Antonio Chiera

Folk Horror 2 - Infernal Dawn Over Village

• Model: SeeDream

• Size: 1440 X 2560 (3.69 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: This image has the look of a grim folk-horror painting, saturated in sickly golds, soot blacks, and bruised browns. The whole scene feels lit by a dying fire or a storm-scoured sunset, with the sky roiling like smoke and the land seeming half-swallowed by shadow. In the foreground are four figures arranged like a doomed family portrait. On the left stands an elderly woman in a dark hooded cloak, her round spectacles catching a faint glint of light. She grips a wooden cane tightly, her face stern and weathered, almost carved out of the darkness. Her expression is severe and watchful, the kind of face that suggests both authority and secrecy. Slightly behind and to the right is an elderly man with pale, unruly hair and a deep, troubled stare. He wears a dark jacket and bow tie, and his expression is drawn and uneasy, as if he has seen something he cannot explain. Below them, in the lower center, is a younger man with short brown hair and a tense, guarded expression. He is turned slightly sideways, his gaze angled off to the left, which gives him the look of someone listening for danger just outside the frame. At the lower right is a blonde woman, her mouth parted in fear or shock, eyes wide as though she has just witnessed something terrible. Her face is lit more openly than the others, making her alarm the emotional center of the lower half of the image. Behind the people, the landscape becomes more ominous. A small church rises on a hill to the right, its tower looming over the village like a watchful sentinel. The houses below it are tiny and dim, clustered together as if clinging for safety. But the true menace hangs above and behind everything: a vast horned silhouette, almost devil-like, emerging from the swirling sky. It is not fully solid, more a towering presence made of shadow and smoke, with curved horns and one raised hand forming a threatening gesture. It feels less like a literal monster than a supernatural force taking shape in the weather itself. The composition creates a strong sense of dread. The villagers in front seem trapped between the human world of the church and cottages, and the old pagan or demonic power gathering overhead. The painting suggests fear, guilt, superstition, and encroaching evil all at once. It is the kind of image that feels rooted in rural superstition and ancient curses, where the land itself seems complicit in the horror.
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: portrait_tall

Line Work Prompt - Intricate Cityscape Bridge Scene

• Model: Z-Image Turbo

• Size: 640 X 1296 (0.83 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: convert to pen and ink image, cartoon lines but realistic
  • Using base image: Yes

Folk Horror 1 - Shadows Over the Village

• Model: Z-Image Turbo

• Size: 1280 X 960 (1.23 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: This image has the look of a grim folk-horror painting, saturated in sickly golds, soot blacks, and bruised browns. The whole scene feels lit by a dying fire or a storm-scoured sunset, with the sky roiling like smoke and the land seeming half-swallowed by shadow. In the foreground are four figures arranged like a doomed family portrait. On the left stands an elderly woman in a dark hooded cloak, her round spectacles catching a faint glint of light. She grips a wooden cane tightly, her face stern and weathered, almost carved out of the darkness. Her expression is severe and watchful, the kind of face that suggests both authority and secrecy. Slightly behind and to the right is an elderly man with pale, unruly hair and a deep, troubled stare. He wears a dark jacket and bow tie, and his expression is drawn and uneasy, as if he has seen something he cannot explain. Below them, in the lower center, is a younger man with short brown hair and a tense, guarded expression. He is turned slightly sideways, his gaze angled off to the left, which gives him the look of someone listening for danger just outside the frame. At the lower right is a blonde woman, her mouth parted in fear or shock, eyes wide as though she has just witnessed something terrible. Her face is lit more openly than the others, making her alarm the emotional center of the lower half of the image. Behind the people, the landscape becomes more ominous. A small church rises on a hill to the right, its tower looming over the village like a watchful sentinel. The houses below it are tiny and dim, clustered together as if clinging for safety. But the true menace hangs above and behind everything: a vast horned silhouette, almost devil-like, emerging from the swirling sky. It is not fully solid, more a towering presence made of shadow and smoke, with curved horns and one raised hand forming a threatening gesture. It feels less like a literal monster than a supernatural force taking shape in the weather itself. The composition creates a strong sense of dread. The villagers in front seem trapped between the human world of the church and cottages, and the old pagan or demonic power gathering overhead. The painting suggests fear, guilt, superstition, and encroaching evil all at once. It is the kind of image that feels rooted in rural superstition and ancient curses, where the land itself seems complicit in the horror.
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: landscape

