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More from BarefootSlaveDragon
The Dungeon of Dread (violence warning)
I'm quite late for my halloween stuff as this would have been my tribune to all the spooky posting. I should have posted this a month ago. I did this in with Hero Forge and this one is of a more gritty theme
The idea was requested by
JeffTheFurryLover with Darko getting whipped and punished in a dungeon. He is wearing a torn slave loincloth over his usual more noble loincloth
btw: canonically Darko is supposed to have clawed toes but those feet are the only plantigrade option. Also I put "violence warning" since my theme normally is more of tickling although I am open minded to more serious themes. Nothing gory but some may find the slight blood distasteful
Story
Darko walks swiftly, yet cautiously. The lights of the torches glistened off from his mystical chrome shackles in contrast with his shiny dark scales. His countershade leathery smooth scales on his soles felt the solid stone floors his feet kissed. Despite the cold air, the floor was warm and welcoming as he strides across the halls confidently. His large nose ring bobbing up and down with every meaty step. A large and tall lizardman who is as strong as an ox. On the inside, Darko was filled with dread.
He spots a skull that appears from the distant void of the shadows. It sits on the floor, staring into Darko's soul, judging him. "May the gods give me strength to overcome this dread," Darko said as he continued moving along. He didn't have a choice in this one way corridor. He doesn't know how he ended up here but he fully understands that this is a place he needs to leave immediately.
He smelled the air with his tongue: the smell of decay. He pulls out his battle mace with a torch on the other hand, anticipating something that has a taste for his flesh...or suffering. In the distance, he could hear grunting and snarling. Beamy red eyes slowly come to life, staring from the shadows. Darko panics and turns around only to find himself surrounded from all flanks by living corpses. The sounds of grunting and snarling becoming violently established.
"This can't be good!"
Darko began running and saw light in the distance. His desperation made him feel confident for his freedom as he fought his way through the crowd that was piling on him. He held onto his mace for dear life as if it were a branch that saved
his fall into a pit.
He slows down his speed to catch his breath once he makes it into the light to find himself in a large octogonal room as big as an arena. The room was very brightly lit with fire and its ceiling vanished into a singularity. "This must be the center of the dungeon" he said as he looked around, walking towards the center, and saw several entrances leading into it. In the distance, he saw some mysterious hooded figures in dark red robes sitting on an elevated platform watching him. The one with gold accents on his robe sat in the middle on a throne. He stands up and looks at Darko, he wears a fancy golden iron mask that has a mustache and beard as a part of it. The stare of this iron statue looking powerful person whom Darko assumes must be some cultist leader fills him with fear.
The living dead surround every entrance of the arena and Darko plants himself into the ground with a defensive stance. The cultist leader raises his hand and the corpses go back to their withered grunting and stand still. He then points at Darko, "Lizardman! You will serve me."
"I do not work with monsters, necromancer" Darko replied assertively.
"For a mere beast who can speak, your choice is not up to you to decide. But for one that has a pure heart with the blessing of a demigod, your blood and agony will be perfected."
The leader lowers his hand and the zombies go back to attacking Darko. They are armed with batons and chains that they are attempting to whip him with but Darko is not having it. After a dozen zombies were done putting up a fight, Darko fell to his knees to catch his breath. It has been hours since he had something to drink. All of a sudden, he feels a tight tension around his neck as his collar shackle begins to levitate.
"Gak!" he struggled, holding on to it. He floated closer to the leader who had his hand reached out.
"There there... let us get you rested for what awaits next..."
With a loud thump, Darko falls to the floor and becomes unconscious... only to find himself strapped to a chair. His shackles on his wrists and ankles were hinged down to the seat as he awaited his fate...
Thats all for now. I may do a part 2 to this later. Took me quite a while to write this but I really wanted to explore more into narratives with Darko. Thanks for reading!
