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C9I
매개변수 표시
- 원본 프롬프트
- Dark art horror illustration of the dark, damp interior of an ancient Scottish burial cairn. The stone walls are covered in glowing, ancient Celtic runes and moss. In the center lies a massive, cracked stone sarcophagus, slightly open. Thick black smoke and ravens are emerging from the crack. A single, rusted lantern casts a sickly yellow light on the terrifying scene. The feeling of being buried alive, claustrophobia, cosmic dread, hyperdetailed charcoal and ink texture, chiaroscuro, deep blacks, cold stone grays, sickly yellow glow, cinematic tracking shot, film grain, by H.R. Giger and Zdzisław Beksiński, masterpiece, 8K --ar 2:3 --v 6
- 모드
- pro
- 크기
- 992 x 992
- 샘플링 방식
- Euler
- 제외 조건
- lowres, worst quality, low quality, bad anatomy, explicit
프롬프트 도우미
모델 및 LoRA 사용
비슷한 작품
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1 burial chamber, no humans, ancient Scottish burial cairn interior, low narrow passage, claustrophobic vault, massive cracked stone sarcophagus at center, slightly open lid with dark seam, thick black smoke pouring from the crack, ravens emerging from the crack, one rusted lantern, sickly yellow lantern light, glowing Celtic runes carved into stone walls, moss on stone walls, cold stone grays, deep blacks, chiaroscuro, hyperdetailed charcoal and ink texture, film grain, cinematic tracking shot, wide shot, low camera, slight dutch angle, extreme foreground raven silhouette, coulisse framing, damp wet stone, condensation streaks, cosmic dread, charcoal and ink illustration
The camera sits low and close to the floor of the passage, a cinematic tracking shot caught mid-push down the cairn's entrance corridor: two dry-stone jambs rise wet and out of focus at the extreme left and right edges of the frame, and the low lintel stone cuts the top of the view so the chamber roof is never fully seen — the composition boxes the eye inward to the sarcophagus at the center. The sarcophagus is a single massive block of cold gray stone, longer than a man is tall, its lid shoved a hand's width askew along one long edge so a black seam opens down the middle; the lid's lip rests on the rim at two contact points, grit and broken chips of stone scattered on the rim where it has ground shut. From that seam thick black smoke rises and spills over both long sides in a slow heavy roll, clinging low against the floor before climbing, and three ravens push up out of the crack — one already airborne and near the ceiling with its wings half-folded in the smoke, one perched on the shifted lid with its claws gripping the stone edge and its head turned down into the opening, one still emerging, only its shoulders, head and one wing clear of the black. Every head in the frame faces the sarcophagus or the smoke: the perched raven looks down into the crack, the flying one wheels back toward the lid.
A single rusted lantern hangs from an iron hook driven into the wall at the far left, its housing eaten orange-brown and flaking, and it is the only light source. Its flame burns small and dirty; the light strikes the near left face of the sarcophagus and the left jamb of the passage, throwing a weak hot pool across the wet floor stones, and beyond that pool the darkness is total and unreadable — the right half of the chamber, the far corners and the roof above the smoke go to pure deep black. The lantern's glow lies sickly yellow across the smoke's underside, so the smoke glows dull ochre where it thins and stays black where it thickens; the ravens' feathers pick up a thin yellow rim along their upper edges only, and their shadows smear long and wrong across the flagstones toward the camera.
The walls are dressed dry-stone slabs furred with moss in the damp joints and along the top edges where water runs, the moss a blackened green in the low light; chiseled into the slabs are ancient Celtic runes — spiral triquetras and interlaced knotwork grooves — cut deep and glowing from within with a cold pale blue-green light that is far weaker than the lantern, so the wall reads as a faint patterned constellation against the black. The runes nearest the sarcophagus burn brightest where the damp has not dulled them; those along the right wall barely register. Water beads on the stone and runs in thin dark seams down the joints, gathering in a shallow puddle on the floor beside the sarcophagus's near corner, where the puddle's still surface holds a shrunken, dim, ochre reflection of the lantern flame — softer and darker than its source — and the reflection shivers whenever the smoke drags across it. Charcoal and ink texture throughout: granular black hatching in the shadows, dry dragged charcoal across the cold stone grays, ink spatter at the frame edges; the palette held to deep black, cold stone gray, moss green-black, sickly yellow and the faint pale blue-green of the runes, nothing else admitted; heavy cinematic film grain over the whole frame. Claustrophobic, buried alive, cosmic dread.