How Society Works

• Model: Nano Banana 2 (Pro)

• Size: 1365 X 768 (1.05 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: On the dusty road of Hell, where crowds of damned souls walk with heads bowed, each carrying rough stilts of wood like dead tree branches. Atop which stand sinister great stone buildings, satanic cathedrals, banks and houses of dark government. Crumbling with each miss step of the damned who labor to carry them. These lost souls labor endlessly so the fine buildings don't rest on the ground. from the windows elite demons in fine clothes and powdered wigs watching those who carry their stone palaces. Gerald Brom, Moebius, poster art, renaissance painting, oil on canvas, landscape, fantasy
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: landscape_wide

Puck (also known as Robin Goodfellow)

• Model: Nano Banana 2 (Pro)

• Size: 768 X 1365 (1.05 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: male Elf — detailed visual description Overview / vibe A lithe, youthful elf with an athletic, nimble build and a sprite-like presence. The character reads as androgynous/young-looking and highly alert — part woodland feral, part comic-fantasy adventurer. The overall aesthetic mixes Western fantasy (primitive, nature-torn clothing and an amulet) with manga/animated facial features (large, expressive eyes, stylized hair). Head & face Large, almond-shaped eyes set widely; in the color artwork they are bright, luminous (turquoise/blue) and very expressive. Small, slightly upturned nose and a mouth often left slightly open, giving a startled/ready expression. High cheekbones and a smooth, unlined face that contributes to the youthful look. Long, pointed elven ears that protrude clearly past the hairline and are a defining silhouette element. Hair Thick, flowing hair that’s long past the shoulders. In the color reference it’s golden-blond with loose curls framing the face; in the pencil study it’s wind-swept and energetic. Hair motion helps sell the action — it streams back as if from sudden movement. Torso & musculature Slim, athletic torso: lean muscle definition is present (subtle abdominal lines, visible collarbones) but not heavily muscular. Proportions emphasize agility rather than bulk — long limbs, narrow waist, defined but delicate rib and clavicle structure. Arms, hands & legs Arms are long and slightly elongated compared to a typical human figure, reinforcing a lithe, elfin silhouette. Hands are expressive with splayed fingers in a defensive or ready posture. Legs are strong and toned, poised in a wide, grounded stance; feet are bare, suggesting a wild/untamed lifestyle. Clothing & accessories Minimal, primitive clothing: a tattered leaf or hide loincloth secured with a simple belt of beads/cord. The ragged edges read as functional and improvised. A prominent pendant/amulet on a cord at the chest — a round setting with a central stone or gem — acts as a focal point. Small knife or short sword sheathed at the hip, attached to the belt, positioned for quick access. Simple wrist cuff or cord bracelet and a few decorative beads on the belt; overall accessorizing is utilitarian with a touch of tribal ornament. Pose & expression Dynamic, forward-leaning stance as if reacting to sudden danger — knees bent, weight balanced for movement. Facial expression mixes surprise, alertness, and defiance; body language reads “ready to flee or fight.” The sketch versions emphasize fluid linework and clear gesture; the colored piece adds dramatic foreshortening and a sense of immediacy. Art style & rendering A blend of comic/manga stylization (large eyes, simplified facial planes) and Western fantasy illustration (textured coloring, dramatic highlights and shadow). Linework is clean and confident in the sketches; the colored plate uses saturated tones, warm skin highlights, and high-contrast shading to make the character pop from a darker background. Key silhouette cues The pointed ears breaking the hairline, the long flowing hair, and the small pendant create an instantly recognizable fantasy silhouette. The combination of bare feet, loincloth, and hip blade also give a distinct “woodland rogue/sprite” profile.
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: portrait_tall

