Flashback Relative perspective [Evalin]

[Valo]

2nd Summer 506AV
Age 17
Noon
Courtyard of the sky

After market days, the Courtyard of the Sky seems quite the quiet place. That's because no daily human occupation could ever measure up to the hustle and bustle of the Inarta market. Thus, in the relative calm of the noon, tucked away by one of the stone platforms where he may be no bother to anyone, sat a boy artist with the sketchbook on his lap and the trusted paint box by his side. A second pair of eyes, breathing over him as he painted in silence.

The second pair of eyes was his younger half sister, Tora who, much a lively spirit, seemed to be always interested in anything and everything. Thus her brother's art was as good an occupation as any upon which to fix her focus and observe. Observe every movement of his hand. The delicate and meticulous way he way pale, watered down hues in such a way that the brush seemed to barely touch the paper. The intricate process of picking out pigments to mix into his preferred colours and then diluting them into a translucent shroud over the paper white. The delicate motions of filling in the light outlines of his his sketches. She was as silent as he. An almost meditative silence.

Valo, was the artist. A boy of barely 17 years old who, despite being a red head in the sea of red, seemed quite odd at that. Perhaps it was the elegant feminine nature to his appearance. The slender feature. Of perhaps it was the very occupation in which he immersed him self with such profound joy. Every so often he would temperamental break his concentration and look to the girl, who was little more than a whole year younger, with his gleaming emerald eyes and a smile would be exchanged. A smile of comfort in the silence of each other's company. And with that simple motion he'd return to his painting.

It seemed that only at this age he was truly grasping the power which his imagination held over his art. Only at this age had he the capability of making the most of it, along with the constantly improving skill. Thus, the consequence was an elaborate array of the most surreal of portraits. Some of his sisters, some of their friends - for it seemed that girls truly adored being painted - all with elaborate floral arrangements framing the faces, entwined into the hair and filling the background until the human feature simply melted away into those flowers. It seemed the flora of Wind Reach had captivated his imagination that summer thus he did what only a man with competent an artistic soul could do and incorporate the still life nature with his greatest of loves; portraiture, until a harmony between the two was established. A union of man and nature.

He had spent the entire afternoon, painting portrait after portrait in the most delicate of hues, revelling in the water soluble medium of his paint. Revelling in the delicate, illustration like effect it gave though it's very subtlety. Much unlike oil paint which was heavy, the water colours did not make a painting though their fragility, they enhanced it. An art nuveau elegance. Clean edges and carefully blended hues, bled into one another by means of the water medium. Each colour thought out with care.

He was done with the nudes of the face and the pale green of the eyes quickly. A pale face of a woman with slender feature and prominent cheekbones. A girl, barely his age who had been one of Tora's very best friends. Soon the face was filled in with it's delicate low lights and highlights. Tiny dots he had left, where paint had not obscured the white paper, which seemed now like a natural glow to the skin. Those were the dull guess comparing to those he soon mixed. The hues of the flowers and the luscious Inarta hair. The very vibrant colours. The love for those colours was almost innate, for it seemed every Inarta had such a love for bright colour.

First came the hues of the hair. Dark, crimson tones, an elaborate array of pinks and reds and entwined into one flowing mane. The first layers of the paint was a substantially watered down crimson that lingered as a light wash over the pencil drawn fibres. That became the very colour of the highlights of the hair, where light would naturally hit it to obtain a subtle gloss. Next he would mix arrays of scarlet and crimson pigments. Each darker than the other. Each layer gentler than another, painted on with tiny brushes in hope of achieving this smooth hair texture. A difficult task at that. And slowly a three dimensional appearance was formed as each layer became darker and darker until threads of deep purple would wind though the mane where the absence of light created shadow. And atop ribbons of pure, opaque scarlet hues he placed to give the paint a fiery appearance. The hair of a true Inarta.

Suffice to say, hair was so terribly difficult to paint, it seemed. For a boy who had - for once - decided to paint in a photo realistic way, he decided to draw over the paint once it dried thoroughly with pencil or ink, to retrieve those singular strands which were now washed by pigment. Such was definitely in order, for the pencil marks below the paint layers were now terribly obscured and light at that, for they had been sketched with a light hand. If he was to place too much led on the paper prior, it would dissolve into the water and render any hue with an ugly grey undertone. Those grey undertones simply did not exist in the hair of Inarta.

There were white spaces left within the hair, the very outlines of clean shapes. And more were littered around the portrait in constellation clusters. For perhaps it was quite appropriate to name them constellations as the flowers chosen for this particular piece were the Sun Stars. Flowers of the most magnificent and rich hues, shades of yellows and oranges that would linger in harmonious juxtaposition with the crimson hues. The brighter the better.

He mixed warm and vibrant oranges from cadmium yellow and cadmium red deep pigments, forming a variety, straying from very very red which tipped the petals in a fiery loveliness, to the very yellow which lingered in soft washes at the very base. Wish soft bristled brushes he painted these in careful gradients onto each petal. Bleeding the colours one into the other. And when the gradients dried he would go over them with a tone darker and create subtle fibres with very thin brushes that would give the appearance of natural floral texture. Then came the washes, very very pale washes of the grey purples with this he created shadows. Three layers of shadows which brought out that third dimension. A smother curl to each petal, after which he mixed his paint thicker and more opaque and placed several cream dots within the centre of each Sun Star. Moderately large yellow spots that would form the stamens. And also, in layers, he would place yellow and white hues until a rounded shape would form.

It was only then that Valo mixed a dark colour. An equilibrium of purple and brown, created by the union of Phthalo blue and Cadmium red. Two tones which antagonised each other to the point where the hue was almost black, yet not quite black. And with that he painted in the very centre of each flower in turn, keeping a mental note to detail them with black. And he repeated this process for each flower that framed the portrait. Each flower that lingered so lovely upon the paper and there were many flowers.

