Nov 2, 2026

Server Maintenance Notice — We are currently performing partial maintenance on our server facility. During this time, SDXL and Tsubaki.1 generation…

AI art "The Plague Doctor fights the undead. v1.4" featuring #Coltello, #Notte, #maschera del medico della peste, #città and #PixAI Halloween 2026

Genera gratis

The Plague Doctor fights the undead. v1.4

Contest Entry

PixAI “Halloween Oddities Club” Special Contest - A Night at Higan Inn#PixAI Halloween 2026

#Coltello #Notte #maschera del medico della peste #città

Pubblicato il Nov 1, 2026

Zane Vlansav

More to See

sole plague doctor, zombie, multiple zombies, 1boy, tall male, tall, slim, slightly thin build, medium shoulders, long hooded robe, black leather robe, smooth tanned black leather, hood up, white plague doctor mask, beak mask, pristine mask, glass eye lenses, glowing eyes, yellow-orange eyes, black leather boots, dark-brown leather medical bag, shoulder bag, bag strap across chest, right arm down, holding knife, bloody knife, long knife, left hand on mask, hand on beak, despair, standing, medieval town square, cobblestone square, massive bonfire behind, raging fire, flames, medieval houses, two-story houses, half-timbered houses, silhouetted against flames, backlighting, chiaroscuro, warm firelight, deep shadows, night, dark fantasy, hyper-realistic, cinematic, highly detailed, portrait framing, cowboy shot, from below, dutch angle, glowing embers, smoke, head tilt down, zombie peasants, tattered rags, rotting clothes, decayed skin, vacant eyes, wandering, oppressive atmosphere, grim, desperate, Seen in a low, slightly tilted cowboy-shot portrait from below, the plague doctor fills the left-center of the frame and the whole burning square is dragged up behind him: a tall, slightly thin man of about 190 cm with medium shoulders, standing with his weight settled on his left leg, hips canted a touch off the square's axis. His long robe is one continuous piece of smooth tanned black leather, hood pulled up over the skull, the leather gathering in dense folds at the elbows and falling in a heavy unbroken column to the tops of his black leather boots, where the left boot is planted flat and the right is set a half step back. The worn dark-brown leather medical bag hangs low at his right hip, its scuffed strap crossing his chest from the left shoulder, the flap creased and darkened by handling. His right arm hangs straight down along his side, fist closed hard around the hilt of a long knife whose blade points at the cobbles, thick wet blood smeared down its length and beaded at the tip so a single slow drop hangs ready. His left hand is lifted and pressed flat against the underside of the beak of the pristine white mask, fingers curled into the curve of it, dragging the mask slightly down and tilting his head with it in a gesture of pure despair; behind the round glass lenses his eyes burn a hard yellow-orange, and the firelight catches two hot pinpoints in the glass that fail to hide the real glow behind them. He looks down and away to the right, past his own lowered knife, at nothing. In the midground behind him a massive bonfire rages, taller than a house, its core white-hot and its flanks rolling orange; the fire is the only light source, and it throws his long black shadow forward across the cobblestones toward the camera while the whole front of the leather robe takes a warm rim along one edge and the white mask glows almost painfully bright, the back of his hood sinking into black. A row of medieval two-story half-timbered houses stands silhouetted along the far side of the square, jettied upper floors and steep gables cut black against the flames, their windows dark, their beams ink strokes on the orange haze. Sparks and ash drift upward through the smoke above the roofs. Around him, at a respectful distance, medieval zombie peasants wander the square in tattered, rotting clothes — grey and brown rags hanging in strips, grey-blue decayed skin, blank milky eyes, one of them dragging a stiff-legged gait with an outstretched arm across the right foreground, another stooped near the fire pit in the far midground — none looking at him, and he not looking at them. The cobbles are wet in patches, so the bonfire streaks long broken reflections along the ground between the bodies; the firelight hits only the upward-facing surfaces and leaves the seams between the stones black. The palette holds to fire and char: orange, amber and white-hot yellow at the blaze, deep blacks through the robe, hood and boots, and the single clean white of the mask. Smoke veils the upper third. Oppressive, grim, desperate.

The Plague Doctor fights the undead. v1.4

Commenti

Modello e LoRA utilizzati

Immagini simili

Scopri altro

Utenti consigliati

Potrebbe piacerti