Emperor Nero - To Rule in Hell

• Model: Nano Banana 2 (Pro)

• Size: 768 X 1365 (1.05 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: roman emperor Nero as a bloated giant (350 pounds, 8 foot tall) devil in Hell (with short dark horns and a face that speaks of pride and cruelty) wears emperor's laurels made of sharp thorns and withered leaves and dressed tattered and torn, stained robes of a roman emperor, in the style of Leonora Carrington. he has a look of malice and superiority as he looks down at the viewer. must have horns on his head and look like a devil
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: portrait_tall

Cavern of the Gods 2

• Model: Z-Image Turbo

• Size: 1600 X 912 (1.46 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: This is a dramatic pulp science-fiction scene set inside a dark cave or underground chamber. Three human figures in rugged prehistoric-looking clothing crouch at the lower left, recoiling in alarm as they look toward a strange object on the ground. Their bodies are tense and hunched, with one figure reaching forward as if trying to shield the others or investigate cautiously. They look like cave dwellers or primitive explorers, dressed in rough hide-like garments that give the scene an ancient, Stone Age feel. At the lower right lies a long, skeletal or metallic structure that resembles a futuristic machine, vehicle, or buried alien artifact. It is partially embedded in the cave floor and drawn with a complex framework of thin rods and circular components, making it look half organic and half mechanical. It feels like something discovered rather than built here, as though it has been resting underground for ages. Suspended in the air above the figures is a vertical chain of eerie floating spheres. Each one has a glowing, alien face or eye-like feature inside, and they descend in a narrow column from the cave ceiling. The forms are ghostly and unnerving, suggesting either beings materializing, probes hovering, or some kind of supernatural alien presence. Their arrangement gives the composition a strong sense of descent and menace, as if the cave itself is alive with watchers. The cave ceiling is jagged and shadowy, with long dark stalactite-like forms hanging down. The opening or background beyond the cave is a cold blue tone, creating a striking contrast with the warm browns and oranges of the ground and the human figures. That contrast makes the cavern feel both ancient and otherworldly. Overall, the image feels like a classic retro sci-fi adventure poster: primitive humans confronting an alien mystery hidden in a cave. It combines prehistoric adventure, cosmic horror, and old-fashioned pulp excitement in one ominous scene.
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: landscape_wide

Cavern of the Gods 1

• Model: Z-Image Turbo

• Size: 912 X 1600 (1.46 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: This is a dramatic pulp science-fiction scene set inside a dark cave or underground chamber. Three human figures in rugged prehistoric-looking clothing crouch at the lower left, recoiling in alarm as they look toward a strange object on the ground. Their bodies are tense and hunched, with one figure reaching forward as if trying to shield the others or investigate cautiously. They look like cave dwellers or primitive explorers, dressed in rough hide-like garments that give the scene an ancient, Stone Age feel. At the lower right lies a long, skeletal or metallic structure that resembles a futuristic machine, vehicle, or buried alien artifact. It is partially embedded in the cave floor and drawn with a complex framework of thin rods and circular components, making it look half organic and half mechanical. It feels like something discovered rather than built here, as though it has been resting underground for ages. Suspended in the air above the figures is a vertical chain of eerie floating spheres. Each one has a glowing, alien face or eye-like feature inside, and they descend in a narrow column from the cave ceiling. The forms are ghostly and unnerving, suggesting either beings materializing, probes hovering, or some kind of supernatural alien presence. Their arrangement gives the composition a strong sense of descent and menace, as if the cave itself is alive with watchers. The cave ceiling is jagged and shadowy, with long dark stalactite-like forms hanging down. The opening or background beyond the cave is a cold blue tone, creating a striking contrast with the warm browns and oranges of the ground and the human figures. That contrast makes the cavern feel both ancient and otherworldly. Overall, the image feels like a classic retro sci-fi adventure poster: primitive humans confronting an alien mystery hidden in a cave. It combines prehistoric adventure, cosmic horror, and old-fashioned pulp excitement in one ominous scene.
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: portrait_tall

