Dynamism is the word. The more you search for it, the more you notice it. Sparks catching. Wind tearing. The earth cracking into bright shards. Sometimes, the paint itself seems alive.

Look! A fire giant stands and glares, flames coiling and flickering around his hands and wrists while his matted red beard is pulled about by the growing storm. Elsewhere, a darkwraith holds aloft a glowing crystal, crimson light pouring from it as their ragged cape flaps in tatters behind them. Even images of absolute stillness have this sense of energy. Energy contained, bottled, but only for this instant, and at what cost? Malenia leans forward mid-battle to carefully adjust her face mask. A small gesture. A quiet gesture. You can almost sense the void in your ears as the air around her seems to take a breath – but what's sure to come next?

This sense is everywhere in Gods & Monsters: there's always a lunging movement or an elemental force taking flight, always a wind to stir cloaks or tangled hair into movement. This is a particular kind of dynamism, too, the dynamism of huge, powerful things, knights and monsters and heroes, whose actions always come with great consequence.