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You know, there should really be a 'mythology' category option on this website. Is there, and I just can't find it? I've put this under 'fantasy', because that's the closest thing, I guess, but I don't see mythology and fantasy as quite the same. *shrugs*

Aaaaanyway. Finished this last night (very laaaate last night; I went to bed at 6 am), tweaked a couple more really minor things today, and am now calling it DONE. I really kind of hate those barrels, just saying. *hopes Bacchus sufficiently distracts from the half-assed woodgrain and not-quite-perfect perspective*

Yet another character from the game my friend ~Oneiropolos plays in; I've left out a few details of his description, but she's happy, and that's what counts:

You see Bacchus, the brutal Liberator.

He has blood red irises that swirl like pools of dark wine, the black of his eyes swimming in their endless depths like vast portals into oblivion. His handsome features are framed by locks of glossy black hair that fall in a wild perfection of loose curls to his shoulders, a pair of sharp horns curving back slightly from the top of his head. His tanned skin brings a sense of health and vigor to his young countenance, his smug expression seeming to say that he knows just precisely how powerful he truly is.

Bacchus is wearing a long black leather vest that is left completely open to show glimpses of a crimson high-collared shirt beneath. The shirt itself also hangs open, the god leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination about his torso, but it is doubtful that the imagination could come up with something better than what is already there. A pair of belts criss-cross at Bacchus's waist over his black pants, the leather of each draped down by the weight of the iron chains secured along its length. One of the chains dangles down past a pair of high leather boots that taper to a point just above his knees, iron buckled straps pulled tightly to hold them into place. A pair of dark iron vambraces mimic the sharp angles of the boots at his wrists, the swarthy surface of the metal etched with images of grapes hanging heavily from thorny vines.

Bacchus almost oozes a sense of crazed seduction tempered by his calm confidence.

Description
You know, there should really be a 'mythology' category option on this website. Is there, and I just can't find it? I've put this under 'fantasy', because that's the closest thing, I guess, but I don't see mythology and fantasy as quite the same. *shrugs*

Aaaaanyway. Finished this last night (very laaaate last night; I went to bed at 6 am), tweaked a couple more really minor things today, and am now calling it DONE. I really kind of hate those barrels, just saying. *hopes Bacchus sufficiently distracts from the half-assed woodgrain and not-quite-perfect perspective*

Yet another character from the game my friend ~Oneiropolos plays in; I've left out a few details of his description, but she's happy, and that's what counts:

You see Bacchus, the brutal Liberator.

He has blood red irises that swirl like pools of dark wine, the black of his eyes swimming in their endless depths like vast portals into oblivion. His handsome features are framed by locks of glossy black hair that fall in a wild perfection of loose curls to his shoulders, a pair of sharp horns curving back slightly from the top of his head. His tanned skin brings a sense of health and vigor to his young countenance, his smug expression seeming to say that he knows just precisely how powerful he truly is.

Bacchus is wearing a long black leather vest that is left completely open to show glimpses of a crimson high-collared shirt beneath. The shirt itself also hangs open, the god leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination about his torso, but it is doubtful that the imagination could come up with something better than what is already there. A pair of belts criss-cross at Bacchus's waist over his black pants, the leather of each draped down by the weight of the iron chains secured along its length. One of the chains dangles down past a pair of high leather boots that taper to a point just above his knees, iron buckled straps pulled tightly to hold them into place. A pair of dark iron vambraces mimic the sharp angles of the boots at his wrists, the swarthy surface of the metal etched with images of grapes hanging heavily from thorny vines.

Bacchus almost oozes a sense of crazed seduction tempered by his calm confidence.