A voice called out his sister's name and, at once, Tora rose to her feet and darted to meet the girl. The very girl who was suspended with an endearing smile on the pages of Valo's sketchbook. Only in reality she was more beautiful, more delicate than his painting. A youthful feminine glow to her, a light emanating from her vary smile. With a contained frustration, the artist sighed, a though on his mind that perhaps never will he be able to portray those very qualities that would make a person. A brief pessimistic thought which was soon banished as his name was called too and the girl waved with that radiant smile of her's. A smile of his own was the reply, a gentle raising of his hand in acknowledgement to the two girl in the distance.

Soon however, his eyes returned to the paper as he was left in the solitude of his work. Not prepared to leave the art he loved so much just yet. Every motion so very saturated with the joy which it brought him. And though there was no smile on his face now, and he was very much contained in his sitting position, knees puled up, calm and content; by the very glancing at the boy one could easily deduce that this occupation was something he adored. The very commitment to it.

As the paint quickly dried in the warmth of the air, he began working into the dry areas with led. Gentle cross hatching and layering of mark making upon the areas where the face would naturally create shadow. Soft gradients, transitioning into painted hues. The flowers too were gifted with outlines and the hair was drawn all over again. Lines of strands upon it so that perhaps the monotone red, would look like hair not a simple form. Quietly he worked as Tora, arm in arm with the other girl, abandoned him in search of a different way to spend their afternoon.

[Evalin]

Fast yet slow, constant yet stagnant, beautiful yet terrifying. Flowing on and on it, continually forward, never ceasing, never faltering. Steady and unstable... That was what it was. The tick of the clock, the chiming of bells, light fading and darkness rising, this was it all, the sublet yet unavoidable stream of time that coursed its way through existence. What foolish men might say is that all are but voyagers upon these waters, yet Evalin knew the truth. She felt it, saw it, experienced it every single day. Could it be called a day? In truth she was never certain, not now at least. Such words as time and creations like calendars were but trivialities to the Immortal witch who knew a truth that so few mortals ever grasped. No they did not ride upon the tides, they were swept up in it, and she... she this point of unchanging darkness stood not within the flow but upon the rivers edge, gazing out in a strange mixture of relief and such terrible regret.

A sea of red and feathers, that is what Evalin saw in this... could it be called a city? There was little to compare it to. A colony perhaps? A tribe? but no, far to simple a term to describe the complexity of this mass of bodies a and mortality. Yet with the simplest of methods Evalin cast aside such pondering because they were, as were most things, still simply concepts caught up in the flow of time. She had been in this place, Wind Reach the locals called it, for some time now, yet her true purpose for coming here seemed all but a mystery, even to herself.

But then what matter it if a detour is taken upon an endless journey? Have I not the time to look, to explore? Her eyes turned about the large open courtyard in which she had found herself, There is much of this world which I have not yet experienced. The tides of my forged destiny shall guide me soon, but for now... for now let the trivialities drive away the shadows of the norm, if only for a moment.

Within her mind Evalin felt that familiar feeling, that pulling within her that called for attention. A parched feeling on her tongue, a craving for the taste of ruby warmth upon her lips... And as the Immortal watched the children play their games of life it was all she could do to resist the callings. It was then that a curiosity assaulted her vision. There was a man, was it a man?, who sat before a woman child. The spark of desire flared, yet was suppressed as she moved slowly to the side, her eyes searching the small group. There was a man, for now she knew him to be a man, who sat with paper and paint and created works of art out of the simple figure before him. Form time to time his eyes would look up, cast upon another girl beside him, and Evalin saw it then, the light of love and compassion.

That wretched darkness of a soul stirred at this, at the sight of truest companionship. She remembered so vividly, so clearly the life that was before the mantle of immortality was cast upon her. A life that was fated to end, a life of pain and truest misery trapped within a body that spilled blood from lips and eyes.

How could it be that others live with such as love and compassion and yet... yet I was destined to die the most miserable of deaths...? Swelling hatred bubbled to the surface the more she watched, and more and more Evalin wanted to cleave that happiness, to steal it away and trample upon the delusion that these children lived within. For what justice was there in the world that she would suffer when others would not? No... No there was no justice at all in the workings of Fate.

The girls soon left, leaving where he was the man whose eyes held emotions Evalin had not felt in more than 150 years. A smile, a grin of truest intent, split those pale lips as she made her way forward, cutting a path into the river to stand beside a poor existent trapped within the current.

Cloaked and hooded Evalin would come up to the man from the side, making no attempt to hide her presence. What purpose was there in that? There was little that she could do in a place where all were trained from birth in the arts of hunting and stealth. So she strode forward, staff in hand with a confident stride until she was but a few lengths away. Leaning upon her staff, a beautiful piece of ornate wood, Evalin smiled from within the darkness. Her eyes, red as freshly spilt blood looked down upon him and his work, and in a soft voice she would speak, "Talent I see in you child. Your work is good, and those who stand beside you smile with the truest of happiness." Though undeserved...

Cloaked about her was that feeling of unease that all of Uldr's marked bore, a sense that something was not quite right. It was both a blessing and a curse, for never could one marked be free of suspicion.

Leaning forward, letting her pale features come a bit more into view she continued, "If I may, might I have a portrait as well?"

[Valo]

A figure of darkness approached him, yet the foolish boy did not notice. so great was his concentration upon the delicate pencil marks which his hands created. The very cross hatching and shading that would pull his painting from the flatness and lack of dimension of artu nuveau into something completely original, completely his own. A union of both led and paint. Not quite a sketch, yet not quite a painting. Just like he was Inarta but not quite Inarta. Of course that wasn't his thought, for his mind was wiped from thought by the arms of concentration which now wound about him and suffocated his senses. A fool he was, for having not noticed the woman until her voice broke him from those arms. A shame to the name of his nation.

"Talent I see in you child. Your work is good, and those who stand beside you smile with the truest of happiness."

