#raiments

[gianttankeh]

Off Brand at 'A Summer All Dayer' at Leith Depot, Edinburgh: 15/7/23.

You can find out more about this Fuzz Bat Gigs presentation & purchase tickets here.

[gemsofgreece]

Traditional war attire from Macedonia, Greece. You guessed it, another beautiful photo from the project Raiment of the Soul, a collaboration of the National Historical Museum of Greece with photographer Vangelis Kyris.

See more photos from this project: x, x, x, x, x, x, x and x.

[collegeofwinterhold]

a thing that keeps happening to me in this Skyrim playthrough is that I like go do a favor for someone or interact for a bit and go do something else and when I come back they are just gone. They’re not *dead* I don’t think cus they don’t show up in the hall of the dead they’re just. Disappeared.

[tetrachromate]

Uesugi Kenshin's dobuku (casual outer layer) with painted dragon and cloud patterns on a white nerinuki (raw silk weft, spun silk warp) silk ground, from before 1530

[theuncrucified]

To celebrate the Abyssals 3e launch from @theonyxpath, enjoy a collection of some of my Abyssal art!

Starting off with my take on the Deathlord, The Lover Clad in the Raiment of Tears. I channeled teardrop silhouettes and teardrop crystals with a spoopy madam aesthetic.

Say hello to Golden Lies Spewn Forth from Avarice, a Deathknight of the Lover who enjoys eating the rich (quite literally).

The Eyes of Lord Automeris, a soulsteel war fan weapon a Deathknight Moonshadow Caste used in our campaign that does willpower eroding attacks when it opens fully revealing its 'eyes'.

The Monstrance of the Lover. A gift given from the Lover to Rabzolga, the God of Slaves. As each monstrance suits the Deathlord’s intentions (the way I interpret the lore), I’ve chosen to portray this monstrance controlled by the Lover as being much like its owner.

The silk satin pillowing inside makes it seem like a luxurious bed, the soulsteel and jade construct gilded with gold. A prismatic crystalline lid allows one to gaze on the poor soul inside, whose body is trapped in an arc that mimics ecstasy by gold caressing arms that come alive and clasp the victim within. Inserted along the crystal lid, jewel encrusted needles stab into each of the victim’s chakra points, plying the Solar within for corruption. Like the Lover, this monstrance combines a beautiful and terrible aesthetic.

[vampiresinthedaylight]

I could make The Plagues from Prince of Egypt about Fëanor and Fingolfin in my mind

[uwmspeccoll]

Staff Pick of the Week

The semester is once again ending, and I fear we need all the help we can get to make it through these trying weeks. On that note, I bring you some help from the saints through Steven M. Krueger's Holy Raiment. Created by the artist after being inspired by letterpress and advanced fiber arts classes here at UWM, this book pairs relief prints of various objects with a corresponding saint to create a work reminiscent of a prayer book.

Of the book's construction, the artist explains:

The intimate size and shape of the reference intentionally recalls a prayer book, complete with silk ribbon marker. The hand carved imagery opposite the corresponding text serves as the identifying attribute, in keeping with the practice of representing each saint with a specific symbol or emblem. Researched and studied, this attention to details reinforced the religious theme.

When choosing saints to include in this book, Krueger picked saints that he could pair with a particular garment of clothing or items associated with getting dressed, and these pairings are included in a catalogue on the last page of the book. While the patron saint of students (Thomas Aquinas) is not included within these pages, you are still sure to find someone to help you out in the pages of this short book!

The text was compiled from various books about the lives of the saints, the text is computer-generated in Percival type, and the type and engravings are printed on white Parchtone paper.

View more staff picks.

– Sarah S., Special Collections Graduate Intern

[h0riz0nstuff]

Look mom, I borrowed your clothes.

[dragaliareferencearchive]

Model references for Spirited Angelic Raiment / Intro to Street Music (Hatsune Miku) - Project Sekai: Colorful Stage!

[modifiedyincision]

guys help what minor layer change is best

i cant decide. can you spare a few votes. ty

[throughtrialbyfire]

𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 ♥

hello!! <3 i'm on time! yay!

thank you to the lovely @skyrim-forever for tagging me this week!!

tagging the fantastic @orfeoarte @thequeenofthewinter @umbracirrus @wispstalk @dirty-bosmer

@oblivions-dawn @viss-and-pinegar @saltymaplesyrup @kookaburra1701 and YOU! no pressure as always, hope everyone's doing alright this week!

this is a long excerpt from chapter 36 of Cycle of the Serpent, where wyndrelis is busy doing some research, and meeting the "youngest bard at the bard's college", who i hope to give more life in the fic. <3

The library of the Bard's College was a large, open room, with a few chairs and the many vaulted windows which allowed pools of sunlight to form on the stone floors, lined with expensive rugs made by former students or commissioned for the college. A couple of marble busts sat on pedastals and stared out at the people who flitted in and out of the room, famous poets of Skyrim's torrid history, their faces forever preserved in flattering angles. The Dunmer made his way to one of the larger shelves, pressing a grey finger gingerly to the spines as he muttered their names under his breath. Each one left him more disappointed than the one before it, his focus glued to the backs of the leather-bound tomes. The Real Barenziah, The Askelde Men, Feyfolken, Songs of Skyrim… "What're you looking for?" The voice nearly startled him out of his skin, Wyndrelis jolting as he turned to face the speaker. A young, Redguard man stood with a hand on one hip, his dark blue, puff-sleeved shirt accented with gold bordering around the neckhole. His vest was an equally bright shade of gold, fastened with mammoth ivory buttons. Wyndrelis took in the sight of him, his bright smile, his cocked brow, and the extravagance of his clothing. "Do all bards dress so… Over the top?" Wyndrelis forced a nervous chuckle as the words left his mouth. The man waved a hand, dismissing the notion. "Trust me, when you meet Lady Ateia or Headmaster Viarmo, this will look tame by comparison."

