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Deviant for 1 Year
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Newest Deviations

The Raven by Uruk1 The Raven :iconuruk1:Uruk1 11 6 Shower scene by Uruk1
Mature content
Shower scene :iconuruk1:Uruk1 20 5
lighting test by Uruk1 lighting test :iconuruk1:Uruk1 37 4 Breathless by Uruk1 Breathless :iconuruk1:Uruk1 28 6 Nordlige Kriger 1 by Uruk1
Mature content
Nordlige Kriger 1 :iconuruk1:Uruk1 7 5
Voigt-Kampff test 6 by Uruk1 Voigt-Kampff test 6 :iconuruk1:Uruk1 6 1 Voigt-Kampff test 5 by Uruk1 Voigt-Kampff test 5 :iconuruk1:Uruk1 7 2 Voigt-Kampff test 4 by Uruk1 Voigt-Kampff test 4 :iconuruk1:Uruk1 3 2 Primordial One by Uruk1 Primordial One :iconuruk1:Uruk1 3 7 Sans Titre by Uruk1 Sans Titre :iconuruk1:Uruk1 17 5 Old Ones by Uruk1 Old Ones :iconuruk1:Uruk1 8 5 Sand having a drink by Uruk1
Mature content
Sand having a drink :iconuruk1:Uruk1 15 5
Plastic try out by Uruk1
Mature content
Plastic try out :iconuruk1:Uruk1 37 6
Returning fire by Uruk1 Returning fire :iconuruk1:Uruk1 49 5 Film Noir 2 by Uruk1 Film Noir 2 :iconuruk1:Uruk1 20 3 Mont Saint Michel by Uruk1 Mont Saint Michel :iconuruk1:Uruk1 46 11


Uruk1's Profile Picture
Artist | Professional
Black Metal, David Lynch and coffee.
Black, White and Red.


Photographer and type designer working mainly in print layout in Paris and Carcassonne.

My work is influenced by what I love most : medieval history, mythology, existential philosophy, classic cinema and H.P. Lovecraft •

Contact :


Parle Français,
Fluent in English.


The Raven


    Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
    Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
        While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
    As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
    “’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
                Only this and nothing more.”
        Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
    And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
        Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
        From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
    For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
                Nameless here for evermore.
        And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
    Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
        So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
        “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
    Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
                This it is and nothing more.”
        Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
    “Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
        But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
        And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
    That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
                Darkness there and nothing more.
        Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
    Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
        But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
        And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
    This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
                Merely this and nothing more.
        Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
    Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
        “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
          Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
    Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
                ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”
        Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
    In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
        Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
        But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
    Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
                Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
    Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
    By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
    “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
    Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
    Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
                Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
        Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
    Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
        For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
        Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
    Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
                With such name as “Nevermore.”
        But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
    That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
        Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
        Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
    On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
                Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
        Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
    “Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
        Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
        Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
    Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
                Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”
        But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
    Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
        Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
        Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
    What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
                Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
        This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
    To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
        This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
        On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
    But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
                She shall press, ah, nevermore!
        Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
    Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
        “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
        Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
    Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
                Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
        “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
    Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
        Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
        On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
    Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
                Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
        “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
    By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
        Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
        It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
    Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
                Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
        “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
    “Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
        Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
        Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
    Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
                Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
        And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
    On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
        And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
        And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
    And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
                Shall be lifted—nevermore!

Nordlige Kriger 1
A new black metal infused set
Inspired by the great Maximus, axeman of the North.


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someone1fy Featured By Owner 1 day ago
Thanks for the fave.
Uruk1 Featured By Owner 23 hours ago  Professional
No worries
someone1fy Featured By Owner 3 hours ago
Spicy-Pumpkin Featured By Owner 1 day ago   General Artist

:heart: Thanks for the fave :heart: :pumpkin: :heart: Have a great day :heart:

Uruk1 Featured By Owner 1 day ago  Professional
Thank you, and you are quite welcome !
Strooitje Featured By Owner 3 days ago  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thanks for your :+fav: on this lovely lady...

Mature Content

Hello by Strooitje
enkrat Featured By Owner 5 days ago  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Živjo Roland!!!!Hi! Najlepša hvala for favs!! This very kind of you to do and I appreciate!!:hug::happybounce: 
Uruk1 Featured By Owner 5 days ago  Professional
You are quite welcome darling, what you do is awesome
enkrat Featured By Owner 4 days ago  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Hvala ti!Blush 
NatureEro Featured By Owner Mar 12, 2019  Hobbyist Photographer
Thank you very much for the for DA points!
 4 Hearts 4 Hearts 4 Hearts 
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