In the desolate reaches of the Shadowed Moors, where mist drifts like wraiths ac

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In the desolate reaches of the Shadowed Moors, where mist drifts like wraiths across barren heaths and ancient stones bear witness to forgotten rites, dwells an enigmatic figure—a white-haired old witch known only as Morwen the Dread. Bent with age and shrouded in a tattered black cloak that billows ominously in the chill wind, Morwen's piercing gaze holds the weight of centuries of arcane knowledge and unspoken horrors. Within her dilapidated cottage, nestled amidst gnarled trees and surrounded by a thicket of thorns that ward off intruders, Morwen tends to her dark arts. Tonight, beneath the pallid light of a waning moon that casts skeletal shadows upon the barren landscape, she stands before a flickering hearth in her dimly lit chamber. Her face, lined with age and etched with runes that pulse with an eerie light, contorts into a visage of twisted wisdom and malevolent intent as she brews a potion of unspeakable potency. The air is thick with the acrid scent of rare herbs and crushed bones, mingling with the faint whisper of incantations that echo through the cottage like a sinister hymn. With gnarled fingers that tremble with the weight of forbidden knowledge, Morwen adds a handful of moonlit mushrooms plucked from the graves of fallen warriors and a drop of blood from a creature that slumbers beneath the Veil of Shadows. As the cauldron emits a sickly glow that bathes the room in a ghastly pallor, the potion swirls with hues of midnight and whispers of ancient curses. Outside the cottage, the moors stir with the restless spirits of the damned and the spectral guardians that patrol Morwen's domain. Shadows dance upon the walls as she stirs the potion counterclockwise, binding the essence of darkness and death into its bubbling depths with each twisted incantation. In a realm where fear and fascination converge and magic flows through every shadow and stone, Morwen's craft becomes a testament to the relentless pursuit of power, the lure of forbidden knowledg

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Irsyaad Tsaabit

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In the desolate reaches of the Shadowed Moors , where mist drifts like wraiths across barren heaths and ancient stones bear witness to forgotten rites , dwells an enigmatic figure—a white-haired old witch known only as Morwen the Dread . Bent with age and shrouded in a tattered black cloak that billows ominously in the chill wind , Morwen's piercing gaze holds the weight of centuries of arcane knowledge and unspoken horrors . Within her dilapidated cottage , nestled amidst gnarled trees and surrounded by a thicket of thorns that ward off intruders , Morwen tends to her dark arts . Tonight , beneath the pallid light of a waning moon that casts skeletal shadows upon the barren landscape , she stands before a flickering hearth in her dimly lit chamber . Her face , lined with age and etched with runes that pulse with an eerie light , contorts into a visage of twisted wisdom and malevolent intent as she brews a potion of unspeakable potency . The air is thick with the acrid scent of rare herbs and crushed bones , mingling with the faint whisper of incantations that echo through the cottage like a sinister hymn . With gnarled fingers that tremble with the weight of forbidden knowledge , Morwen adds a handful of moonlit mushrooms plucked from the graves of fallen warriors and a drop of blood from a creature that slumbers beneath the Veil of Shadows . As the cauldron emits a sickly glow that bathes the room in a ghastly pallor , the potion swirls with hues of midnight and whispers of ancient curses . Outside the cottage , the moors stir with the restless spirits of the damned and the spectral guardians that patrol Morwen's domain . Shadows dance upon the walls as she stirs the potion counterclockwise , binding the essence of darkness and death into its bubbling depths with each twisted incantation . In a realm where fear and fascination converge and magic flows through every shadow and stone , Morwen's craft becomes a testament to the relentless pursuit of power , the lure of forbidden knowledg

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In the desolate reaches of the Shadowed Moors, where mist drifts like wraiths across barren heaths and ancient stones bear witness to forgotten rites, dwells an enigmatic figure—a white-haired old witch known only as Morwen the Dread. Bent with age and shrouded in a tattered black cloak that billows ominously in the chill wind, Morwen's piercing gaze holds the weight of centuries of arcane knowledge and unspoken horrors. Within her dilapidated cottage, nestled amidst gnarled trees and surrounded by a thicket of thorns that ward off intruders, Morwen tends to her dark arts. Tonight, beneath the pallid light of a waning moon that casts skeletal shadows upon the barren landscape, she stands before a flickering hearth in her dimly lit chamber. Her face, lined with age and etched with runes that pulse with an eerie light, contorts into a visage of twisted wisdom and malevolent intent as she brews a potion of unspeakable potency. The air is thick with the acrid scent of rare herbs and crushed bones, mingling with the faint whisper of incantations that echo through the cottage like a sinister hymn. With gnarled fingers that tremble with the weight of forbidden knowledge, Morwen adds a handful of moonlit mushrooms plucked from the graves of fallen warriors and a drop of blood from a creature that slumbers beneath the Veil of Shadows. As the cauldron emits a sickly glow that bathes the room in a ghastly pallor, the potion swirls with hues of midnight and whispers of ancient curses. Outside the cottage, the moors stir with the restless spirits of the damned and the spectral guardians that patrol Morwen's domain. Shadows dance upon the walls as she stirs the potion counterclockwise, binding the essence of darkness and death into its bubbling depths with each twisted incantation. In a realm where fear and fascination converge and magic flows through every shadow and stone, Morwen's craft becomes a testament to the relentless pursuit of power, the lure of forbidden knowledg

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(worst quality, low quality:1.4), bad hands, bad fingers, deformed hands, deformed fingers, fewer digits

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10

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40

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DPM++ 2M Karras

シード

2488247055

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1

画像サイズ

1024 X 1024

モデル

Arcanius - The fantasy path

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1024X1024

日付

Jun 23, 2024

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デフォルト

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upscale

Checkpoint & LoRA

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Arcanius - The fantasy path

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