My crimson silk robe prompts

2 months ago

Epic ink-wash x anime-cel fusion, high-detail, sweeping cinematic scale, soft golden hour light — A vast circular stone dais floats above misty mountain peaks, wreathed in drifting clouds. At its centre rises a **towering Yin–Yang monolith** (two interlocking half-figures)::1.5 ◉ **Yin side – moonlit tranquility**::1.3 • graceful feminine spirit carved from cool white jade, hair flowing like water-silk • robe of calligraphy-ink brushstrokes dissolving into swirling night clouds • holds a dark pearl cradling a tiny red flame (yang-dot within yin) • backdrop: silver full-moon halo, pale cranes gliding through starlit sky ◉ **Yang side – sun-fired vitality**::1.3 • powerful masculine spirit sculpted from warm cinnabar stone, muscles alive with amber glow • robe of crimson lacquer plates fracturing into sparks and rising phoenix feathers • holds a bright gold sphere containing a droplet of midnight ink (yin-dot within yang) • backdrop: vermilion sunrise, dragon-shaped cloud swirling upward Where the two halves meet, **their robes melt into a flowing Tai-Chi swirl** of black ink and golden light, spilling over the dais in a continuous circular river::1.4 – symbol of duality in eternal balance. Camera: 32 mm lens, slight low-angle, subtle parallax between foreground swirl and distant peaks; soft mist, floating sakura petals, faint ink splatter texture around edges for classic East-Asian feel.

6 months ago

POV first-person perspective, I grip my sword firmly in my hand, its blade gleaming faintly in the dim light. The weapon is raised, held steady, its sharp edge pointed directly at the approaching soldiers. The sword is clearly visible in the frame, a symbol of both my power and my readiness for battle. I am dressed in the royal warrior attire of Nader Shah Afshar—a richly embroidered crimson silk robe, adorned with intricate Persian gold-threaded motifs. Beneath it, a dark wool tunic clings to my body, slightly creased from rest, and a thick black sash wraps tightly around my waist. An ornate belt hangs from my side, with a dagger tucked in, ready if needed. Before me, four soldiers advance, their weapons drawn—two wielding swords, two gripping daggers. Their movements are sharp, aggressive, their intent unmistakable. The flickering light of a distant fire casts shifting shadows across their faces, making their expressions unreadable but their hostility clear. The air is heavy with the scent of oil and fabric. Outside, the wind rustles the canvas walls of the tent, but my focus is locked on the soldiers before me. My stance is strong, poised for attack. The moment of battle is upon us, and there is no turning back.

6 months ago

First-person POV, I am inside the tent, fallen to the ground, my body heavy with exhaustion. The dim light of the oil lamp flickers, casting long shadows on the richly decorated fabric around me. My crimson silk robe, embroidered with golden Persian motifs, is slightly disheveled, and my dark wool tunic clings to me. The thick black sash around my waist feels loose, yet my grip on my sword, resting against the ground, remains firm. The tent’s entrance sways slightly with the night breeze, and beyond it, four armed figures move cautiously. Their presence is undeniable—the glint of their drawn weapons catching the faint light. My breath is steady, my focus unwavering. Though I have fallen, the battle is not over.

6 months ago

First-person POV, I lie on the ground, looking up from the floor of the tent. The dim light barely breaks through the darkness. My sword rests beside me, its tip touching the earth beneath. I am wearing the same attire as before: a deep crimson silk robe with golden Persian embroidery, a dark wool tunic underneath, and a thick black sash wrapped around my waist. The entrance of the tent is visible, but the darkness outside gives the space an ominous feeling. The atmosphere feels heavy, and the night seems to stretch on forever.

6 months ago

First-person POV, I am lying on the ground inside the tent. In my hand, I hold a sword, its tip resting on the earth beneath me. I am wearing the same attire as before: a deep crimson silk robe with golden Persian embroidery, a dark wool tunic underneath, and a thick black sash wrapped around my waist.

6 months ago

First-person POV, I am lying on my back inside the tent, my breath slow and heavy. The dim light of the oil lamp flickers against the fabric walls. A warm, red liquid seeps from my abdomen, spreading across the ground beneath me. My crimson silk robe, embroidered with golden Persian motifs, is slightly disheveled, and my dark wool tunic clings to me, damp and heavy. My right hand still grips the hilt of my sword, its blade resting on the ground beside me. The tent’s entrance shifts slightly with the night breeze , and beyond it, four armed figures move cautiously. Their weapons catch the faint light as they draw closer. I stare at the ceiling of the tent, my vision sharp, my grip firm. This is not the end.

6 months ago

First-person POV, I lie on the ground, looking up from the floor of the tent. The dim light barely breaks through the darkness. My sword rests beside me, its tip touching the earth beneath. I am wearing the same attire as before: a deep crimson silk robe with golden Persian embroidery, a dark wool tunic underneath, and a thick black sash wrapped around my waist. The entrance of the tent is visible, but the darkness outside gives the space an ominous feeling. The atmosphere feels heavy, and the night seems to stretch on forever.