War-Bots

• Model: Z-Image Turbo

• Size: 1600 X 912 (1.46 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: The two robot soldiers look like brutal, retro-futuristic war machines rather than sleek modern androids. They have the heavy, industrial feel of cold mechanical infantry built for a long, ugly battlefield. The larger soldier on the left is the dominant figure. It stands tall and rigid on a pile of broken rock, its body built from rounded metal segments that look almost like pressure vessels or armored joints. The torso is thick and cylindrical, with layered plates, vents, cables, and circular components bolted across the chest and abdomen. Its limbs are mechanical and muscular in silhouette, but each joint is clearly artificial, exposed, and functional rather than humanlike. The head is enclosed in a domed helmet with a dark visor and a breathing apparatus running down toward the chest, giving it the impression of a sealed combat suit or a robot that must operate in hostile air. It carries a long rifle with both hands, the weapon held high and angled left, as though it is firing into an unseen enemy or tracking a target above the frame. Small details like the dangling strap, external tubing, and side-mounted dish-like module make it feel heavily modified for military use. The smaller soldier on the right appears slightly slimmer but no less dangerous. It stands just behind and lower than the first, creating a layered composition that makes the pair feel like a coordinated unit. This robot has a similarly enclosed helmet, but its profile is more compact and streamlined. Its upper body is wrapped in a fitted metallic shell, with hoses and articulated parts connecting the head, shoulders, and torso. It also holds a rifle, though its posture is more controlled and angled forward, as if it is covering another sector of the battlefield. Its design suggests tactical support or precision fire rather than brute force. The shape of its arms and shoulders gives it a more agile, hunter-like quality than the bulkier machine beside it. Together, they read as a pair of battle-hardened mechanized infantry units: one built like a heavy assault trooper, the other like a supporting marksman or scout. Their surfaces are matte metal, weathered and scorched by use, with the kind of utilitarian construction that feels mass-produced for war. The bright explosion behind them intensifies their outlines and makes them seem almost silhouetted against chaos, reinforcing the sense that these are soldiers in the middle of an active assault.
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: landscape_wide

Let's Play Dress Up

• Model: (Mode 20)

• Size: 1024 X 1024 (1.05 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: 3 cartoon-like little fluffy red imp with horns and a pointy tail, all playing dress-up with powder and feathers and such, all trying to look like the character 'Angel Dust' from the cartoon 'Hazbin Hotel.'
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: square

Hot Squirrel In The City

• Model: Nano Banana 2 (Pro)

