Louis of Nutwood

That's cool as hell! (yeah, pun intended). Beautiful photography, lovely tale. And a phenomenal way to sneak peak on your minifig series category! Now, that's one. Fifteen more to go. Hope you don't get frozen in the way.

You're too kind, Spader. Thanks again for stopping by. I really appreciate your support. Glad you liked it. Cheers, lad!

I'm thrilled you liked it, sir Navarre. It makes me happy to see you took the time to appreciate the little details: how the gateway and the temple match in style and the use of backwards masonry bricks, for instance. Really glad it appeals to your high-level taste. Thanks for the support, bud. You're a great inspiration. ^This line is a good example of this. I'm just not really sure what is happening. Is she chasing a red smoke trail, or is this a floating lantern (or are those one and the same thing?)? I'm not a native speaker, so getting through literary English can still prove challenging, despite years of English education and practice. Also, I would have put everything that happens before reaching the Tōrō above the first picture, for better understanding of the story. Lastly: the lore; this is set in Mitgardia? I think it doesn't rhyme with the Scandinavian/Viking/Dwarven aesthetic for Mitgardia, so I would need some kind context to have that make sense. In Historica, east Asian architecture is concentrated in and around the Southern Rakath Mountains (including Ulandus, Quarkyr in Kaliphlin, and Zotharith in Nocturnus), and off the continent there is a collection of islands called Yureishima, which is essentially fantasy Japan. I think your build would fit into those places well without much explanation. Did you have a specific reason for locating it in Mitgardia? Lore aside, all the physical stuff here is outstanding, and I am really interested in your next builds! Dear sir Exetrius, I remember receiving your comments and feedbacks with much joy and gratitude when I first started posting my shy MOCs, only a few years ago. It means a lot how much you liked this last one, and how much you've seen in progress. There's a little learning with every MOC, every picture taken and every time GIMP is put to use. It feels amazing to be around such talented and inspiring builders, willing to give feedback and push us forward. So I deeply appreciate your support, Sir Exetrius! I'm honored you put Toro Nagashi as 'my best yet', as personally I feel the same way. About the lore, it's no secret I've been trying to improve my writing with every post. Along with the build, writing and thinking of the backstory is something I really like doing, so I appreciate any one who invests the time in absorbing whatever I put out there. I'm glad you think it's 'poetic'! When we think about tales and ancient writings, I feel the poetic adds something to the ambiance. But I understand it's not for everybody, nor fast-paced. Sir Grover also told me how when writing fantasy, sometimes, objectivity works much better than subjectivity, and it's definitely something I'm working on. I'm not a native English speaker as well, so reading your reactions is gold if I'm aiming to improve. Specifically about the "red ribbon", yeah! It's the lantern. I've struggled to find a different characterization / creative description but I recognize I might have taken a step too far. Haha. As for photo order: makes sense! I'll definitely change that. Finally, the LORE. Wait, wait wait... there's a part on our collective map specifically focused on Fantasy Japanese Mythology?! Maaan! That's fantastic news! I guess I'll head to the islands for a little while, as I nurture my manga-geek side. I honestly didn't know that. And I guess now... the Toro Nagashi ritual was indeed taught by the ancient scholars from the Yureishima Islands. Yes! I remember that now! The ritual has passed to the other parts of the continent, and each guild performs the ritual slightly adapted, under a different name. Fluglytka, as it is called in Mitgardia (as for other Guilds, I'll have to check). The Toro Nagashi Temple, however, is NOT set in Mitgardia. In fact, it is only set in our minds. It was depicted here only as the old writings of Yureishima have described it. Yet, it is not well described at all. A lot has been lost in translation, and they seem to have chosen to describe it subjectively. See, the ritual is set for us to remember those who have fallen. But when the need to meet them is too grand, we search for the path of the lanterns in our hearts. And if we follow the light of the lanterns, we will eventually land in a sacred place (each person will land in a different one), to meet with our fallen heroes. Honestly, I would love to see our fellow Guildies depict THEIR Toro Nagashi, ritual of the floating lanterns. I now wonder how Kali, Nocturnus, Avalonia, Varlyrio and Mitgardia each have absorbed from the ancient writings... I hope some of it clears your questions, brother. Again, it is a joy to read through your comments and debate about the lore, strengthening the reality of this world we build with every MOC. Such a pleasure, sir Exetrius. Skol! Thank you so much, Spader. You're the best!