6 months ago

First-person POV, I lie on the ground, only my lower body visible in the frame, looking up from the floor of the tent. The dim light barely cuts through the darkness. My sword rests beside me, its tip touching the earth beneath. I am wearing the same attire as before: a deep crimson silk robe with golden Persian embroidery, a dark wool tunic underneath, and a thick black sash wrapped around my waist. The entrance of the tent is visible, but the surrounding darkness creates a heavy, ominous atmosphere. The night outside feels endless, and the space around me is thick with tension.

6 months ago

POV first-person perspective, I stand firm, my sword gripped tightly in my hand, its blade catching the dim light as I face four attacking soldiers. The weapon is clearly visible in the frame, held with precision, its sharp edge raised for battle. My stance is aggressive, ready to strike. I wear the royal warrior attire of Nader Shah Afshar—a richly embroidered crimson silk robe, adorned with intricate Persian gold-threaded motifs. Beneath it, a dark wool tunic clings to my body, slightly creased from rest, and a thick black sash wraps tightly around my waist. An ornate belt hangs from my side, with a dagger tucked in, ready if needed. Before me, four soldiers lunge forward, their weapons drawn—two wielding swords, two gripping daggers. Their black robes flow with their movements, their attacks swift and ruthless. Our blades clash, sparks flying as steel meets steel. The flickering firelight behind them casts long, distorted shadows across the tent walls, adding to the chaos of battle. The air is thick with tension, the scent of oil, dust, and sweat mingling as the fight intensifies. I strike, they counter. They advance, I stand my ground. The clash of weapons fills the night, and in this moment, only one thing matters—survival.

6 months ago

First-person POV, I lie on the ground, only my lower body visible in the frame, looking up from the floor of the tent. The dim light barely cuts through the darkness. My sword rests beside me, its tip touching the earth beneath. I am wearing the same attire as before: a deep crimson silk robe with golden Persian embroidery, a dark wool tunic underneath, and a thick black sash wrapped around my waist. The entrance of the tent is visible, but the surrounding darkness creates a heavy, ominous atmosphere. The night outside feels endless, and the space around me is thick with tension.

6 months ago

First-person POV, I am inside the tent, fallen to the ground, my body heavy with exhaustion. The dim light of the oil lamp flickers, casting long shadows on the richly decorated fabric around me. My crimson silk robe, embroidered with golden Persian motifs, is slightly disheveled, and my dark wool tunic clings to me. The thick black sash around my waist feels loose, yet my grip on my sword, resting against the ground, remains firm. The tent’s entrance sways slightly with the night breeze, and beyond it, four armed figures move cautiously. Their presence is undeniable—the glint of their drawn weapons catching the faint light. My breath is steady, my focus unwavering. Though I have fallen, the battle is not over.

6 months ago

Full shot, Nader Shah Afshar, now 60 years old, lies within a canvas tent, his face marked with the deep lines of age and battle. His eyes are closed, resting, yet his hand grips the hilt of his sword, resting beside him, ready for action. The blade gleams faintly in the dim light, a symbol of his power and the weight of his rule. His attire is that of a royal warrior—he wears a richly embroidered silk robe, deep crimson in color, adorned with intricate Persian motifs of gold thread. Underneath, a dark tunic made from fine wool clings to his body, its fabric slightly creased from sleep. His black sash, thick and embroidered, is wrapped tightly around his waist. A heavy, ornate belt hangs from his side, with a dagger tucked in. Around the perimeter of the tent, the shadows of soldiers with drawn swords stretch across the canvas, their forms shifting and dark against the night. The danger is palpable, their presence unmistakable. The night is thick with tension as the stillness is broken only by the occasional sound of the wind rustling the tent. The dim light from a distant fire casts an eerie glow, highlighting the ominous figures waiting outside, poised for any sudden action. The atmosphere is heavy with the promise of imminent danger.

6 months ago

Nader Shah Afshar, now 60 years old, lies within a canvas tent, his face marked with the deep lines of age and battle. His eyes are closed, resting, yet his hand grips the hilt of his sword, resting beside him, ready for action. The blade gleams faintly in the dim light, a symbol of his power and the weight of his rule. His attire is that of a royal warrior—he wears a richly embroidered silk robe, deep crimson in color, adorned with intricate Persian motifs of gold thread. Underneath, a dark tunic made from fine wool clings to his body, its fabric slightly creased from sleep. His black sash, thick and embroidered, is wrapped tightly around his waist. A heavy, ornate belt hangs from his side, with a dagger tucked in. Around the perimeter of the tent, the shadows of soldiers with drawn swords stretch across the canvas, their forms shifting and dark against the night. The danger is palpable, their presence unmistakable. The night is thick with tension as the stillness is broken only by the occasional sound of the wind rustling the tent. The dim light from a distant fire casts an eerie glow, highlighting the ominous figures waiting outside, poised for any sudden action. The atmosphere is heavy with the promise of imminent danger.

