Alaric in Mirabeau part 8: Hospital
In The Doom that Came to
Amber
A Few Days Later – Waking in Hospital
You awake some time later to the sound of someone droning a
religious tract close by. The light seems dazzling and you can’t make out where
you are but you’re horizontal and something’s keeping your arms pressed to your
sides.
Alaric lies there blinking, not even
trying to move very much, half asleep with the drone. He eventually tries to
work out whether he has been asleep naturally or if he’s been drugged to keep
him asleep, presumably whilst people worked on his body. He’ll contemplate that
for a long while and maybe drift around in semi-consciousness.
You’re rising up out of what seems a drugged sleep.
He will eventually want to open his eyes more and needs to shade
them against the dazzling light. He’ll want to check out his body for himself
and he is confused as to why he can’t move his arms – and why they seem pinned
to his side. Alaric tries to peer down his nose (against the bright light) to
work out where he might be – and who’s doing the droning.
You work out a sermon is being read by a person to your left. The
light eases as you adjust to waking and the bright white light suddenly becomes
multi-coloured. After a short pause, the religious sermon picks up where it
left off. In the next few minutes, it pauses several times while the colours
and white light alternate. After a while, you realise the light comes in
through a window. The colours come from panels of stained glass wheeled across
the foot of the bed to illustrate the text.
Ah, a waking nightmare then :) – or subliminal advertising of the
Great Church of Mira. But none the less tres
cool.
Definitely the last two. :-)
He will then try to move his head a little to see what’s pinning
him down.
By squinting, he manages to ascertain he’s merely in a narrow hospital
bed in which the sheets have been tucked in with martial severity, trapping his
hands close to his body – typical of hospital beds.
And then he sees will try to move his arms.
A little wriggling frees them.
Alaric brings his hands up towards his eyes to rub them a bit.
Carefully using his hands he will also take the opportunity to check his head
and his face. Very gingerly he will examine the inside of his mouth and is
prepared to silence any accidental squeaks of pain. How many days’ hair growth
is on his face?
None! While examining yourself, you feel stitches in your swollen
lips, top and bottom.
What is Alaric currently wearing?
Hospital garb; a white bed
shirt of some description.
Hmmm – most beguiling.
And can he feel his Trump deck?
No sign of it.
OK – it should be with his clothes.
He’ll probably have a surreptitious stretch to see how his body’s
doing and who’s doing that incessant droning?
The priest with two assistants smiles as he notices you glance in
his direction but doesn’t stop his measured reading of the illustrated text,
all about how Mira fought Philistine and offered him clemency but he turned it
down.
Alaric doesn’t smile back at the Priest but he does start to try
and sit up.
Your action causes the priest to interrupt his tract and help you
sit up but you feel an urge to fill the sudden silence with the continuation of
the tract; to your surprise, you know it. ‘...and Philistine said ‘Only when
you have eaten of the flesh of my body and drunken of my blood will I lie with
you again and this world will never be yours until that day’.
Alaric speaks with a completely shocked look on his face – shocked
nearing panicked.
The man looks pleased. “You’ve learned well, my lord.”
He swings his legs over the side of the bed and tries to stand.
He helps you to your feet. “Does my lord desire the chamber pot?”
He looks about him desperately trying to bring Pattern to mind as
if to focus on something else and if all else fails he clenches his teeth
closed.
[Not quite sure what you’re trying to do, here.] You clench your
teeth but a) broken teeth do not meet and so clenching them does not hurt
[believe me, I know!] and b) they’ve already begun healing.
He’s trying to stop speaking and was wondering if he could focus
on Pattern he might be able to stop speaking stuff! Just imagine it “Hi Fiona –
how’s it going- and Philistine said ‘Only when you have eaten of the flesh of
my body and drunken of my blood will I lie with you again and this world will
never be yours until that day.’” Wouldn’t that go down well?
[I think you’ve misunderstood – I said ‘urge’, not compulsion,
like when you’ve got a song in your head that you can’t stop singing in your
mind all day.]