CDC2 Ancient Wonders: Toro Nagashi Temple (Mitgardia)

I'm flattered you liked it, Servertijd. I went for a peaceful and tranquil look, and I'm glad it convinces. Cheers, bud!

What a treat to hear you liked it, MRCP!

I'm thrilled you liked it, Niku! I was going for a tranquil look, so I'm happy to have it resonating with you. Cheers! Really glad you liked it, Kai! Techniques here are simple, but effective. I'm just happy you enjoyed it. Cheers, brother.

Super glad you liked it, JTooker! In such a small footprint, every stud counts. Thanks for the support, fellow wanderer!

I'm humbled for being chosen, distinguished Guild members. I build for the glory of this world, and for the glory of Mitgardia! Ahooo! May our tales and towers bring the strength and inspiration to wash away the dirt and fight another battle. Wield your brick separators! And join us, brave builders, for this is just the beginning. With each coming battle we pave our way into Valhalla. I salute you, mighty rulers of this world @Ecclesiastes, for blurring the lines between fantasy and reality. I salute you, great builders, for being the true architects of this world, expanding it with your values, bricks and blood. I drink from your pool of creativity and rejoice in your energy. This night, we celebrate. Skol!

May the gods old and new guide us through this unknown path. Let the 16 people we meet along the way be brave to teach us, and kind to let us tell their story. And may the wonders of the ancient world be as marvelous in person as they are in bedtime stories. We salute you, mighty builders! For the time to build, once again, reigns upon us all. Skol!

Thank you, fellow wanderer of the north. Skool!

