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Jana Secara Percuma

C9I

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C9I

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1boy, solo, adult male, gaunt, tall thin harrowed figure, hollow cheeks, long matted wind-torn dark hair, weathered skin, tattered dark tartan kilt, frayed hem, heavy black cloak, cloak whipping sideways in the gale, rusted bagpipes, corroded metal ferrules, three drone pipes over the shoulder, blowpipe at his lips, both hands on the chanter and bag, fingers pressed on the chanter holes, standing on the edge of a jagged cliff, windblown, rain, rain whipping around him, violent storm, from below, wide shot, dutch angle, ocean below, crashing waves against rocks, sea spray, ravens, many ravens, flock of birds circling overhead, black and gray sky, churning stormclouds, scotland, highland, mist, bare rock, chiaroscuro, desaturated blacks, cold misty grays, monochrome palette, film grain, hyperdetailed, melancholic, epic tragedy, atmospheric black metal aesthetic The camera looks up from below the cliff lip at a steep dutch angle, so the crag's black face rises diagonally out of frame and the figure stands on its very edge as a small, gaunt silhouette against a vast churning sky. His thin frame occupies only a fraction of the frame, off-center to the right third, the storm's negative space dominating the left. His feet are planted wide apart, the near heel dug into wet grit at the ledge, toes on the crumbling stone, the kilt's frayed hem snapping violently to one side; one hand grips the bag against his ribs with the chanter fingers pressed flat on the holes, the other hand working the chanter, his chest drawn in with effort, the blowpipe pressed to his lips and the veins visible at his temple as he blows. His head tips slightly down and out toward the ocean, jaw tight, eyes squeezed half-shut against the rain, hollow cheek catching a cold rim of light. Behind his shoulder the three corroded drone pipes point into the wind. The heavy black cloak is torn at the shoulders and bellies out from his back toward the empty sky, its edges lost in the mist. Below the cliff edge the dark ocean heaves; a giant wave breaks on the rocks in the deep background, its crest exploding into spray that hangs in the air as a pale smear. Dozens of ravens wheel in a ragged spiral above him, their wings as black, flat shapes torn across the cloud mass, most of them rendered as silhouettes against the gray, three or four nearer birds catching light along their wing edges. The sky is a deep, churning mass of black and gray, lit from one low break in the distant west; that single cold shaft falls from the upper left, striking the wet crag face, the top of his shoulder, the bagpipe's metal fittings, and the leading edge of the breakers, leaving his underside and the gorge behind him in solid shadow. Rain is visible as thousands of thin white streaks slashing diagonally across the frame, densest in the lit band. Everything is desaturated: black, cold misty gray, a trace of cold blue-green in the spray and a faint, nearly colorless tartan in the soaked kilt, heavily dappled by fine film grain. The fog swallows the far headlands. Dark, monumental, inconsolable.
Paparkan Parameter
Prompt Asal
Melancholic dark art illustration of a lone, gaunt figure standing on the edge of a jagged cliff in the Scottish Highlands during a violent storm. He is wearing a tattered kilt and a heavy black cloak, playing a rusted set of bagpipes as the rain whips around him. The sky is a deep, churning black and gray. Dozens of ravens are circling above him, and a massive, dark ocean crashes against the rocks below. A farewell to a dead world, epic tragedy, atmospheric black metal, hyperdetailed, chiaroscuro, desaturated blacks, cold misty grays, cinematic wide shot, film grain, by Gustave Doré, 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

