just a random drawing i made

I wrote this in the middle of a panic attack so it is wrought with spelling errors, which ill try to fix but some may slip through.

basically, not sure of race yet, but starts out a miner in some dead end town far north and they find some kind of old ruins deep in the mine. Then the guy is sent on the monthly supply run .comes back and something seems wrong, something strange seems to be in the eyes of his co-workers, and the shaft leading to the ruins is closed off, and they seem evasive when he asks about it. he's not sure, and hears strange whispers late at night, so one night he decides to invesitagate. he sneaks down the mine in the dark, hearing the whispering get louder as he nears the ruins. finally deep in the earth, he notices the ruins are mostly uncovered and sees pickaxes laying around, fresh dirt on them. and in the center of the ruins he sees the other miners kneeling in front of ... something. His mind can barely stand looking at whatever it is, he hears them worshiping this ... thing, and notices a small squirming sack at their feet. they open the sack, dragging out a small child, which they offer to the thing standing behind an alatar. The miner panics and runs, but the screams as he ascends haunt his dreams.

he fakes illness the next few days, unable to face his coworkers, and thinking always thinking, afraid to sleep for his haunted dreams his " coworkers" sleep at day and go down to the mine at night. one night he overhears them planning to find another offering to their "lord" and cold steel grips his mind a fire starting to burn in his soul. His cowardice doomed one , it will not doom another

that night as the men he once called freinds emerge from their shacks, he is waiting for them, his face like stone, pickax gripped tightly in his hands, cold fire burning in his eyes. He has never killed before, but cold resolve keeps his mind from breaking as he lands his first blow, pickaxe sinking into the chest of a man he once called brother .Only the knowledge that more innocents will die if he fails to act drive him on as he continues his bloody work, his former fellows fighting more like animals then men. as the night reaches the darkest hours, his work is half finished. The men he once knew lay dead before him, several small wounds upon him. He sighs, fueling the flames of his will as he steadies ihmself, pickax in hands as he descends the mine, for there is one monster left to kill this night.

The Thing within the mine knows he is coming, screams of some lost profane tongue harassing him as he heads into the belly of the earth. It is waiting for him, it's foul, face bearing unrecognizable emotions. It's maw parts, and it strikes. as the sun rises, he exits the mine, leaning healvily on a pickaxe missing half its head, covered in dark ichor. He is covered in wounds, belleding heavily but still alive. he sighs as he surveys the area, knowing he still has work to do. As the flames rise into the sky, he finshes placing the last of the large stones over the entrance to the mine, sealing it best he can. Having done what he had set out to do that night, he walks unsteadily towards town, a swirling sea of emotions within him.

And some more stuff i've come up this morning This is just expanding on the mine and the miner.

A young man, say twenty, with wide shoulders and flowing brown hair tied back in a tail. His yellow eyes seem to penetrate whatever he looks at, and glitter with warmth. He has a strong, hard build, that of a man who has worked most of his life. The beastblood within him is obvious by his eyes, his oeverall lean, predatory appearacne and the sharp claws on his hands, his sharp teeth gleaming in the sun as he shoulders a pickaxe and heads into the mine.

He has spent most of his life here, in this remote mining outpost at the frozen , blindingly white tip of the world. The men he works with are like family to him, having been an orphan as long as he can remember. Their life is filled with hard toil duringthe day, and warmth and family spirit at night, as they lounge about the makeshift tavern built by an entrepunering Stantor, the wooden building rinigng with the sound of laughter and the tales they tell.

Any questions or criticism would be much appreciated.

Me and a few of my buddies run a clothing brand and recently I realized that almost all of my ideas stem from other brands’ already existing ideas and im realizing my brand is turning out to be a regurgitation of everyone elses brands. I am a creative person but ive never really developed a sense of creating my own independent ideas. Do any of you guys have like a process that leads you to independent originality in your ideas or are you guys in the same situation. Is this normal?

This is the first post in our subreddit and it will serve as an example on how things can work around here. Of course, if you are an illustrator and would like to draw any of my characters or scenes, feel very invited to do so!

Here is the link to my story.

Not sure if this is the right community for this but I picked up this framed artwork yesterday and I like it except for her horrifying face. I’m not artistic and don’t want to buy a lot of supplies (it was free) - does anyone have suggestions for a simple alteration? I was thinking maybe a sunglasses decal? Looking forward to any suggestions, ty