• Size: 768 X 1365 (1.05 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: “Too Much Woman for One City” — refined pulp cover description Primrose dominates the cover like a blonde, gray-furred tornado in heels — a towering anthropomorphic squirrel with a cartoonish face, enormous blue eyes, long dark lashes, freckles across her cheeks and muzzle, and those unmistakable buck teeth flashing in a half-mischievous grin. Her long blonde hair is pulled into a high ponytail that arcs over one shoulder like a showgirl’s banner, and every inch of her body is drawn with exaggerated 70s pulp glamour: long legs, a tight waist, shapely hips, and a boldly feminine silhouette that fills the frame without apology. She is posed mid-stride in a tiny, clinging green dress that looks one scandalous breath away from surrender, one hand on her hip and the other raised as if she has just tossed off a joke the whole street heard. Her green open-toed platform heels make her even taller, the heels impossibly high and comically dangerous, as though she could topple a city block if she lost her balance. Her expression is bright, confident, and a little too pleased with herself — the look of a woman who knows perfectly well she has caused trouble and considers that part of the charm. The background is a neon-soaked city street straight out of a 1970s paperback fever dream: a flashing police car tilted at an awkward angle, a sweating middle-aged man in a shiny suit gawking with his jaw practically on the pavement, and a furious wife in curlers and a housecoat dragging him by the ear while glaring daggers at Primrose. A hotdog cart has been knocked sideways, a traffic light hangs crooked, and a startled cop is waving his hands as if he has lost control of the entire block. The whole scene is packed with comic chaos — people staring, pointing, arguing, and blustering — while Primrose stands at the center of it all looking like she just wandered into the wrong neighborhood and accidentally became the main event. The title splashes across the top in huge battered letters, with a lurid subtitle screaming beneath it: “She broke hearts, rules… and maybe the whole town!”
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: portrait_tall

Eco-Friendly Futuristic Cityscape Vision

• Model: DaVinci2

• Size: 1280 X 720 (0.92 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: a vision of a far-future civilization that has outgrown the ground itself—an ecosystem of cities lifted into the sky, where architecture, nature, and technology have fused into something almost dreamlike. The most striking feature is the forest of towering structures rising from the water’s edge. Each tower is impossibly tall and slender, widening at the top into vast, disk-like platforms—like colossal mushrooms or inverted gardens. These platforms are layered, stacked at different heights, creating vertical cities where life unfolds in tiers rather than streets. The surfaces of these platforms are lush with greenery, suggesting that nature hasn’t been pushed aside but instead cultivated into the architecture itself. Entire parks—or perhaps agricultural zones—spread across these elevated disks, giving the impression that each level is its own self-contained world. Between the towers, the air is alive with motion. Small craft drift and dart in every direction—sleek, silent vehicles that replace roads entirely. There’s no visible infrastructure like highways or rails; everything flows freely in three dimensions. Some of the ships glide lazily, like commuters, while others streak with purpose, hinting at a complex, layered transit system that exists more like air traffic than ground travel. At the base of the scene, the shoreline grounds the setting in something more familiar. People gather near the water, their small silhouettes emphasizing the immense scale of everything above them. The water itself is calm, reflecting the pastel sky and the towering structures, creating a sense of serenity despite the density of the environment. It feels almost like a recreational space—a beach or public commons—suggesting that even in such an advanced world, people still seek simple, shared experiences. The color palette is soft and luminous—pinks, golds, and blues blending into a perpetual sunset. This gives the entire scene a utopian, almost ethereal quality, as if pollution and harshness have been engineered out of existence. The light diffuses gently across surfaces, making the metal and glass structures appear warm and organic rather than cold or industrial. Architecturally, there’s a clear departure from rigid, angular design. Everything curves, flows, and spirals. Towers taper elegantly, platforms ripple outward, and smaller structures nestle into the larger ones like growths rather than additions. It suggests a civilization that has mastered materials and physics to the point where form is no longer constrained by function—beauty and efficiency have become the same thing. Taken together, this setting feels like a mature, post-scarcity society—one that has solved energy, transportation, and environmental balance. It’s not just a city; it’s an ecosystem in the sky, where human life, technology, and nature exist in deliberate harmony.
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: landscape_wide

Pulp Downfall

• Model: Z-Image Turbo

• Size: 1456 X 2576 (3.75 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: Sci-fi image, the ruins of the statue of Liberty half buried in a future desert, being viewed by aliens
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: portrait_tall

Infernal Court

• Model: DaVinci2

• Size: 1280 X 720 (0.92 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt:
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: landscape_wide

