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AI artwork featuring #Warhammer 40,000
Jana Secara Percuma

Warhammer 40,000

#Warhammer 40,000
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C9I

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1 male, solo, viking berserker, charging, running toward camera, rusted iron skull mask, face hidden behind mask, sickly pale skin, blood and mud covered, tattered raven banner, holding banner pole, banner flapping violently, massive murder of ravens, ravens made of black smoke, dead warriors, corpses of fallen warriors, broken shields, thick freezing fog, cold northern light, cinematic wide shot, from below, foreshortening, dark fantasy horror, chiaroscuro, desaturated blacks, deep crimson blood, hyperdetailed, film grain, dutch angle, low horizon, oppressive atmosphere A cinematic wide shot taken low to the ground and tilted a few degrees off level, so the berserker looms huge and off-square as he charges across the mud toward the camera, half-foreshortened, one lead boot planted in the slop with the knee driving up, the other leg trailing behind with mud spraying off the heel. He is a thick-set, heavy-shouldered man with sickly pale skin where the flesh shows at his wrists and neck corded tight with exertion; the skin is mottled grey-white and slicked with a wet sheen of cold sweat. Blood and mud coat him from greaves to shoulders -- deep crimson blood soaked into coarse dark wool and hide and hanging in wet strings, dark mud crusted and drying in cracks across his forearms and belly. His face is completely hidden behind a rusted iron skull mask: hammered plate in the shape of a skull, pitted with orange rust, its eye hollows black and empty, its teeth ridge scored with old grime, the mask strapped tight to his head under a tangled mat of mudlocked hair that whips forward over it as he runs. The mask turns slightly toward the viewer as he charges, so the empty eye hollows catch the one bright rim of cold light. His right fist hoists the Raven Banner, gripping the iron-banded ash pole high near head height, elbow locked, the pole pushed forward and tilted across the composition; his left arm is thrown back and down, fist clenched, dragging the shoulder open. The banner itself is a long tattered rag of dark, near-black cloth, rotten at its trailing edge and split into three twisting ribbons, flapping violently away from him to the upper left with a hard wind caught in its belly. Its cursed device is a raven skull stitched in dulled thread, barely legible in the folds. The wind is real: the pole bows, the cloth snaps taut and hollows, and every raven in the murder leans the same direction -- a vast swarm boiling around, above and behind the banner, hundreds of them, and where the wings should sharpen, the birds blur and smear into black smoke, their bodies fraying into sooty streaks and drifting curls of smoke that break up into the fog, some ravens only a half-resolved smudge of moving black. The smoke drags toward the fog on the right, one clean piece of physics to judge by: the birds are densest at the banner and thin out the farther they are from it. The ground is a churned slaughterfield of black mud and standing water. Dead warriors lie scattered through the midground and foreground -- a mailed man face down with one arm out, another slumped against a cloven shield, a hand still curled round a snapped sword -- desaturated, mud-caked, half swallowed by the fog. Broken shields are everywhere: a split limewood boss-down in the nearest puddle, another rolled on its face with the rim bent and painted patterns scabbed away. The nearest broken shields and the leaking pool catch a faint mirror of the banner above them. A thin crust of frost glitters on the upward-facing surfaces only -- the top of a dead man's shoulder, the rim of a shield, the flat of a blade -- while the vertical faces stay wet and black. Thick freezing fog eats the depth: near figures readable, the middle ground dissolving, the far field gone. Cold northern light rakes in low from the upper right, pale and steel-grey, backlighting the fog so the smoke becomes visible against it; it strikes the crown of the iron mask, the soaked wool of his shoulder, and the ragged banner's leading edge, and everything turned away from it drops into near-blackness. The composition is a heavy chiaroscuro chiaroscuro of desaturated blacks, a few sickly greys, and the only saturated note of deep crimson blood smeared across the mud, the cloth, and the pole. Hyperdetailed in the rust pits of the mask, the weave of the tattered cloth and each wet clot of mud, cinematic wide framing, film grain across the whole image, airless and brutal, oppressive dark fantasy horror.