PixAI DiT.3

Tsubaki.3
7.25k

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AI artwork
Avatar image of C9I
1boy, solo, adult male, gaunt, tall thin harrowed figure, hollow cheeks, long matted wind-torn dark hair, weathered skin, tattered dark tartan kilt, frayed hem, heavy black cloak, cloak whipping sideways in the gale, rusted bagpipes, corroded metal ferrules, three drone pipes over the shoulder, blowpipe at his lips, both hands on the chanter and bag, fingers pressed on the chanter holes, standing on the edge of a jagged cliff, windblown, rain, rain whipping around him, violent storm, from below, wide shot, dutch angle, ocean below, crashing waves against rocks, sea spray, ravens, many ravens, flock of birds circling overhead, black and gray sky, churning stormclouds, scotland, highland, mist, bare rock, chiaroscuro, desaturated blacks, cold misty grays, monochrome palette, film grain, hyperdetailed, melancholic, epic tragedy, atmospheric black metal aesthetic The camera looks up from below the cliff lip at a steep dutch angle, so the crag's black face rises diagonally out of frame and the figure stands on its very edge as a small, gaunt silhouette against a vast churning sky. His thin frame occupies only a fraction of the frame, off-center to the right third, the storm's negative space dominating the left. His feet are planted wide apart, the near heel dug into wet grit at the ledge, toes on the crumbling stone, the kilt's frayed hem snapping violently to one side; one hand grips the bag against his ribs with the chanter fingers pressed flat on the holes, the other hand working the chanter, his chest drawn in with effort, the blowpipe pressed to his lips and the veins visible at his temple as he blows. His head tips slightly down and out toward the ocean, jaw tight, eyes squeezed half-shut against the rain, hollow cheek catching a cold rim of light. Behind his shoulder the three corroded drone pipes point into the wind. The heavy black cloak is torn at the shoulders and bellies out from his back toward the empty sky, its edges lost in the mist. Below the cliff edge the dark ocean heaves; a giant wave breaks on the rocks in the deep background, its crest exploding into spray that hangs in the air as a pale smear. Dozens of ravens wheel in a ragged spiral above him, their wings as black, flat shapes torn across the cloud mass, most of them rendered as silhouettes against the gray, three or four nearer birds catching light along their wing edges. The sky is a deep, churning mass of black and gray, lit from one low break in the distant west; that single cold shaft falls from the upper left, striking the wet crag face, the top of his shoulder, the bagpipe's metal fittings, and the leading edge of the breakers, leaving his underside and the gorge behind him in solid shadow. Rain is visible as thousands of thin white streaks slashing diagonally across the frame, densest in the lit band. Everything is desaturated: black, cold misty gray, a trace of cold blue-green in the spray and a faint, nearly colorless tartan in the soaked kilt, heavily dappled by fine film grain. The fog swallows the far headlands. Dark, monumental, inconsolable.
C9I
AI artwork
Avatar image of C9I
1boy, solo, adult male, gaunt, tall thin harrowed figure, hollow cheeks, long matted wind-torn dark hair, weathered skin, tattered dark tartan kilt, frayed hem, heavy black cloak, cloak whipping sideways in the gale, rusted bagpipes, corroded metal ferrules, three drone pipes over the shoulder, blowpipe at his lips, both hands on the chanter and bag, fingers pressed on the chanter holes, standing on the edge of a jagged cliff, windblown, rain, rain whipping around him, violent storm, from below, wide shot, dutch angle, ocean below, crashing waves against rocks, sea spray, ravens, many ravens, flock of birds circling overhead, black and gray sky, churning stormclouds, scotland, highland, mist, bare rock, chiaroscuro, desaturated blacks, cold misty grays, monochrome palette, film grain, hyperdetailed, melancholic, epic tragedy, atmospheric black metal aesthetic The camera looks up from below the cliff lip at a steep dutch angle, so the crag's black face rises diagonally out of frame and the figure stands on its very edge as a small, gaunt silhouette against a vast churning sky. His thin frame occupies only a fraction of the frame, off-center to the right third, the storm's negative space dominating the left. His feet are planted wide apart, the near heel dug into wet grit at the ledge, toes on the crumbling stone, the kilt's frayed hem snapping violently to one side; one hand grips the bag against his ribs with the chanter fingers pressed flat on the holes, the other hand working the chanter, his chest drawn in with effort, the blowpipe pressed to his lips and the veins visible at his temple as he