Meeting a Kindred Spirit

Meeting a Kindred Spirit
Summary: A meeting between a wandering artist and a whimsical scholar
Date: 13 June 2013
Related: None
Elenore Gabriel 

Roof - Wolveshire Castle
The tallest part of the castle is topped with a wooden cone, and the space below is empty except for several stone benches set against the walls. Archways lead out onto a parpet that circles the tower, allowing visitors to admire the view of Wolveshire and the lands beyond in relative safety. The breathtaking view of hills and farmland stretch north and westward, the darkness of the Althearan Blackwoods to the south, and by the light of day the glimmer of Shelter River to the east.

Passing through the archways returns one to the roof's sheltered confines, and a small door leads to the staircase heading into the tower proper.

Thu Jun 13, 1329

The days continued to pass in Wolveshire, most coming to be much the same from one to the next. Though of late, the castle seemed quieter, so many keeping to their rooms now or if some whispers were to be believed, they were actually gone. BUT elenore was not one of them, after a day of being cooped up, the fresh air and view of the roof was sought with a sketch pad in hand.

"…Oh, Oswin, could you please — oh, by the Old Ones and their hairy beards! It's… dropped down the stairs — no. No, leave it. There's a good lad; I'll be fine — I'm quite safe. Go… you might as well turn in early!"

The voice belongs to a slightly corpulent, pale-skinned man with sandy-blond hair (streaked with silver) and a round, moon-shaped face with eyes both kindly… and intelligent. He is dressed in a simple tunic, with a cloak and hood, and carries with him a hand-crafted satchel.

Behind him is a young lad — no more than 16 perhaps — chasing a pot of ink (mercifully sealed shut) as it rolls down the stairs. The older man is Gabriel, tutor, scholar, bookbinder… tired old man who dislikes stairs.

"Now, where was I? Oh, aye! Roof. Yeees, the roof! Just the place for some pea — oh! Oh, My Lady, excuse me! I did not know there was someone else up here! I can leave if you wish — "

The voice does draw the young Taniford's attention, a curiosity. Her head cants as she listens, perched on one of the walls, all the easier to sketch from. Her dark hair left to fall loosely about her shoulders, it swishing just a little with that cant of her head.

Dark eyes give a blink when the older gentleman does appear, and lips curve to a smile to hear him yet go on. Elenore give a flitting wave of her hand, charoal yet held when if offers to leave. "Please, no. Of you I have not seen before, so you are new and different. And being kept a month long, I was sure I'd been seeing of most all by now. So new and different one, please do not go, stay enjoy of the night air, the view that yet comes as the colors take up their evening twirl under the fading of the sun. it is a delight to take in, aye?" Giving a cast of her dark gaze towards the view beyond the walls before adding,"And the stairs to reach here are so many, a rest at least to pause and have, if I am to disturbing of this peace you were seeking."

Wearing simple attire for a noble, a dark blow gown that follows her form, with a silver belt to circle her waist. She offers a smile in looking back, recalling some thing of manners as she offers,"I am of Lady Elenore Taniford."

Gabriel smiles warmly and bows politely. "You are most kind, Lady Elenore of Taniford, most kind indeed! I am Master Gabriel Thorn - tutor to the children of House Lohstren… and others, too, I admit. Oh, excuse me while I mortify my bones a bit — the spirit is willing, but the flesh is… old, I fear…"

Quietly, he settles down on a nearby bench and lays his satchel in his lap. When he is comfortable, he looks up and over and Elenore again, still smiling. "I see there is yet another trapped in this castle — or at least this city — by circumstance. Still! Patience is a virtue… I really should get around to developing a little better, I think. You have quite the way with words, Lady Elenore; are you 'poet' or 'artist'… nay, but perhaps both?" He reaches into his satchel and removes a leather-bound, hand-crafted tome.

"It is a pleasure to be meeting you, Master Gabriel Thorn. And you were not of my tutors, of this i think I would remember. To many had such sad colors flitting about them, the best ones though were vibrat…" There is a slight pause, and her words change course as if realizing she had taken to rambling. "You do not seem to old, many colors with such an interesting turn, yes. but one need not be old to have such a thing worth a study. I think the stairs make any feel old, there are so many."