Ütoverögat Entry for GOH's Anniversary Challenge: Tower. (As always, a cup of warm beverage should go well with the following read. Enjoy!) High up in the cold mountain peaks of the white north, where the winds hissed and the storms blew, there was one rule that reigned above all: the rule of the stronger. Younglings were thought to embrace the snow, to cherish the blowing wind and to endure with a hollow belly. The ones who took those teachings by heart were most likely to survive the bleak environment of the vast and unexplored Frozen Beyond. Yet even those who grew a thick skin and sustained through nights of famine were subject to perish on the hands of wild beasts, raging diseases or lingering savage tribes. To survive meant to gather and form a family. For as a group, people were stronger, and for the group they fought not only for their own lives, but for the ones they have learned to share their lives with. There was one village, though, that contrasted from the rising communities. Instead of relying on fishing and agriculture, and establishing trade relations with neighboring families, they trusted on a different source of strength that was unknown to most. This village, called Völsung, was establish up in the North, somewhere past the last remaining road. In the center of a gorge, it was surrounded by two ebony cliffs of frozen black stone, where rivers have dried, trees did not grow, and no animal found reason to walk by. It was a dead land, buried under a thick mist and doomed to remain untouched, hidden from gods and men. But fat wooden towers, heavy timbered walls, and massive speared palisades appeared over time, indicating the entrance to an uninviting nest. It raised suspicion amongst the northern clans. After all, how could these people survive in the middle of nowhere, under an unstopping storm, without provisions from any of the known villages and apparently, without ever opening their gates? Everyone had questions, but no one dared speaking aloud. That same year, as all years past, just when the winds turned colder and the frost covered the crops, people were called to prepare for the time of shortage and ensure their comfort during days of blizzard. But that year, winter came in a flash. Faster and stronger. Even those accustomed to a life of clenching teeth felt tricked by the gods, for the blowing winds came without a warning and brought the thickest clouds and a lingering shadow that enforced an unending night over their homes. A darkness that took away their harvests, their sleep, their children. Everything. People cloistered. They hid themselves from the unnatural force they could only assume was cast by the gods and prayed their villages would not be chosen. Still, a small group of men set foot on the road with only their loved ones in mind, and blades in their scabbards to calm their disquiet. But this winter was different. They fought against time and nature to stock for a time of uncertainty. Yet they strove to understand a force that slipped from the grasp of reason. Fiobvr followed, as it was his duty, and prayed in silence in an unsettling farewell. “I’ll always protect you”, whispered the farmer to his family, facing the spreading clouds over the mountaintops. ... Fiobvr walked the lonely streets of the camp he knew so well, under a black mantel that covered the world. Starless skies swallowed his puzzling dreams and filled his chest with frozen air. The distant glow of a dancing fire revealed at least one man amongst all farmers and fishermen was awake. There was no doubt. He knew who it was, and therefore forced himself to think of scenarios in being summoned at this hour, while all others slept, meant a good thing. But no blessing came to mind. The lingering air inside the tent was thick and warm, and Fiobvr thanked the Gods for feeling the tips of his callused fingers once again. Leaning over a hardwood table, the figure of a man made of nothing but muscle, dwelled over a wrinkled map as his hair, clamped in silver rings hung over the world as a pendulum. His eyes turned to the woken farmer, briefly turned into a warrior, and a puff of air fled from his clenched teeth. “Gather your belongings and empty your tent. You will leave at first light,” said the chieftain from behind a thick beard. “You may form a group of men to accompany you, to make sure your travels are safe.” “All of my