His hand ceased, a gentle shatter of the very tip of the pencil upon his paper. Startled perhaps, he was by the voice. Or perhaps it was the very fact he had not noticed, despite her taking no measure to conceal her presence. Or perhaps it was the very mannerism with which she spoke. A poetic flow tot he words, as if the sentence it self had been crafted by the hands of those who have their ways with language. And language seemed art upon all but the lips of Inarta, who were people of action not language. Perhaps that was what startled him, that someone else paid as much attention to words as he did. A simple message, conveyed in such a way that the words rang harmoniously alas determining that such could not be said in any other way.

Jaggedly his attention snapped from the art his hands created, abandoning it in thought, yet in body, clasping his fingers upon it just a little tighter. A swelling feeling in his chest. An equilibrium of sudden excitement and apprehension and he knew not where that apprehension sprouted. In fact he failed to quite register it's existence,for despite being a boy so saturated with emotion, he seemed to have such a basic grasp upon their nature that to many he became oblivious. A quality that resulted from his of so very safe childhood. So very cosy by the hearth of his mother's. Foolishness and unsubstantiated trust were the building blocks of Valo who was a virgin to betrayal an true hardships of life.

"If I may, might I have a portrait as well?" she spoke, leaning forward a little,no doubt wishing to take a closer look at Valo's little painting which now bore a darkened spot where his pencil shattered. A pity for he had been enjoying that very painting, that very style of painting which was so beautifully fragile and illustrative to the eye. But his eyes were fixed on her now. The pale curve of her lip, obscured by the hood and from beneath that dark void shined a pair of eyes as red as the blood from a freshly severed artery. As red as Valo's very own hair.

His heart leaped at the sight of those eyes. But the leap was not that of fear but of complete love of them. It was strange perhaps, but Valo's very own sketchbook was a statement to his love of oddity. Blissful of oddity, wonderful variety that the world beyond wind reach had to offer to him. For if one was to look within that sketchbook on his lap and perhaps turn a few pages, one would no doubt spot the array of broken feature, men who's faced were obscured and transformed in such a way that one may think the kid was possessed. Portraits, often even whole silhouettes clad in extremist expressionism and surrealism. And quite surreal were those eyes and instantly was he in love with them. Truly captivated by their beauty. Beauty in which be saw art. Defiant of common sense, defiant of the unease about the woman, he remained and dimply defiant and oblivious to the fear that the mark of Uldr should form within him - for he knew next to nothing about the god of the Undead, barely acknowledgeable his existence. The boy's mind was ruled by art and art instructed him to love those eyes as if they were the work of an artist greater than him self.

He waisted just a moment more before words finally came to the lips of Valo and fell from them like tears of joy may fall from the eyes of a child. "Of course." he gasped hastily, in hope that she did not find his momentary captivation with her feature rude. For he was all but rude. And his slender arm gestured for her to sit before him, fingers of the other already clawing for a fresh page. Ah how in that instant he wished an easel and canvas and a box of his beloved oil paints would fall from the sky and he could paint a magnificent portrait of the stranger. Something which even the gods could be proud of. And a bottle of turpentine, for it seemed that pungent smell was the very essence of artistic genius. And a genius is what he wanted to prove him self to be.

Alas the boy strived to retain his calm composure, a pleasant smile playing at the corners of his lips. A complete suppression of that swelling feeling in his chest. His ever animated eyes however, filled with awe at the creature before him. "May I enquire as to your identity ma'am?"

[Evalin]

Evalin drew back, touching a finger to her lips as she noted the length the man stared into her eyes. It was... curious. Many could not look, would not gaze upon her eyes for any length of time. They often summoned eerie feelings within the hearts of the feeble minded, and yet this child gazed as if unfazed by the presence of eternity before him. Drawing her thin lips into a smile once more Evalin moved to stand before Valo, setting her clothing about her as she sat upon her knees, leaning her staff against her shoulder, one hand always held tight around the wood.

Evalin reached with her free hand, pulling her hood free to let her features be fully revealed. Dark hair feel from beneath the cloth, curls lighting at the ends as the hairs framed the thin face and deathly pail skin that made those eyes of red stand out all the more. Brushing a hand before her eyes to right a hair that had strayed to far, Evalin spoke in a near whispered voice, "That, my child, is a question countless before you have asked of me."

Watching as Valo worked Evalin would hold perfectly still, as only a nuit could. Her mind thought of nothing, her eyes roamed idly as she continued, "I have worn many faces over the years now. I have taken many names in those times as well, however, for whom I really am well..." She gave a wry smile, "That is a secret that very few truly know."

Adjusting her posture Evalin inquired, "And what of you? What be your identity now? And the women I saw before? Your lover and mistress?"

[Valo]

Suffice to say, Valo wasn't a very good judge of character. He wasn't the boy to fallow his gut instinct when it came to people and situations. Indeed he was suspended on the lay line between reality and his own little dimension where he would often withdraw when creating his art, never quite leaving. A boy made of dreams. He wasn't afraid of Evalin, nor really unnerved by her appearance simply because he had little knowledge of Uldr, the god and practically no knowledge of the Chained ones. It was useless to him.

It was however the way she spoke and what she said that began to seep doubt into his heart.

His eyes were now focused solely upon the stranger before him. A delicate woman, sitting upon her knees with such grace. It seemed that everything around her dissolved, bled into the solid mass of the background until she was the only thing before him. she was what devoured his concentration. And the aperture of his eyes, the depth of field seemed smaller, until he truly saw nothing but her. The very focal point. A slender woman with her clothing about her, framing the feature as if she was some great canvas, painted by the hand of a master, old and precious and just ever so slightly eerie. Surrounded by the aura of pure mystique. Both enticing and fleeting. A wooden staff leaned against her shoulder in such a way that it seemed a part of her. An item she would unlikely have been seen without, though perhaps this though had been caused by her slender hand which grasped it tightly.