6 months ago

Nader Shah Afshar, now 60 years old, lies within a canvas tent, his face marked with the deep lines of age and battle. His eyes are closed, resting, yet his hand grips the hilt of his sword, resting beside him, ready for action. The blade gleams faintly in the dim light, a symbol of his power and the weight of his rule. His attire is that of a royal warrior—he wears a richly embroidered silk robe, deep crimson in color, adorned with intricate Persian motifs of gold thread. Underneath, a dark tunic made from fine wool clings to his body, its fabric slightly creased from sleep. His black sash, thick and embroidered, is wrapped tightly around his waist. A heavy, ornate belt hangs from his side, with a dagger tucked in. Around the perimeter of the tent, the shadows of soldiers with drawn swords stretch across the canvas, their forms shifting and dark against the night. The danger is palpable, their presence unmistakable. The night is thick with tension as the stillness is broken only by the occasional sound of the wind rustling the tent. The dim light from a distant fire casts an eerie glow, highlighting the ominous figures waiting outside, poised for any sudden action. The atmosphere is heavy with the promise of imminent danger.

6 months ago

Nader Shah Afshar, now 60 years old, lies within a canvas tent, his face marked with the deep lines of age and battle. His eyes are closed, resting, yet his hand grips the hilt of his sword, resting beside him, ready for action. The blade gleams faintly in the dim light, a symbol of his power and the weight of his rule. His attire is that of a royal warrior—he wears a richly embroidered silk robe, deep crimson in color, adorned with intricate Persian motifs of gold thread. Underneath, a dark tunic made from fine wool clings to his body, its fabric slightly creased from sleep. His black sash, thick and embroidered, is wrapped tightly around his waist. A heavy, ornate belt hangs from his side, with a dagger tucked in. Around the perimeter of the tent, the shadows of soldiers with drawn swords stretch across the canvas, their forms shifting and dark against the night. The danger is palpable, their presence unmistakable. The night is thick with tension as the stillness is broken only by the occasional sound of the wind rustling the tent. The dim light from a distant fire casts an eerie glow, highlighting the ominous figures waiting outside, poised for any sudden action. The atmosphere is heavy with the promise of imminent danger.

6 months ago

Nader Shah Afshar, now 60 years old, lies within a canvas tent, his face marked with the deep lines of age and battle. His eyes are closed, resting, yet his hand grips the hilt of his sword, resting beside him, ready for action. The blade gleams faintly in the dim light, a symbol of his power and the weight of his rule. His attire is that of a royal warrior—he wears a richly embroidered silk robe, deep crimson in color, adorned with intricate Persian motifs of gold thread. Underneath, a dark tunic made from fine wool clings to his body, its fabric slightly creased from sleep. His black sash, thick and embroidered, is wrapped tightly around his waist. A heavy, ornate belt hangs from his side, with a dagger tucked in. Full body camera. Around the perimeter of the tent, the shadows of soldiers with drawn swords stretch across the canvas, their forms shifting and dark against the night. The danger is palpable, their presence unmistakable. The night is thick with tension as the stillness is broken only by the occasional sound of the wind rustling the tent. The dim light from a distant fire casts an eerie glow, highlighting the ominous figures waiting outside, poised for any sudden action. The atmosphere is heavy with the promise of imminent danger.

9 months ago

A regal figure, adorned in rich, golden-brown and crimson robes, sits atop a majestic, white deer with elaborate golden ornamentation. The deer's antlers are large and detailed, showcasing intricate carvings. The figure's expression is thoughtful and serene, with a crown atop its head. The figure sits in profile, facing slightly to the right of the image. The lighting is soft and warm, evocative of a serene winter sunrise or sunset. The background displays a mountainous landscape with misty, evergreen forests and hints of snow. The scene possesses a mystical and epic quality, capturing a moment of tranquility and majesty. The stone upon which the deer pedestal stands is covered with glittering frost, with hues that range from frost-white to a pale gold. The garments have a detailed texture, resembling rich silks or brocade, and the deer has a delicate, flowing fur texture. The overall style is elegant and detailed, evoking the fantasy realm. High detail, photorealistic, epic fantasy statue, 8k resolution, cinematic lighting

30 days ago

A regal portrait of Wu Zetian, the only female emperor in Chinese history, seated on an ornate golden throne adorned with intricate dragon motifs. She wears an elaborate Tang dynasty imperial robe in rich crimson and gold, embroidered with phoenix and peony patterns, and a magnificent headdress decorated with pearls and jade. Her expression is poised and commanding, exuding wisdom and authority. The background features delicate silk screens painted with traditional Chinese landscapes, softly illuminated by warm, diffused sunlight filtering through palace windows, creating an atmosphere of imperial grandeur and historical elegance.