--- His wide doll-like eyes go distant as he focuses on the assembled bones from the crypt. Tendrils of blood knit between his long fingers as he begins to weave his spell-work, expertly puppeting the dead. Their bones scrape against each other assembling into familiar shapes. His old friends sway in the dusty air. Their hollow eyes stare back at him awaiting a command. It comes once they're all upright. The Karnathi warriors don their armour and raise their weapons again despite the laws that forbid it, despite what may wait for Sir ir'Olar when judgement comes for him. This was what he was raised to do. It was cruel for the world to toss him aside now that things are peaceful.
2020, 2021. Pencil on good drawing paper. About 17 x 23. Will be submitting this to a juried show--local and digital. Whether the pic is chosen or not, I had to follow my goal and "git er done."