The boy artist watched as her hood was pulled free to reveal pale, slender feature. the skin which has perhaps never been touched by sunlight. Surreal and pale she was, paler than Valo himself who was already considered a boy of ivory. She was something different though,something yet profoundly better, for the uniqueness of her feature was astounding and, as an artist who sought beautify in the most unusual of places, he could not help but love it. A thought, which he dared not voice for such would seem inappropriate and perhaps rude, but she reminded him of death, or at least the way it had been described in fiction novels. For deathly pale she was. And perhaps if there were purple bruises about her eyes and lips and if she had been a little swollen, than he'd have no trouble mistaking her for a walking corpse. Was this grim beauty? Most certainly. But much like a wilted flower, shrivelled up and dead in the absence of water, so she was so very beautiful in the eyes of the young artist.

Suffice to say, Valo had a twisted aesthetic. Of more accurately, a tilted aesthetic. For he saw life as beautiful, sunk kissed children and fresh flowers, the fauna, the mountains, the sky. Those were very beautiful to him. But he too saw beauty in shadows, in the twistedness of abstract. Too he saw beauty in death, a sort of romantic beauty for it seemed he had always been so very fond of tragic novels and wilted flowers. Alas, if it could be painted, if it sparked some tiny spark of imagination into him, Valo would deem it beautiful. This the red eyes woman before him was indeed beautiful.

His question as to her identity seemed to have been brushed off, much like the stray strand of hair had been brushed off from her eyes. Much to the boys dismay indeed. Since he so eagerly and indeed altruistically - for Valo expected no payment. The chance to paint her had been payment enough - proceeded to do her a favour, it seemed a simple curtsy to be enlightened as to her name. Unless of course she had something to hide. and if that was the case than his heart, his very curious heart, burned to find out what it was. perhaps he did not voice it, such was painted clearly in his eyes. perhaps it was a habit of his, to pry upon such things, but in all honesty Valo simply could not stand secrets.

Armed with a pencil and a fresh page of his sketchbook, Valo observed her closely and what he did see, was recorded by his hands upon the paper. A poor variety of marks, simple monotone lines. Just lines. The prerequisite to painting, the placing of anatomy of the form. The lines turned into shapes but no shading would be evident for Valo simply had not the skill in drawing. Some would be puzzled by this, for surely drawing was the foundation to any art. Yet not to this young Inarta artist it seemed. To him paint and colour was everything and drawing was simply a skeleton upon which he'd flesh out his creation.

A face is little else than form, looming from the white surface. Created just like any other form should be, approached with anatomical precision. Portraiture is the understanding of form and the viewing of face as such. No gradient is needed, just directions and distances. Eyes are the simplest paint from which to build up a face, especially one staring straight at him, with the red eyes thrust straight into him much like his were thrust into her, for eyes are the smallest component and the ultimate point of reference. The pencil in Valo's hand scraped so gently against the paper, forming soft, light lines with with's jagged movement. A certain squareness to it, simple straight lines, so very small, soon building up the almond shape of an eye. A softly darker lash line, foreshortened lid and a clean, crisp waterline that melted away into the skin. An imperfect trapezoid shape, or at least the very hint of one beneath the eyes to mark the existence of the hollow beneath the skin, for this is where light naturally gathered in gentle shadows around the face. The underlying structure, scull and muscle, obstructed from view by skin, were just as important to take into account for it was only when such measure was taken, that one could truly understand the light and shadow within the face. The protruding highlights and regressing lowlights that form expression and feature that identifies the subject.

He prevented from drawing in the pupil just yet, settling for the very basic and raw shape, then taking two horizontal lines across the page. One sprouting from the upper lash line and the other from the lower. Those lines had not naturally existed within the woman's face, but they would help his in the positioning of the other eye and swallowing hard for a moment, hoping she would not think him strange for the next action on his behalf, Valo held out his arm, completely straight, the pencil grasped in it firmly. left emerald eye closed. With a nail he first held it before the stranger's right eye, marking the horizontal length and then measured the distance from the very corner of one to the other. A whole eye length and a bit. The spacing between her eyes was perfect, a feature of perfectionist human beauty. A lovely symmetry to her. Without hesitation he transferred those distances onto the horizontal lines, marking first the eyes length, then just the little bit more and then yet another eye length where he did not hesitate before forming a mirror image of the almond shape.

"I have worn many faces over the years now. I have taken many names in those times as well, however, for whom I really am well..." the woman smiled as Valo's eyes were planted into his work, yet his auditory seances playing so very much attention to her words. "That is a secret that very few truly know."

Within those little almond shapes, he gently mapped out round irises and within those, crescent moon shapes for the pupil, entwined with the geometry of light reflecting within that surface of liquid crimson. When painted, they would be beautiful but for not they remained in little more than two dimension, before Valo's hand marked yet another point. A mirror line, right in the centre of the eyes, extending in both directions vertically. He them placed his pencil against the paper, measuring the distance between the point of that line and the very peripheral corner of one of the eyes, then transferring that vertically down the face. A little circle, drawn with the movement of his entire arm, that lingered upon that line, around which he quickly structured the nose, the nose bridge which sprouted simply an en elongated oval and soon the gentle retraction at the very top, where the woman's eyebrows finally came into shape, just a little bit haphazard.

Adjusting her posture Evalin inquired, "And what of you? What be your identity now? And the women I saw before? Your lover and mistress?"

Those were perhaps the word that really struck distrust into Valo's heart. A weariness of the woman, only now registering that eerie aura that surround her. Thus his eyes became suspicion with which he now regarded her as he continued drawing. Unwilling he was to so simply let her go, for the task of drawing someone so very unique wasn't obtained often. But why was she so very curious? Was is a simply curiosity, mere small talk, like his own so very often? Or was there something a little deeper to it. A little more ominous. Suspicion, fuelled by her reluctance to part with the mystery of her name. "Merely an artist." he replied with an utmost polite a manner. Though his voice now mirrored her own hushed quality. "And that too is a secret only very few know." a flicker of a grin was carved into his feature momentarily, before being subdued by the boy's self composure again. A certain childish mischief in it. A contentment with his retort.

