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EATHS, EATHSUB, and related properties © 2022 of Shale Whyte and Unknown Animation Studios. Character idea proposed by DrogarMythos.
Comments over faves, thank you
Carrion, up on high by miles, the fires below like twinkling stars in the smoky haze like the night sky, shows his glowering face to his mortal foe, and to say it is monstrous is an understatement. Gorged properly on the flesh of street tough and cultist, living and dead, all alike to sate his twisted idea of genetic perfection, even the monstrous caveman seems unrecognizable in his irreparably warped body. Looking more like the skin of his face had been messily ripped off, a skull-like mask fastens around with only sinews to hold his serrated vulture-like beak together. The blood red eyes behind the sockets, almost glowing like lamps of hellfire, seem divided into two pairs, small at the front and large behind, to maximize vision. His long white hair flows, split up to the base of his skull by the natural dividing line of his skull mask. But by all accounts, these are his most normal features, bringing at least some vague semblance that there ever was anything close to a true person, even just the ancient ancestral version of one, left in there.
Along the entirety of his body, at first, it almost looks like there is not even a trace of skin, just muscles atop muscles exposed, like whole new systems of the stuff grown over and inside the old, from bulging bits between his ribs to hideous rippling sections of his thick neck and collarbone; even twisted branching sections that meet from the centre of his shoulders and wind off like backup cables just before his elbows. But with his sinewy ability, it is more than likely each is merely its own tendril, forced by sheer willpower and a touch of pride to look humanoid, to fit onto a skeleton he just had to have if only to try to show up his ten-million-year rival by proving he can. Great skeletal wings, jutting with small purple keratin thorns and even complete with a clawed 'finger' like the bulb of the scorpion's sting, protrude from his back. Below that, writhing in anticipation, his twisted form gets even worse as two pairs of a strange appendage that seems to have once been a simple tail of feathers, now turned into long writhing prehensile tendrils ending in jagged hook-like barbs overtop tiny fanged mouths that drips with the vile fluids that seem to be his staple and that seep from his every pore like the drool of a man who has gorged himself fit to burst but still cannot help but eye up the dessert table before him; a whole city's worth of treats of every shape and size and flavour.
The body, if what Carrion has sculpted can even be called that, stands a good ten feet tall and almost five feet wide at the shoulders, its proportions twisted and warped into a great hulking monstrosity of a man that flexes clawed over-long and over-jointed fingers in anticipation. He emits a sound in a tongue older than language with a mouth dripping with whatever still constitutes for spit in that poison-filled jagged beak, almost a very wet purr that rumbles from the depths of his barrel-like bulging chest. No meaning escapes this simple sound, for in it is the pride at what he has made of himself, the mocking and wicked hatred of his rival in a sound no simple swear word could match, and the almost pleasurable excitement at the battle he was waited for since the very idea of a city let alone the buildings he was still high above were but a vague fantasy. The monster that would haunt the city's nightmares for decades to come, the demon whose face drove a hard-working run of the mill programmer into a desperate manic serial strangler, the face that could drive the most loyal cultist into fits of fear and crooks into hysterical frenzies of battelust for his promises of an age of destruction; there is no doubt that this is the fully-realized face of a god of the end, a god of murder, a god of death.
What comes from Carrion's mouth is not quite words as present man would know it, but they certainly were not the simple sounds of the past. They were like their own tongue of wet snarling noise, the meaning carried over only to another who had lived in both worlds. Although each sound and each meaning drips with just as much malice as the sickly tar-like phlegm in the beast's body, Carrion's tone is not angry, and only barely excited; it is calm, pleasant, almost the sound one would expect from stroking the head of some puppy, perhaps one straight from hell, eyeing up a promised treat. “I know you can hear me, for this is the voice of gods. It's a pity I can't consume you. Our blood is too similar... but it matters not. “All things seek pleasure. I am no different. The thrill of battle, the sweet taste of fresh meat...the joy of sex... it's nothing compared to this. Reproduction is outdated and vestigial anyways. Immortality sounds so much more... delicious~”
The penultimate villain of a long ongoing superhero game, and a chance to get a feel for making something that felt (and looked) like a proper dark 90s animated villain. He was a fascinating character to represent, utterly eldritch and alien and consumed with hatred with his nemesis; two cavemen (or the anthro equivalent) turned into super-beings from time past who killed each other once before and now were practically immortal... neither could truly kill the other on their own, but Carrion could try to kill everyone the hero loved... too bad the hero loves everyone.