Azzuri the Dancer in a Vibrant Marketplace

• Model: SeeDream

• Size: 1440 X 2560 (3.69 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: every appetite had its price, and every price its servant. There Azzuri walked, pale as moonlight spilled upon marble, a part of the tapestry yet apart from it: a pale thread in a cloth of bronze and shadow. He was young — not yet the weathered veteran of many winters — yet already stamped with the doom of his calling. In other lands lads of his age wore sword and mail and went forth to taste the first red heat of battle. Azzuri never knew such a fate. Slim he was, but not wasted. His limbs were lithe and curved like the dancer’s, not knotted with the blunt muscle of the spearman. There was a grace in the way his shoulders sloped and his ribs tightened, a catlike poise that belonged to one who moves to music and the measured weight of coin. He stood as tall as those who bore blades, but his shape read softer; to the cursory eye he might be mistaken for a girl — and in that mistake lay much of his market. What made him uncanny was the color of him. In the sun-streaked lanes where the bazaar people browned to many shades of tan and olive, Azzuri was nearly porcelain white. Not the pallor of death, but the delicate bloom of living marble — a skin that took the light like sifted milk and flushed faintly with pink. Upon that whiteness, in precise, unsettling places, blossomed rose-colored dots the size of a thumb. One shy dot above each eyebrow, like twin rubies set in a crown; three beneath each eye, placed as if by a jeweler’s hand; a scatter along the backs of his forearms; another fan of them across the lower curve of his belly. They were no disease, nor the markings of any tribe known to the caravans — they were birthmarks that read like a language, and men whispered that they were the mark of lovers or of cults. Whatever the truth, they made him remarkable, and in the market remarkable means profit. His face was androgynous and freshly wrought — high cheekbones that took blush like a woman, a small, thin nose, and lips like a painted petal. His smile was a practiced warmth, a coin-bright thing that welcomed and disarmed; yet his eyes bored with sorrow. Dark and deep, they were lined with kohl and shadowed by lashes like a courtesan’s. He painted his lids and wore pink that complimented the dots upon his skin; the effect was the artifice of the stage, made permanent. Gold hoops set in each pale ear swung when he moved, catching the lamplight and the eye. Upon his head lay a pompadour of white hair, full and puffy at the front, falling to a tousled nape as if a cloud had been pressed to the crown and left its imprint. Pale pink flecks marbled the tuft, soft as rose petals strewn on snow. The mass rose and billowed — absurd, boyish, coquettish — a crest that framed his face and made the pale skin seem less fragile, more deliberate. His dress proclaimed him denizen, not visitor, of the quarter. Around his hips a silk loincloth of pearl-pink clung, the front flap falling past his knees and swinging with each lithe step. At his ankles the six thin bracelets he wore on each leg chimed like a small wind, calling to the unquiet heart. His arms were swathed in diaphanous sleeves of white silk, almost wholly sheer, each bound twice with gold ribbons — once at wrist, once mid-bicep — leaving the shoulders and chest bare to the air and to the eyes. The garment left much to the imagination: feet and legs bared, belly taut and and pale, back and chest a study in tender flesh and scattered rose-dots.
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: portrait_tall

Elderly Tax Goblin Seated by Treasure Chest

• Model: Nano Banana 2 (Pro)