belongings, Lord?”, Fiobvr said puzzled. “Where should I leave to?” The Chieftain emptied his lungs and his head sunk between his broad shoulders, as his eyes wafted across the map. “A messenger was sent west to report on our families”. He paused, looking for words. “Many villages remain tall and strong. These have opened their gates to the neighboring families in need. Some other villages, though... had to be evacuated”. His finger drifted across the map and landed over a vast forest Fiobvr recognized in a heartbeat. There was a handful of friendly villages, and amongst them, Høydefür, the one village he knew more than any other. Home. His mind was filled by warm thoughts of Nyeda and his sisters, Phili and Teri. Yet, he shivered, conceding the arrival of the sudden winter, and realizing his task up in the cold mountains of the North was far from complete. “For all we know, Høydefür fell.” Are they safe? Fiobvr wanted to ask, but a sudden freeze grabbed his throat, and he could not find his voice. “Roligsfrakk is well provisioned, and I trust your family will find comfort by their heaths. But I reckon your sisters will feel safer in your presence,” said the warlord, his breath frosting in the dim light. His braided hair swung like a bell, from one side of the map to the other. Fiobvr followed. “The last group... they did not go west,” Fiobvr observed. But in truth, he did not need the reply. He was summoned in the middle of the night, not to bring distress. He was asked to leave before dawn, not to raise more speculation, he figured. That meant all he needed to know, and a sudden shudder raised to his collar. The chieftain’s eyes moved across the map up to the north, and stood over a neck, where two ridges met. The gorge. “Everything leads to the same place. The Frozen Beyond.” He grunted. “We can send men to protect the whole land. But until we understand what happens inside those walls... we and our families will live in fear, waiting for a shadow to swallow the sun and bury ourselves in the snow”. His eyes left the map and stared into the night beyond the cloth of his tent, as the candlelight danced in the silence. Rumors. Fiobvr heard all of them. People spoke of sorcery and Seidr magic. Of a blood-thirsty creature brought from the underworld that meandered with the winds. Of a whisper chanting in the storm. Of the return of the undead... Rumors. Nothing but rumors. That was what he kept telling himself. But truth be told, they haunted his sleepless nights. Because beyond the rumors, Fiobvr saw the villages with his own eyes. Dortvaenir, Khardun, Sjenervandt, once prosperous and full of life, were taken by the storm in a sudden, and were now sunken in the snow. Deserted. Taken by the dark shadows of an unknown strength, blowing from the North, and their people were nowhere to be seen. It all happened so fast! He knew the rumors, aye. But those were not the works of rumors. Those were something else. Fiobvr swallowed and struggled to find his voice. The image of empty cobblestone streets filled his mind and twisted his guts. The chieftain’s words echoed in his mind. “Until we understand... our families will live in fear.” “Aye. I’ll leave before dawn.” A distant glow burned the sky behind the cracked contour of the mountains, taking the night as the falling snow covered the footsteps of the Norseman marching into the frozen mist. ... Amidst the white fog and the cutting storm, the shadow of a structure, tall as a mountain, defied the cruel weather. From atop the wooden pillars flapped the green and golden banner of the northern folk, marking the final stretch of the world known to men. Ütoverögat. The last eye. Fiobvr stopped. His feet hiding in the snow, cloak flapping in the wind. Before reaching the arch of stone that divided the two worlds, he looked over his shoulder, beyond the path that brought him thus far. He glared beyond the mountaintops and the grey sky. Gazing deep into the past, he embraced the warmest of his memories, and begged for the spirits to guide his path. From this point on, what remained was the unknown of the Frozen Beyond. “I’ll always protect you,” he whispered once more, hoping to meet his family once again. ... ... Following chapter: Chapter II: Daemon's Throne ________ Louis of Nutwood For Mitgardia! Hope you all like it, and if you had time to read (thank you!), please let me know your thoughts. Skol!

