Malin.

[V0idsoldier 1139]

 

The brush glided across the blank canvas, as smooth and natural as a breath enters the air. He was hard at work. Just as the lumberjack sweats as he rends trees from their habitat, and just as the guardsmen sweats as he lumbers around in his plate mail, Muse too felt the strain of his work upon him. Though his was a different strain, not of the body, but of the mind. He had poured himself into this theory, into this drawing, he had allowed a piece of him to embody the work of art. The almost life size work of art was coming to a close. He dowsed his brush one last time, stroking across the canvas to create a sense of shadow. Drawing the border of lovely trees. He laid back, letting a silent yet tired breath escape his paled lips. He had done it, he had created Malin in all his perfection. The real Malin, not the false idol the denizens of Leumalin seemed to worship. He sat atop the statue of the Old Malin, the wind blowing lightly, drying his work of art.

 

Minutes or perhaps hours passed, Muse found himself a bad judge of time, and so he decided his work was dry enough. Rolling it ever so gently as a mother swaddles her baby, and clasping it to his back, he climbed down the statue with the same grace and agility he had maintained when climbing it. He had found the perfect spot of inspiration, the perfect muse, sitting atop the head of Malin. This was not a simple piece of art, but rather a recreation of a age old image. A image he hoped he could shatter, a image he hoped to change.

 

And so he moved to the center of the town. It was quiet, few people roamed around, a guard or two was spotted. If this was the Human nation, he would surely be beaten for expressing his art, but it was not, these guards had compassion in their hearts, and would understand. He dropped his pack and slowly pulled a silken blanket from it's grasp. Laying the white silk blanket atop the earthen floor, he set his work of art, his image, atop of it, and slowly unfolded it. As he did, he noticed a fair amount of gathering. People came to see what he had made, though he felt no sense of joy from it, only that he was accomplishing a duty.

 

"Malin" Was scrawled atop the picture in lovely script. 

 

The Anatomy of the picture was Superb. Every crease, every line given utmost attention. The figure looked young, though the look was clearly but a facade. His eyes showed everything, his wisdom, his strengths, his joy, and his sadness. This was not a young Elf, rather a Elf aged by time and events, and with holding his near perfect physique. 

 

"The, true image of a Elf. The true image of Malin. I have noted many times while passing the statue of Malin near this courtyard, and that is not what I see as our father. As our Ancestor. Malin was the embodiment of Elven traits. He was the most beautiful of the descendants, and the one graced with ever lasting life, in return for a gloomy curse of infertility. I believe the depiction of our father is false."

 

Muse stops, looking between people for their opinions on the matter. The Elf drawn upon the page shows not one descent, as if he were the perfect mesh of Dark, High, and Wood Elves. Young and glowing, as all Elves were gifted to be. He hoped that his work would inspire a changing of the statue nearby. To be wise does not mean to be bearded.

[CosmicWhaleShark 2488]

[[Did you draw this?]]

[V0idsoldier 1139]

[[Did you draw this?]]

((Sadly no. I found it after a few hours of hard looking for the perfect elf. Apologies for being misleading if I was, I have not the talent Muse does.))

[V0idsoldier 1139]

His eyes wander through the crowds, day begins to collapse into night, a silky stream of moonlight pours down upon Muse and his work of art. The pink hue is his eyes is lit up by the stream of moon light, a tinge of sadness hidden in their depths. Despite this, he allows a gleam to overcome his eyes, a gleam of curiosity, and he speaks up in a serene yet inquisitive voice. 

 

"Many people lay eyes upon what I envision, but no one speaks their mind? Express yourself, this is one of the few chances you can. I seek to know if you feel the same, if anyone feels the same. A artist thrives off of what others feel and think, so express it. I don't believe Malin, your Father, would enjoy being half desecrated like that. We must express his beauty, express all Elves beauty!"

 

He ushers people in to his drawing, hoping to gather others thoughts, hoping to get the councils attention and bring about a new statue. A better statue. 

[Swgrclan 2682]

One man steps forward, draped in cloth and leather robes; his mask of crimson silk covering his ashen, pale features, yet, his hood remains lowered; tresses of white hair neatly draped down his shoulders. Mis-matched, strange eyes bore into the master-craft painting before him, his inspection deepening as he disconnects from the crowd. The shrouded individual, supposedly dark-elf on behalf of his pale-gray skintone, appears fascinated by Muse's work, as well as the boy's theory pertaining to how Malin actually was like.

His voice is muffled, yet, that does not dull the affirming, stern tone that grips it:

"When I cast my gaze upon this work of art, I acknowledge it's creator's intent; Malin was the tree the spread forth the Three Branches, who gave live unto the Ashen, the Bark-Skinned and the Pale. It is a shame that not a word had been uttered in appreciation of this young minds' work and his highly-plausible theories." 

The shrouded man steps back and inclines his head respectfully before Muse before he melts back into the crowd, peering about for any further comments alongside his.