[shit – actually forgot that they were
broken. Alaric is trying to stop speaking religion tracts!]
[Then he just stops! The words tick over at the back of his mind
but he can speak and act normally. This is not some faerie glamour cursing him
to only say the word ‘leaf’, for example. ;-)]
“How long have I been here?”
“Oh, just a few days. We drugged you to ensure the
healing process got thoroughly underway. The surgery was purely superficial and
you can probably leave tomorrow but for today I would advise rest. The drug
will still be in your system.”
“What have you done to my head? It has stopped aching but I can
hear your scriptures travelling through it – it’s distracting? What have you
done to me Mira?”
Distantly floats a reply... “Education!”
“Eh?” enquires the priest. “Did you say something, lord?”
“No. That was Mira speaking Father.”
“Ah!” smiles the priest, “of course!”
“I should like my clothes back, Priest – and my Trump, sorry Icon
deck. And some food, I suppose.”
“Your clothes were in a very poor state, Messiah.”
“Please address me as Richard, Priest – I am not comfortable here
with any other form of title.”
“Certainly, Messiah Richard.”
“No. Not Messiah Richard. Just Richard,
or Master Allars. Thank you.”
“Um...the Goddess said we must give you the deference due to your
position, my lord.” He replies in a ‘more than my job’s worth’ tone.
“Position is gifted but respect is earned. I should be pleased if
you were to address me as Master Alars. I appreciate
that you do not regard it as giving me due deference but I regard it as doing
so – and by addressing me as Master Alars you would
be, in my view deferring to my wishes.”
“Your wishes?” Suddenly the subservience
vanishes. “My lord has a privileged position; enviable, one would say. But we
are all subservient to the Goddess, Messiah. We have our instructions.” His
tone becomes one of deliberately mannered tact. “As my lord says – respect is
earned.”
“I should like access to a mirror if you please. I desire to give
my face closer inspection and to wash and recover my black wigged visage.”
“You will find a mirror on the inside of the cupboard, Messiah
Richard, but I regret your wig was quite ruined, matted with blood from the cut
behind your ear and from where you’d felt yourself with bloody hands. We have
disposed of all soiled items and put the rest in the alms box for the poor. New
garments are being prepared as we speak and will be ready tomorrow.”
“That is a pity. It would have recovered after washing. As I will.”
He gives you a ‘what do you wash your wigs in?’ look. (Well it’s a
look, but what else can it mean?)
Alaric walks towards the cupboard with as much elegance as he can
muster and opens its door so he can check himself out in the mirror. How does
he look now Steve?
Alaric is shocked at his appearance. Gone is the insouciant
Restoration courtier and instead you see a hardened thug or a veteran rugby
prop. The swelling in the lips has almost gone but still there’s a deep cut
bearing stitches at one corner. The smashed teeth are completely gone, adding
to the ruffianly look. [Ever seen Nobby
Stiles?]. The right ear is cauliflowered and the
short red hair has been shaved for stitching right over the ear. The right eye
is puffed and shadowy, though you don’t recall Flora hitting you there.
You look like the last survivor of a regiment of massacred paras. Your appearance brings a line of scripture to your
mind, referring to the appearance of Mira’s crusaders after their first loss to
Philistine. [You can make up something suitably biblical yourself.]
Alaric is genuinely taken aback and pretty upset at the state of
his face [a lesser man would be tearful].
[What a pansy! It’s not like it won’t grow back. ;-p]
[I said a lesser man! ]
[Hardly a Simon Weston, though. ;-p]
He’s fleetingly furious at himself and at Flora, in that order, but
reasons that he’s seen worse and he’s been in worse states over the years, particularly
after various mercenary fights. He’s minded to paint himself now so he can more
closely examine the changes in his appearance and maybe within. He stares at
himself in frank appraisal – and takes the top of the gown down as far as it
will go to see if there are bruises on his upper chest (from the teeth removal).