Paparkan Parameter
Prompt Asal
Terrifying dark art horror illustration of a Viking berserker charging into battle in a thick, freezing fog. He is covered in blood and mud, holding a tattered, cursed Raven Banner that flaps violently in the wind. A massive murder of ravens swarms around the banner, as if the birds are made of black smoke. The berserker's face is hidden behind a rusted iron skull mask. Dead warriors and broken shields on the ground, cold northern light. Historical dark fantasy, brutal, oppressive atmosphere, hyperdetailed, chiaroscuro, desaturated blacks, sickly pale skin, deep crimson blood, cinematic wide shot, film grain, by Gustave Dorรฉ and Zdzisล‚aw Beksiล„ski, masterpiece, 8K --ar 2:3 --v 6
Mod
pro
Saiz
992 x 992
Kaedah Pensampelan
Euler
Negatif
lowres, worst quality, low quality, bad anatomy, explicit
Pembantu Prompt

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Tsubaki.3 - AI Model cover image

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Tsubaki.3
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AI artwork
Avatar image of C9I
1 male, solo, viking berserker, charging, running toward camera, rusted iron skull mask, face hidden behind mask, sickly pale skin, blood and mud covered, tattered raven banner, holding banner pole, banner flapping violently, massive murder of ravens, ravens made of black smoke, dead warriors, corpses of fallen warriors, broken shields, thick freezing fog, cold northern light, cinematic wide shot, from below, foreshortening, dark fantasy horror, chiaroscuro, desaturated blacks, deep crimson blood, hyperdetailed, film grain, dutch angle, low horizon, oppressive atmosphere A cinematic wide shot taken low to the ground and tilted a few degrees off level, so the berserker looms huge and off-square as he charges across the mud toward the camera, half-foreshortened, one lead boot planted in the slop with the knee driving up, the other leg trailing behind with mud spraying off the heel. He is a thick-set, heavy-shouldered man with sickly pale skin where the flesh shows at his wrists and neck corded tight with exertion; the skin is mottled grey-white and slicked with a wet sheen of cold sweat. Blood and mud coat him from greaves to shoulders -- deep crimson blood soaked into coarse dark wool and hide and hanging in wet strings, dark mud crusted and drying in cracks across his forearms and belly. His face is completely hidden behind a rusted iron skull mask: hammered plate in the shape of a skull, pitted with orange rust, its eye hollows black and empty, its teeth ridge scored with old grime, the mask strapped tight to his head under a tangled mat of mudlocked hair that whips forward over it as he runs. The mask turns slightly toward the viewer as he charges, so the empty eye hollows catch the one bright rim of cold light. His right fist hoists the Raven Banner, gripping the iron-banded ash pole high near head height, elbow locked, the pole pushed forward and tilted across the composition; his left arm is thrown back and down, fist clenched, dragging the shoulder open. The banner itself is a long tattered rag of dark, near-black cloth, rotten at its trailing edge and split into three twisting ribbons, flapping violently away from him to the upper left with a hard wind caught in its belly. Its cursed device is a raven skull stitched in dulled thread, barely legible in the folds. The wind is real: the pole bows, the cloth snaps taut and hollows, and every raven in the murder leans the same direction -- a vast swarm boiling around, above and behind the banner, hundreds of them, and where the wings should sharpen, the birds blur and smear into black smoke, their bodies fraying into sooty streaks and drifting curls of smoke that break up into the fog, some ravens only a half-resolved smudge of moving black. The smoke drags toward the fog on the right, one clean piece of physics to judge by: the birds are densest at the banner and thin out the farther they are from it. The ground is a churned slaughterfield of black mud and standing water. Dead warriors lie scattered through the midground and foreground -- a mailed man face down with one arm out, another slumped against a cloven shield, a hand still curled round a snapped sword -- desaturated, mud-caked, half swallowed by the fog. Broken shields are everywhere: a split limewood boss-down in the nearest puddle, another rolled on its face with the rim bent and painted patterns scabbed away. The nearest broken shields and the leaking pool catch a faint mirror of the banner above them. A thin crust of frost glitters on the upward-facing surfaces only -- the top of a dead man's shoulder, the rim of a shield, the flat of a blade -- while the vertical faces stay wet and black. Thick freezing fog eats the depth: near figures readable, the middle ground dissolving, the far field gone. Cold northern light rakes in low from the upper right, pale and steel-grey, backlighting the fog so the smoke becomes visible against it; it strikes the crown of the iron mask, the soaked wool of his shoulder, and the ragged banner's leading edge, and everything turned away from it drops into near-blackness. The composition is a heavy chiaroscuro chiaroscuro of desaturated blacks, a few sickly greys, and the only saturated note of deep crimson blood smeared across the mud, the cloth, and the pole. Hyperdetailed in the rust pits of the mask, the weave of the tattered cloth and each wet clot of mud, cinematic wide framing, film grain across the whole image, airless and brutal, oppressive dark fantasy horror.