Elenore's hand eventually finds way back to her sketchpad, a few lines being added even as her gaze and attention keeps to him. "Oh, aye. It is to the castle mostly, though occasionally, with guards to many, have I been allowed to go to the inn or some place that is not here, confined so by the walls." There is a little sigh that slips,"Patience has been had, but there is such a lack of land…green within, i admit i grow listless at times. Though Lyam has made it pass most quickly, he provides such colors to take in, the patterns….they could be a lifetime of study." Elenore offers a soft smile,"I have never been called poet, artist aye…for i work often with paints, to do sketches. Thought so little can be captured into them in the end."

The old man watches the lady closely, a tiny smile up-turning the right corner of his lips, a tiny gleam of understanding — and appreciation too — sparkling in his eyes as he listens. "So many colours, aye…" he murmurs, half in agreement, half in wistful thought. "With such an insightful appreciation for beauty — " and he casts a hand back toward the view beyond the castle. " — you must taste eternity with every sunrise. Alas, my skill lies not in painting images — unless one counts 'painting with words'. Yours is a very special, and rare gift, My Lady — if I may be so bold as to say! And… I speak not so much of your skill with your hands — " and he holds up his calloused, ink-stained hands, only to tuck them away in some small embarrassment when he notices the marks.

He chuckles. "It is the skill of the soul that I admire in you, Lady Elenore. I think I like you! Aye, indeed. I think I like you a lot! — again, if I may be so bold…"

His voice trails off and he takes a moment to admire the view. Then he cocks an eyebrow at Elenore.

"If I had to guess one of the brighter colours in this… Lyam — is he a lord? — I might guess red, hmm?" His smile widens.

"Each sunrise, sunset is a breathe of enternity, a moment sought to be captured and yet impossible to do so, for each comes to be as unique as each breathe we draw. Similar, aye, but each is of its own, different, changing. " Elenore dark eyes taking in the view as she speaks, though they drop back to Gabriel as she notes,"But such moments also exist in the simplest of things, the greens of the grass, the fluttering of a leaf upon the wind. People just do not see them so easily, they barely give pause to the ones so spectacular as a sunset."

Hair swishes again as Elenore's head cants,"To paint with words is an art, a picture is formed, even of a different way. it is like when i must work with the numbers, they have a dance of their own. Sometimes they seek to be their own thing and must be gently guided along to the proper rows and figures, otherwise things become such a mess." A soft laugh comes when he seeks to hide his hands for their ink stains, offering a better view of her own with their charcoal dust and hints of lingering paint. "You may be so bold to speak and yet to keep your hands as you wish, they are marks of honor, do not hide them away!"

A warm smile comes,"I think i am most liking of you as well, Master Gabriel. you are most enjoyable." There is a gentle blush that rises,"Aye, he is a Lord, he is my betrothed, and you are most correct with your guess. There is much red that ebbs within pattern, the darker pinks as well, though there is much else as well. As with many, the colors dance, change depending on the time, the moment."

"As it should be," the old man replies to the lady's description of her betrothed. "I see you find colour even in numbers…" he adds with a thoughtful stroke of his chin. "Yours is a very intriguing mind, Lady Elenore. I am sure your betrothed knows just how fortunate he is. Beauty is so often wasted upon the young, and forgotten by the old. You, I think, will remain surrounded by colours until your last breath. You are truly blessed, My Lady. I am most pleased to have met you!"

He holds up his ink-stained hands again, smiling benignly at the young woman. "You are, of course, right. You could teach a few of my pupils a thing or three about art, aye… Oh! — " He stops talking when Oswin, the young lad who was with Gabriel earlier, appears at the top of the stairs, holding an ink pot in his hands… which are saturated in dark, blue ink.

The lad is speechless.

Gabriel blinks.

Then he goes to say something.

And blinks again.

"Never fear, Oswin — my dear boy! — come with me; I have just the thing to get rid of ink-stains…" and he rises to his feet, tucking his book back into his satchel. He bows to Elenore and glances at his own hands. "Well… most of the time! My Lady, I bid you a good day — filled with colour! Gods know, you have brightened mine. And… so has Oswin. Off we go!"

And with that, the old man leads the boy down the stairs again, talking to him of ink, consequences and finger-painting…

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