Hello, how are you?

I'm great! 36 hours without electricity and internet? Yeah! that's great! Yesterday I woke up with great news that I did not have electricity at home and in the surrounding area, the day before I was working on my entry for the Splinterlands art contest, but with the problem that arose I have not touched the PC, so as I saw that my hopes that it would just be a few hours without electricity were dashed.

I decided to do something in my sketchbook. To participate I have chosen a Dr. He is a somewhat old character, well, not that old, but very interesting. Reminds me of the Plague Doctor.

I made a variable of this character since she would be feminine. I used my sketchbook and an 8b pencil and my phone to take the photo and the internet of my sister, I came to visit so I could post 😳🥲.

LORE

To say the faculty at Pelcroft were uncooperative when first presented with Alastair's “evidence” would be an understatement. Shunned for his obsession with obscure folklore and laughed at for his insistence on a forgotten “hidden” continent, staff and friends alike mumbled pejoratives just out of earshot suggesting an unbalanced mind, drawing comparisons to the infirmed at Silverwood Asylum.

But the Yerivin Manuscript could not be ignored. Though indecipherable, the illuminated volume hinted at lands and flora somehow lost, suggesting a rich landscape ever so near but inaccessible to the uninitiated. As his critics grew more vocal he grew ever more determined, reclusive and choleric, buying the artifacts he could and stealing what he could not to fuel his obsessive research; obscure tablets in jade, strange figures carved in hardwoods unknown, and fragments of rotting velum in writing nearly identical the Yerivin volume. But still they would not believe.

Everything changed when the first sightings were made. The seas themselves had suddenly shifted, alien currents with strange fish had interrupted trade routes and samples described in university articles gave at last incontrovertible evidence for Alastair's claims. Though gifted now with funding, celebrity and a clockwork steamer to make the voyage, his sleep became restless, haunted by whispers of fear and greed.

On the sea he grew thin, unable to eat, feeding instead on his growing delusions, disappearing from the shore camp on arrival, returning late that first night wild-eyed, raving of ruins in the jungle and of visions of a flaming caldera where all questions would be answered. The crew muttered. The ship's captain hid the guns and rum.

The next morning he was gone. It was a fortnight before reports reached the shore of great swaths of jungle blackened and dead with tales of a crow beaked shadow bringing death in its wake.

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SOME STEPS

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