just putting two cardboard cutouts characters next to each other and adding tru wuv sparkle effects. I'm looking at you too, McKiernan. And for the love of my stomach, could we please stop with all the predestined love bullshit?

The evolution of relationships--romantic or otherwise--is where so many fantasy writers seem to fall flat on their faces. Either it doesn't happen, or it happens all at once. Salvatore is by no means the best fantasy writer I've ever read, but what kept me coming back and gobbling up his novels was the fact that he writes a dizzying number of memorable characters and lets them evolve and interact in ways that hold my attention. It's just entertaining stuff to read.

It's not that I dislike romantic subplots in fantasy. They're just one of those things that I'd rather see done well or not at all. The lead-ups deserve to be woven into the story, not summed up into what may as well be footnotes.

And over the course of the tale, Chala's patience with the author waned until she gave in and tossed the sodding book across the room.

Is this bloody thing on?

*tap* *tap*

Now, then. My internet connection was downright abysmal yesterday through this morning, and Zeldyn finished the last of my commissions (one, two, three, four!), leaving me with a surplus of inspiration and eye candy.

Thus, I hauled my carcass out of WoW for a while to get some art done.

Amongst other things--Mikala and Lady Koszephyrus. He's still being a bastard to nail down, and there's no way in hell my hands are up to inking it at this point, but I'm fairly happy with it overall.

I think my flesh-and-blood portfolio is in need of a culling. Lately I keep coming by this uncomfortable feeling (and it goes double for writing) that the advancement of technical skill is just a goal to stop myself from asking the one question that artists regard in near-universal dread: Do I really have anything left to say?

I used to be satisfied by making pretty things for their own sake. Now, not so much.