Character Art: Warforged, Constructs & Robots

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The only pic you need, OP.

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Didnt mean to quote

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Requesting pictures of Chinese or other Asian warriors that don't look like they're from promotional art for shitty F2P MMORPGs.

Wish I had a reference image, but I'm posting from my work laptop, so here's a picture of a German castle instead.

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>robot cowboys
>not going for a one-armed bandit

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Inspired by mass effect geth?

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>Robotcowboy_6
>Robotcowboy_18
>Robotcowboy_39

Can we talk about these filenames for a second?

Why do you have 39 pictures of robot cowboys? Who would ever need 39 pictures of robot cowboys?

I can't see any reason why you wouldn't need more pictures of robot cowboys.

Anyone have a regal elf queen, preferably blonde and somewhat more mature looking?

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does anyone have a droid that could fit in with the old sith empire military?

Anyone got more like this?

Anyone have any swordsman that are lightly, or preferably un-, armored? Maybe with a eastern European or slavic design, and with a rogueish slant, not unlike the pic?

This might work, even though there's a gun

The best possible response.

Let me tell you of Shovelhead, Son of David and Harley, Whose Soul Is Iron, last of the Knights of the Wheelhouse.

Once, when men came to this land in their burning ship of blackstone and glass, having followed the Wandering God to their new home, they fashioned the first warforged in their likeness. Each swore an oath to serve Mankind and their liege-founder (Balor One-Eye, Whose Soul is Cold Iron), to aid men in their war against the Fey in the Dawn War. There was old Mazda with his lance, industrious Ford with his many ritter-flamen, Stern Dodger Ramfisted, and many others. To be amongst them was to fear nothing, for they were mighty and true and loved mankind as young sons their fathers.

Then the war ended. The Fey at last were forced to their solitary dwellings, their armies' bulk banished beyond the Gate of Thorns by mighty Balor Himself. His rusted frame yet watches the gate with his own, unblinking, Cold Iron Eye, locking the gate forever with his unyielding gaze. Mankind made allies then of Elf and Dwarf, fellow mortals who had long-suffered the fey's iniquities. Yet in their new fellowship, man forgot their sons.

One by one, the gears of war were bent to plowshares, and the last of the blackstone and glass faded. Men learned the Artes, renewed their kinship with the Gods and the Wanderer their shepherd, and forgot, in measure, their craft. One by one, the Knights of the Wheelhouse grew old, and returned in final gift their frames of iron and copper to the forge, though some claim that their crystal hearts, yet laden with the echo all their love and greatness, yet remain in shrouded tabernacle, should Man need them one last time in the Dusk of Men.

Shovelhead was forged a helper-son to David and Harley, themselves old and weary craftors in the ancient ways. Having a small sampling of the Dwarven blood, their age hampered not their forms, yet their minds bore the stretch of time, and so Shovelhead was their secretkeeper, their laborer, and their child.

Forty years from first ignition, Shovelhead served the elder-dwarvlings, and cared for them, until at last their bodies returned to the stone and mountain-root. Another ten, he served as smith and teacher to the children of Harrowmont. Yet Shovelhead at last, grew restless, and on his fifty-first year left his town and forge to learn the eldest secrets of his else-kin. Shovelhead made himself an armor-skin of burnished iron and set to the Blackstone Stead, abandoned crib of Man. Other forged-men resided there, feeling kinship with the ruin, and still remain there awaiting the return of man from his kingdoms and his learned-magicks. They greeted Shovelhead most harshly, for though he was of their format, he was strange to them; new in the making, and yet possessed of some small spark of the oldest model's likeness. They thought him a scavenger, and set to him a task they thought impossible: to build anew the Rider's Chariot.

Seven times did Shovelhead, lingering on the shores of Blackstone Stead, attempted the feat. Its design came to him slowly, in parts from his gleanings of the broken hieroglyphs and symbology of the fortress-wreck and from troubled dreams. The first such try was crude, but lauded by those who set him this task; all such forged-men had had such ambition, once. With each attempt did Shovelhead grow closer, his once-decryers becoming ever more enamoured, their mockery turned to distant hope. The Seventh Chariot finished, and Shovelhead fed the wheelbeast from his own ignition, and it Roared awake. Many wept tears of joy, their tarnished faceplates cracking in fulfillment long denied them. At last, the Forged-Men had their Champion.

