Ymiden 8, Arc 721
While Tristan had enjoyed the rain at first and found the sound that it made when it touched the roof or the windows relaxing and even comforting, he couldn’t wait for it to end now. The weather that had dominated the season so far made being outside not particularly enjoyable, unless it was to quickly run from one dry place to another. He couldn’t go for a long ride with his horse Maxos, he couldn’t go to a park with his daughter, and working in the garden when parts of it resembled a miniature swamp was not a lot of fun.
Out of boredom, he eventually ventured into the attic and decided to look through the things he had brought from Rynmere with him, the remnants of a life that was, likely, gone forever.
He wasn’t sure how the place where he had been born would ever be able to recover from a disaster like the plague, and if it would ever be safe for his daughter and him to return. At other times, he wasn’t even sure if he still wanted to return though. Over the course of what had to be close to two arcs now, Melrath had become his new home. What the Tunawa had told him the cycle before, about the Sleeping Heart, made him worry, but there was definitely hope for Melrath. The disaster could still be prevented, maybe even completely.
Nothing would ever bring all those people that had died in Rynmere back on the other hand.
Tristan sorted through books and old clothes and inspected his earlier works as a sculptor – he had made sculptors of the patron saints of Rynmere, among other things - before he eventually discovered a box that contained some of his drawing and painting materials. His skills as a painter had always paled in comparison to his skill as an alchemist and sculptor, but he had had fun. He remembered how he had spent time in the House of Roses, a well-known brothel in Andaris, during his wild youth – not as a client, but to enjoy a drink or two and draw, because he liked the atmosphere and the girls that worked there.
He shook his head and smirked slightly as he remembered his shenanigans – he definitely wouldn’t do some of those things anymore now – before he grabbed the box and carried it downstairs into the living room, got an empty piece of paper, removed a tin with yellow pigment from the box, filled a glass with water and started to paint, or at least try to, more or less automatically. He hydrated the pigment, dipped his brush in water in order to moisten it, dabbed the brush onto the pigment and began to paint a broad line.
His plan was to create a background of sorts and draw something on it when it had dried, but he had, he discovered, used far too much water, so his background was lighter than he had planned, and what more, the paper looked a little soggy in places. He was out of practice after such a long break from painting, he realized, or maybe, the paper he had used was not the right kind of paper. It worked just fine for writing, but it was a bit on the thin side.
He was just rooting through his desk in order to look for a more suitable kind of paper – he had finally found something to pass the time, a sufficient distraction, and would not give up anytime soon – when he heard how the front door was being opened. When he went into the hallway in order to see who it was, he found himself face to face with Hannah, his bodyguard. Well, she had been one of his bodyguards back when he had been a duke in Rynmere.
Nowadays, she was more like a roommate that he got along with quite well.
The young auburn-haired pulled off the hood of her cloak that was quite wet and stomped her feet on the mat in front of the door so that she wouldn’t drag too much dirt into the house before she finally stepped across the threshold. She hung her cloak onto a hook next to the door, and then she pulled a small paper bag out from under the light coat that she wore underneath.
“I picked up the cinnamon buns that you asked me for at Greta’s bakery on the way back from Hjørdis”, she told him and handed him the rest of the money that he had given to her. Hjørdis was the Melrathi friend that she had been visiting. “I tried to protect them as best I can when the rain started getting worse, but the bag’s gotten a little wet regardless. The buns themselves should still be tasty though”, she added and ran a hand through her hair, the tips of which had gotten quite wet before she proceeded to take her coat off as well.
“I’m sure that they are”, Tristan smiled. “Shall we tell Brandon and Ayla, and eat them right away?” he wanted to know. When Hannah answered in the affirmative, he went into his daughter’s room where Ayla and Brandon, another one of his (former) bodyguards were playing with the little Mortalborn’s stuffed animals and dolls and pulled out one of the sugar-coated cinnamon buns. The girl’s eyes immediately lit up. She loved sweet things!