• Size: 768 X 1365 (1.05 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: Old Nickademus was a goblin of advancing years, one of those small, wiry folk whose lives are stitched to the long reckonings of coin and account. For many winters and summers — for longer than most men in the fair land could recall — he had served the lords and magistrates in a calling that suited a goblin better than any other: that of a tax-collector. It was a trade of patient cruelty and exacting habits, of keeping small things in order and looking after great things with a covetous eye. In the ledger of the countryside his name was known and feared in equal measure; in the ale-halls and at market-stalls he was oft cursed under breath while his face was spoken of more seldom, lest the curse carry a summons. The dome of his head showed through wispy dark locks, not all of them obedient to the laws of neatness. Time had made the hair thin and the skin beneath pale and veined, so that his skull shone like a dull coin beneath a lamp. His shoulders stooped, not wholly from age, but from the long hours bent over scales and balances, over piles of shillings and groats. Yet though the hollows about his eyes gave him the look of one half-sleeping, those watery orbs were still keen as a hawk’s when a glint of metal leapt or a corner of foiled paper promised profit. Greed had taught him its own kind of sight. His skin was the broad, deep green that belongs to his people, not the glossy green of young leaves but the greyed green of old ivy on a northern wall. His ears were long and pointed, twitching at the whisper of a purse-string, and his face, though clean-shaven, bore the hooked projection of a beak-like nose that gave him an unwholesome and memorable silhouette. Small, narrow-mouthed, and sharp-chinned, he might have been carved from some grim wood by an artisan with a fondness for grim things. He wore the costume of his office with an almost devout scrupulousness. All his garments were of a deep, learned black, cut and tailored with a fineness one might expect on the body of a cleric or a law-clerk in the days of Shakespeare; seams were close and buttons neat, and the hems carried a faint dust of road. The clothes sat oddly upon his skinny, bony frame — too good, perhaps, for one of his sort, yet he treasured them as tokens of his rank. His shoes were of soft black leather, long-toed and curling at the tips in a fashion both archaic and faintly comic; they padded without sound, and their points tapped and clicked only when he wished them to. About him, always, was the smell of oil and old paper, of warmed metal and the faint sweetness of coin rubbed near. He wore leather gloves pored like a scholar’s, and at his hip hung a chain with little brass scales and a ring of tiny keys — keys that had opened many a coffer and many a lie. He possessed a ledger thicker than a man’s wrist and bound in brown hide, where his neat script had multiplied the sums of farms and tolls until the pages sighed. On the iron-riveted chest which he kept like a throne he sat, or atop which he perched like some small sentinel, waiting and watching. The chest itself was a thing of many repairs — straps renewed, nails driven anew — and the coins within answered his touch with a sonorous, satisfying clink.
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: portrait_tall

Japanese peasant's hut in the deep woods

• Model: DaVinci2

• Size: 1280 X 720 (0.92 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: Japanese peasant's hut in the deep woods
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: landscape_wide

Whimsical Imp Takes Flight in a Breeze or 'Too Much Dust'

• Model: (Mode 20)

• Size: 1024 X 1024 (1.05 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: a cartoon-like little fluffy red imp with horns and a pointy tail, squealing as he holds onto the power cord of an electrical fan that is on full power and blowing him off his feet
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: square

