Colored Pencil and marker
This is my oldest serious piece (as in one done going into it thinking "I am going to make a piece of artwork" rather than an elaborate sketch or something similar). I learned alot drawing this one, and while now to my more mature eye it has its flaws, I still like it for the way the lighting and perspective turned out. Some people tell me they get vertigo looking at it because of the sloped roof.
As with most of my pieces, there's a story that goes with it: The Technotropolis, home of the most advanced magic and technology the world has ever known, is divided between two realms: the Elites, who live in family-owned Spires, each a unique citadel with family crests adoring the exterior. The families constantly vie to create the most extravagant and expensive displays. The Elites are both supported and monitored by their Clerks, keepers of the Sacred Ledgers, which record all business deals and proceedings for judgement at the "Great Audit", where ones outstanding moral and financial debts are settled at the end of life.
The Spires tower far above the hardscrabble of the Undercity below, which is ruled by warlords, militias, and organized crime rings. Life in the Undercity is a world of greys- grey faces, grey concrete, and grey morality. Those who live in the Undercity dream of gaining the status of Elites, not merely a pipe dream, but entirely within reach. All it takes is the intelligence to earn, the vision and will to build, the strength and cunning to fight, or the simple ruthlessness to claw, to the top of the heap. New names are constantly added to the Sacred Ledges; replacing those families whose records are stricken from the books by the Great Audit.
The city functions as an uneasy alliance of the two groups, bridged only by the Merchants and Fences Guild, the Construction and Manufacturing Union, and one other group: the Spire-Riders. Fearless and agile as their wall-walking mounts, this order of protectors acts as both the city's immune system and conscience. No one group is allowed to upset the fragile equilibrium of the Technotropolis, or act without regard to it's best interest, without answering to the inescapable and impartial hand of the Spire-Riders.
Tonight's patrol begins soon. A Spire-rider and his mount bask in the last rays of sunset before beginning their nightly rounds. The city pulses regardless of the movements of the heavens, and there are always those who will need to fear the skittering of scales and leather from above.