Most remote ruin beyond the reach of the hunting Guilds finally located betwixt a smoldering valley scorched collaterally from the fires of a landing cosmic chariot, emitting a humming ethereal field covetously withholding immemorial secrets buried deeply neath Dismalia harboring unfathomable power.
A cosmic vessel bleeding light that harbours a mystic portal, for those blessed by ignoble powers, to traverse the Nightmare Above.
The Metallic Pyramid.
Fraternal Hunters holidaying brashly in their lavish lodge at the Citadel of Phobos with peerless bravado blest by a baptism in blood and bile of Behemoths hunted, hauled and harvested from the Dismal Lands amidst sharing tales of mirthful woe matching trophies and blades from and for further hunts.
Joining the Eternal Hunt is not the only way to thrive. Sustaining survival required the formation of a harrowing hub for secretive smuggling operations specialized in the trading of Demon Matter. Hence, mercantile methodologies endorsed by blood-barons, rogue alchemists and big game hunters ensued.
A cosy lodge full of wall-mounted, assorted demon hunting trophies displayed proudly by the Rokyu guild alongside their weaponry. Stacks of skulls decorate the floors around wooden benches, with a tall mutant cacti down the aisle up to an eye-catching large and rare yet well preserved demonic moth.
The Rokyu Hunters' Lodge.
A black market featuring various contraband weapons, elixirs and armour. Bustling with Belial avid shoppers, merchants serve all kinds in the dark, damp sewers.
The Gutter Black Market.
Four previously unpublished Hellscapes of locations in DISMALIA newly posted on the account / Ko-Fi gallery. A spiralling dungeon, the holds of a decaying ship, a secluded bedroom in the sewers and a dragon church.
Hellscapes continued from 2022 locations not previously published!
Follow @dismalia.bsky.social to see concept art (incl. Alt Text descriptions that I wrote) and read about the world of DISMALIA as written by Marlutte.
Full gallery available on KoFi:
ko-fi.com/album/INKMal...
Horizons ablaze by dusk in Dismalia from the edge of the Frontier crowning the radiant temple with a billowing furor providential of the cosmic deity coursing ethereally through the dismal lands, bestowing blessings to the worthy and scorchingly smiting the fiends scoured amidst its fearless flight.
A sacred place of draconic worship, shaped in the image of the merciful Dragon Titan.
The Radiant Parish of Pariahs.
The Indomitable Knave of Phobos admires the simple comforts of his den in pursuit of placidity after filling the pockets of covetous employers with the finest fiend flesh. Sleeping in a suspended hammock for that weightless levitation feel envied from Mages, avoiding any pests from creeping over him
A quaint little abode in the narrow passages of the sewers, off the Gutter Black Market. Torches light up the room, revealing the ooze of moss seeping through gaps in the brick walls around it. A sturdy, uncomfortable bed hanging suspended by chains off the wall. The bed is furnished with a well-worn old pillow and weathered, ragged cloth blanket. Low ceilings of the underground make it very difficult for most to navigate, however the height is perfect for a pint-sized Belial.
The Slums, Vrak's Den.
As the raging spell storms haul the tides if the sanguine sea a council of covetous horrors gathers in the creaking deck of a stranded forsaken ark of antiquity that once sailed hoping to find safer shores absconding from apocalyptic annihilation, now occupied by their doom bringing scheming Demons.
Interior view of decaying, overgrown and infested holds of a shipwreck. Aquatic demonic beasts scuttle in the shadows, crawling through damp, rotting floorboards where toxic fungi flourish. Faint light shines down through a grid, illuminating the wooden flooring of this vessel, blinding darkness dwelling fiends that reside even lower.
The Great Ark of Salvation.
Gladiatorial oubliettes scattered all over the Frontier going deep underground from a sealed runic engraved vault door meant to enclose and enshroud a gauntlet teeming with Behemoth Demons forced to brawl indefinitely until only the most resilient are released, proven worthy of becoming Hell Knights
A twisted, winding tower, overcrowded with endless imprisoned fiends longing for death. They all stand, poised in the pentagonal archways, ready to descend into the pit, claw their way to futile victory only to be inevitably felled, cursed to regenerate and battle again.