C9I
1 burial chamber, no humans, ancient Scottish burial cairn interior, low narrow passage, claustrophobic vault, massive cracked stone sarcophagus at center, slightly open lid with dark seam, thick black smoke pouring from the crack, ravens emerging from the crack, one rusted lantern, sickly yellow lantern light, glowing Celtic runes carved into stone walls, moss on stone walls, cold stone grays, deep blacks, chiaroscuro, hyperdetailed charcoal and ink texture, film grain, cinematic tracking shot, wide shot, low camera, slight dutch angle, extreme foreground raven silhouette, coulisse framing, damp wet stone, condensation streaks, cosmic dread, charcoal and ink illustration
The camera sits low and close to the floor of the passage, a cinematic tracking shot caught mid-push down the cairn's entrance corridor: two dry-stone jambs rise wet and out of focus at the extreme left and right edges of the frame, and the low lintel stone cuts the top of the view so the chamber roof is never fully seen — the composition boxes the eye inward to the sarcophagus at the center. The sarcophagus is a single massive block of cold gray stone, longer than a man is tall, its lid shoved a hand's width askew along one long edge so a black seam opens down the middle; the lid's lip rests on the rim at two contact points, grit and broken chips of stone scattered on the rim where it has ground shut. From that seam thick black smoke rises and spills over both long sides in a slow heavy roll, clinging low against the floor before climbing, and three ravens push up out of the crack — one already airborne and near the ceiling with its wings half-folded in the smoke, one perched on the shifted lid with its claws gripping the stone edge and its head turned down into the opening, one still emerging, only its shoulders, head and one wing clear of the black. Every head in the frame faces the sarcophagus or the smoke: the perched raven looks down into the crack, the flying one wheels back toward the lid.
A single rusted lantern hangs from an iron hook driven into the wall at the far left, its housing eaten orange-brown and flaking, and it is the only light source. Its flame burns small and dirty; the light strikes the near left face of the sarcophagus and the left jamb of the passage, throwing a weak hot pool across the wet floor stones, and beyond that pool the darkness is total and unreadable — the right half of the chamber, the far corners and the roof above the smoke go to pure deep black. The lantern's glow lies sickly yellow across the smoke's underside, so the smoke glows dull ochre where it thins and stays black where it thickens; the ravens' feathers pick up a thin yellow rim along their upper edges only, and their shadows smear long and wrong across the flagstones toward the camera.
The walls are dressed dry-stone slabs furred with moss in the damp joints and along the top edges where water runs, the moss a blackened green in the low light; chiseled into the slabs are ancient Celtic runes — spiral triquetras and interlaced knotwork grooves — cut deep and glowing from within with a cold pale blue-green light that is far weaker than the lantern, so the wall reads as a faint patterned constellation against the black. The runes nearest the sarcophagus burn brightest where the damp has not dulled them; those along the right wall barely register. Water beads on the stone and runs in thin dark seams down the joints, gathering in a shallow puddle on the floor beside the sarcophagus's near corner, where the puddle's still surface holds a shrunken, dim, ochre reflection of the lantern flame — softer and darker than its source — and the reflection shivers whenever the smoke drags across it. Charcoal and ink texture throughout: granular black hatching in the shadows, dry dragged charcoal across the cold stone grays, ink spatter at the frame edges; the palette held to deep black, cold stone gray, moss green-black, sickly yellow and the faint pale blue-green of the runes, nothing else admitted; heavy cinematic film grain over the whole frame. Claustrophobic, buried alive, cosmic dread.
C9I
1 burial chamber, no humans, ancient Scottish burial cairn interior, low narrow passage, claustrophobic vault, massive cracked stone sarcophagus at center, slightly open lid with dark seam, thick black smoke pouring from the crack, ravens emerging from the crack, one rusted lantern, sickly yellow lantern light, glowing Celtic runes carved into stone walls, moss on stone walls, cold stone grays, deep blacks, chiaroscuro, hyperdetailed charcoal and ink texture, film grain, cinematic tracking shot, wide shot, low camera, slight dutch angle, extreme foreground raven silhouette, coulisse framing, damp wet stone, condensation streaks, cosmic dread, charcoal and ink illustration
The camera sits low and close to the floor of the passage, a cinematic tracking shot caught mid-push down the cairn's entrance corridor: two dry-stone jambs rise wet and out of focus at the extreme left and right edges of the frame, and the low lintel stone cuts the top of the view so the chamber roof is never fully seen — the composition boxes the eye inward to the sarcophagus at the center. The sarcophagus is a single massive block of cold gray stone, longer than a man is tall, its lid shoved a hand's width askew along one long edge so a black seam opens down the middle; the lid's lip rests on the rim at two contact points, grit and broken chips of stone scattered on the rim where it has ground shut. From that seam thick black smoke rises and spills over both long sides in a slow heavy roll, clinging low against the floor before climbing, and three ravens push up out of the crack — one already airborne and near the ceiling with its wings half-folded in the smoke, one perched on the shifted lid with its claws gripping the stone edge and its head turned down into the opening, one still emerging, only its shoulders, head and one wing clear of the black. Every head in the frame faces the sarcophagus or the smoke: the perched raven looks down into the crack, the flying one wheels back toward the lid.
