Some beautiful artwork today by artist AriesRedLo, featuring a lovely rendition of a Kee woman playing a flute in her garden. The details on this are incredible, it looks like a classical painting. I adore the spiraling trees and the care that was put into the clothing. If you zoom in, you can see the same geometric patterning that was present in the concept art. Everything is very on-model and perfectly rendered.
Phenomenal work, and thank you to Neusesko for commissioning them!
I wanted to write a small passage to go along with the art, which you can read below:
The breeze gently rustled her gown as she walked through the garden, the rich blues and reds of the fine fabrics shimmering in the evening light that bled through the twisting trees. She wanted for no luxury. Her clothes were fashioned from the most expensive fabrics by the most skilled seamstresses, her hide waxed to a dull shine, her silken hair perfumed with exotic oils from far-off worlds. Even her horn had been buffed and polished until it resembled pearl under the right light. Yet still, she was unsatisfied. She was a performer before an empty theater.
Her ears twitched at the sound of creaking tree branches and rustling leaves. This grove had been growing in her keep for generations, taking root in the days before the great Dragons had come to Kee-Mata. Trees older than her father’s grandfather spiraled towards the sky, their mossy trunks interweaving like threads in a tapestry, strongest when they were together. There was a silent wisdom about them – one that made her languish all the more.
She followed the sound of trickling water, soon arriving at a pristine stream, the crystal-clear water cascading down a shallow waterfall into a calm pool. It was her favorite part of the grounds, secluded and shielded from the manor and the prying eyes of servants by the grove. She came here when she wanted to be alone, and when she needed time to think. The duties of a Kee-Fara were numerous, as unshakable as the ancient stones upon which she now sat, but even the most loyal Kee must afford themselves time to feel. Was that not also a duty of a Fara?
She paused to admire the garden that surrounded her, red ferns erupting from the green grass, beautiful flowers as pale as silk sprouting from the bushes at her side. The occasional insect flitted through the air, specks of pollen floating up from the plants as her presence disturbed their peace. The grounds were tended by armies of servants, every flower and leaf in its proper place, no detail overlooked. Just like her hair and her hide, it was tended in the absence of its master, waiting in quiet longing for their return.
From within her gown, she drew her flute, itself an heirloom of great value to her house. It was carved from the wood of these ancient trees, sourced only from branches that were shed, never taken from a sacred tree still living. The little tassel at its end swung as she brought it to her prehensile lips, sealing them over the embouchure, her slender fingers finding their familiar places. This, too, was a ritual steeped in ancient customs. Every digit had its position – its proper place, the melodies imprinted upon the musician by rote memorization. As in all things, the pleasure in playing came from perfection, from mastering the movements until they could be replicated flawlessly and without effort.
Even the manner in which she sat was ritual burned into her memory by her upbringing. A Fara should comport herself in a dignified manner, crossing her legs in a sanctioned way, ensuring the folds of her gown hung thusly. Whether any observers were present was irrelevant. It was the way of things.
Turning her head in the way she had been taught, she began to play, her mournful song carrying through the grove. She could confide in no one due to her high station as Fara of the keep, but in playing, she found relief. Her Faru was gone. Her husband was light years away, fighting for his Dragon on some alien world, and she knew not when he might return. It was a noble duty, and she had no doubt that when his service ended, his horn would be heavy with accolades and commendations. To serve a Dragon was the greatest honor to which a Faru could aspire.
Still, she was alone. She missed the touch of his leathery hands, and the way that he would run his fingers through her hair. She missed the resonating sound of his voice, and the excitement that she felt when she watched him spar in the manor training ground, throwing his opponents to the sand with such ease. She missed the way he looked in his armor, so handsome and regal, the carbcrete plates decorated with reliefs of radium and titanium nitride in honor of their masters.
One day soon, he would return to her, and she would forget her sorrows. It would be as though he had never left. All she had to do was stay true and keep to her duties. Everything must be perfect upon his return, not a hair or a leaf out of place. As her song carried on the wind, she considered the ritual dinner that awaited her that evening. After she had finished grazing, perhaps she would light some incense before the Dragon effigy in the great hall and say a prayer for her Faru, that he might be carried to her swiftly. One must not question the whims of the Dragons. Whatever purpose her husband served, it was necessary and just. He was their spear – a champion of the small folk, honor-bound to defend the subjects of the Empire with his life. There was great prestige in that.
Her song finished and her belly starting to rumble, she put away her flute and began her walk back to the manor. The twisting trees would be the only witnesses to her sorrow, for she must stand proud now, as custom dictated. It was expected of her.