r/Pro_Ai_Art

So I may be solving a problem that only I have, but I've always found the uploading of sample images to be a bit of a pain because it tends to limit the number outputs, and using the same persona in different scenes was a slog.

So I got to thinking what if I were to get very specific with a prompt's character description instead of relying on image uploads, and use a "seed" line in the prompt to make the characters I generate more repeatable. It mostly worked.

So I then thought "What if I create a program that allowed me to select from a list of noses, eyes, etc. like a Police Sketch Artist and could then save the block of prompt text that would be reusable?" That also mostly worked...

So then I thought "What is I expanded that to an entire wardrobe of clothing choices?"... that also worked.

So then I thought "What is I added a bunch of clothing genres to choose from?" It worked...

What if I added fantastical stuff like wings, Animal heads, fur, scales, tails... worked worked worked

Then I asked myself "What if I wrote an engine that would allow me to also build scene set pieces and action prompts?" ... that's a work in progress.

I took all of the tool that I have so far and created a website to host it. It's been tested in various AI models and has similar results.

My Prompt Caster page:

http://promptcaster.net

Vaelithra continued staring at the woman in the mirror.

Wine distorted her reflection, but not enough.

She was still there.

Amber-gold eyes stared back through dark streaks. Silver-white hair framed the same face she had seen in the dream. Twenty years separated the two women, yet for a moment Vaelithra struggled to see where one ended and the other began.

It was undeniably her.

And somehow, it wasn't.

Her gaze lowered.

Why did the life of a servant matter so much to her?

The question would not leave.

She had known servants who died. She had seen slaves executed. She had watched soldiers fall in battle and had killed more enemies herself than she cared to count.

Death was not unfamiliar to Vaelithra.

Yet the thought of Kharun kneeling before an executioner tomorrow morning made something inside her twist.

Why?

Because he had served her for twenty years?

Because she trusted him?

Because of the drawings?

Because somewhere during those twenty years, something had changed between them without either of them acknowledging it?

Questions.

Nothing but questions.

And the one man who might be able to answer any of them was sitting in a prison cell beneath her father's estate.

Vaelithra turned away from the mirror.

She needed to reach him.

That much was certain.

How was considerably less so.

She began pacing.

The prison beneath her father's manor was not some neglected cellar guarded by a pair of half-asleep soldiers. It served the entire estate and, when necessary, members of the surrounding settlement. Guards controlled the entrance. More patrolled the corridors within. Others could be summoned quickly from elsewhere in the manor.

Vaelithra knew how to fight.

She knew she was good at it.

But she wasn't stupid.

One skilled fighter was still one fighter.

She might overpower the first guards. Perhaps the next few as well.

Then someone would raise the alarm.

More would come.

And every guard she injured would transform what she intended into something far worse.

They were her people.

Men and women doing exactly what they had been ordered to do.

Vaelithra had no desire to cut them down merely because they stood between her and Kharun.

There had to be another way.

She stopped.

Her reflection caught her attention again.

The wine continued its slow journey down the mirror. Some had reached the bottom of the frame and fallen onto the stone floor beneath it.

Vaelithra stared at herself.

Then her eyes moved toward the side table near the vanity.

A dagger rested there.

She reached for it.

There was no decision.

At least none she consciously remembered making.

Her fingers simply closed around the hilt.

Vaelithra lifted the dagger and stared at the blade.

Her reflection did the same.

For a moment, she seemed to be watching someone else.

Her left hand rose.

She gathered her hair.

Silver-white strands slipped between her fingers as she pulled the enormous length together.

Her hair had always been part of her.

Long even by drow standards. Carefully maintained. Impossible to overlook.

She grasped it tightly.

The dagger rose in her other hand.

Some distant part of Vaelithra wondered what she was doing.

The blade touched the gathered hair just beneath her fist.

She cut.

Once.

The thick bundle resisted.

She sawed the blade through again.

Then again.

Suddenly there was no resistance at all.

The severed length fell.

Vaelithra stood completely still.

Her left hand remained raised.

The hair remaining upon her head fell unevenly around her shoulders and down her back, still long but dramatically shortened. Loose strands framed her face where the blade had cut imperfectly through them.

Vaelithra looked into the mirror.

The woman staring back at her had changed.

Only superficially.

She knew that.

A haircut could not erase twenty years.

It could not erase the cage.

It could not erase the book striking Kharun.

It could not erase the fact that he had spent two decades serving her because she had purchased him.

But the woman in the mirror no longer looked exactly like the woman in the dream.

Vaelithra lowered the dagger.

She reached toward the table to put it down.

Her hand missed.

The dagger slipped from her fingers.

Metal struck stone.

Vaelithra looked down.

The weapon spun.

Once.

Twice.

Slower.

The blade scraped softly across the floor before finally coming to rest.

Its edge touched the severed mass of silver-white hair.

Wine had reached it.

Dark red liquid soaked through portions of the pale strands, spreading between them and staining the stone beneath.

Vaelithra stared.

Hair.

Wine.

Two separate things becoming something else where they met.

Mixed.

Her brow furrowed.

Mixed.

Mixture.

Something shifted in her thoughts.

"Alchemy."

The word escaped aloud.

Vaelithra's eyes widened.

"Alchemy."

Of course.

She turned away from the mirror.

Alchemy was not magic.

It required no incantations, no mysterious source of power, no bargain with forces she could not control.

It was knowledge.

Measurement.

Reaction.

Heat.

Timing.

And Vaelithra knew it.

Her education had included far more than swordsmanship and aristocratic protocol. Alchemy had been among the disciplines expected of someone of her station, and she had possessed considerable aptitude for it.

She simply hadn't needed the skill often.

Not for years.

Vaelithra crossed the room quickly.

An idea was forming.

She could not fight an entire prison guard.

She didn't need to.

She needed them unable to stop her.

Temporarily.

Nothing lethal.

Nothing that would cause lasting injury.

A compound capable of overwhelming the senses might give her enough time. Another could impair coordination. Something dispersed into an enclosed corridor could make pursuit nearly impossible without forcing her to draw a blade against anyone.

Her pace quickened.

The details could come later.

First she needed to know what she still had.

Vaelithra entered the kitchen.

She moved directly toward a cabinet near the far wall.

Her hand reached for the handle.

Then hesitated.

How long had it been?

Years, perhaps.

She opened it.

Rows of bottles waited inside.

Dust covered some of them.

Several were empty, intended to hold finished mixtures. Others contained base compounds, powders, extracts, oils, mineral salts, and preserved ingredients she had accumulated over the years.

Vaelithra began pulling them out.

One bottle.

Then another.

She checked labels.

Opened containers.

Smelled one cautiously.

Rejected it.

Reached for another.

Her mind was moving differently now.

The confusion remained.

The questions remained.

But beneath them, something else had finally appeared.

Purpose.

Vaelithra set an alchemical burner on the work surface and ignited it.

A small flame sprang to life.

She placed a vessel above it.

Her hands moved quickly.

Measure.

Combine.

Heat.

Wait.

No.

She did not have time to wait.

Vaelithra glanced toward the darkened corridor beyond the kitchen.

Somewhere beneath her father's manor, Kharun sat in a cell.

The executioner would return in the morning.

She looked back at the compounds spread across the table.

Whatever she made had to work.

It had to incapacitate enough guards to get her through the prison.

It had to do so without killing them.

And it had to be ready before morning.

Vaelithra reached for the next ingredient.

The first mixture began to simmer.

Time was already running out.

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