While Tristan had enjoyed the rain at first and found the sound that it made when it touched the roof or the windows relaxing and even comforting, he couldn’t wait for it to end now. The weather that had dominated the season so far made being outside not particularly enjoyable, unless it was to quickly run from one dry place to another. He couldn’t go for a long ride with his horse Maxos, he couldn’t go to a park with his daughter, and working in the garden when parts of it resembled a miniature swamp was not a lot of fun.
Out of boredom, he eventually ventured into the attic and decided to look through the things he had brought from Rynmere with him, the remnants of a life that was, likely, gone forever.
He wasn’t sure how the place where he had been born would ever be able to recover from a disaster like the plague, and if it would ever be safe for his daughter and him to return. At other times, he wasn’t even sure if he still wanted to return though. Over the course of what had to be close to two arcs now, Melrath had become his new home. What the Tunawa had told him the cycle before, about the Sleeping Heart, made him worry, but there was definitely hope for Melrath. The disaster could still be prevented, maybe even completely.
Nothing would ever bring all those people that had died in Rynmere back on the other hand.
Tristan sorted through books and old clothes and inspected his earlier works as a sculptor – he had made sculptors of the patron saints of Rynmere, among other things - before he eventually discovered a box that contained some of his drawing and painting materials. His skills as a painter had always paled in comparison to his skill as an alchemist and sculptor, but he had had fun. He remembered how he had spent time in the House of Roses, a well-known brothel in Andaris, during his wild youth – not as a client, but to enjoy a drink or two and draw, because he liked the atmosphere and the girls that worked there.
He shook his head and smirked slightly as he remembered his shenanigans – he definitely wouldn’t do some of those things anymore now – before he grabbed the box and carried it downstairs into the living room, got an empty piece of paper, removed a tin with yellow pigment from the box, filled a glass with water and started to paint, or at least try to, more or less automatically. He hydrated the pigment, dipped his brush in water in order to moisten it, dabbed the brush onto the pigment and began to paint a broad line.
His plan was to create a background of sorts and draw something on it when it had dried, but he had, he discovered, used far too much water, so his background was lighter than he had planned, and what more, the paper looked a little soggy in places. He was out of practice after such a long break from painting, he realized, or maybe, the paper he had used was not the right kind of paper. It worked just fine for writing, but it was a bit on the thin side.
He was just rooting through his desk in order to look for a more suitable kind of paper – he had finally found something to pass the time, a sufficient distraction, and would not give up anytime soon – when he heard how the front door was being opened. When he went into the hallway in order to see who it was, he found himself face to face with Hannah, his bodyguard. Well, she had been one of his bodyguards back when he had been a duke in Rynmere.
Nowadays, she was more like a roommate that he got along with quite well.
The young auburn-haired pulled off the hood of her cloak that was quite wet and stomped her feet on the mat in front of the door so that she wouldn’t drag too much dirt into the house before she finally stepped across the threshold. She hung her cloak onto a hook next to the door, and then she pulled a small paper bag out from under the light coat that she wore underneath.
“I picked up the cinnamon buns that you asked me for at Greta’s bakery on the way back from Hjørdis”, she told him and handed him the rest of the money that he had given to her. Hjørdis was the Melrathi friend that she had been visiting. “I tried to protect them as best I can when the rain started getting worse, but the bag’s gotten a little wet regardless. The buns themselves should still be tasty though”, she added and ran a hand through her hair, the tips of which had gotten quite wet before she proceeded to take her coat off as well.
“I’m sure that they are”, Tristan smiled. “Shall we tell Brandon and Ayla, and eat them right away?” he wanted to know. When Hannah answered in the affirmative, he went into his daughter’s room where Ayla and Brandon, another one of his (former) bodyguards were playing with the little Mortalborn’s stuffed animals and dolls and pulled out one of the sugar-coated cinnamon buns. The girl’s eyes immediately lit up. She loved sweet things!
