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View detailsМаксим Комаровский
Show Parameters
- Original Prompt
- эльф, дроу, мужчина, 20 лет на вид, темно-серая кожа, атлетичное телосложение, распущенные серебристые волосы, аметистовые глаза, заостренные уши, Повелитель теней. Одет в темно-красное пальто, черную майку, черные брюки, сапоги, перчатки без пальцев, черные перчатки, повязка на запястье, пояс. Темная аура. Стоит на фоне пещеры
- Mode
- lite
- Style
- Luminous Wash
- Size
- 1024 x 1024
Style: Luminous Wash
Model & LoRA used
Similar Images
Show moreмк
A medium shot, 3/4 view of a male drow elf in his early 20s, standing centrally within a dim cavern. He possesses dark grey skin, an athletic build, long flowing silver hair, amethyst eyes, and pointed ears. He is dressed in a deep red overcoat worn over a black tank top and black trousers, completed with black boots, black fingerless gloves, a wristband, and a utility belt. He stands still, with his hands resting naturally at his sides, surrounded by a swirling dark aura. The background consists of a cavernous environment with jagged rock formations and a sense of vast, echoing space. The visual style is anime-inspired with strong line art softened by watercolor washes, featuring a color palette that blends softly into the environment. A strong atmospheric perspective is applied, incorporating a soft haze and deep depth of field to create a mysterious, moody atmosphere.
Максим Комаровский
мк
1boy, solo, male drow elf, appears 20 years old, dark gray skin, athletic build, long loose silver hair, hair worn down, amethyst eyes, pointed ears, shadow lord, dark red coat, black tank top, black pants, black fingerless gloves, wristband, belt, leaning on longsword, longsword with narrow guard, dark aura, cave background, standing, from below, cowboy shot, three-quarter view, looking down at viewer, faint lopsided smirk, half-closed eyes, one hand on sword hilt, head tilt, dramatic lighting, dark fantasy
The camera sits low and slightly off his right side, tilted up in a three-quarter view so the boyish, unlined face above the sharp jaw reads as twenty while the dark gray skin catches the cave's cold light along one cheekbone and leaves the other side in shadow; his pointed ears stand clear of the loose silver hair, which falls past his shoulders in an unstyled sheet, a few strands drifting across his collarbone where the dark red coat hangs open over the black tank top. He is caught at the top of a slow exhalation rather than a posed stance: weight sunk into his left hip against the sword, right leg angled out and relaxed, shoulders dropped back, chin lowered and turned a few degrees toward the lens so his amethyst eyes look down the blade at the viewer from under half-closed lids, one corner of his mouth lifted, brow flat and unimpressed. His right hand closes over the pommel of the longsword, black fingerless glove showing bare knuckles and the leather wristband riding just above the heel of his palm; the sword is planted point-down in the cave floor, the narrow guard and the long dark blade running a hard vertical through the foreground, and his left hand hangs loose at his side beside the belt, thumb hooked into it. The coat's hem and one lapel are pushed back by the weight shift, and behind his shoulders the darkness thickens into a slow-turning aura that swallows the rock wall—no edge, no glow source of its own, simply the cave's dim light failing to reach him, though faint cold highlights draw its curling boundary and drag a longer, softer second shadow across the uneven floor. A little grit and a thin scattering of pebbles sit displaced around the sword's entry point; the only light is a diffuse, cold blue-gray spill from somewhere deep in the cavern behind and above him, so his face is lit from above and his throat and chest fall into shadow, and the wet stone of the cave mouth glints far behind him out of focus. Palette held to dark gray, silver, amethyst, black and the single deep red of the coat, with everything else folded into cave browns and cold blue shadow. Quiet menace, effortlessly still.
Максим Комаровский
мк
1boy, solo, drow, male elf, dark gray skin, pointed ears, long pointed ears, athletic build, slim muscular, young adult, 20 years old appearance, long loose silver hair, hair down, straight silver hair falling past shoulders, amethyst eyes, purple eyes, dark red coat, long coat, wide sleeves, black silk shirt, black pants, black fingerless gloves, black gloves, wristband, belt, holding sword, black jian, chinese sword, straight sword, right hand, dark aura, shadow lord, standing, cave interior, rocky cave walls, stalactites, dark background, from side, cowboy shot, looking at viewer, half-closed eyes, light smile, dutch angle, low camera,
He is seen from a low three-quarter side angle, turned so his right shoulder comes toward the lens, the wide sleeve of the dark red coat falling back from his forearm as his right hand closes around the black jian's wrapped grip; the blade runs diagonally down across the frame toward the lower left corner, its straight edge catching a thin cold line of light, the flat of the blade reading matte and swallowing the glow rather than reflecting it. His weight rests on his left leg, right hip dropped, torso twisted a half-step away from square; the coat hangs open over the black silk shirt, whose sheen is the only slick surface in the frame, its collar open at the throat above the closed belt and the black pants. Fingerless black gloves leave the knuckles and the first joints of his fingers bare, the backs of the hands plated in black leather, the wristband a dark band tight around his right wrist; over the other hand the black glove is whole. His pointed ears stand clear of the loose silver hair, which falls unbound over both shoulders and past the coat's lapels, strands lifting slightly as if the air around him were moving.
