• Common • Rakahi • Gravokian
"A greedy father has thieves for children."
Zida 718
Word Count: 669
The painting itself was glorious, a splash of icy indigos and warm saffron. A sky of deep blue, so rich in color it was nearly black, contrasted boldly with the painted wings of heavenly opulence. The scene felt heavy, ominous, and yet hopeful as the birds swooped across the canvas, their rich plumage and windswept petals of gold ranunculus obscuring half of his face.
The Naer appreciated the symbolism, ranunculus flowers, holding quite the meaning for such a clear dedication to the Immortal. In the language of flowers, a bouquet meant nothing short of, “I’m dazzled by your radiant charms.” Oh, he would love that.
“Smart woman,” Navyri praised, her voice lifting to the vaulted ceilings of the Scalvoris museum. At least, she assumed it was a female artist, for when she took a step forward to get a closer look at the texture of the piece, in the corner the signature was illegible but filled with curvature. Barely a few strokes of muted grey, it did not have the cryptic sharpness of a man’s hand. Beside it, on a golden plaque, the title read quite clearly: The Breath of His True Majesty. How dramatic. A small description etched into the metal slate followed, mostly describing the medium and techniques used by the artist; the theorized inspiration, but Navyri soon lost interest. She knew why they made this piece, it was quite clear for anyone who had experienced the presence of these entities. Immortals were grand, so much more than simple mortal invention. It was only the human nature, the part of each person that wished to claim a piece of the power as their own, to wish to replicate it. To most, it would be the closest they ever came to understanding devotion. But she understood. Navyri had met Delroth, looked into those blue eyes, not an imitation. She had seen the greed, the vanity, the need for more. She had witnessed his power. She had been at his mercy.
She understood as much as she was allowed to, “What do you think?”
Navyri reached up to stroke the invisible owl that sat perched her shoulder, pressing her fingers thoughtfully to his breast, “Shall we take this one home then?” She turned her face, kissing the bird on his white feathers and reached beneath the cover of her fur coat, her own wings hidden beneath its glory. Just one of her many secrets.
There were few residents in the museum at this time, most having slowly shambled out. One guard had informed her they would be closing within 15 bits, but there was still time. Best to strike when security was lax, tired and ready to be relieved by the night shift. Footsteps came clicking from down the hall, around the corner. Navyri turned her head, restraining the flattered smile that attempted to lift her lips. Other viewers still lingered in the museum, this time a couple. The woman wore a red blouse and a circlet that was supposed to be made of gold. To the thief’s trained eye, she knew it was little more than painted copper, too dull to be authentic. Most amusing of all, was not the outfit or the makeup that resembled her own statement from the cycle before, but was the over the top wings strapped to the woman’s back. They were open and stiff, bobbing awkwardly when the woman stepped, clearly fake. Goose feathers glued on wood, perhaps.
The man was not much better, even having his own set, although they were dabbled black. Crow? Pidgeon? Navyri casually moved around the gallery as they chatted and admired the other pieces, very carefully removing the dagger that had been sheathed at her waist. When the couple began to enter the next room, she gave a mental command to Curio, who pushed off from his perch and soared around the hall, into the next room and towards the entrance.
They were overdue for an offering, and it was time.
Word Count: 669
The painting itself was glorious, a splash of icy indigos and warm saffron. A sky of deep blue, so rich in color it was nearly black, contrasted boldly with the painted wings of heavenly opulence. The scene felt heavy, ominous, and yet hopeful as the birds swooped across the canvas, their rich plumage and windswept petals of gold ranunculus obscuring half of his face.
The Naer appreciated the symbolism, ranunculus flowers, holding quite the meaning for such a clear dedication to the Immortal. In the language of flowers, a bouquet meant nothing short of, “I’m dazzled by your radiant charms.” Oh, he would love that.
“Smart woman,” Navyri praised, her voice lifting to the vaulted ceilings of the Scalvoris museum. At least, she assumed it was a female artist, for when she took a step forward to get a closer look at the texture of the piece, in the corner the signature was illegible but filled with curvature. Barely a few strokes of muted grey, it did not have the cryptic sharpness of a man’s hand. Beside it, on a golden plaque, the title read quite clearly: The Breath of His True Majesty. How dramatic. A small description etched into the metal slate followed, mostly describing the medium and techniques used by the artist; the theorized inspiration, but Navyri soon lost interest. She knew why they made this piece, it was quite clear for anyone who had experienced the presence of these entities. Immortals were grand, so much more than simple mortal invention. It was only the human nature, the part of each person that wished to claim a piece of the power as their own, to wish to replicate it. To most, it would be the closest they ever came to understanding devotion. But she understood. Navyri had met Delroth, looked into those blue eyes, not an imitation. She had seen the greed, the vanity, the need for more. She had witnessed his power. She had been at his mercy.
She understood as much as she was allowed to, “What do you think?”
Navyri reached up to stroke the invisible owl that sat perched her shoulder, pressing her fingers thoughtfully to his breast, “Shall we take this one home then?” She turned her face, kissing the bird on his white feathers and reached beneath the cover of her fur coat, her own wings hidden beneath its glory. Just one of her many secrets.
There were few residents in the museum at this time, most having slowly shambled out. One guard had informed her they would be closing within 15 bits, but there was still time. Best to strike when security was lax, tired and ready to be relieved by the night shift. Footsteps came clicking from down the hall, around the corner. Navyri turned her head, restraining the flattered smile that attempted to lift her lips. Other viewers still lingered in the museum, this time a couple. The woman wore a red blouse and a circlet that was supposed to be made of gold. To the thief’s trained eye, she knew it was little more than painted copper, too dull to be authentic. Most amusing of all, was not the outfit or the makeup that resembled her own statement from the cycle before, but was the over the top wings strapped to the woman’s back. They were open and stiff, bobbing awkwardly when the woman stepped, clearly fake. Goose feathers glued on wood, perhaps.
The man was not much better, even having his own set, although they were dabbled black. Crow? Pidgeon? Navyri casually moved around the gallery as they chatted and admired the other pieces, very carefully removing the dagger that had been sheathed at her waist. When the couple began to enter the next room, she gave a mental command to Curio, who pushed off from his perch and soared around the hall, into the next room and towards the entrance.
They were overdue for an offering, and it was time.