C9I
AI artwork
Avatar image of C9I
1 male, solo, viking berserker, charging, running toward camera, rusted iron skull mask, face hidden behind mask, sickly pale skin, blood and mud covered, tattered raven banner, holding banner pole, banner flapping violently, massive murder of ravens, ravens made of black smoke, dead warriors, corpses of fallen warriors, broken shields, thick freezing fog, cold northern light, cinematic wide shot, from below, foreshortening, dark fantasy horror, chiaroscuro, desaturated blacks, deep crimson blood, hyperdetailed, film grain, dutch angle, low horizon, oppressive atmosphere A cinematic wide shot taken low to the ground and tilted a few degrees off level, so the berserker looms huge and off-square as he charges across the mud toward the camera, half-foreshortened, one lead boot planted in the slop with the knee driving up, the other leg trailing behind with mud spraying off the heel. He is a thick-set, heavy-shouldered man with sickly pale skin where the flesh shows at his wrists and neck corded tight with exertion; the skin is mottled grey-white and slicked with a wet sheen of cold sweat. Blood and mud coat him from greaves to shoulders -- deep crimson blood soaked into coarse dark wool and hide and hanging in wet strings, dark mud crusted and drying in cracks across his forearms and belly. His face is completely hidden behind a rusted iron skull mask: hammered plate in the shape of a skull, pitted with orange rust, its eye hollows black and empty, its teeth ridge scored with old grime, the mask strapped tight to his head under a tangled mat of mudlocked hair that whips forward over it as he runs. The mask turns slightly toward the viewer as he charges, so the empty eye hollows catch the one bright rim of cold light. His right fist hoists the Raven Banner, gripping the iron-banded ash pole high near head height, elbow locked, the pole pushed forward and tilted across the composition; his left arm is thrown back and down, fist clenched, dragging the shoulder open. The banner itself is a long tattered rag of dark, near-black cloth, rotten at its trailing edge and split into three twisting ribbons, flapping violently away from him to the upper left with a hard wind caught in its belly. Its cursed device is a raven skull stitched in dulled thread, barely legible in the folds. The wind is real: the pole bows, the cloth snaps taut and hollows, and every raven in the murder leans the same direction -- a vast swarm boiling around, above and behind the banner, hundreds of them, and where the wings should sharpen, the birds blur and smear into black smoke, their bodies fraying into sooty streaks and drifting curls of smoke that break up into the fog, some ravens only a half-resolved smudge of moving black. The smoke drags toward the fog on the right, one clean piece of physics to judge by: the birds are densest at the banner and thin out the farther they are from it. The ground is a churned slaughterfield of black mud and standing water. Dead warriors lie scattered through the midground and foreground -- a mailed man face down with one arm out, another slumped against a cloven shield, a hand still curled round a snapped sword -- desaturated, mud-caked, half swallowed by the fog. Broken shields are everywhere: a split limewood boss-down in the nearest puddle, another rolled on its face with the rim bent and painted patterns scabbed away. The nearest broken shields and the leaking pool catch a faint mirror of the banner above them. A thin crust of frost glitters on the upward-facing surfaces only -- the top of a dead man's shoulder, the rim of a shield, the flat of a blade -- while the vertical faces stay wet and black. Thick freezing fog eats the depth: near figures readable, the middle ground dissolving, the far field gone. Cold northern light rakes in low from the upper right, pale and steel-grey, backlighting the fog so the smoke becomes visible against it; it strikes the crown of the iron mask, the soaked wool of his shoulder, and the ragged banner's leading edge, and everything turned away from it drops into near-blackness. The composition is a heavy chiaroscuro chiaroscuro of desaturated blacks, a few sickly greys, and the only saturated note of deep crimson blood smeared across the mud, the cloth, and the pole. Hyperdetailed in the rust pits of the mask, the weave of the tattered cloth and each wet clot of mud, cinematic wide framing, film grain across the whole image, airless and brutal, oppressive dark fantasy horror.