Azzuri the Dancer

• Model: SeeDream

• Size: 1440 X 2560 (3.69 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: every appetite had its price, and every price its servant. There Azzuri walked, pale as moonlight spilled upon marble, a part of the tapestry yet apart from it: a pale thread in a cloth of bronze and shadow. He was young — not yet the weathered veteran of many winters — yet already stamped with the doom of his calling. In other lands lads of his age wore sword and mail and went forth to taste the first red heat of battle. Azzuri never knew such a fate. Slim he was, but not wasted. His limbs were lithe and curved like the dancer’s, not knotted with the blunt muscle of the spearman. There was a grace in the way his shoulders sloped and his ribs tightened, a catlike poise that belonged to one who moves to music and the measured weight of coin. He stood as tall as those who bore blades, but his shape read softer; to the cursory eye he might be mistaken for a girl — and in that mistake lay much of his market. What made him uncanny was the color of him. In the sun-streaked lanes where the bazaar people browned to many shades of tan and olive, Azzuri was nearly porcelain white. Not the pallor of death, but the delicate bloom of living marble — a skin that took the light like sifted milk and flushed faintly with pink. Upon that whiteness, in precise, unsettling places, blossomed rose-colored dots the size of a thumb. One shy dot above each eyebrow, like twin rubies set in a crown; three beneath each eye, placed as if by a jeweler’s hand; a scatter along the backs of his forearms; another fan of them across the lower curve of his belly. They were no disease, nor the markings of any tribe known to the caravans — they were birthmarks that read like a language, and men whispered that they were the mark of lovers or of cults. Whatever the truth, they made him remarkable, and in the market remarkable means profit. His face was androgynous and freshly wrought — high cheekbones that took blush like a woman, a small, thin nose, and lips like a painted petal. His smile was a practiced warmth, a coin-bright thing that welcomed and disarmed; yet his eyes bored with sorrow. Dark and deep, they were lined with kohl and shadowed by lashes like a courtesan’s. He painted his lids and wore pink that complimented the dots upon his skin; the effect was the artifice of the stage, made permanent. Gold hoops set in each pale ear swung when he moved, catching the lamplight and the eye. Upon his head lay a pompadour of white hair, full and puffy at the front, falling to a tousled nape as if a cloud had been pressed to the crown and left its imprint. Pale pink flecks marbled the tuft, soft as rose petals strewn on snow. The mass rose and billowed — absurd, boyish, coquettish — a crest that framed his face and made the pale skin seem less fragile, more deliberate. His dress proclaimed him denizen, not visitor, of the quarter. Around his hips a silk loincloth of pearl-pink clung, the front flap falling past his knees and swinging with each lithe step. At his ankles the six thin bracelets he wore on each leg chimed like a small wind, calling to the unquiet heart. His arms were swathed in diaphanous sleeves of white silk, almost wholly sheer, each bound twice with gold ribbons — once at wrist, once mid-bicep — leaving the shoulders and chest bare to the air and to the eyes. The garment left much to the imagination: feet and legs bared, belly taut and and pale, back and chest a study in tender flesh and scattered rose-dots.
  • Using base image: No
  • Aspect Ratio: portrait_tall

Tishmia the beggar.

• Model: SeeDream

• Size: 1440 X 2560 (3.69 MP)

• Used settings:

  • Prompt: “Arms! Arms, for the love of the Gods!” This is the cry of Tishmia the beggar. He, like his kind, is a common enough sight in the dusty bazaar. No. He is one of the number who are legion throughout the word. The great army of the poor, hungry and crippled. Those who cannot work, but are unwilling to starve. Tishmia is a small painfully thin man with dark olive skin that is cracked by the sun and mapped by scares, won when he was younger and able to sell his sword for a purse of gold. Now this ruined creature does not swing a blade, but hobbles on a single rough crunch, for his left leg ends at the knee. Likewise his right arm ends at the elbow. Hidden from the world by a short, tattered green woolen cloak that he wears to one side to hide his crippled arm, that also serves as his blanket at night. The clothes on his thin frame are likewise just this side of being rags. A tattered blouse that laces at the front and seems crusted in dirt. Britches of a leather brown that would not look out of place on a scarecrow in a field. His one foot bare in the dust of the bazaar. Atop his head he wears a Peasant’s Medieval leather Coif. some strands of greasy, unwashed black hair showing from under its edge. His face is likewise the mask of poverty and hunger. Gaunt and drawn, with a large hook nose and a mouth of snaggled teeth, he would never be called a handsome man, even without the old scares of battle on his face. Across his left eye there is a red rag of cloth that serves as a patch to hide his lost eye. And his remain eye, the left one looks at the world with a frantic intensity. He is the very picture of poverty, of want. The kind that is ignored by the world. And that is the last mistake a few men have made in their lives. For Tishmia does not play the role of beggar out of need, but out of choice. It is easy to move among the masses in the streets when you are ignored. Easy to move close to one you have been paid to dispatch. Far too late they discover that a skilled man might strap his right arm to look like it has been amputated at the elbow, likewise he might also strap his left leg to make him appear a cripple without the strength to fight. And in the hand of that strapped arm there might be a thin sliver blade, made for the slashing of throats. And it is so easy, when the deed is done, for a man playing the role of beggar to vanish into the streets and back allies again.
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