Purple Painting No.2, Part Two
5th Saun 720 in Volta, Rharne.
The painting was always interesting to Yrmellyn. She felt in perfect harmony when she worked. The conflicted thoughts that streamed through her abated and left her in a state of inner peace.
Lately, it had begun to dawn on her that as soon as she delved into creation the inner pressure of her magic stopped. It seemed like the spark of magic she carried, whatever it was, thrived on art. It craved creation and Yrmellyn also felt this was the best. The symbiosis of her soul and the magic living in it was free from conflict when she worked. In art and creation, they met and united in perfect harmony.
Thoughts, inspirations, flowed through the being that went by the name Yrmellyn Cole. She was something else, something new, something strange. She was in transformation. She was under the influence of a power she had wanted many arcs ago. But, it had also been the power that had sought her and wanted her. Deep down, she knew that it had made her mentor take her on as he too had been under the influence of the same magic power. She had possessed the kind of soul it wanted to merge with.
This might be the reason why she had survived the initiation. She had been a kindred soul.
Yrmellyn, as she had been at the time, hadn’t been looking to rise to the power positions of the world. She hadn’t been dreaming of ruling over land and people. Her lifestyle of the old had been to make a living by being beautiful and entertaining. It had meant bringing the people who paid her and kept her illusions of love. She had been a maker of dreams.
Like her mentor. Mariuz was an artist too, the one I lived with before.
Art could also be beautiful, entertaining illusions. Dreams could often give inspiration for art. In a way, every painting was like a dream put down on the canvas and so, made lasting and true. But, good art demanded something more. It required a willingness to delve into the motifs and understand them. It demanded this whether the motifs were beautiful or grotesque, good or evil, or a mix of everything.
And then, create, shape them, transform them, bring out the artwork they are the raw material for.
After the mutation of enhanced impressions had expanded, Yrmellyn's views had changed. She always tended to see living beings, items and places alike as a mix of many facets. She had seen dark sides as well as good ones in the thunder priestess she had made a portrait of a couple of arcs ago. A recent portrait of the drug peddler and alchemist Jack Hector pleased her. It showed the man as he was, not embellishing him, yet not making him uglier either. As it was art and art isn’t reality she had purple-fied him a bit though. She had always like that colour. These days she liked it more. She didn’t know if her purple period would last or for how long time. But, for time being, she painted everything a bit purple.
And this felt good, to the being who went by the name Yrmellyn Cole.
Making a living of her work was good but it was secondary. It kept her body going, so it could continue to be house the twin souls of the spark and its soulmate.
Out. Find a motif. Paint. She was already heading toward the door.
“Where are you going Yrmellyn?” Her partner Ha’zel had a tendency to keep track of her nowadays. It was like he found it necessary to watch over her and make sure that...whatever he wanted to make sure of.
“Out.”
“But where? This isn’t Rharne city. It’s Volta. There’s a lot of shady people and shady activities here. If I didn’t have to work I would come with you. If you can wait until I have tended to the horses...”
One part of Yrmellyn wanted to roll eyes and tell him that she had to go out and get some artwork done. But, another part of felt bad about behaving that way. She stopped and turned around to look at Ha’zel. The sev’ryn man’s face was serious. Meeting his gaze she felt guilty like she had been trying to sneak out unseen to do forbidden things.
“It’s nice of you Ha’zel, but I don’t want to wait until later. I’m going out now. But, I promise to avoid shady places and dark alleys and not speak with suspect strangers,” she told him.
Ha’zel nodded but she could see that it didn’t mean that he agreed with her. “Don’t take any risks,” was all he said.
Yrmellyn heard his dark voice through her mutation, the enriched impressions. It like sounded deep chocolate brown and was aromatic like molasses. For a moment she thought of the first time she had met him, in Caervalle, over one arc ago. It had been a mysterious evening and night. The beautiful Verity Treyhar, a wanted jewel thief had crossed their path. The girl had left on horseback, heading towards Volta. They had never heard about her again.
They had even forgotten the encounter. The world had been out of ether. Yrmellyn’s inner war with the spark of magic about flaying or not flaying had begun. Ha’zel and she had left Rharne to live in the wilderness in the hope that staying in nature would support her. In the end, Yrmellyn had withstood the temptation to flay and taken control of the magic. But, it had been a taxing emotional and mental process. And afterwards, they had stayed in the wilds for several cycles.
Without Ha’zel she might not had made it. She might have turned dark and dangerous. Would she have used her magic, the attunement, to find and hunt the ether the magic made her crave? Would she have killed to get ether? Yrmellyn couldn’t know, but she feared that it might have happened. Ha’zel had stopped her in the nick of time when she had been about to lose control.
The same went for the fever that had made them settle in Volta in Culys this arc. Without Ha’zel she might not have been alive. He had taken care of everything while fever sleep and lucid dreams had plagued her.
I should be more grateful and I should...
“Don’t worry, “ she said instead.
Yrmellyn heard him sigh again while she continued to the door, opened it and left. She must paint. She craved it. She had to do it, right now, not later. Being grateful didn't mean that she must let Ha'zel follow and guard her wherever she went.