Soon the lips fallowed, thin and gentle. So very feminine, like fresh blooms of wild roses in spring. Little but so very precious in aesthetic. The bone structure of the face fallowed. A soft jaw, ever so slightly prominent cheek bones. A slender feature, soon crowned by locks of hair that traced the length of her neck. Alas the initial skeleton of the painting was complete and already Valo swapped the pencil for the brush, figuring out which washes of colour to use first.

"Have you lived here for long miss?" he asked politely, though beneath that shroud of simple small talk, his eyes burned with interest. Those ever animated eyes, sparkling green emeralds, were perhaps the only park of his feature that could not so simply be subdued. And perhaps often the part of his nature would peek though the gaps in his self composure, much like that previous grin did, this conversation was a little bit of a game to him. A game of secrets and mysteries.

[Evalin]

Evalin watched in rapture as the red headed artist spun a tale with pencil and lines, a story that comprised more than he truly knew. In truth Evalin had never given thought to the arts, or any arts other than her own at that. They all seemed so... pointless, meaningless in the grand scheme of eternity. What point was there to learn of portraits and colors when the world passes you by one tick at a time? What meaning is there to capture a face that is forever changing? Truly she did not know, and yet this boy, merely a child in her old eyes, gazed upon the canvas as if it were a window to another world, a world of his own creation, and yet he held it in such rapture himself.

Those eyes of his... They look upon the world and see, truly see, what others might pass by without a second glance. Evalin took a moment to look about her at this, and found herself slightly amused by the action, Indeed, I find his methods quite infectious. Might I take a moment myself and enjoy the present time instead of gazing forever longing into the distant future? But no. Such things are for mortals whose time is limited.

Evalin tilted her head slightly at Valo's answer, hints of amusement pulling at the corners of her eyes and lips. The child wished to play games, games meant for adults and those longer lived than he, yet even so play she would. How curious it was to find one such as he so willing to twist words and match secrets for secrets. She could see it in him, that burning desire to know of her, about her, and faintly Evalin wondered if the same were reflected upon her own features. Looking down Evalin would pick a single blade of grace, twisting it in her fingers as she whispered, "My I would say that I admire your wit and retort, and I shall admit to my own curiosity to be piqued. You hide such simple information from me, but for what purpose I wonder?" she smiled, eyes looking up at Valo once more, "Fear you I should judge you for the truth? Then fear you not for it is very much the place of the man to be disposed to multiple lovers, though rarely do I see them take upon themselves two at once. Might I take that as a testament to your own good fortunes?" She chuckled, smiling a knowing smile as she glanced down Valo's form, eyes lingering before moving back up once more.

Letting the grass blade fall Evalin would grip her staff with her other hand as well, that knowing smile still present as she answered the last question, "I am but a visitor here, come for some reason or another that is really of no concern at all. Though perhaps I might find myself inclined to stay if the view is as grand as I see now." Her eyes never left Valo as she spoke.

[Valo]

"My I would say that I admire your wit and retort, and I shall admit to my own curiosity to be piqued. You hide such simple information from me, but for what purpose I wonder?" there was a smile within those delicate lips of her's. An amusement, evident somewhat in her bone white feature . Sparks of amusement in those eyes. Eyes the colour of blood from a freshly severed vain. A chuckle from her escaped. A dead face so pleasant and alite, on the paper however she was relaxed, almost cold and impassive. "Fear you I should judge you for the truth? Then fear you not for it is very much the place of the man to be disposed to multiple lovers, though rarely do I see them take upon themselves two at once. Might I take that as a testament to your own good fortunes?"

At that moment there was a smile across Valo's face too. This time not one that would be immediately subdued, for this smile was voluntary. A radiant one that lit up his feature in a flickering array of youthful handsomeness. Those feminine qualities to his alabaster feature merely accented this beauty of his. a pleasant smile if not slightly arrogant, perhaps slightly bold as a contract to his withdrawn nature. But in all honesty he was truly amused. Amused at the fact she had mistaken his own baby sister for his lover. Amused at her prying nature towards this one little detail, as if it truly was some sort of a quest for her, rather than simple small talk. A certain determination within her. Indeed questionable intent. There was however warmth within it, a certain fondness for it seemed the naive boy grew fond of everyone so quickly. But what else could be expected from, what was still no more, than an innocent heart.

"Hardly the fear of judgement."he replied in his usual smooth tone. The accent so prominent within his voice. A certain saturation with, what could only be described as youthful cockiness, a boldness perhaps. At that point in his life Valo feared little. Even the prospects of a broken heart did not sway him. This he did not fear Evalin. "It's a peculiar world, this one we live in. You have to give a lot to gain a lot. Thus a reluctance to part with information will result in the precise mirror image of such reluctance. Knowledge is precious, even more so than gold." He was indeed quite aware that he spoke of the identity of his little sister and her friend quite as if it was some great and marvellous secret. But that was perhaps intentional. All part of the game.

As they spoke he though thoroughly how to paint this little sketch of his, for a work of art without the use of medium - such precious was this medium to him - seemed plain. Or at least his did. He had so much love for painting. perhaps not even the finished pieces but the very process of mixing colour and than laying it down upon paper so that it brought flesh to the bare bones which was sketching. It was so beautiful to him, so very satisfying. The motion of his hand, the knowledge of medium and colour that went into it all. Art was beautiful not in the visual aspect, though that too bore astounding beauty, but in the very process of creation. In the emotion it invoked within the artist himself. The creation of the very act of creation.

His brush dipped into the water, clean bristles soaking up the clear fluid before laying a thin film of it upon the flesh of the sketch. Water covered only the face and the neck, separated by sharp edges from the other features, the hair and clothing. She was so very pale. So difficult it was to picture that precise bone white hue with paint, without obscuring it into something more natural than she was. Thus creativity took over. A plan which would take a while to revel itself to the eyes of the woman who watched him so. But perhaps a good plan. Before the water even had the liberty to dry, Valo mixed to hues. One a warm peach, very very pale and slightly on the rosy side. The other a grey toned lavender, equally as pale. Delicate and frosty. Based upon ultramarine blue pigment so that it would bleed into the peach with no issue, no violent quarrel between the colour. A simple harmony. Though no doubt the orange hues within the peach would combat those of the ultramarine, forming a sort of delicate grey in part. That however would be so minimal and so very delicate. A desaturation of hue.