He’s working out how long it would take a good cosmetic surgeon in Golter to repair his face and to implant toothy peg plants
– or maybe he could get ceramic teeth and a jack implant at the same time.
Pointless! They’d just get in the way of his own
regrowth. Even implanting seed teeth [a technique
used in RL BTW] would mean he’d have mortal teeth in an Amberite
body. Does he want that?]
No... but a cosmetic dental plate wouldn’t
go astray for a few months :)
It’d be OK temporarily but once the new teeth started pushing
through...get thee to Golter, then, oh toothless one.
:-)
He doesn’t feel good about looking ‘hard’. It does not feel
natural to him.
[Interesting how his feelings go against actuality. The facade,
after all, was the ‘artificial’, how he looks now is his natural appearance. Mmm! Not good at reality, is he?]
[I always thought that of his wig – and the rest of his appearance as being like a security blanket – thus he is
currently minus his security blanket]
[That’s very much the impression I got – it’s analogous to how
many women use make-up, as some sort of facade or shield behind which they can
hide from the world. So for all his arrogance, Alaric suffers crippling
insecurity?]
[If you say so. It could also be that he has
never had to concern himself with affairs much further beyond his nose. And
beyond his art he has usually kept a very low public profile]
[Well it was you who used the term ‘security blanket’. :-)]
He is interrupted by the Priest bearing the robes of a novitiate
priest.
“I do not wear Priestly garb Father. I effect
other clothing. If you will have someone find me black breeches and a white
shirt I am sure it will suffice until I can find something closer to my taste.
I will have my boots back however – they are of good leather and well cut to
suit me.”
“Your boots are under the bed, lord. I understand the new raiment
is to be in black and white; the Goddess gave the specifications, herself.”
Alaric nods. “I do not wear robes or any other form of Priestly
raiment. Please bear this in mind Priest. It is a matter I get passionate about.”
“As I said, Messiah; the Goddess was quite specific.”
“So am I Priest. You may bring me the proposed design for my new
raiment and I shall decide if I shall wear it or not. I warn you now that I am
exacting in taste and I should be about rescuing my breeches from the poor box
if I were you for I should sooner be without clothes than be forced to wear
those that I do not find aesthetically pleasing.”
“Since the Goddess herself designed the raiment, lord, the
aesthetics can only be of the highest order. I have not seen the designs, nor
can I gain access to them for they are needed for the tailoring which proceeds
apace. But they shall be conveyed unto you on the morrow and you shall see them
then. However, I understand they are to be suitable to your new position and
since you are not a priest, priestly garb would not seem called for. Until then
we offer these robes as all that’s available for the moment.”
He half turns away before seeming to remember something. “But to
use the other brush, whatever the Goddess may order shall be done!” He gives
you a slightly reproachful glance.
He nods to a cupboard in the wall. “Your personal effects are
there. Food will be brought in a few hours. I am sorry for the delay but food
eaten now would be unlikely to remain down. You may drink, however, and the
sacraments may be taken as soon as you please.”
Alaric looks resigned to having to take the sacraments. He’s
already had this argument before with Mother Bellano
and lost.
Perhaps that’s because he’s still to realise he’s not taking on
any particular priest but an entire church directly regulated by it’s deity in
a very ‘hands-on’ fashion.
And the Priests are all very keen on it. Unlike
Renaissance Italian Priests.
Well Renaissance Italian Priests weren’t likely to find Jesus
tapping them on the shoulder and tutting when they
put a foot wrong. :-) Remember that Mira’s cult is even more intimate than even
any in RQ. She daily converses with the faithful. It
is impossible to be an agnostic in Mirabeau.
“I shall drink now then Father. I should like a light white wine –
failing that cold water and then I shall be suitably composed for another ...
spiritual experience.”
The priest nods. “A light white wine it is. If you will return to
your bed after your ablutions, it will be here directly. May I have the honour
of conducting the service after, Messiah Richard?”
Alaric replies “I would be delighted” with as much sarcasm as he
can muster. This is getting close to his own private
Hell. He spent a few hundred years avoiding this kind of religious ritual mumbo
jumbo.