When she passed through the dining room downstairs she greeted the inn’s red-haired maid Janey who was scrubbing the floor as usual. The maid looked up at Yrmellyn over the bucket, her mouth slightly open. Yrmellyn stopped to smile at the hardworking tavern staff. One trial she might paint the portrait of the girl, she thought to herself.
One trial, but not right now. It felt like something was missing in the motif, and Yrmellyn wasn’t able to say what it was. There was something unfinished with Janey. It wasn’t that she found the girl lacking as a motif. But, it felt like there ought to be something...more. This vague feeling made Yrmellyn stand still and focus as she did something she very seldom did. She was going to attempt to sense the frequency of Janey, then see what kind of notes she might pick up.
“Are you feeling well miss Cole?” Janey, like all others in the tavern, knew that their longtime guest had been very ill. She spoke in the pleasant tone of a good service minded tavern maid.
Yrmellyn didn’t answer at once. It took a few trills more to get the girls frequency. It wasn’t like seeing or hearing but like sensing the basic theme of Janey. The contrast between the maid's easygoing smile and the darkness of her frequency surprised Yrmellyn. It was like expecting a merry tavern tune but instead getting a dramatic choral. It stunned her for a moment. She had only time to pick up one note before she lost focus and her brief use attunement was over. It was the note of Janey’s hair, copper red with reflexes of gold in the sparse tavern light.
“I’m fine,” she managed. “I only ... thought of a painting.”
“A painting?” The confusion in Janey’s voice was palpable. She didn’t get a thing.
“You know that I’m a painter. I made a portrait of a patron back in Ymiden. Jack Hector. If you recall.”
“Crazy Jack Hecks. That’s what some call him. Who would want a portrait of that one!”
Yrmellyn laughed. “I sold it to a merchant who sells some of Jack’s alchemy products in Zynyx Market. A portrait of the crafter can make goods seem more valuable. But, I wasn’t thinking of that portrait now. I was thinking of a painting of a tavern maid with hair red as ...”
“Blood?” suggested Janey, in a tone that made it clear that there was a limit for what she could tolerate. “That’s what they use to tell me.”
“Copper and gold, mostly copper but also some gold.”
It was silent for a trill and then Janey laughed a bit. “Mostly copper,” she said. “There’s not much gold to have in this tavern.” She twisted the cloth over the bucket and dirty water dripped down into it. Then she grabbed the brush and began scrubbing the floor again.
The chat was over. Yrmellyn walked over to the door. And so she left the cheap tavern in Volta where she and Ha'zel were staying since the end of Cylus.
Lately, it had begun to dawn on her that as soon as she delved into creation the inner pressure of her magic stopped. It seemed like the spark of magic she carried, whatever it was, thrived on art. It craved creation and Yrmellyn also felt this was the best. The symbiosis of her soul and the magic living in it was free from conflict when she worked. In art and creation, they met and united in perfect harmony.
Thoughts, inspirations, flowed through the being that went by the name Yrmellyn Cole. She was something else, something new, something strange. She was in transformation. She was under the influence of a power she had wanted many arcs ago. But, it had also been the power that had sought her and wanted her. Deep down, she knew that it had made her mentor take her on as he too had been under the influence of the same magic power. She had possessed the kind of soul it wanted to merge with.
This might be the reason why she had survived the initiation. She had been a kindred soul.
Yrmellyn, as she had been at the time, hadn’t been looking to rise to the power positions of the world. She hadn’t been dreaming of ruling over land and people. Her lifestyle of the old had been to make a living by being beautiful and entertaining. It had meant bringing the people who paid her and kept her illusions of love. She had been a maker of dreams.
Like her mentor. Mariuz was an artist too, the one I lived with before.
Art could also be beautiful, entertaining illusions. Dreams could often give inspiration for art. In a way, every painting was like a dream put down on the canvas and so, made lasting and true. But, good art demanded something more. It required a willingness to delve into the motifs and understand them. It demanded this whether the motifs were beautiful or grotesque, good or evil, or a mix of everything.
And then, create, shape them, transform them, bring out the artwork they are the raw material for.
After the mutation of enhanced impressions had expanded, Yrmellyn's views had changed. She always tended to see living beings, items and places alike as a mix of many facets. She had seen dark sides as well as good ones in the thunder priestess she had made a portrait of a couple of arcs ago. A recent portrait of the drug peddler and alchemist Jack Hector pleased her. It showed the man as he was, not embellishing him, yet not making him uglier either. As it was art and art isn’t reality she had purple-fied him a bit though. She had always like that colour. These days she liked it more. She didn’t know if her purple period would last or for how long time. But, for time being, she painted everything a bit purple.
And this felt good, to the being who went by the name Yrmellyn Cole.
Making a living of her work was good but it was secondary. It kept her body going, so it could continue to be house the twin souls of the spark and its soulmate.
Out. Find a motif. Paint. She was already heading toward the door.