With a paintbrush which seemed much too large to do the job, however proved to be quite the contrary, Valo fed that colour into the borders of the face. The rose toned peach dominated the protrusions, the cheeks and forehead, jut the very hints of it around the chin and neck. The lavender in the recessions, complimenting the peach, yet dominating in the hollows of the face. A gentle swipe of it on one side of the neck, accenting the jaw line just ever so slightly. The colour, applied with the very tip of the brush, in such a delicate way that it seemed the bristles made no contact with the paper. For that was precisely the case. He pressed no pigment into the paper, but rather allowed it to diffuse upon it so that the already matted texture of the paint, wouldn't be additionally matted by such novice technique. Valo was meticulous with his technique, very meticulous indeed.

This brush was perhaps his favourite for it harboured so much versatility. A precise point for the most delicate of detail and a large diameter for painting in backgrounds. Soft bristles, harbouring a reservoir of water within them, much like a good watercolour brush should. As he placed the hues upon the paper, they immediately diffused within the water. A delicate dot, sprouting threads and veins much like those of an eyes. Veins of concentrated pigment, before those too dissolved. A spectacle so similar to dropping drops of ink into a glass of water. A surreal dance before a monotone colour formed. On the very peripheral edges, Valo built up the colour with several dabs of the brush, until a very gentle gradient formed. The edge of the water now darkened and opaque, a clean cut from the rest of the paper. Thus the whole process took much less time than one would think, before the paint dried, large portions of the face still bearing no colour, with only the gentlest hints around the edges. A profound paleness.

"I am but a visitor here, come for some reason or another that is really of no concern at all. Though perhaps I might find myself inclined to stay if the view is as grand as I see now." spoke the stranger as the little blade of grass with which she fiddled fell from her hands. Another grasp upon her staff. Her eyes never left the boy artist before her. The boy who became just a little hunched over his work, a deep concentration upon it.

As she spoke however, he raised his head and smiled. "Well then on behalf of my city; welcome to Wind Reach. Though it truly is a pity I still don't know your name, for with it this phrase would have bore far more pleasant a magnitude."

Again his attention returned to the painting, but the mind of the artist lingered upon one little phrase. "I might find myself inclined to stay if the view is as grand as I see now." What an odd thing to say having her eyes so very planted into him in such a way. Was she flirting with him? So many of the other girls in Wind Reach did, perhaps she too had been taken by his somewhat feminine charm, his youthful handsomeness. She was indeed looking at him in such a peculiar way. A though to inflate his ego a little, to feed his vanity before the notion was abandoned completely, cast away like specks of dust from a good book. Despite being quite substantially vain indeed, Valo never really thought him self such. Indeed perhaps humble was the way he'd describe himself. Humble would also be the word which all but Tora would use, for his manner was so very polite. She however saw right though him into the places of his personality which lingered obstructed from view by this perfectionist gentleman he strived to be. Suffice to say, Valo was a convoluted person indeed.

As he waited for the paint to dry completely, Valo began mixing hues upon his palette. Various shades of red. Some crimson and vibrant, others sprouting in cadmium, pale and simple. Something however was not quite right with the drawing and he simply could not work out what it was. It lacked something so terribly important. So very plain it was. Little interest in yet another portrait. A head, a neck and some eyes, looking back at him from the paper but there was nothing accenting them. Little of that inspired artistic quality which he hoped to breathe into it. And whereas there was little problem with the hues, for by some divine stroke of luck, the nasty cabbage leaf marks did not appear in the painting as it dried, it was an object it needed. Some part of background geometry. Only what?

Abandoning the red hues, Valo began mixing cold, ash toned browns before placing then, stroke by stroke on the hair. Opaque strokes with little dimension, soon showering the locks with radiant hue. Intense, as far as the medium allowed it. Crisp edges separating the tints and tones of the hues. The same was repeated for the hits of clothing upon the paper. A darker hue in juxtaposition with the white face. A sharp contrast.

[Evalin]

Within that mind of darkness and chilled thoughts there awoke a craving, a hunger that drove at her being with the passion she had not felt in some time. Like thousands of wasps it buzzed within her skull, demanded notice and, ultimately, satisfaction. Thoughts would curl like wisps of smoke through Evalin's mind as she gazed upon this figure of feminine beauty that draped upon the form of masculine prowess. Such wonderful contradiction, such utter insulation to all the would be beauties in this world that could only gaze with jealous eyes upon this unmarred, untainted portrait of perfection in this man.

Within those eyes of red, points of light within the pale darkness that shrouded the woman, there arose a longing passion that called for attention. Those eyes... eyes that stared through the space of eternity, through the untethered throws of time, now looked upon this man, this boy, this child with such utter desire and longing that even Evalin herself felt a bit taken aback. Curious though, for what truly she longed for was not what one might expect as she began to wonder about the red that flowed beneath his pale skin as well.

Would I wonder if I should be appalled to feel such want for a man with the beauty of a woman... Yet I find that I care little for such minor details as gender. Yes..." Her eyes swept Valo up and down as he hunched over the painting, If I be not satisfied with the taste of those I seek now, might I enjoy the flavor of this rare and exotic delicacy I see before me.

Blinking suddenly, Evalin brought attention to her mind at the length that she gazed upon the boy, and quickly she set her smile in place once more, for indeed in her rapture the mask of eternity had slipped somewhat. Looking to the side Evalin's fingers made gentle tracks down her staff, tracing the delicate lines of the wood as she whispered softly, her voice deeper and less playful, "If you but knew what you ask, perhaps then you would not care to know..."