C9I
AI artwork
Avatar image of C9I
1 male, solo, viking berserker, charging, running toward camera, rusted iron skull mask, face hidden behind mask, sickly pale skin, blood and mud covered, tattered raven banner, holding banner pole, banner flapping violently, massive murder of ravens, ravens made of black smoke, dead warriors, corpses of fallen warriors, broken shields, thick freezing fog, cold northern light, cinematic wide shot, from below, foreshortening, dark fantasy horror, chiaroscuro, desaturated blacks, deep crimson blood, hyperdetailed, film grain, dutch angle, low horizon, oppressive atmosphere A cinematic wide shot taken low to the ground and tilted a few degrees off level, so the berserker looms huge and off-square as he charges across the mud toward the camera, half-foreshortened, one lead boot planted in the slop with the knee driving up, the other leg trailing behind with mud spraying off the heel. He is a thick-set, heavy-shouldered man with sickly pale skin where the flesh shows at his wrists and neck corded tight with exertion; the skin is mottled grey-white and slicked with a wet sheen of cold sweat. Blood and mud coat him from greaves to shoulders -- deep crimson blood soaked into coarse dark wool and hide and hanging in wet strings, dark mud crusted and drying in cracks across his forearms and belly. His face is completely hidden behind a rusted iron skull mask: hammered plate in the shape of a skull, pitted with orange rust, its eye hollows black and empty, its teeth ridge scored with old grime, the mask strapped tight to his head under a tangled mat of mudlocked hair that whips forward over it as he runs. The mask turns slightly toward the viewer as he charges, so the empty eye hollows catch the one bright rim of cold light. His right fist hoists the Raven Banner, gripping the iron-banded ash pole high near head height, elbow locked, the pole pushed forward and tilted across the composition; his left arm is thrown back and down, fist clenched, dragging the shoulder open. The banner itself is a long tattered rag of dark, near-black cloth, rotten at its trailing edge and split into three twisting ribbons, flapping violently away from him to the upper left with a hard wind caught in its belly. Its cursed device is a raven skull stitched in dulled thread, barely legible in the folds. The wind is real: the pole bows, the cloth snaps taut and hollows, and every raven in the murder leans the same direction -- a vast swarm boiling around, above and behind the banner, hundreds of them, and where the wings should sharpen, the birds blur and smear into black smoke, their bodies fraying into sooty streaks and drifting curls of smoke that break up into the fog, some ravens only a half-resolved smudge of moving black. The smoke drags toward the fog on the right, one clean piece of physics to judge by: the birds are densest at the banner and thin out the farther they are from it. The ground is a churned slaughterfield of black mud and standing water. Dead warriors lie scattered through the midground and foreground -- a mailed man face down with one arm out, another slumped against a cloven shield, a hand still curled round a snapped sword -- desaturated, mud-caked, half swallowed by the fog. Broken shields are everywhere: a split limewood boss-down in the nearest puddle, another rolled on its face with the rim bent and painted patterns scabbed away. The nearest broken shields and the leaking pool catch a faint mirror of the banner above them. A thin crust of frost glitters on the upward-facing surfaces only -- the top of a dead man's shoulder, the rim of a shield, the flat of a blade -- while the vertical faces stay wet and black. Thick freezing fog eats the depth: near figures readable, the middle ground dissolving, the far field gone. Cold northern light rakes in low from the upper right, pale and steel-grey, backlighting the fog so the smoke becomes visible against it; it strikes the crown of the iron mask, the soaked wool of his shoulder, and the ragged banner's leading edge, and everything turned away from it drops into near-blackness. The composition is a heavy chiaroscuro chiaroscuro of desaturated blacks, a few sickly greys, and the only saturated note of deep crimson blood smeared across the mud, the cloth, and the pole. Hyperdetailed in the rust pits of the mask, the weave of the tattered cloth and each wet clot of mud, cinematic wide framing, film grain across the whole image, airless and brutal, oppressive dark fantasy horror.