The idea was requested by
JeffTheFurryLover with Darko getting whipped and punished in a dungeon. He is wearing a torn slave loincloth over his usual more noble loinclothbtw: canonically Darko is supposed to have clawed toes but those feet are the only plantigrade option. Also I put "violence warning" since my theme normally is more of tickling although I am open minded to more serious themes. Nothing gory but some may find the slight blood distasteful
Story
The atmosphere was damp and bone chilling with an odd industrial oder than confuses the nostrils. Torches flickered against the green-black mossy bricks as the only form of light source in this void of deep dark corridor. With every soft step our hero took, he could hear his own thumping of his heart. The chattering of the torches, the dripping of water, and the deafening silence of the echoing halls. This forsaken tomb of death is completely alive. Darko walks swiftly, yet cautiously. The lights of the torches glistened off from his mystical chrome shackles in contrast with his shiny dark scales. His countershade leathery smooth scales on his soles felt the solid stone floors his feet kissed. Despite the cold air, the floor was warm and welcoming as he strides across the halls confidently. His large nose ring bobbing up and down with every meaty step. A large and tall lizardman who is as strong as an ox. On the inside, Darko was filled with dread.
He spots a skull that appears from the distant void of the shadows. It sits on the floor, staring into Darko's soul, judging him. "May the gods give me strength to overcome this dread," Darko said as he continued moving along. He didn't have a choice in this one way corridor. He doesn't know how he ended up here but he fully understands that this is a place he needs to leave immediately.
He smelled the air with his tongue: the smell of decay. He pulls out his battle mace with a torch on the other hand, anticipating something that has a taste for his flesh...or suffering. In the distance, he could hear grunting and snarling. Beamy red eyes slowly come to life, staring from the shadows. Darko panics and turns around only to find himself surrounded from all flanks by living corpses. The sounds of grunting and snarling becoming violently established.
"This can't be good!"
Darko began running and saw light in the distance. His desperation made him feel confident for his freedom as he fought his way through the crowd that was piling on him. He held onto his mace for dear life as if it were a branch that saved
his fall into a pit.
He slows down his speed to catch his breath once he makes it into the light to find himself in a large octogonal room as big as an arena. The room was very brightly lit with fire and its ceiling vanished into a singularity. "This must be the center of the dungeon" he said as he looked around, walking towards the center, and saw several entrances leading into it. In the distance, he saw some mysterious hooded figures in dark red robes sitting on an elevated platform watching him. The one with gold accents on his robe sat in the middle on a throne. He stands up and looks at Darko, he wears a fancy golden iron mask that has a mustache and beard as a part of it. The stare of this iron statue looking powerful person whom Darko assumes must be some cultist leader fills him with fear.
The living dead surround every entrance of the arena and Darko plants himself into the ground with a defensive stance. The cultist leader raises his hand and the corpses go back to their withered grunting and stand still. He then points at Darko, "Lizardman! You will serve me."
"I do not work with monsters, necromancer" Darko replied assertively.
"For a mere beast who can speak, your choice is not up to you to decide. But for one that has a pure heart with the blessing of a demigod, your blood and agony will be perfected."
The leader lowers his hand and the zombies go back to attacking Darko. They are armed with batons and chains that they are attempting to whip him with but Darko is not having it. After a dozen zombies were done putting up a fight, Darko fell to his knees to catch his breath. It has been hours since he had something to drink. All of a sudden, he feels a tight tension around his neck as his collar shackle begins to levitate.
"Gak!" he struggled, holding on to it. He floated closer to the leader who had his hand reached out.
"There there... let us get you rested for what awaits next..."
With a loud thump, Darko falls to the floor and becomes unconscious... only to find himself strapped to a chair. His shackles on his wrists and ankles were hinged down to the seat as he awaited his fate...
Thats all for now. I may do a part 2 to this later. Took me quite a while to write this but I really wanted to explore more into narratives with Darko. Thanks for reading!
Category Screenshots / Fantasy
Species Argonian
Size 1280 x 427px
File Size 156.8 kB
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