Adventures in Tamriel

Posts tagged “lighting

ESO – Along Artaeum’s Coast

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Does the sun set in Artaeum? I haven’t noticed. Too distracted by the light.

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ESO – One of those days in Coldharbour

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Stepping out of Cicero’s, Asta Falk was surprised to see that for once, the light had pierced through the blue-gray hues of Coldharbour and bathed the town with its warm, yellow, life-giving light.

 


ESO – Stormhaven – Waiting

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Stormhaven consistently gives me a conflicted feeling of things suspended in pregnant anticipation.

 


ESO – Cavern of the Incarnate, Vvardenfell

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Azura – the Lady of Twilight, Mother of the Rose and Queen of the Night Sky.


ESO – In King’s Guard a Dolmen Festers

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ESO – Morrowind – All is silent

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The atmosphere is fantastic, and the colours – light against metal – are indescribable. This reminds me of the Isle of the Dead by Arnold Bocklin. I’m not exactly sure why. Maybe I was reminded of Giger’s version, and of this quote by Stephen King in the Wastelands.

“All is silent in the halls of the dead. All is forgotten in the stone halls of the dead, Behold the stairways which stand in darkness; behold the rooms of ruin. These are the halls of the dead where the spiders spin and the great circuits fall quiet, one by one.”

Except here, the spiders spin other things.

 

 


ESO – Spellscar!

screenshot_20170129_003020Mireukura-Rin went exploring Spellscar. It sure is pretty! Biter thinks so too!

 


ESO – Misty morning in Wrothgar

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The air sizzles in anticipation of the day ahead. The ice crackles, the bears roar. In the distance, thunder. I wash my face in the steady stream and wonder… What is that sound of heavy metal clanking behind me?


ESO – The Shifting Sands of the Alik’r

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The sun burns slow in the Alik’r Desert. I feel the sand against my skin, drawing the moisture from my tired body. I must move before the night falls. The coyotes come.

“And the dead tree gives no shelter, the crickets no relief” ~ The Waste Land, T.S. Eliot


ESO – Grahtwood in the morning

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Sunrise in Grahtwood

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You can almost smell the morning sun, mingled in the soft dew of the foliage. The water rushes, and the sounds of the living begin to fill the air. Somewhere near, the inhabitants of Grahtwood discuss the beginnings of the day, vaguely aware that some end might come to bear but helpless to prevent it. Life ,as they know it, goes on when the nightmare that clings to them each night washes off with the rising dawn.