C9I
AI artwork
Avatar image of C9I
1girl, solo, ancient celtic warrior queen, dark fantasy illustration, standing, barren fog-choked moor, rusted chainmail, blue woad war paint, torn black cloak, pale face, rusted iron crown, crown partially obscuring face, hollow void eyes, black tears, crying, massive raven, raven perched on shoulder, raven screaming, open beak, storm, dead heather, shattered swords, heavy bruised sky, dark storm clouds, melancholic, epic, rage, defeat, atmospheric black metal, hyperdetailed, chiaroscuro, desaturated blacks, cold blues, blood-red accents, cinematic low-angle shot, from below, film grain, wide shot, wind, billowing cloak, looking up, parted lips, clenched jaw, gauntlets, sword planted in ground, fog, volumetric light, dramatic shadow, masterpiece, 8k, tall aspect ratio Cinematic low-angle shot from below, the camera near the wet ground so the queen towers against a bruised, churning sky that fills the upper two-thirds of the frame. She stands full-length on a barren fog-choked moor, feet planted wide apart on sodden black peat, her weight on the left leg, hips canted, torso turned a quarter away and her chin lifted toward the storm. The rusted chainmail hangs heavy and pitted over her shoulders and arms, every ring eaten with ochre corrosion, a chainmail coif bunched at her throat; over it the torn black cloak bellies out sideways in the wind, its ragged hem whipping past her knee and one torn corner streaming out of frame to the left. Blue woad war paint streaks her pale face in harsh bands across brow and cheek and down her throat, the woad drying into the cracks of her skin. A rusted iron crown, spiked and eaten thin at the points, sits low and tilted, its front band cutting across her brow and casting a hard shadow over the upper half of her face; below it her eyes are hollow voids, absolute black wells with no iris or highlight, and from each a single line of black tear runs down her cheek and drips from her jaw. Her lips are parted and her jaw is clenched, brows drawn down, the whole face locked between grief and fury. Her right hand is gloved in corroded mail and closed around the hilt of a shattered sword whose broken blade is driven into the ground beside her boot; her left arm hangs with the fingers curled loosely. On her right shoulder a massive raven grips the chainmail with splayed talons, its body pitched forward, wings half-lifted and ragged, beak wide open and throat feathers bristling as it screams into the storm, its head thrown up and its one visible eye catching the cold light. Around her feet the moor is a mass of dead heather, brittle grey-brown twigs flattened by wind, and further out in the midground shattered swords stand and lie at angles in the peat, their blades snapped, hilts skewed, one broken crossguard half-swallowed by moss. Low fog banks drift between the sword stumps, hiding the ground a few metres behind her, and the sky above is a heavy bruised mass of storm cloud, purple-black at the horizon breaking into torn grey-blue sheets overhead. The single light source is a cold blue break in the clouds high and behind her right shoulder, rimming one edge of the crown, the raven's lifted wings, the chainmail's shoulder links and the ragged edge of the cloak in icy silver, while her front falls into deep chiaroscuro shadow; the light throws her long shadow forward across the heather toward the camera, and every upward-facing surface -- crown points, chainmail rings on the shoulders, the raven's back, the flats of the broken blades -- catches that cold rim while the undersides stay black. Thin fog curls visibly around the standing sword stumps where the wind eddies, and a few strands of her dark hair are torn loose across the woad-painted cheek. Palette is desaturated black, cold slate blue and storm grey, with a single subtle blood-red accent: a shallow red glint along the crown's inner band and a red stain at the cloak's torn edge. Heavy film grain over the whole frame, hyperdetailed metal, leather and feather texture, epic and melancholic, defeat and rage.
C9I

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Anda Mungkin Suka

AI artwork
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character: kaname_madoka_(magical_girl), copyright: mahou_shoujo_madoka_magica Kaname Madoka from Puella Magi Madoka Magica, pink twin tails tied with deep red ribbons, wearing her iconic magical girl costume, white corset-like bodice with delicate back lacing, voluminous layered white and pale pink ruffled skirt, crimson ribbons flowing loosely around her body, viewed from behind at a three-quarter angle, seated with her back gracefully arched, both arms extending naturally downward behind her back, one hand gently holding the opposite wrist, clearly separated hands, relaxed slender fingers, five distinct fingers on each hand, natural finger spacing, anatomically correct wrists, elegant delicate hands, visible knuckles, softly curved fingers, hands clearly visible against the white skirt, unobstructed hand silhouette, accurate hand anatomy, head tilted far backward, chin raised toward the darkness, face mostly hidden, elegant elongated silhouette, delicate exposed shoulders, soft loose strands of pink hair, dramatic asymmetrical composition, close medium shot, large skirt filling the lower frame, dark almost black background, dramatic directional lighting, pale ivory highlights, muted dusty pink, cold gray shadows, rich crimson accents, strong contrast between luminous fabric and deep darkness, thick impasto oil painting, expressive visible brushstrokes, heavy layered paint, rough palette knife texture, sculptural paint strokes, painterly edges, textured canvas, loose gestural painting, rich tactile surface, dramatic chiaroscuro, melancholic atmosphere, haunting beauty, full bleed composition, edge-to-edge artwork, no borders, no frame, textured illustration, grainy texture, crayon texture, chalky brushwork, impasto strokes, bold color blocking, stylized anime, flat shading, dry brush effect, atmospheric lighting, soft glow highlights, rough painterly anime style, visible textured brushstrokes, heavy impasto texture, scratchy charcoal-like linework, expressive gestural strokes, smudged edges, desaturated base tones with aggressive high-contrast color, sketch style, rough brushstroke
ใƒชใ‚ช
2#Puella Magi Madoka Magica#Madoka Kaname#Puella Magi Madoka Magica
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