K25fFさんのイラストまとめ

Squall Elves are a rare amphibious elf subspecies who are primarily known to dwell in the cool northern seas of the Sunken Archipelago, and are a minor proportion of the population of Yldron.

Surf elves... Seal elves... Imagine...

THE MASTER, THE HUNGER, THE ANCIENT, THE CHAIN. WE SHALL WALK IN SUN AGAIN.

Who’s this clown?

No-one important, I’m sure.

“What would you do, to last? To last beyond your age? I walked through shrouded times, walked until my feet disintegrated beneath me. I still walk.”

The Keeper, probably the last of the Magelords.

One of the greatest necromancers to walk the face of Geos.

“And yet, across the gulf of space, minds immeasurably superior to ours regarded this Earth with envious eyes, and slowly, and surely, they drew their plans against us.”

It feels like it’s been an age since I drew these terrible people.

In the underground city of Arûthinan, the city fell, but the dead Smoke Elves kept moving, twitching with the arcane energies of their implanted power crystals.

Our archaeologically-minded Player Characters of Panspermia β have discovered these wretched undead, within the city.

“Slicey! Dicey!”

The goblins of Dathmar are known for being vicious combatants, but the nation still has representatives at the diplomatic moots of Absyn.

It is, I hear, goblin week.
#goblinweek

<Greetings, greetings. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.>

Some thoughtkeepers are fairly friendly, like Thureya, an Occultist who lives and works in one of the Layers of Helixitha. Each of those marbles they’re holding gives them access to a different school of magic.

“Welcome to the Spire, friend. Think of it like a research institution.”

Part of the reclusive and powerful order of Magelords, these keepers of ancient magic in Tryzelith were destroyed by the Cataclysm, but some of them may have turned to undeath in order to ‘survive’.

“So, what do Witchwyrds like Koravrask look like under their masks and scarves?”

See, the players won’t find this out because they never take their hats and scarves off.

“From what great heights we Fall.”

There is nothing left here but a Husk.