Spirit of Wastelands

Once upon a time, angels fell from the heaven and landed in the wastelands. A particularly industrious tribe that called it their home (and they had to be very industrious indeed to do so) found the fallen ones and took them in. In exchange, they drew runes on the angels' wings that bound them to the land - for as long as it existed, so would they. Seasons changed, centuries rolled by, and the tribe flourished, for their lands were well protected and with time, became lush and fruitful.

Driven by the sight of the angels' wings, the people turned their eyes to the skies, as they, too, wanted to fly. And so they built many strange machines until they became smart enough to build ones that could bring them high up, where they created a city for themselves that would always sit above the clouds and reach for the heaven. Forgotten, the fields withered and once again became wastelands.

The angels remained, as they still do. Eternal spirits of the wasteland, with magic burning brightly in their wings, waiting for the people to fall down from the sky.

A little personal project. I'd done the sketch for this long ago, but never quite went through with it. So now I finally pulled it out and finished it up.

Corel Painter 9, Wacom Intuos 3, about a week or so.