dvasva

Asphodel had always wanted to be an artist, ever since she was a little girl helping her mother in the garden. The world was just too pretty for her to not want to paint it! As a child, she would crush up flowers and berries, and make messes on nice clean linen that her mother had just washed, or take a stick and draw pictures in the freshly tilled soil her brothers had spent all morning on, or braid stalks of grass into bows and hats instead of feeding it to the goats. It was known throughout town that if your duck was missing a tail feather, then it was because that rascally little Asphodel found an ink sac and some paper, and all she needed was a pen. But, it did have it’s uses, despite all the trouble. She had an eye for color, and helped with decorating the house for the really important festivals. And, some of her ink drawings or paintings were quite lovely as she got older and figured out how to properly use her mediums. On top of that, she was pretty good at sewing, just like her mother taught her, and an excellent pumpkin carver to boot! Whenever anyone needed a likeness of the Pumpkin Lord for their doorstep, they knew who to call! 

But, Asphodel want’s to paint. She wants to be a travelling painter, a mobile artist taking commissions of whatever request anyone desires. She wants to paint the world, the most interesting places and people she can find. She can’t do that in her little hovel forever. It’s probably a bit of apprehension, some cockiness from being the youngest girl in a family of 4 older boys, maybe a level of bright eyed nativity at the world. Then again, you can’t paint the sprawling caves of Agnarum or the bustling streets of Renatus, or the green tinted Mother Grove from the safety of home! How is anyone supposed to paint history in the making in this wild land of Atlas if she can’t even wander past the burrows of her kin. Well, she’s almost thirty-three, so maybe maturity is just the push she needs travel, or the wake-up call necessary to buckle down.