Strife’s Magic

Feeling proud of my Darksiders fanart

Most of these can be found at art.smehur.com and some in the local gallery.
The top row is this year’s stuff.

Fury’s Embrace

A Darksiders Story

The maker tree from Darksiders 3 was only one of many. Strife and Ulthane had been running a global rescue operation since the beginning of the Apocalypse, but Fury’s arrival attracted unwanted attention and signaled the beginning of the end. Bereft of hope and purpose, Strife pays Fury one last visit in the realm where the remnants of the human race are hidden, and makes her an offer she cannot refuse.

Feels like it’s been forever since I’ve written anything for this site. And not for a lack of ideas! I have a growing list of topics I’d like to talk about, including a long overdue review of The Abomination Vault (which will probably wait for me to re-read the book from my new POV of a year-old Darksiders fan), my thoughts on Darksiders III (which I only finished recently, after a playthrough that dragged out for months), and a series of posts with parts of my Darksiders verse that might never get explicit coverage in my stories. But I’m not doing any of that today, am I. I’m here to write about writing instead of actually writing — be it fiction or something from that list of planned posts — because I’ve hit something of a block, and it’s got a lot to do with my not-so-recent-anymore obsession with art.

I now do traditional art too

🎨🖌️🖼️

After much hesitation, I decided to post some of my traditional artwork, which I started with last month. I mostly redraw random pretty photos from the web, in watercolor, more recently oil, and most recently acrylic.

Here are my first attempts at all three techniques!

A pencil drawing of Death 💙

While not quite the illustration for, this was definitely inspired by a scene from Fury’s Embrace, the story I’m currently working on. It’ll be the second of a series, following Death’s Blessing.

But then he found this cemetery and cleared every piece of angel, demon and undead filth in a one-mile radius around it, to be at peace while his creepy-ass ghouls dug a hole in the ground. Like for a coffin. He sat at the edge of that hole, staring in it, for a day and a night, as still as the headstones around him. I swear, if I didn’t interrupt him, he’d still be sitting there. Perhaps he’d eventually turn to stone.

Category: Art