 

[V0idsoldier 1139]

Muse sat for some time before a man, a single man, steps forward. He lets a small yawn escape his pale lips, bundling up to his cloak as he waits patiently for what the man has to say. A smirk grows to a smile as the man begins to support his work, the acknowledgement warming Muse more than a cloak ever could. He scoots forward and speaks back, not only to the man melted within the crowd, but to the crowd itself, hoping to inspire more comments.

 

"He is right. I hoped to portray Malin not as what many claim to be, but what he actually was. The one son  blessed with eternal life and infinite beauty. How rare is it that a Elf attains a beard, only a few in our history ever has, yet the statue just across there;" *He points with a pale finger* "Claims that he was a old, ragged man, leaning on a staff with a tangled beard. What is it with this obsession that knowledge must come at the sacrifice of beauty and body, why is it that we believe that those wiser than ourselves must have the appearance of a old man? Give him justice, he was the most beautiful of all the fathers, he gave birth to all. To you!" *He points to a random Dark Elf* "To you!" *He points to a random Wood Elf* "And even to those that segregate themselves in another city, the High Elves. 

 

I hope others may appreciate what Malin really was. I can make no demands, only hope that the council understands my message, and recreates the statue in true accordance to the beauty of Malin. Please, share your views on what you really think. You are all as beautiful as he was, and should not be mocked by what his image has come to be."

[Baconthief 682]

 To you!" *He points to a random Dark Elf* "

((Hope you don't mind, spiced things up a bit))

 

Khel walks down the path in a quite casual manner. He clenching and uncleching a fist, listening to the 'cracks' that are produced from each cycle. As he walks past, seeming to ignore the crowd and the statue he is shouted at

 

"To you!" Muse points towards khel

 

Khel's attention immediately snaps upwards towards the scene ahead. His gaze falls onto the man for awhile. He simply listens to the rest of his conversation with the previous man. Khel's eyes then fall onto the painting itself before looking up and comparing the image mentally with the statue.

 

Khel looks to the artist

 

"You were rather wise to have thought of this, for I doubt nearly any have considered the Malin would most likely not be a haggard old elf with a staff. "

 

Khel chuckles a bit from under his breath

 

"Now that thought has been put into it, it almost seems foolish to think Malin would be remotely anything like the statue. He would of been tenacious as a dark elf, agile as our brothers of the trees, and yet knowledgeable as a high elf. Nothing in that statue expresses that in entirety. It's good to see this image of truth expressed instead of the false image behind you."

 

"Your imagine, the one of truth, gives more hope than that statue we pass almost daily. Our father was not only intelligent as the statue shows, but he was both strong, beautiful, and filled with youth Our father was not some old crippled man for an old crippled man could not defeat Iblees.

[V0idsoldier 1139]

Muse gathers himself and allows a simple smile to crease his paled lips. He was infinitely joyous that his brethren of this land felt the same as he did, that his meditated time was not in vain. He was, despite all things, happy to see this reaction amongst the crowd. The day was a bit chilly for the forests of Leumalin, but Muse felt warm in this crowds company, and he felt at ease with the constant questioning he had put himself through. He hailed from half blood descent, and while some would see him as a outcast and others would hate him, he felt entirely that Malin was his true father, and that no matter what else happened in the world, he would feel welcomed to call himself a Elf. He realized his pale finger remained pointed to this dark skinned elf, and spoke up in his direction;

 

"I spent hours atop that statue, meditating on this cause. So simple and minuscule it may seem to some, yet in it's entirety utterly consuming for me. Have your voice heard, brother, gather the attention of those capable, together we can truly embrace the beauty that is the Elves. Each father was blessed with a gift, and I believe our father was granted the most powerful of them. In my eyes, every one of you that inhabits this forest, and every one of you who was blessed with this blood is the most beautiful of all the descendants. Do not let yourself be represented by a frail man, who looks on the verge of dying.

 

I know not your name dark skinned elf, but your words ring true. Could out father have fought off the wrath of Iblees as a frail old man? Would you be blessed with this beauty by a man covered in wrinkles and left to lean on a staff? No! You couldn't!"

 

Muse felt energy serge into him. He was not normally this outspoken, nor was he usually this well a public speaker, but this topic demanded attention in his mind. Let the wars wage, art is forever, just as the Elves are. 

[Quiet Kitten 37]

Ruby pushes her way through the growing crowd, her long, burnished red tresses lightly bouncing with every step she takes. Muse's art catches her eye as she emerges, and she doesn't hesitate to speak her mind.

"Now that's what I'm talking about! I could actually recognize this image of Malin as my ancestor! No way I'm related to some old bearded human looking elf! He looks handsome, and young, yet holds such intelligence in those eyes, it reminds me of my father!"

Looks up to find the artist who did such a wonderful job in depicting their Father. As her emerald green eyes find a familiar face looking at her, she grins and waves at Muse.

"Fantastic work Muse!" 

[Moot 1719]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.