blows. His head tips slightly down and out toward the ocean, jaw tight, eyes squeezed half-shut against the rain, hollow cheek catching a cold rim of light. Behind his shoulder the three corroded drone pipes point into the wind. The heavy black cloak is torn at the shoulders and bellies out from his back toward the empty sky, its edges lost in the mist. Below the cliff edge the dark ocean heaves; a giant wave breaks on the rocks in the deep background, its crest exploding into spray that hangs in the air as a pale smear. Dozens of ravens wheel in a ragged spiral above him, their wings as black, flat shapes torn across the cloud mass, most of them rendered as silhouettes against the gray, three or four nearer birds catching light along their wing edges. The sky is a deep, churning mass of black and gray, lit from one low break in the distant west; that single cold shaft falls from the upper left, striking the wet crag face, the top of his shoulder, the bagpipe's metal fittings, and the leading edge of the breakers, leaving his underside and the gorge behind him in solid shadow. Rain is visible as thousands of thin white streaks slashing diagonally across the frame, densest in the lit band. Everything is desaturated: black, cold misty gray, a trace of cold blue-green in the spray and a faint, nearly colorless tartan in the soaked kilt, heavily dappled by fine film grain. The fog swallows the far headlands. Dark, monumental, inconsolable.
C9I
AI artwork
Avatar image of C9I
1boy, solo, adult male, gaunt, tall thin harrowed figure, hollow cheeks, long matted wind-torn dark hair, weathered skin, tattered dark tartan kilt, frayed hem, heavy black cloak, cloak whipping sideways in the gale, rusted bagpipes, corroded metal ferrules, three drone pipes over the shoulder, blowpipe at his lips, both hands on the chanter and bag, fingers pressed on the chanter holes, standing on the edge of a jagged cliff, windblown, rain, rain whipping around him, violent storm, from below, wide shot, dutch angle, ocean below, crashing waves against rocks, sea spray, ravens, many ravens, flock of birds circling overhead, black and gray sky, churning stormclouds, scotland, highland, mist, bare rock, chiaroscuro, desaturated blacks, cold misty grays, monochrome palette, film grain, hyperdetailed, melancholic, epic tragedy, atmospheric black metal aesthetic The camera looks up from below the cliff lip at a steep dutch angle, so the crag's black face rises diagonally out of frame and the figure stands on its very edge as a small, gaunt silhouette against a vast churning sky. His thin frame occupies only a fraction of the frame, off-center to the right third, the storm's negative space dominating the left. His feet are planted wide apart, the near heel dug into wet grit at the ledge, toes on the crumbling stone, the kilt's frayed hem snapping violently to one side; one hand grips the bag against his ribs with the chanter fingers pressed flat on the holes, the other hand working the chanter, his chest drawn in with effort, the blowpipe pressed to his lips and the veins visible at his temple as he blows. His head tips slightly down and out toward the ocean, jaw tight, eyes squeezed half-shut against the rain, hollow cheek catching a cold rim of light. Behind his shoulder the three corroded drone pipes point into the wind. The heavy black cloak is torn at the shoulders and bellies out from his back toward the empty sky, its edges lost in the mist. Below the cliff edge the dark ocean heaves; a giant wave breaks on the rocks in the deep background, its crest exploding into spray that hangs in the air as a pale smear. Dozens of ravens wheel in a ragged spiral above him, their wings as black, flat shapes torn across the cloud mass, most of them rendered as silhouettes against the gray, three or four nearer birds catching light along their wing edges. The sky is a deep, churning mass of black and gray, lit from one low break in the distant west; that single cold shaft falls from the upper left, striking the wet crag face, the top of his shoulder, the bagpipe's metal fittings, and the leading edge of the breakers, leaving his underside and the gorge behind him in solid shadow. Rain is visible as thousands of thin white streaks slashing diagonally across the frame, densest in the lit band. Everything is desaturated: black, cold misty gray, a trace of cold blue-green in the spray and a faint, nearly colorless tartan in the soaked kilt, heavily dappled by fine film grain. The fog swallows the far headlands. Dark, monumental, inconsolable.
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
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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
リオ
2#Puella Magi Madoka Magica#Madoka Kaname#Puella Magi Madoka Magica
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