A single rusted lantern hangs from an iron hook driven into the wall at the far left, its housing eaten orange-brown and flaking, and it is the only light source. Its flame burns small and dirty; the light strikes the near left face of the sarcophagus and the left jamb of the passage, throwing a weak hot pool across the wet floor stones, and beyond that pool the darkness is total and unreadable — the right half of the chamber, the far corners and the roof above the smoke go to pure deep black. The lantern's glow lies sickly yellow across the smoke's underside, so the smoke glows dull ochre where it thins and stays black where it thickens; the ravens' feathers pick up a thin yellow rim along their upper edges only, and their shadows smear long and wrong across the flagstones toward the camera.
The walls are dressed dry-stone slabs furred with moss in the damp joints and along the top edges where water runs, the moss a blackened green in the low light; chiseled into the slabs are ancient Celtic runes — spiral triquetras and interlaced knotwork grooves — cut deep and glowing from within with a cold pale blue-green light that is far weaker than the lantern, so the wall reads as a faint patterned constellation against the black. The runes nearest the sarcophagus burn brightest where the damp has not dulled them; those along the right wall barely register. Water beads on the stone and runs in thin dark seams down the joints, gathering in a shallow puddle on the floor beside the sarcophagus's near corner, where the puddle's still surface holds a shrunken, dim, ochre reflection of the lantern flame — softer and darker than its source — and the reflection shivers whenever the smoke drags across it. Charcoal and ink texture throughout: granular black hatching in the shadows, dry dragged charcoal across the cold stone grays, ink spatter at the frame edges; the palette held to deep black, cold stone gray, moss green-black, sickly yellow and the faint pale blue-green of the runes, nothing else admitted; heavy cinematic film grain over the whole frame. Claustrophobic, buried alive, cosmic dread.
C9I
2 subjects, 1girl, 1 monstrous raven, dark fantasy horror illustration, Norse völva, seeress, terrifying old woman, gaunt weathered face, one blind milky-white eye and one clear pale eye, long stringy iron-grey hair, tattered black robes, ragged layered black cloth, frayed hems, animal skulls worn on her, small animal skulls lashed to her shoulders and chest, antlered skull headdress, performing a blood ritual, both arms raised, blood-slick hands, blood dripping from her fingers, standing, low-angle shot, from below, foreshortening, giant monstrous raven, three glowing red eyes, raven perched on runic altar, spread ragged wings, black smoke, thick black smoke, sparks in the air, dripping candle wax, human bones scattered on stone floor, candlelit cave, runic altar, occult Nordic magic, eldritch horror, chiaroscuro, desaturated blacks, sickly green glow, blood-red glow, film grain, tall vertical composition
The view is a cinematic low-angle shot from knee height, tilted up between the völva and the runic altar, so both figures tower over the lens. In the near foreground the pitted stone floor rushes away toward the back of the cave: human long bones, ribs and a broken pelvis lie scattered across it, half-sunk in pooled black shadow, with a few bone ends catching the green light. Above them, on a raised slab of carved runic stone, the giant raven crouches: its talons wrap the front edge of the altar, one claw hooked over a carved rune band, its ragged wings half-spread so the wingtips overhang the slab on both sides. Three glowing red eyes burn in its broad skull — two set where eyes belong, the third set higher, centered on the forehead — and its beak is angled down toward the woman, watching her hands. Behind and to the left of the altar the völva stands just past the slab, her weight on her right leg, her left hip pushed forward, torso twisted slightly toward the raven. Her long iron-grey hair hangs in matted ropes; one eye is a milky blind white, the other a clear pale grey, and both fix down on the ritual bowl cupped in her blood-slick left hand while her right arm is flung up and out with fingers spread, blood running from the fingertips. From this low angle her skulled shoulders sit hard against the vault of the cave. Small animal skulls are lashed to her shoulder and chest with cord, an antlered skull sits back on her headdress, and her robes are layered black cloth frayed at the hem and torn at the elbows. Her sleeves hang in heavy folds and her blood-bright fingertips catch the green candlelight. The cave walls close in behind the altar, and melted wax drips from ledges above in long grey-white threads, sagging and pooling where candles guttered out. Smoke and sparks rise from the altar's edge in a thick slow plume, the sparks drifting upward. The light sources are the candles and the ritual glow together. Green and red rim-light the raven's feather edges and the völva's upturned cheekbones, but the cave beyond is near-black. The only saturated colors are the red of the raven's three eyes, the red of the fresh blood on her hands, and the sickly green around the altar base. Everything else falls to desaturated blacks and ashen greys. Film grain textures the whole frame, and the shape of the smoke is broken and curled by the updraft off the candles, with the low camera pressing the smoke ceiling down onto the two figures. Oppressive, dread-soaked.
C9I
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