Hahah. This is hilarious and totally relatable. Ooooh the pressure! So many great entries. And only couple votes to cast. But I know you will make the smartest choice, brother. Just.. follow the breeze coming from the northern shores. Or your heart. I don't know.

I'm really glad you liked it, Garmadon! I'm very proud of this one too. Glad you mentioned the studs-out section on the tower and the snow-work, two of the aspects that stand out for me as well. Cheers, brother! Thanks for the always welcoming support.

The Goddess: Hel Entry for GOH's Anniversary Challenge: Tale. Before continuing, make sure to read the prequel, so it makes (more) sense: Chapter I: The Last Eye As always, a cup of warm beverage should go well from this point on. Enjoy! ... The road tightened between two ebony walls, lost among grey twisting clouds, and Fiobvr felt the need to breath deep and swallow his own freezing breath to make sure his chest would fill. At the bottom, where the parallel walls met the ground, two wooden towers erupted next to a long wall of black timber, and a small, almost hidden gate hailed unlikely wanderers. In its front, a set of spikes carved onto the ground, pointed towards the road, and reminded unwelcomed visitors to turn on their heaves. What once was a forgotten village, almost overnight, had become a stronghold secluded from the world they all knew. The gorge. A roar thundered, as the wind hissed and spit sideways defying the Norseman against a falling pit. Every move could mean a stumble and every stumble could be his last. Away from the dirt path, he walked unnoticed through the mountain, barely seeing beyond the fog. He climbed the ebony rock until he found a crack with a smooth surface and a canopy to protect from the storm, high enough for him to gaze inside the walls. And there he stood, deafened by an eternal whistle, watching the stillness of the gorge, where day and night were just the same, and no living person would pass by. Until one day, someone did. From the snow-covered path, among the clouds that drifted low over the ground, a figure covered in pelts appeared as if from nowhere. He led a small cart pulled by a scrawny mule. Its load tightened under a blanket. He stood by the gates for longer than one should and waited to be greeted. But as far as he could tell, no one was around. Not at the watchtowers, not at the clearing path, and not a glow of a lamp light was seen in the past days. For what he knew, the place was empty. Yet, lifeless as it was, a buzzling sound clang and the crackling of wood echoed along the corridor formed by the mountains. A small fissure cut the wooden walls, and the gates of Völsung yawned open. The cart rider dumped his load in the stronghold’s deserted patio. A dozen long and heavy sacks piled atop each other and rolled sideways on the snow. He dragged the sacks one by one, aligning them as a farmer prepares the land for a crop. Once all twelve sacks were displayed, he opened each, revealing twelve bare corpses that lay still on a cold white blanket. The man rushed to his cart and pulled the reins, leaving behind a trail of death. On a ledge on the face of the mountain, one man stood still, grasping for an understanding that did not come. But from beneath the wind, the storm, and the dancing fog, inside those walls, a faint orange light glistered at the base of the opposite ridge. What looked to be a wall of stone was turned into a hollow cloister inside the mountain. The faint light became brighter, and the silhouette of a person stood under the cold archway marking the entrance of a grotto. Its face was protected by a hood and a cloak clapped and flapped in the wind. A staff pierced the white ground as the person stood in front of the line of silent bodies. From inside the cave, ten, twenty, thirty men appeared carrying twelve wooden logs, cut, and scraped with perfection. Next to the corpses, those big chunks of wood were loosened. And as if moved by the same rhythm, like a dance they practiced over and over, all bodies were tied to the logs and lifted. Twelve pillars were pinned to the ground, pointing to grey skies, served as racks to the bodies, purple with cold that hung feet up and heads down, aiming at an empty bucked that trembled in the breeze. The hooded figure then lifted her staff and pressed it against one of the hanging man’s chest that bent inwards with a crack. A black whole twinkled when the staff was pulled, and a black viscous liquid slithered across the man’s chest and neck. It drifted, dividing itself upon reaching his chin and ears, consuming his expressionless face before dripping on the bucket beneath him. And soon, she had twelve buckets filled with the black liquor of death. All men walked back inside the cave, buckets in hand, as the woman followed. Her cloak flapping with excitement. She then stopped and turned, facing the pillars. As she opened her arms and bent her head to the sky, a glowing light kindled at the bottom of each pillar, fighting against the blowing ice with unfair advantage, for within a heartbeat, a small flare turned into a firepit that consumed twelve heads, twelve bodies, twelve men. Just as it all started, the raging storm swiped, taking Fiobvr from his feet. Icicles flew, cutting the air with the force of a thousand blades. A roar bellowed from the sky and made the world tremble when the warrior heard a voice whisper in his head. The storm washed the clearing with a new layer of untouched snow, finding its way across the tight walls of the gorge. And where once was a woman, now remained only the shadowed entrance of a cave. ... After two days tucked in a whole, up on the road, another cart appeared. The norseman left his post and moved behind the cart as it stopped by the piercing pikes and thick wooden walls of Völsung. As the rider waited on the thundering winds, Fiobvr sneaked under the cloth protecting the content, and waited in the dark, together with the cold remnants of his fellow northern men. A roar echoed through the gorge and the cart moved once again. Fiobvr closed his eyes and let himself be manipulated. Tossed, pushed, and dragged on the snow, he struggled to contain his grunts and shivers. And once the cart rider rode back to where he came, the warrior opened his eyes to see a line of twelve bodies resting on the ground, where he was the thirteenth. He shook the