HOME | DD

Description
Out of the unimaginable blackness beyond the gangrenous glare of that cold flame, out of the tartarean leagues through which that oily river rolled uncanny, unheard, and unsuspected, there flopped rhythmically a horde of tame, trained, hybrid winged things that no sound eye could ever wholly grasp, or sound brain ever wholly remember. They were not altogether crows, nor moles, nor buzzards, nor ants, nor vampire bats, nor decomposed human beings; but something I cannot and must not recall. They flopped limply along, half with their webbed feet and half with their membranous wings; and as they reached the throng of celebrants the cowled figures seized and mounted them, and rode off one by one along the reaches of that unlighted river, into pits and galleries of panic where poison springs feed frightful and undiscoverable cataracts.

--- The Festival, H. P. Lovecraft

Oh look, I made a thing!

Finally finished this thing over the summer. Not entirely happy with it, but I wanted to move on to something else. Any critique would be jolly good.

I kind of wanted to go with the decomposed, floppy, vulturous thing, with the whole skull-like head and the strands of flesh and whatnot. I may have created the Sphinx Moth from Hell instead.

Description
Out of the unimaginable blackness beyond the gangrenous glare of that cold flame, out of the tartarean leagues through which that oily river rolled uncanny, unheard, and unsuspected, there flopped rhythmically a horde of tame, trained, hybrid winged things that no sound eye could ever wholly grasp, or sound brain ever wholly remember. They were not altogether crows, nor moles, nor buzzards, nor ants, nor vampire bats, nor decomposed human beings; but something I cannot and must not recall. They flopped limply along, half with their webbed feet and half with their membranous wings; and as they reached the throng of celebrants the cowled figures seized and mounted them, and rode off one by one along the reaches of that unlighted river, into pits and galleries of panic where poison springs feed frightful and undiscoverable cataracts.

--- The Festival, H. P. Lovecraft

Oh look, I made a thing!

Finally finished this thing over the summer. Not entirely happy with it, but I wanted to move on to something else. Any critique would be jolly good.

I kind of wanted to go with the decomposed, floppy, vulturous thing, with the whole skull-like head and the strands of flesh and whatnot. I may have created the Sphinx Moth from Hell instead.