We read your contract! :-
Ironically, your mother spends a lot of her time steeped in all
different varieties of this sort of thing; and her a hard scientist, as well.
:-)
[Must be a family thing then
:)]
Well you know how she works. Perhaps all this is her doing – to
bring out your spirituality.
The wine arrives quickly and it’s good
stuff; refreshing without taxing the system. Ten minutes later, a portable
altar comes in and the priest beckons you to the service. Of course, you have
experienced this before but you are surprised at how well you remember it.
Naturally impatient, you find yourself prompting the priest under your breath
and returning responses slightly before he’s finished a chant. But as you take
the wine and bread, again you feel that ripple of visual sensitivity that makes
you see the world as if you’ve never seen it before. Such vibrant colours! Such
distinct delineation! And it seems to last a lot longer this time than before;
a good ten minutes past the end of the service.
He lies there entranced. And for the permanence of this experience
he would seriously think about parting with his soul!
He hears a distant girlish giggle, “But you have...”
“Ah, Mira, then I pray to you to give me the permanence of it,” he’s
thinking this back to her.
“Work for it...” And she’s gone again.
Alaric asks for paper and watercolours to be brought to him
immediately. It’s a greater hunger than food to him.
Your priest nods to an attendant and such materials are in your
hands inside a minute. You notice the people around you, some four or five, are
watching intently. What do you paint? Your own thoughts drift again through
your mind – “He’s minded to paint himself now so he can more closely examine
the changes in his appearance and maybe within.” But it’s your choice.
Alaric is drawing the preliminary sketches for a new Trump of
himself as Mira’s prophet. He will clear his mind and start the work
immediately.
[I think we should work this one together. It is, after all, how
Alaric sees himself, even if there’s a new slant. You go first, give me style
and background. Then I’ll add a component I think is important and we’ll take
it in turns from there. OK?]
Finally agreed Trump:
Bright vivid colours of blood
red and violet fade into all pervading greens and purples in the background. In the far distance are a
dragon and unicorn in close combat, almost as an emblem within the work and the
overriding influence on the painting. The brush work is very
layered which enriches the work’s texture as a whole. The Trump is abstract
rather than photographic. Alaric appears still against the movement portrayed
in the Trump’s background, as if on the point of being overwhelmed by the
violence of the colours.
Alaric, dressed as a 14th Century mercenary
in a black & white surcoat over plate armour
stands in three-quarter profile. There’s a suggestion that the light comes from
within him. The armour is very ornate with beautiful filigree decoration; his
helm is visible at the far left of the painting. He is completely unsmiling.
His face is scarred and his hair red and shaved short. There is a look of
determination in his eyes. His coat and wig lie on the floor bloodied and
destroyed. In his right hand is a paintbrush and in his left a bloodied sword.
There is a painting of the Cathedral in Mirabeau to
his left and one of Castle Amber to his right. Castle Amber is war torn; a
banner flies from the battlements. The emblem on the banner is unclear but
might be a dragon. Both canvasses bear slashes mirroring each other.
On the canvas in front of Alaric is a small and half finished
miniature. It is of a cavern, the base colour is a dark purple and there’s a
lot more decoration suggested. The edge of an elaborate chair is visible with
green and purple drapings.
Alaric breaks out of his Trance and looks about him – he needs
oils and he knows how he wants to approach this work. He gets back down to work
and paints the new Trump.
And by that evening has the outline sketched and the background
half-done.
Alaric stops for food and asks someone nearby for an oil lamp or
two so he can continue working.
The priest (yes, it’s the same one) looks like he’s about to
object but catches sight of what you’re doing, cocks his head on one side as if
listening for a moment, then nods. Several excellent lamps are brought in. They
make a funny roaring noise but they’re very bright.
