Event Artwork

It is a cool, wet, winter day in the heart of Bushdog Pack territory. At the height of the Winter Solstice the sun has set several hours ago, yet some of the pack members remain outside basking in a warm glow. The Anteos have spent days, weeks, maybe months leading up until this night, collecting up driftwood, dry brush, and other flammable objects from their territory. Cleaning up the beaches. Building a large sort of pile. Now that pile burned as a bonfire, ba...

It was cold. Snow blanketed the destroyed city, coating what was left of civilization in a pale sheen. It was almost picturesque, postcard worthy, at least from a distance. There was a strange lump in the middle of one of the streets. The snow almost seemed to glow with fire from the inside, despite it not melting away. Snow began to fall lightly again and the lump remained where it was, seemingly unbothered. However as it shifted from snow to hail it began to tw...

The sky was heavy with low, gray clouds as Mute trudged through the frozen brush of snowed-over forestland, her breath leaving fading trails in the chill air. The sound of snow crunching beneath her clawed feet was swallowed by the icy wind whistling across the tundra. Mute’s dull red eyes scanned the white world, but today she wasn’t hunting or seeking victims. With her mind preoccupied, her jaws clamped tightly around an odd assortment of items usually no use to her: frozen berries, dri...