The Spiralling Gladiatorial Dungeon.
Malevolent megalithic structure carved in antiquity by cosmic chisels intended for harnessing the bleeding rainfall imbued with chaotic mystic essence through filtering Grotesque gullets gargling on volatile deluge preventing pool portals from compromising the structure via invasive hellgrown vines.
An oddly serene yet disturbing stone bridge, enshrouded by mist that is composed of a blood-like vapour. Demonic gargoyles, vaguely akin to The Grotesque, sit perched atop columns lined with stone pillars that form an ominous path veiled by darkness. Sanguine blood red liquid pours down like rainfall, symbolically drowning them as it flows and spews back out the gargoyles' abdominal mouths, cascading below.
The Merciless Bloodfalls.
A shadowy bog, hissing swamp vapour and other hazardous fumes, inhabited by ungodly aquatic and amphibious fiends. Above them, hominoid assailants swing from branches and vines. They await intruders, ready to hurl rocks, bone fragments and anything heavy or sharp they can get their filthy claws on. Cages of thorn-ridden entrails, fastened tightly with miscellaneous bones, hang from the ends of many tree branches.
The Viridian Swamps of Bloodroot Jungle.
Behold; A monster! I dont do monsters often but this critter was fun to make with my good freinds character known as Vrak!
Art comrades: Post a Monster!
Behold, the Hellish Horned Eye Knight of the Six Eyed Royalty. Humanoid Legionnaire Behemoth, Bobzebul. Their rank is signified by the symmetrical sprouting of horns from their eyeless cranium, six being the maximum earned after a thousand years of formidable service.
Ensuing an arduous hunt the Flayer of Fiends beheld bewildered verdant fumes venting out of gills behind the Belial's ears consequent of a sanguine overdosage leading to abrupt mutations. In spite of this he was gesturing the taverner to fetch two more drinks for both, while gargling on his draught.
Vrak Deadhand, downing a green-hued drink at an elixir bar while Bosco looks back at him, holding a flier for a so-called "St. Vraktrick's Day" event, bemused. Everything is green to add emphasis to his strange annual tradition.
Lookin' green around the gills there, bud #DISMALIA #SaintPatricksDay ๐
Scourged smoldering stronghold occupied by the Demon Hordes of the Conquering Chimera as their base of operations repurposed from a place of meditative martial worship and metallic craftsmanship into an ardent pandemonium of ceaseless bellicose industry chimerically reforging armaments for the hunt.
An industrial fortress, emanating darkness. The site is dangerously obfuscated by a dense smog and the grounds are heavily guarded by armoured demons. Trespass these harrowing domains at your own peril.
The Baneful Badlands of Trulla.
A horde of beastly Cyclopean Behemoths congregated to harmonized their bellowing chants in a rumbling geomantic ritual drumming stompingly as the fossils of fallen fiends from their ignoble burials reinvigorated with vibrating vitriolic vigor to reassemble into the building blocks of a great bulwark
An enormous, ancient structure, built solidly with stones, fossilised great demonic beasts and assorted bones of the fallen. Many have brawled the tremendous brute at this archaic stadium. Few have lived to tell of its tale.
The Colossal Cyclopean Coliseum.
Blustering banshees brought by contorting crimson clouds looming predatorily over the towering windmills harnessing the ethereal currents of Bloodlight coursing through miasmic veins diametrically fluctuating between coagulation & dissolution of an atmospheric Mystic Demon powering the village below
Abstract windmills under dark clouds that writhe and contort ominously. Demonic beasts roam this land, enshrouded by mist.
Stormmill Village of Arioch.
There is a place beyond Dismalia that all brave Slayers fear where Champions and their Legions that go never reapear, hurricanes from hell rip and tear banners and the weak are dragged down to the depths of the Sanguine Sea. Picking on bones the Sirens fly, leviathans invoke thunderous ancient power