Now he’s out of trance and is happily working up his ideas his
thoughts have drifted back to the occasion when he fell through the completed
portrait of Mira and didn’t get out of her chair as quickly as he ought to. You
said that she leant down and glowered at him in a familiar way. He worked out
that it wasn’t a motherly type glower but with her red hair and attitude she
must be one of the ‘red heads’ he’ll be thinking on this as he works. Who does
Mira look like? Could she have been one of Oberon’s elder children? Is it
possible that she is a descendant of Alaric’s [she certainly has arrogance and
is the ultimate in self centred ... :) ]
[All this is possible and perhaps you could try some sketches,
playing with her face to see who she reminds you of, but ATM you’re painting
Alaric and that means concentrating on you.]
[Wilco]
You feel tired and have a mild headache well before
Alaric looks up having been completely absorbed in his work. He
rubs the bridge of his nose again and nods to acknowledge the priest’s point. “There’s
still at the least another two days work to complete this Father. Truth to tell
I’m forcing my mind to focus on the memory of the first instant I saw myself in
the mirror after I’d regained consciousness. I am not certain that Mira will
grant me the days I need to complete this work – I have work to do for her
elsewhere – and in her scheme this…Trump is of little importance and probably
an indulgence, though it has importance to me. Never mind!”
“I’m sure the Goddess will allow completion of the work, Messiah.”
He smiles encouragingly. “She has given explicit instructions that you are to
have every facility made available.” He places your food in front of you. “Now
eat up, your new ensemble will be ready before lunch so your next meal may be
late.”
He stretches the stretch of the weary and asks the Priest, “What
was the diagnosis of my injuries when I arrived – and how did you effect such a swift cure for them.”
“Mainly cuts and bruises with a mild concussion. I removed the
stumps of your teeth and stitched those wounds needing such. The rest has
merely been a few days of rest allowing the natural healing process to work.”
“Ah, so it was only a concussion. It has been such a long time
that I have taken hurt I fear I have forgotten degrees of injury.”
“From the marks on you head, my lord, I would say you were hit
once in the mouth with some sort of blunt instrument and struck thrice about
the right ear with bare knuckles; no severe damage would be likely.”
Finally, Alaric says, “thank you for your care of me this day and
for coping so kindly with such a wilful patient. Is it possible to receive Mira’s
blessing from you before I sleep?”
The priest smiles and duly confers the sacramental. You’re too
tired to take advantage of the resurgence of visual acuity but you have some
very vivid dreams. :-)
Another Dawn – An
Harmonious Fitting
Alaric wakes and finds breakfast is served immediately after the morning
service.
Looking at what you’ve achieved, you reckon it will take you
between 2 to 4 days to finish the work – self-portraits are always trickier
than painting models, especially using the ‘memory’ method you’ve chosen. You
also started in the early afternoon and the process itself is more difficult
than usual.
If Alaric is allowed out and about after the service and breakfast
he will get a little bit of physical exercise. He needs to stretch and build up
some strength again. He asks the Priest, “Is there a horse that might be
borrowed – I am in need of exercise and fresh air?” If not, he will go for a
sprightly walk for half an hour. As he walks, and presuming that he’s feeling
that happy resurgence of visual acuity, he will be trying to hold the effect in
his head as he gazes about him. Where the hell is he anyway? Then he is
straight back into his painting.
He can’t go out riding but he’s positively encouraged to exercise
in the cloister garden. However, he hardly needs to ‘build his strength’, he’s only been in bed a few days, hardly an
invalid.
Hmmm. But he’s been a right lazy git for many years – and has spent the last while closeted
up in artists’ garrets, or out drinking.
He learns he’s in a monastic style hospital; sort of a cross
between a medieval hospital and the modern variety. Most of the patients are
geriatric clergy but there’s quite a few laymen. It’s
very fair weather and after his walk his painting materials are brought out to
him so he can continue his self-portrait. He finds his acuity and concentration
enhanced and he starts applying paint to the subject. His attention is drawn to
the armour – it shouldn’t be quite as austere as he’s painted it...
Alaric clears his mind to focus entirely on the armour. He puts
his oils down and starts to sketch a few designs.