Comments over faves, thank you
Carrion, up on high by miles, the fires below like twinkling stars in the smoky haze like the night sky, shows his glowering face to his mortal foe, and to say it is monstrous is an understatement. Gorged properly on the flesh of street tough and cultist, living and dead, all alike to sate his twisted idea of genetic perfection, even the monstrous caveman seems unrecognizable in his irreparably warped body. Looking more like the skin of his face had been messily ripped off, a skull-like mask fastens around with only sinews to hold his serrated vulture-like beak together. The blood red eyes behind the sockets, almost glowing like lamps of hellfire, seem divided into two pairs, small at the front and large behind, to maximize vision. His long white hair flows, split up to the base of his skull by the natural dividing line of his skull mask. But by all accounts, these are his most normal features, bringing at least some vague semblance that there ever was anything close to a true person, even just the ancient ancestral version of one, left in there.
Along the entirety of his body, at first, it almost looks like there is not even a trace of skin, just muscles atop muscles exposed, like whole new systems of the stuff grown over and inside the old, from bulging bits between his ribs to hideous rippling sections of his thick neck and collarbone; even twisted branching sections that meet from the centre of his shoulders and wind off like backup cables just before his elbows. But with his sinewy ability, it is more than likely each is merely its own tendril, forced by sheer willpower and a touch of pride to look humanoid, to fit onto a skeleton he just had to have if only to try to show up his ten-million-year rival by proving he can. Great skeletal wings, jutting with small purple keratin thorns and even complete with a clawed 'finger' like the bulb of the scorpion's sting, protrude from his back. Below that, writhing in anticipation, his twisted form gets even worse as two pairs of a strange appendage that seems to have once been a simple tail of feathers, now turned into long writhing prehensile tendrils ending in jagged hook-like barbs overtop tiny fanged mouths that drips with the vile fluids that seem to be his staple and that seep from his every pore like the drool of a man who has gorged himself fit to burst but still cannot help but eye up the dessert table before him; a whole city's worth of treats of every shape and size and flavour.
The body, if what Carrion has sculpted can even be called that, stands a good ten feet tall and almost five feet wide at the shoulders, its proportions twisted and warped into a great hulking monstrosity of a man that flexes clawed over-long and over-jointed fingers in anticipation. He emits a sound in a tongue older than language with a mouth dripping with whatever still constitutes for spit in that poison-filled jagged beak, almost a very wet purr that rumbles from the depths of his barrel-like bulging chest. No meaning escapes this simple sound, for in it is the pride at what he has made of himself, the mocking and wicked hatred of his rival in a sound no simple swear word could match, and the almost pleasurable excitement at the battle he was waited for since the very idea of a city let alone the buildings he was still high above were but a vague fantasy. The monster that would haunt the city's nightmares for decades to come, the demon whose face drove a hard-working run of the mill programmer into a desperate manic serial strangler, the face that could drive the most loyal cultist into fits of fear and crooks into hysterical frenzies of battelust for his promises of an age of destruction; there is no doubt that this is the fully-realized face of a god of the end, a god of murder, a god of death.
What comes from Carrion's mouth is not quite words as present man would know it, but they certainly were not the simple sounds of the past. They were like their own tongue of wet snarling noise, the meaning carried over only to another who had lived in both worlds. Although each sound and each meaning drips with just as much malice as the sickly tar-like phlegm in the beast's body, Carrion's tone is not angry, and only barely excited; it is calm, pleasant, almost the sound one would expect from stroking the head of some puppy, perhaps one straight from hell, eyeing up a promised treat. “I know you can hear me, for this is the voice of gods. It's a pity I can't consume you. Our blood is too similar... but it matters not. “All things seek pleasure. I am no different. The thrill of battle, the sweet taste of fresh meat...the joy of sex... it's nothing compared to this. Reproduction is outdated and vestigial anyways. Immortality sounds so much more... delicious~”
The penultimate villain of a long ongoing superhero game, and a chance to get a feel for making something that felt (and looked) like a proper dark 90s animated villain. He was a fascinating character to represent, utterly eldritch and alien and consumed with hatred with his nemesis; two cavemen (or the anthro equivalent) turned into super-beings from time past who killed each other once before and now were practically immortal... neither could truly kill the other on their own, but Carrion could try to kill everyone the hero loved... too bad the hero loves everyone.
Category All / All
Species Avian (Other)
Size 1280 x 750px
File Size 871.5 kB
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