16th Spring, 516AV
The Basilika, Night
After the debacle on the 6th of Spring at the Basilika, the half-breed was more than a little wary to step back into its halls. Crowds were still one thing that made the maledictor anxious and seemed to exponentially increase her fight or flight cultivated by her father. But this time, it wasn't as crowded. Dressed in a simple black coat, blouse and pants, Eithne made her away across the Tenten peak, toward the debater's hall. Only now it was a sanctum for artists.
Lights twinkled from the lampposts, casting a soft glow across the men and women that sat among the stools and chairs. While many voices filled the cool air, it was the sound of a man that Eithne heard, calling out the prices of canvas' that were held high on an easel, being displayed to the highest bidder. The maledictor peered at it from her position. Blues and teals splashed across the canvas' surface and strokes of beige and goldenrod made up the sands of a shore. It's a beach, then, Eithne decided. The colours flowed nicely, and the picture relayed a calm and almost tranquil atmosphere. Modeled for the Tranquil Port, perhaps.
Her attention was drawn away as she walked, passing by the statues that aided in the separation of each little "room". It was always curious how the Basilika changed so drastically from day to night, and yet still retain some measure of what it stood for: the spreading of ideas, beauty in words and art and colour. She wondered, then, how these paintings would look under the splendour of auras. She knew it was trivial, but as she was always told, practice made perfect. And Eithne intended to gain perfection.
Djed pooled into her eyes as she drew closer, charged like electricity. The auras grew like a slow-moving tide, growing larger for the people but only a fraction on the canvas she stood several feet from. It was willpower that forced her eyes to focus tight on the small aura that radiated from the landscape painting. The strokes seemed to shimmer, and she tasted what resembled metal on her tongue. The palette knife? It was difficult to discern the mixed sensations, and it was often overwhelming. Eithne blinked once as the djed receded and her vision momentarily blurred.
"Are you interested in this painting, miss?" An elder woman approached, smiling broadly. She wore an artist's smock and had long silver hair that fell in thick curls down her back. "It's possibly one of my best."
"Er, no, I was just looking." Eithne was always surprised by how friendly everyone seemed in Lhavit, compared to her upbringing. The woman could have easily bombarded her with curses and angry yells but instead she nodded in understand and let the half-breed go on her way. And her way was toward the rim, where another artist was speaking to his small audience about his piece. Eithne chose a stool on the edge and sat down in silence, prepared to enjoy the speech. On days like today, she could enjoy some leisure time, and appreciate the work of others. The man walked the small space where his painting were propped up. Beautiful abstract pieces and portraits of people she would likely have never met. They spoke to her in tones. Colours that incited emotions, that told an untold story through vision rather than words.
The Basilika, Night
After the debacle on the 6th of Spring at the Basilika, the half-breed was more than a little wary to step back into its halls. Crowds were still one thing that made the maledictor anxious and seemed to exponentially increase her fight or flight cultivated by her father. But this time, it wasn't as crowded. Dressed in a simple black coat, blouse and pants, Eithne made her away across the Tenten peak, toward the debater's hall. Only now it was a sanctum for artists.
Lights twinkled from the lampposts, casting a soft glow across the men and women that sat among the stools and chairs. While many voices filled the cool air, it was the sound of a man that Eithne heard, calling out the prices of canvas' that were held high on an easel, being displayed to the highest bidder. The maledictor peered at it from her position. Blues and teals splashed across the canvas' surface and strokes of beige and goldenrod made up the sands of a shore. It's a beach, then, Eithne decided. The colours flowed nicely, and the picture relayed a calm and almost tranquil atmosphere. Modeled for the Tranquil Port, perhaps.
Her attention was drawn away as she walked, passing by the statues that aided in the separation of each little "room". It was always curious how the Basilika changed so drastically from day to night, and yet still retain some measure of what it stood for: the spreading of ideas, beauty in words and art and colour. She wondered, then, how these paintings would look under the splendour of auras. She knew it was trivial, but as she was always told, practice made perfect. And Eithne intended to gain perfection.
Djed pooled into her eyes as she drew closer, charged like electricity. The auras grew like a slow-moving tide, growing larger for the people but only a fraction on the canvas she stood several feet from. It was willpower that forced her eyes to focus tight on the small aura that radiated from the landscape painting. The strokes seemed to shimmer, and she tasted what resembled metal on her tongue. The palette knife? It was difficult to discern the mixed sensations, and it was often overwhelming. Eithne blinked once as the djed receded and her vision momentarily blurred.
"Are you interested in this painting, miss?" An elder woman approached, smiling broadly. She wore an artist's smock and had long silver hair that fell in thick curls down her back. "It's possibly one of my best."
"Er, no, I was just looking." Eithne was always surprised by how friendly everyone seemed in Lhavit, compared to her upbringing. The woman could have easily bombarded her with curses and angry yells but instead she nodded in understand and let the half-breed go on her way. And her way was toward the rim, where another artist was speaking to his small audience about his piece. Eithne chose a stool on the edge and sat down in silence, prepared to enjoy the speech. On days like today, she could enjoy some leisure time, and appreciate the work of others. The man walked the small space where his painting were propped up. Beautiful abstract pieces and portraits of people she would likely have never met. They spoke to her in tones. Colours that incited emotions, that told an untold story through vision rather than words.