Some 2 hours later, he’s still absorbed in painting a Celtic-like
design of whorls and abstract cup symbols on the parts of the armour exposed
when the priest coughs quietly. “Your garments are ready for your fitting,
Messiah. Would you like to walk this way?”
“Hmmmmmm?” Alaric looks up a little
peeved that he’s been distracted from his work. He looks at his sketching and
looks up at the Priest. “Right now?” and moves his art materials aside so he
can get up and follow the Priest – he is a little intrigued as to what Mira has
designed for him. He gets up and follows the Priest like a little lamb. Ahhhhhh.
“Blessed are the meek...” comes
Mira’s girlish voice in your head but she’s gone before you can reply.
You find yourself in a robing room, a
vestry. Half-a-dozen priests and priestesses are gathered around a stand, sort
of like a tailor’s dummy, bearing a suit of armour and surcoat
identical to that you’ve been painting. They part to let you approach. Close
up, you can feel the trump power of the designs on the armour; it is a work of
art, as well as devastatingly functional. The jupon
fits tightly across your torso while the surcoat
proper drapes over everything, sort of like a tabard.
Alaric stops still. He stares appraisingly at the armour,
occasionally nodding. After some 10 minutes of staring at it and walking round
it he reaches out to examine the strength/nature of the Trump power that
radiates out from it.
Trump is the power of the mystic image and he can tell it’s the
filigreed abstract designs etched in the surface of the plate that imbues it
with the power. It doesn’t feel powerful, so much as resilient. Just what you
might expect from armour, I suppose.
He touches it and says aloud, “If it is to be mine – I am quite
beyond thanking you. Not only is it one of, if not the finest suit that
I have ever seen. It is also one of the fairest pieces of design and metal
engraving that it has been my pleasure to see, but all of this enhances, rather
than detracts from the sheer functionalism of the suit as a whole and not only
is Mira indeed the Goddess of all art but Her followers, in her reflected
glory, are the finest artisans of any land. Mira, this lamb, your lamb, is meek
indeed this day.”
You feel a wash of fighting ardour wash over you as your sight
passes into the now familiar visionary state. You can see yourself marching at
the head of an army of armed artists, their eyes filled with visions of glory,
singing hymns to beauty as they stride. You will be invincible!
“Not unless they are trained Mira – if not they will be
slaughtered and their art wasted – let them come to Amber as artists first. Let
them take Amber from within. Let them use art.”
You feel the vision pass and the link broken, leaving you with a
slight air of disappointment.
You spend the next couple of hours fitting garments and armour,
people taking notes and marking alterations. At the end, they dress you in it
completely and you can admire your appearance in a full-length mirror.
Alaric looks for a helm.
It’s there; it just needs little adjustment compared to the rest.
It’s of the beaver and sallet type.
He then looks at the room about him. How have his perceptions
changed since encased in the armour – how does he feel within?
It’s been a long while since you wore armour like this and it
feels a little strange. It almost fits perfectly but a few of the buckles and
latches must be moved. A priest says it will be done tonight. The clothes that
fit over and under the armour fit perfectly and feel very comfortable while
granting a demeanour of regal stateliness.
By now that ‘visionary’ state at the start has worn off; the
armour does not seem to confer any particular visual advantage. [Well you’d
hardly paint in full armour, would you?] You do feel both invulnerable and
commanding, though. It feels special!
Alaric asks for a sword, if one is available.
They bring your own; rather naff compared to your current ensemble
but it’s all that’s available [Hey, this is a church].
And then he starts to work through the basic exercise
attack/defence movements that he has been doing for so long. He’s checking to
be sure that the armour is the exact fit it needs to be.
When the minor alterations are complete, it will fit superbly, you’re
sure. You’ll need a heavier weapon if you’re to fight in armour. Something like the heavier tourney rapiers of 16th C Italy, for
example.
He will have to find one then.
Well, of course. :-)
Having assured himself of this he removes the helm and bows very
deeply to the assembled audience. “I am dressed fit for the part – I hope that
I may perform it admirably for Our Lady.” “Mira. Thank
you,” he thinks. He is smiling broadly, albeit close-lipped.