snow, ran, and ducked next to the entrance of the cave, praying he had remained unseen. Within moments, that faint orange light glistered from inside the cave once again, and an army of men walked out, followed by a woman. Her face was painted blue, and she held a staff ornamented with teeth and bones, dragging a line on the pale ground. Fiobvr was fast to sneak inside the cave. While he made his way past tunnels and wholes, the idea of a staff piercing his chest crossed his mind and a taste of metal touched his tongue. The snow dissipated inside the cave, and for a moment, the warrior felt lost under the faint glow of the torches. But beneath the dust that covered the ground, he noticed the weak markings of a trail. He followed. His steps echoed with the slightest move, and found himself in a room, where the air turned thick and warm, and the stone walls flashed like fire. A set of pillars held the ceiling from falling, and a set of steps, carved in the stone, led to an altar, where a thousand candles burned. But among the tinkling blaze and the muffled scent of smoke, a pile of bones intertwined and melded to form the throne of an unborn king. It was an ugly thing. Cracked bones made the throne’s arms, spines made the spindles, femurs made the uneven frame of the rails, and every inch made Fiobvr shiver with the sour taste of his stomach. Next to the throne, he saw a bowl made of rock. It was filled with a thick dark liquid that lay still and shone with the blaze of the candlelight. Fiobvr examined and thought of those men tied overturned in the open. But from the narrow entrance of the room, he heard the mumble of footsteps, and a faint glowing light swept the ground. He ran and hid behind a pillar, watching the room get smaller and smaller. The ground shook, and an army approached, moved by the power of one piece: the sorceress. Eleven buckets were emptied in the basin, and it drank the liquid with an unhuman thirst. The walls narrowed and a wind swiped. The deep echo of a voice, exulting in a feast sounded when the buckets filled the bowl, calming its belly, and pleasing its spirit. “Feed me”, it said in a deep voice that rang in the warrior’s chest. And as the twelfth bucket spilled its content, a drop cracked the surface and slithered to the floor. All men kneeled as the sorceress stood feet away from the basin and turned, staring at the twisted empty throne. Arms wide open, she bent her head to the ceiling and the white balls in her sockets glistered with the dancing light of the candles. She then uttered words he could not understand and struck her staff on the floor, when a cold wind swiped, darkening the room in an unbroken shadow, leaving behind a fumed scent. An empty silence prevailed. But the tinkle of a drop hitting the surface shredded the stillness of the void, followed by another drop and one further. And the gutting growl of a beast echoed in a slow demonic breather, confronting all men’s beliefs. A single candle kept its light, and under a faint glow he saw the throne was no longer empty. The sorceress hissed with a trembling voice and a few more candles lit, revealing what Fiobvr never though his eyes would see. Atop the altar, materialized what could only be the proof the Gods had turn their backs on the land of the living. For there stood a beast that was not living nor dead. A shadow drifted on floor and as it thickened, it formed the whiskered hooves of a goat, wrapped in a sinuous tail. Following its belt, it built the naked torso of a man. A layer of stretched skin covered the remnants of its pale flesh hanging from a whole amidst the broken bones of an opened chest. From atop his head, two horns twisted over edged ears. But those eyes... made of the piercing flame of the Ancient Ones, were soaked in angst and horror. They took every breath, every glimpse, and every soul. Two red eyes cut the dark, iced the room and filled it in dismay. “Look me in the eye and face your summoner”, the sorceress found her voice looking straight at the beast, as it muttered a visceral rumble like a starving animal. “Take me to your garden and open your gates to me, for now what divides our worlds apart... is no more” she shouted, as the beast roared and clamped its boned jaw. “Embrace me as your own and let us seek those who oppose our ways. Take me to an eternal life and let us rule the world from beneath the earth, from above the clouds and from between the winds”. She cried, as the candles raged across the room with a raging whistle. “Take my hand and I’ll raise as the Goddess of Life and Death!”. With open arms, she reached out her hand. The beast did the same as its cold fingers touched the woman’s flesh. Their fingers entwined and never parted. Beast and sorceress walked to the throne at the center of the room, as they revealed to the world their unity in a ceremony despised by the gods. The woman sat, chin up and spine stretched, as her smile glistered in the fire, and a soft voice reverberated once more: “My queen...”. With the flick of a candlelight, just as the spirit appeared, the cave was left in the dark, and both vanished in the air, into the underworld, leaving behind an empty throne made of bones. … Fiobvr found himself alone, walking through the dark tunnels of Völsung. He found its way out of the fortress, out of the fog, but his mind never left. Three days passed as he approached the flowing banners that marked the entrance to the village he knew so well. A hollow belly and the memories of a horned spirit loaded his thoughts. But the jittering and mumbling of wandering people, merchants shouting, and farmers farming was blurred by an unusual silence that made Fiobvr’s throat tighten once again. He led his hand over his chest, searching for a hole that he could not see, but swore was there. His hand lowered and squeezed the hilt of his sword as his feet sunk in the snow. There, where four familiar walls made of stone met, remained nothing but a colorful sea of distant memories fading with the white snow. Buried in the cold, the souls of a thousand loved ones searched for the rascal that inflicted their tragic fate. Two red eyes that would forever stare into Fiobvr’s dreams. Hel. THE END. ___________ Louis of Nutwood For Mitgardia! If you've reached this point, thank you so much for reading through. Please, let me know what you think of the build and the story. Skol!