How quickly their tears would turn to sorrow.

In recognition of his feat, the old veterans of the Dwan War granted him leave to wield, for a time, old Mazda's lance, to don the crimson mantle of the Knight. He would be their emissary, to stride with yet untarnised foot and sparkling wheel. Young Shovelhead then left old Blackstone Stead, yet he swore on his own soul-chamber thaat he would not return alone. He wandered as his fellow-knights of old did, righting wrongs and saving the lives of mortal folk. He bested, in his short time, the Vendalbeast of Priam's Wood, slew the Elf Darthathel who threatened all the world in his theft of Balor's Eye. With the lance of Mazda did Shovelhead pierce the illusions and chitined plate of the Fey-Cataphract, took back the Eye, and set it in its place once more to safeguard the realms of Men. By his actions, his valor, his faith, and his compassion did Shovelhead earn for himself the title Keeper of Blackstone Stead by the Emperor of Dwarves and Men's own hand, and brought back afore him a host of two-thousand mortals to rekindle the lights in Man's own crib. Yet not a fortnight into his liegehood did Shovelhead find his final challenge.

The Dreaded One was a thing built of the darkest corners of the Dawn War, a testament to the desperation the Fey imposed on all who breathed. Into its twisted form was woven Dragon and Beast, cadaver, the Fey's gleanings of the Forged-Men's own birth by Man, and the terrible powers of the Rust-Eater Vermin. The new-found life in Blackstone Stead awoke the Dreaded One from its slumbers, a mixture of wrathful vengeance and fear of the Old Ways returning to mankind. Many perished as the Dreaded One made its way through the yet-unfinished restoration of the fortress-town, when Shovelhead rode before its sight. The Crimson Mantle billowed upon his shoulders; the Lance of Mazda drew to its full-form against its ancient foe. Beside him was Loyal Inu, the rifle-cannon of lost Yamaha. The two squared in the wreckage, then charged.

The conflict of the Dreaded One and Shovelhead made fresh the destruction of the Blackstone Stead, though the knight saved as many souls as he could. Of the thousand mortals and his six-score forged brethren, two-hundred and seventy-five respectively lived. For every fallen child, every broken tile and steely-paneled smithson, Shovelhead did land twenty terrible blows to the Dreaded One's twisted frame. Even that number proved nought, and the Dreaded One cleaved rider and chariot with its rusting maw. Yet while still in the thing's all-consuming teeth did Shovelhead, at last, land the fated blow, and pierced the roof of the Dreaded One's Throat it its very brain and core, and ended the monster's half-life. Of the treasures Shovelhead had called upon for aid that day, only twisted scraps remained, and the hero's own form was a mess of iron dust and broken wire.... save his crystal heart, his soul's chamber, wrapped in cold iron. The Gods of Old had granted Shovelhead a fitting place amongst the lost and fabled Knights of his fathers' tales, and set him there, to dwell in the Calling House of Blackstone Stead, to wait until the Dusk of Men. There with Mazda and Ford, Dodger, Yamaha, Buell, Kowasaki, and the remainder will he sleep until the final hour, to ride one last time in the company of Balor their liege-founder, and save Man in his final day.

When Men remember the way, the Knights will Ride but once more, and be at rest.

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Robots incoming

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Seriously, no reaction? Then again, this is an image thread, not storytime.

I came here to get character art not read a short story user

Fair enough. Have some more robots.

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why would anyone be interested in something that has nothing to do with themselves

or more directly, why do you expect strangers to read or care about your story

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It's less an expectation than a hope.
One I already conceded.

Ok, I went back and read it. Pretty enjoyable, I would just make the boss battle longer, it was over in like two lines.

Cool. Thank you.

Is that Mickey Mouse?

took me a second, but yeah. That's the unholy power of Disney right there.

vagina throat

I take it you don't frequent drawthreads 'round these parts, stranger.

Is that tin man fucker giving me the finger

What are you gonna do about it, meat?