“Wow! You really look the part, Richard.” Turning, you find the
priests have withdrawn to reveal Paolo and an old man in the doorway.
“Paolo,” Alaric acknowledges him, “and what role
have you in this enterprise? Well, are you made an Iconer
now or are you still a self centred dilettante artiste – like me?”
Paolo still looks confused but he embraces you warmly all the
same. “Er...I’m not an Iconer,
yet.” He looks at the Old Man uncertainly. “I’ve been busy learning the ropes.
The Goddess tells me I’m to be your spiritual advisor; keep you on the path of
righteousness.” The Old Man’s eyes glitter with suppressed amusement at your
friend’s words. “I visited you a couple of times but you slept a lot and I didn’t
want to disturb the sermons.”
“Yes, Paolo! Laura took exception to your
new calling and exception to my presence in Mirabeau.
Never mind. You are not the first of my friends to have suffered the special
attentions of that particular aunt. Your model and paramour Paolo was none
other than the Princess Flora of Amber. It is therefore no wonder that she was “a
knockout lay,” as you termed it.”
“Laura? Your aunt? What are you talking
about?”
“I will look forward to your guidance, Paolo,” Alaric can barely suppress
a smile as he catches the Old Man’s eye, “and may we walk many a righteous path
together but I hope you have not lost your taste for other things – we must
build up your endurance. Laura made a special point of commenting on it?” Alaric
smiles again – it is good to see Paolo again and steps forward to embrace him (carefully,
encased in his armour) and laughs at the sudden normality of the situation.
Paolo still looks confused but again embraces you warmly all the
same.
He stops and bows his head towards the Old Man. “Sir Priest, it is
pleasing to meet you again.”
He bows, smiling serenely.
“And how does your Pupil – will he excel purely as a Priest or has
he a secondary purpose to keep me in hand?”
“Brother Paolo will serve as a novitiate for a year before sitting
his exams. If successful, and about half the class pass first time, he will
attain true priesthood.”
“You, are doubtless aware of Mira’s purpose – though I regret that
my intentions are less martial then she would prefer. Perhaps, after I have
disrobed again we three,” he says looking at Paolo “could dine together and
discuss roles and tactics?”
“You will both be welcome in my private refectory this evening. In
the meantime, I fear we keep you from the Goddess’ work, Messiah.”
He motions Paolo to follow him away and they walk off to be
replaced by the priests and who strip you of your finery so that it can be
altered overnight. You return to your painting.
Alaric looks at his earlier designs for the armour and works them
to be the armour he has just been fitted for.
You surprise yourself when you realise there’s hardly any
alteration needed. In fact, trying to replicate the precise patterns you’ve
seen, to enact the minor differences between your painting and the revealed
armour, could just mar what you’ve already done.
He then paints onto the Trump medium giving the armour designs,
giving them an increased depth and embossment – so that to the observer, their
3D quality is emphasised and enhanced. He will also experiment with the
suggestion of a figure reflected in the armour – and this would be Mira’s
reflection from her position in her chair – the arm of which is shown in the
Trump.
[Er...I thought the arm of Mira’s chair
was in the painting on the easel. It can’t be in the main picture because this
is an outdoor scene. Am I right? In any event, Mira cannot be in the painting
in person. This is Alaric’s trump.]
It would be really cool if Alaric could employ a ‘real’ sense of
Mira by use of the violets and greens so that she is shown as being influential
in his current situation? Having done big fiddly bits he will turn to work on
the green/violet/red background and work to complete it with its concomitant
battle between the unicorn and dragon taking place. This is far more intuitive
work and he can his mind concentrate fully on its rendering. He will want to
try and complete this before the evening but will ask for wine, bread and fruit
to be brought to him at about
No way will he finish it today, possibly tomorrow but even that’s
not certain. This is a powerful and novel work. It’s also far more detailed
than most of his previous works and the colour and shading far more intense.