“Where are you going Yrmellyn?” Her partner Ha’zel had a tendency to keep track of her nowadays. It was like he found it necessary to watch over her and make sure that...whatever he wanted to make sure of.
“Out.”
“But where? This isn’t Rharne city. It’s Volta. There’s a lot of shady people and shady activities here. If I didn’t have to work I would come with you. If you can wait until I have tended to the horses...”
One part of Yrmellyn wanted to roll eyes and tell him that she had to go out and get some artwork done. But, another part of felt bad about behaving that way. She stopped and turned around to look at Ha’zel. The sev’ryn man’s face was serious. Meeting his gaze she felt guilty like she had been trying to sneak out unseen to do forbidden things.
“It’s nice of you Ha’zel, but I don’t want to wait until later. I’m going out now. But, I promise to avoid shady places and dark alleys and not speak with suspect strangers,” she told him.
Ha’zel nodded but she could see that it didn’t mean that he agreed with her. “Don’t take any risks,” was all he said.
Yrmellyn heard his dark voice through her mutation, the enriched impressions. It like sounded deep chocolate brown and was aromatic like molasses. For a moment she thought of the first time she had met him, in Caervalle, over one arc ago. It had been a mysterious evening and night. The beautiful Verity Treyhar, a wanted jewel thief had crossed their path. The girl had left on horseback, heading towards Volta. They had never heard about her again.
They had even forgotten the encounter. The world had been out of ether. Yrmellyn’s inner war with the spark of magic about flaying or not flaying had begun. Ha’zel and she had left Rharne to live in the wilderness in the hope that staying in nature would support her. In the end, Yrmellyn had withstood the temptation to flay and taken control of the magic. But, it had been a taxing emotional and mental process. And afterwards, they had stayed in the wilds for several cycles.
Without Ha’zel she might not had made it. She might have turned dark and dangerous. Would she have used her magic, the attunement, to find and hunt the ether the magic made her crave? Would she have killed to get ether? Yrmellyn couldn’t know, but she feared that it might have happened. Ha’zel had stopped her in the nick of time when she had been about to lose control.
The same went for the fever that had made them settle in Volta in Culys this arc. Without Ha’zel she might not have been alive. He had taken care of everything while fever sleep and lucid dreams had plagued her.
I should be more grateful and I should...
“Don’t worry, “ she said instead.
Yrmellyn heard him sigh again while she continued to the door, opened it and left. She must paint. She craved it. She had to do it, right now, not later. Being grateful didn't mean that she must let Ha'zel follow and guard her wherever she went.
When she passed through the dining room downstairs she greeted the inn’s red-haired maid Janey who was scrubbing the floor as usual. The maid looked up at Yrmellyn over the bucket, her mouth slightly open. Yrmellyn stopped to smile at the hardworking tavern staff. One trial she might paint the portrait of the girl, she thought to herself.
One trial, but not right now. It felt like something was missing in the motif, and Yrmellyn wasn’t able to say what it was. There was something unfinished with Janey. It wasn’t that she found the girl lacking as a motif. But, it felt like there ought to be something...more. This vague feeling made Yrmellyn stand still and focus as she did something she very seldom did. She was going to attempt to sense the frequency of Janey, then see what kind of notes she might pick up.
“Are you feeling well miss Cole?” Janey, like all others in the tavern, knew that their longtime guest had been very ill. She spoke in the pleasant tone of a good service minded tavern maid.
Yrmellyn didn’t answer at once. It took a few trills more to get the girls frequency. It wasn’t like seeing or hearing but like sensing the basic theme of Janey. The contrast between the maid's easygoing smile and the darkness of her frequency surprised Yrmellyn. It was like expecting a merry tavern tune but instead getting a dramatic choral. It stunned her for a moment. She had only time to pick up one note before she lost focus and her brief use attunement was over. It was the note of Janey’s hair, copper red with reflexes of gold in the sparse tavern light.
“I’m fine,” she managed. “I only ... thought of a painting.”
“A painting?” The confusion in Janey’s voice was palpable. She didn’t get a thing.
“You know that I’m a painter. I made a portrait of a patron back in Ymiden. Jack Hector. If you recall.”
“Crazy Jack Hecks. That’s what some call him. Who would want a portrait of that one!”
Yrmellyn laughed. “I sold it to a merchant who sells some of Jack’s alchemy products in Zynyx Market. A portrait of the crafter can make goods seem more valuable. But, I wasn’t thinking of that portrait now. I was thinking of a painting of a tavern maid with hair red as ...”
“Blood?” suggested Janey, in a tone that made it clear that there was a limit for what she could tolerate. “That’s what they use to tell me.”
“Copper and gold, mostly copper but also some gold.”
It was silent for a trill and then Janey laughed a bit. “Mostly copper,” she said. “There’s not much gold to have in this tavern.” She twisted the cloth over the bucket and dirty water dripped down into it. Then she grabbed the brush and began scrubbing the floor again.
The chat was over. Yrmellyn walked over to the door. And so she left the cheap tavern in Volta where she and Ha'zel were staying since the end of Cylus.