Above and behind him the cave opens into absolute darkness; a few damp limestone folds and one hanging stalactite catch the light at the midground, and beyond them the stone recedes into black. The light comes from a single unseen source low at frame left, cold and blue-white; it picks out the ridge of his cheekbone, the edge of his jaw, the silver hair, and the near rim of the coat's wide sleeve, while the far side of his face and body fall into the same blackness as the cave. Around his shoulders and along the sword arm a dark aura clings — not an even glow but ragged ribbons of shadow that smear the cave wall behind him, drifting and fraying at the edges, so that the rock directly behind his back is darker than the rock around it.
His head is tilted a fraction down, amethyst eyes half-lidded, catching one small violet glint from the cave light, gaze fixed straight at the viewer with a faint closed-lip smile at one corner of the mouth — amused, unhurried, entirely unthreatened. Palette limited to dark red, black, silver-white and one violet accent at the eyes, all sitting on cold gray stone. The blade's lower half is the darkest thing in the picture and the damp floor beneath it holds a soft, dim smear of reflection that is darker and softer than the steel it answers. Quiet menace.
Максим Комаровский
мк
1boy, solo, drow, male elf, dark gray skin, pointed ears, long pointed ears, athletic build, slim muscular, young adult, 20 years old appearance, long loose silver hair, hair down, straight silver hair falling past shoulders, amethyst eyes, purple eyes, dark red coat, long coat, wide sleeves, black silk shirt, black pants, black fingerless gloves, black gloves, wristband, belt, holding sword, black jian, chinese sword, straight sword, right hand, dark aura, shadow lord, standing, cave interior, rocky cave walls, stalactites, dark background, from side, cowboy shot, looking at viewer, half-closed eyes, light smile, dutch angle, low camera,
He is seen from a low three-quarter side angle, turned so his right shoulder comes toward the lens, the wide sleeve of the dark red coat falling back from his forearm as his right hand closes around the black jian's wrapped grip; the blade runs diagonally down across the frame toward the lower left corner, its straight edge catching a thin cold line of light, the flat of the blade reading matte and swallowing the glow rather than reflecting it. His weight rests on his left leg, right hip dropped, torso twisted a half-step away from square; the coat hangs open over the black silk shirt, whose sheen is the only slick surface in the frame, its collar open at the throat above the closed belt and the black pants. Fingerless black gloves leave the knuckles and the first joints of his fingers bare, the backs of the hands plated in black leather, the wristband a dark band tight around his right wrist; over the other hand the black glove is whole. His pointed ears stand clear of the loose silver hair, which falls unbound over both shoulders and past the coat's lapels, strands lifting slightly as if the air around him were moving.
Above and behind him the cave opens into absolute darkness; a few damp limestone folds and one hanging stalactite catch the light at the midground, and beyond them the stone recedes into black. The light comes from a single unseen source low at frame left, cold and blue-white; it picks out the ridge of his cheekbone, the edge of his jaw, the silver hair, and the near rim of the coat's wide sleeve, while the far side of his face and body fall into the same blackness as the cave. Around his shoulders and along the sword arm a dark aura clings — not an even glow but ragged ribbons of shadow that smear the cave wall behind him, drifting and fraying at the edges, so that the rock directly behind his back is darker than the rock around it.
His head is tilted a fraction down, amethyst eyes half-lidded, catching one small violet glint from the cave light, gaze fixed straight at the viewer with a faint closed-lip smile at one corner of the mouth — amused, unhurried, entirely unthreatened. Palette limited to dark red, black, silver-white and one violet accent at the eyes, all sitting on cold gray stone. The blade's lower half is the darkest thing in the picture and the damp floor beneath it holds a soft, dim smear of reflection that is darker and softer than the steel it answers. Quiet menace.
Максим Комаровский
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