He bit his tongue, not sure how to tell the man that he had met Viarmo, and gods, he was right. This was tame. When he turned his attention back to the bard, his hand was outstretched, and Wyndrelis awkwardly shook it. "Ataf. Youngest bard at the Bard's College!" "Is that so?" He thought back to Athenath, and gave the other a closer look, figuring them to be around the same age. "Um- Wyndrelis Femer." "You're one of the new students, then? I'd heard Giraud mention that we had some elves join. He was excited, I can tell you that. It's been a while since we had new prospective bards join." The Dunmer glanced to the bookshelf, then back to Ataf. "Hm, I see. Yes, um- myself and a couple of friends, we joined because one of them was already heading this way, so we figured…" he trailed off, unsure how to glaze over the details of the past few weeks without bringing up the dragons. So, he simply let the words die, and Ataf seemed satisfied enough with this answer. "That's great, genuinely. This war's made it hard for the college to get any new students, and… Well, anyways, enough rambling. What're you looking for? I saw you kinda peering over the shelf, is there anything specific?" The eagerness of the man unsettled him. Perhaps Wyndrelis was unused to people speaking so much. Aside from Athenath, this seemed to be the most talkative person he'd run into in a very long time. He shifted his attentions back to the shelf, scanning the spines and frowning. "Yes, but I'm not certain what the title is." "We can narrow by genre, if that helps."

It did. "History." "Oh, then you're in the wrong section." Ataf waved for Wyndrelis to follow him, the Dunmer knitting his brow. "The histories are over here. Largest section, aside from our poetry and song collections. I've been here a little while, so I've spent my fair share of time curled up in this very chair," he gestured to a worn, wooden-framed chair, cushioned seats flattened from years of use, "are you looking for materials for Giraud's class?" Wyndrelis shook his head. "I'm actually hoping I could learn a little more about this city. Or Haafingar Hold as a whole, I think." When Ataf lead him to a smaller corner of the shelf, he pointed to the right books. Wyndrelis' magicka formed in his hand as a soft, blue glow, before stretching out and grasping the first book, then the second, then a third and fourth, piling them up into the chair. Ataf stared a moment, flicking his gaze from the Dunmer's hand, then his face. "A mage, huh? So, why aren't you in Winterhold?" The curiosity seemed well-placed, but the fact he wasn't in Winterhold - or rather, had been prevented from heading there entirely - burned at the back of his neck, and across his cheeks and atop his ears. Wyndrelis shrugged. "I would be, but… Things got complicated, I suppose. And now I am here, and I'd like to stay a while." Ataf explained the sections of the shelves, where he could find what books, his knowledge of the college itself funneled into his words and his passionate voice. Clearly, Ataf had been at the college for some time, and his enjoyment of the place sprawled across his features and through to his words. When the conversation lulled and Ataf rushed to join another year-round student - a young woman named Illdi, Wyndrelis gathered - he sat in the chair, setting the books on the table next to him, and began to flip through the pages idly.

The days since the trio had arrived in Solitude had been a flurry of deeds to be done, deals to be struck, and responsibilities to spend their time wrapping up. Rarely, moments to breathe would seep into their day. Now that there was time, Wyndrelis had his curiosities, and the desire to satiate them like a burrowing hunger through his gut. And, of course, the nightmares. Wyndrelis seldom dreamt. This had been a fact his entire life. It was one that his siblings would joke about being his "curse" in their bloodline, as so many of them suffered vivid dreams, but he spent the majority of his life without, simply falling into blanketed darkness that sped him into the next day. Since arriving in Solitude, he had suffered nightmares, some very small and fragmented, as though washed up on a sea of black sand. Others vivid, warm, tangible. As though thrust like a fist into a toy fortress of wood, crushing peace to pieces. Some woke him, others he slept through. The first was of twin fires, of a clocktower in his hometown and the fires of Helgen. The next was of dragons, hundreds of them in all different colors, flying overhead until they blotted out the sky. Chief among them was that serpentine shape, the black-winged, red-eyed beast who'd lunged the rest of Wyndrelis' life thus far into chaos. That shape ever grew throughout the dream, until he outgrew Nirn itself, until the world was nothing but the size of a small berry that the dragon devoured. He'd woken up with a start after that one. It had been the night before they set out to Fort Hraggstad, and he'd been lucky not to wake the other two. He could still feel the cold sweat down his back as he reflected on it, and shuddered. All he could do now was seek answers.

[sparklecur]

random trivia: lylac made their own mask/raiments! since lylac themself arent any of the main races within pyre the design is based on a combination of different races, specifically cur (mask design and tail) imp (also mask design) and savage (except its not as immediately visible since i forgot to add the markings on the pants orz)

[tetrachromate]

INSANELY good outfit congrats on getting a fit off lady oichi

[fishysos]

I just know High Elves would love the (kentucky) derby.

[megahorous]

New shoits

I have so many