Really glad you liked it, Niku! The throne was a last-minute addition, and certainly a flash of inspiration. Cheers, mate! Thanks for the support.

1 pt: Adde51 1 pt: Ayrlego

1pt: The Stad 1pt: Henjin_Quilones

Woow, this looks really great, fellow Henry! Really a nostalgic look, filled with detail and certainly a great resemblance with the new Blacksmith set. A great addition to those figs story! Awesome work with the vegetation too. Skol!

It's such a treat to see a thick and heavy forest, filled with variations for foliage and terrain. Great eye for detail and perseverance to put everything together without overdoing it. Phenomenal work with fig positioning and way to go with the photography. Awesome work!

Skol, Piobre! And welcome to the Guilds. Let me first say Cane and his siblings will be a great addition to warm the heaths of the North. And I can't wait to see their story develop. About uploading photos: When I first started in the guilds I found it to be waaay easier to open an account on Flickr to upload all my photos. Then, once they are uploaded, I simply copy the URL link of each photo and paste them here. The resolution is better, the process is simpler, and all my headaches were gone. Hope it helps you too. Skol, brother!

Really glad you liked it, Mccoyed! The throne was a burst of inspiration, and I'm very happy with the result. I wanted to use a variation of the Faun for quite some time, and it seemed like a great opportunity. Skol, mate! Thanks for the support.

Hey, MCCoyeed! I'm thrilled you liked it. Thanks for mentioning and supporting. The stone sections on the tower honestly don't take as much pieces as expected. Using the regular snot technique with a bunch of headlight bricks and a plethora of height variations with plates and tiles takes much longer and many more pieces than the technique used here. This one was quite simple. It's a plate filled with slopes positioned in different angles. I didn't really bother with height variations as I would in terrain, for example. So there's little use of tiles and plates, focusing mainly on slopes. The result turned to be quite pleasing, and the process, quite simple. Very effective, imo! My thoughts are the same! I'm planning on using this further in future MOCs. Would love to see it scaled up. Skol, brother! And thanks for the support.

Wow! This is great! Beautiful design. Very unique, and still very cohesive in style. I love the addition of the four-leaf clover. The timber structure looks solid, and the interior is well though of. I'm glad you added a torture chamber in the basement. Personally, I believe ALL medieval structures had secret torture chambers underneath them. Including the vegetation is great as it gives some spots of color to break the brown-tan pattern. The only suggestion I'd give is to put the doors (and windows and hinges) inside the structure, instead of the outside. But that's just me. Cheers! Awesome work, mate.

Very beautiful build! There's a super nostalgic look, a very classic vibe with a bunch of well thought out details that modernize this build. The angles are amazing! I love the cloth you used for the sail, the Flacon shield up front is a great addition, and the pit opening in the center of the ship is the nicest thing. Amazing and very inspiring work. It's great to see a castle builder adventuring into a pirate's land of expertise. Keep it up. Skol!