Shaking her head she laughed, touching a finger to her lips as she glanced at Valo and quickly away. This show-age of charm and feminine weakness was... Strange to Evalin. It was not often that she did not stand a pillar of confidence and utter stagnation, yet now she found her mask cracking before the gaze of this boy, and for what reason was this? Truly she did not know. Perhaps a remembrance of a time long past, yet still she did not allow her mind to be overcome by nostalgic musings. There was, and always would be, a reason for all she did.

Quickly her mind fell to the women before, to the eyes of love held for the man that she saw in both. Those eyes that held such passion and romantic notions, that skin and hair that reflected the wild nature of their homeland. Indeed this is what Evalin sought, though when she gazed upon Valo all other things seemed to pale in comparison.

Oh if he were but a woman, she mused, I would without hesitation take him for my own in ever way. Would I not mind to wear his features for a decade or two. She chuckled to herself, at her own amusement as she absently gazed over Valo, Though since I cannot have such, I must settle for what is within my grasp. I do wonder how tightly the lines of love bind this child. Perhaps they are in need of severing...

"You speak of knowledge as if it were currency. As if it were to be traded evenly one for another as one might trade coin for product, yet I say to you that such a notion is wrong on many accounts." Eyes looked down at the ground, tracing over lines of grass as she spoke, "Knowledge is ageless, yet those who hold it often are not. Thus knowledge is easily lost, forgotten and abandoned. Such knowledge as what you had for your noon meal should not be coveted, for when put in comparison with the knowledge of, say, a lost ruins beneath the grand University of Zeltiva," Evalin smiled, knowing she did indeed hold such information within her own ageless mind, looked up, "You will find that it pales rather quickly."

The staff she raised and laid across her lap, fingers tracing lines once more as she looked down upon the prize she had won during an expedition into the fore mentioned ruins, "Thus you see that knowledge is not equal in value, and cannot be so easily gifted one for another. What I ask of you is such a triviality, merely a passing fancy that might be passed as small talk among those who live such short lives, where as what you ask," she raised her eyes, the darkness in them holding knowledge of centuries past as she deign to neither mask nor hide her true gaze, "Bears a far heavier burden."

Raising an eyebrow, Evalin's smile finally slipped completely as she spoke, "I will forever cast aside this childish notion you wield in mind of the purpose of knowledge. Treat it not as currency to be traded evenly, for knowledge is not so trivial. It is, and forever shall be, a means to an end. It might be past along for the betterment of one venture or another, yet it could just as easily cause the fall of nations and disrupt the balance of this world. Mind you what truly should be secret, and keep not your lips sealed upon idle chatter that is of no consequence at all. For I tell you this," Evalin smiled, a grim smile, "If you create a secret, no matter how trivial, there are those who would wrest it from your dying lips, and I am loath to see such a vision as you covered in the crimson drops of your own life essence."

With another chuckle, that mask slipped back into place once more and the smile both wry and knowing jumped back upon those pale lips as Evalin brushed aside another hair, "But to you I would offer you this at the least, in exchange for what I have asked before of course. You may call me Evalin, as few before you have."

[Valo]

He took a moment to look at her staff. And suddenly it hit him. Squares and triangles were too harsh to accent her delicate feature. Too imposing. Instead of bringing the portrait into the focal point, they would merely overshadow it. A round shape. That's what it needed. A crescent in the background which he draw with harder line. A crescent created by the turning of the paper, the fluid movement of his arm. Lace pattern tipped it at the line where her hair ended. A delicate pattern, swirls of darker pencil line, framing the portrait as if the two could not go without one another. Indeed, now it could be considered a work of art. Now that this very important element bore it's presence upon the paper.

Within that moment of gazing upon the staff, he had failed to see her. Failed to see the timelessness in her eyes, the cold desire within those crimson orbs. A failure to notice that predatory crimson gleam. That abrupt blinking as she came to the realisation that her smile had momentarily disappeared and when alas he looked to the woman, as if it had never left in the first place, that smile had returned. Thus a smile of his own was a reply, before his eyes drifted somewhat to her hand as it traced the staff. A fluid motion down the wood, softness of fingers that touched it.

It was perhaps what she said next that broke the artist from his work at once, rendering his full attention on her words for there was timeless wisdom within them. Or at least that was the impression within him as she spoke.

"You speak of knowledge as if it were currency. As if it were to be traded evenly one for another as one might trade coin for product, yet I say to you that such a notion is wrong on many accounts. Knowledge is ageless, yet those who hold it often are not. Thus knowledge is easily lost, forgotten and abandoned. Such knowledge as what you had for your noon meal should not be coveted, for when put in comparison with the knowledge of, say, a lost ruins beneath the grand University of Zeltiva," the woman smiled for it must have been apparent within the boy's expression, that wide eyed look. She must have realised that her words were enticing. Not only was there mention of Zeltiva, his beloved city of dreams, but a secret too and one that was no less than the most magnificent secret to the eyes of the young artist. "You will find that it pales rather quickly."

At first, the intention of the woman's words was absent to the youth, for his mind circled around that one sentence "...lost ruins beneath the grand University of Zeltiva..." as if he were a vulture. Peaking and pecking grotesquely at that one minute detail. Wishing to devour it for himself, so very curious was his mind. So deep the wish to pull that secret from her deathly pale grasp, to take it for his own as if nothing else mattered. A moment where his eyes gleamed with that pure curiosity. Embers that glowed green. At that point all of Valo's ugliness seeped to the surface, his very soul seeped though the cracks in his own mask. A moment, only a fraction of a heart beat, where those eyes were mad, frightening almost. Alas it was only momentary ans if Evalin failed to look closely, than perhaps she would not notice that desire within him, before the calm and the self composure returned to that chiselled face of his.

Alas the rest of her words registered. And with those words came the questions. Was her name truly such a great secret? And if so, than why? What could have occurred, what act could she have committed to bestow such ominous magnitude upon her very title? Titles and names were mere titles and names, after all. In the mind of the artist, those bore little insignificance when pondered, for it was faces rather than names that betrayed one's identity. Names and titles were a fleeting commodity. Yet her's was something more, in the way she spoke, in her eyes, in the way she so purposefully looked upon her staff rather than to the boy. Perhaps there was more to her than just a woman, more than met the eye, for that eye was blind to her nature. Blissful in ignorance, ignorant to the though within her head.

