Illuminati
5th Ashan, 721
hen she had come to Egilrun for the commission by Woe, Perdita had decided that she was going to take the opportunity to learn glassblowing. Egilrun was famous for its glass, after all, and she figured if there was anywhere that she could learn, then it would be here. So, having done what research she could, Perdita made her way to the guild and for a moment she just stopped and looked at the building. It was large, imposing - by far and away the most imposing of the buildings in Egilrun. It was, she decided, beautiful, but in a rather melancholy way. She wasn't entirely sure what about it was melancholy, but she felt like it was.
Shaking her head slightly, Perdita decided that evidently, she was getting far too fanciful in her ever-increasing age. Looking at the windows, she saw how they depicted a story and she smiled. It was that which spurred her on to the place, after all. One trial, Perdita was determined, she'd be able to create illuminated manuscripts the like of which Idalos had never seen and, in order to do that, she had to truly understand art.
The windows of this place, they told a story. The books which she made, the ones which she wanted to make. They'd be like this. Perdita knew that the trial where she could make this kind of thing was a long way away, but she also knew that, if she didn't start, then she'd definitely never finish. So, after a few moments of looking at the windows and noting specifics, she made her way inside. Where, she had to say, everything was very organised and rather imposing. Perdita didn't like any of this, it was all too vulnerable and out in the open and too much for her. It unnerved her. But, equally, it utterly delighted her too.
It was organised and open and it seemed to be run efficiently. She appreciated that, and so Perdita made her was to the reception desk in this hall. "Hello," she said softly and smiled at the receptionist. "I... I'd like to sign up for a class please?"
"Name?"
Oh dear, Perdita thought. Short, sharp, annoyed-at-having to ask questions were never good. "Perdita Westcott," she said. The receptionist nodded.
"Previous experience?"
Perdita shook her head. "Reason for wanting to learn?"
That gave Perdita some pause and she considered. "I want to make things like that," she said, pointing to the window. The receptionist raised her head. "That window was made by a master of the craft who took arcs to hone their skills."
The tone of the woman's voice was clear but Perdita would not be discouraged by that. "I understand," she said softly. The receptionist tutted slightly, evidently unimpressed with Perdita's aspirations. For her part, Perdita saw no point in arguing and so she paid and took the piece of parchment which acted as a receipt. "This way, please," the receptionist said and Perdita glanced over as another staff member approached.
"Come with me, please?" This one was a male - judging by the vivid shade of his eyes, Perdita considered him likely to be a biqaj. Nodding her head, she spoke softly, "thank you" to the receptionist, and then followed.
Shaking her head slightly, Perdita decided that evidently, she was getting far too fanciful in her ever-increasing age. Looking at the windows, she saw how they depicted a story and she smiled. It was that which spurred her on to the place, after all. One trial, Perdita was determined, she'd be able to create illuminated manuscripts the like of which Idalos had never seen and, in order to do that, she had to truly understand art.
The windows of this place, they told a story. The books which she made, the ones which she wanted to make. They'd be like this. Perdita knew that the trial where she could make this kind of thing was a long way away, but she also knew that, if she didn't start, then she'd definitely never finish. So, after a few moments of looking at the windows and noting specifics, she made her way inside. Where, she had to say, everything was very organised and rather imposing. Perdita didn't like any of this, it was all too vulnerable and out in the open and too much for her. It unnerved her. But, equally, it utterly delighted her too.
It was organised and open and it seemed to be run efficiently. She appreciated that, and so Perdita made her was to the reception desk in this hall. "Hello," she said softly and smiled at the receptionist. "I... I'd like to sign up for a class please?"
"Name?"
Oh dear, Perdita thought. Short, sharp, annoyed-at-having to ask questions were never good. "Perdita Westcott," she said. The receptionist nodded.
"Previous experience?"
Perdita shook her head. "Reason for wanting to learn?"
That gave Perdita some pause and she considered. "I want to make things like that," she said, pointing to the window. The receptionist raised her head. "That window was made by a master of the craft who took arcs to hone their skills."
The tone of the woman's voice was clear but Perdita would not be discouraged by that. "I understand," she said softly. The receptionist tutted slightly, evidently unimpressed with Perdita's aspirations. For her part, Perdita saw no point in arguing and so she paid and took the piece of parchment which acted as a receipt. "This way, please," the receptionist said and Perdita glanced over as another staff member approached.
"Come with me, please?" This one was a male - judging by the vivid shade of his eyes, Perdita considered him likely to be a biqaj. Nodding her head, she spoke softly, "thank you" to the receptionist, and then followed.