Setting down the brush, Valo looked upon her as she spoke. Any traces of that smile now gone until she was perhaps the perfect copy of the painting upon his aper. Cold, void of such frivolities of simple pleasant smiles, for as her words carried purpose, so did her expression amplify it and the young, the impressionable Valo could see nothing but wisdom within her. Overcome perhaps he was with her speech, her mystique. Young and impressionable and it was she who bestowed the most interesting impression upon him."If you create a secret, no matter how trivial, there are those who would wrest it from your dying lips, and I am loath to see such a vision as you covered in the crimson drops of your own life essence."

And if there was anyone who would go to great lengths - perhaps not any lengths but great none the less - to obtain such a secret, was Valo. A boy with too much curiosity for his youthful heart to contain. A boy too set in his ways of prying upon everything and anything. Yet perhaps pride, or the simple detachment from the substance of his own mind - it seemed Valo never truly understood the nature of his personality. too often he hid it beneath the clothes and the mannerisms of a true gentleman. Too often he discarded such fundamental qualities of himself, like jealousy and pride and spite. His curiosity too, was credited as the element of an intelligent mind, rather than the infectious disease it was. The plague upon him which would lang the artist in the most peculiar and often unpleasant of situations. And arrogance, no, he would never admit to his arrogance. Indeed, detached is perhaps the perfect word to describe him -would never allow him to admit it.

Her words were not disputed in his mind, but rather came into the light of understanding as inconceivable and indisputable truth. As if the woman herself was some otherworldly compendium, an oracle known to exist only in fables. And it was a real life fable he now spoke to. A well of timeless knowledge. In his mind she was right of course. How foolish was he, how childish to have proposed such a notion, when it was her's that bore grater truth? Ideas and ideologies so simply swept from him, relinquished with child like ease. Little need to cling onto them. Truly, if not the eloquence with which she spoke - for Valo had love of the pretty words as he had love of pretty image - and the certain charisma, than little would come of it. But it was that agelessness, that fixation within one's own trust, that self assurance with which she spoke; it was that which took hold of young Valo. That which showed him there truly was no other world for the world to be. Knowledge was now precisely what she said, something above currency all together.

With such simplicity, this woman would leave a lasting impression upon the young artist. Having met him during his time of youth she did well to battle his own truths from him by the sharp edge of word and wit. Of course there remained matters about which she could not so simply change his mind; this one however would remain a little victory for her. Later on in life,the youth would learn to hold his ground firmer. Ascension into adulthood, mind still not of rock, but of a sturdier substance than it was in his childhood.

"But to you I would offer you this at the least, in exchange for what I have asked before of course. You may call me Evalin, as few before you have." she said finally, a chuckle, the return of the smile. So much wisdom within it. Somehow she knew so well how to play this young instrument which was Valo, to shape him and mould him to her will, with little more than words. For however cunning he ever thought himself to be, she was evermore cunning still.

If he had been just a year older, Valo would have noticed she completely went against her words with that very final statement. But no such observation was made for he was mystified by what she spoke. Alas he was taken aback by this reveal. A warmth that bubbled up in his chest, for he truly came to believe her name was some great secret and now he came to know it also. And yet it seemed so very simple. Evalin. A name, a title that would perhaps bear no significance if it had not been pinned to the woman who's very eyes were an enigma and who, to him, was more enigmatic still.

"I'm Valo." he replied finally. Out of common curtsy perhaps, or simply because with more information came the growing trust of a soul too young to truly know scepticism of the world. So much he had yet to learn, so many things to burn himself upon. "And the girl from before was no mistress of mine." a chuckle escaped from his lips, though quickly subdued, at the humour of this notion. "She's actually my half sister, accompanied by a friend of hers."

A moment was allowed to pass freely as his inner doors inched open before her, but soon any silence that had the liberty of lingering between them was once again shattered by his speech. "Have you been to Zeltiva?" he asked simply, for there were no pretty words, no ability to contain his curiosity. Thus he spoke simply and with a childishness to his words. A pleasant smile lingering in his feature. The sketchbook now abandoned on his lap, brush paying idle, the wood of the instrument dipped into quickly drying paint.

[Evalin]

A sister... A sister and her friend. Perhaps not quite as amusing as a mistress, yet still the bonds there are pulled taunt. Evalin thought to herself, that itching craving in the back of her mind making her throat feel parched, "However I do wonder whose would be sweeter. Surely the sister's, for with even a portion of the blood that flow free in this portrait of perfection before me would be the greatest of delicacies...

Other musings would be cut short by the eager words of the boy, and Evalin was a bit taken aback by the excitement at which he filled them. That face, that beautiful mask of feminine lines and smooth skin, that hair that settled from temples in wavy locks of red. Skin pale as moonbeams, eyes dark as jade, and far too good to be gifted to a mere mortal. Yet Evalin bore Valo no ill grudge for what he had been given, for surely what she began to set in motion would be far sweeter than even his ruby life...

A laugh rolled off of pale lips, a jewel not often bestowed upon others for it was truly a laugh with true heart behind it. This witch of Fire and Shadow knew her heart to be of stone and that ice flowed freely in her veins, and yet that callus exterior cracked somewhat as, for just a moment, a memory of human amusement leaked through, "Then might I assume you hold some interest in the University? I was a Professor there for some time, and I have come to know many of its secrets."

Once more a bit of knowledge was offered, and the weight of the scales began to tip in favor of Evalin, for what she offered Valo now was knowledge that he truly enjoyed. In her mind the cruelest workings turned the gears of providence into motion, and while she spoke of the Port City her minds eye was fixed on a much different prize... though for now she would tease the boy a moment longer. After all, it was not often that she felt any joy.