Searching... - Galliban Tyren and Barrett

[Finodborn]

Thean grinned at Barrett's remark, showing something vaguely resembling a smile for the first time.

"Nothing was removed from the site, as that would potentially destroy valuable information. I suppose I don't have to explain you that the state of the ruin is a clear proof of the fact that sorcerous fire was employed. Not only is everything that was above the ground completely consumed by the fire, there is also a remarkably small quantity of ashes. This isn't just a display of power, it is the display of truly unnatural power. Removing matter completely out of this plain of existence, without leaving any residue can never be good for the natural balance. We hope to find something underground, but we aren't hoping for much."

The man sighed, and took the tip of his bright white cape in one hand. "The cursed flames even took my old, trusted cape from me, as I was the last to leave the building. There wasn't even time to remove the corpses."

The site was hardly interesting. It was basically a black plain, in great contrast with the white paladins that stood at the edge of it like marble statues. There was only the sound of the laborers digging.

[Barrett]

Barrett surmised that the sorcerous fire cold have one of three sources: the paladins, the demon ritual or Hattark's own magic. Thean's words ruled out the first option, or at least made it highly unlikely. So much knowledge: the sorcerer surely had collected much over the years, not to mention his own research. All of it lost.
Except for that which remains with Hattark himself. And you were offered access to that, were you not?
Barrett shuddered at the thought, uncertain if he were disturbed more by the loss or by having considered the old man's offer.

"So you were one of those that I saw. The ritual, the demon had me for a moment. I resisted but it was so strong. Then sunbeams-"
The young man fought off the panic that came with that memory. The burning. The sense of intrusion. It took a few flickers to regain control of his breathing and keep his heart from pounding.
Only a memory. It was stopped. The paladins were in time. The thing has no hold on you now.

"Perhaps the all-consuming fire was a by-product of the ritual gone awry? Or perhaps Hattark himself caused it. He seemed to have no shortage of power that night. In fact, the few ashes may indicate that he somehow transported most of his belongings and building to some other place. Is such a thing possible?"

Barrett cleared his head for a moment to find his center. Within himself, he allowed his heartbeat to be his physical anchor. Then he turned his gaze outward. If the ley lines were strong here, perhaps he would be able to see... something? He was unsure. Perhaps some signature in the ashes or some sign from where the paladins toiled at the earth.

[Finodborn]

Thean's face showed sudden signs of concern as Barrett started talking about his contact with the demon. This seemed incredibly unlike him at first, yet one could see some grandpa quality in him after all.

"Are you alright, young man?
It was certainly not caused by the ritual. Already did the amount of magical energy involved kill several cultists, it is hard to imagine they had anything left in case we came barging in.

It is more plausible that it is Hattark Öçal who created the fire. If he was able to teleport in just two flickers, not expecting us, this shouldn't have been too hard for him. Perhaps indeed he even had the nerve to take along some of his belongings, but the amount of ashes here isn't nearly enough for a completely empty three-story building either."

The perception of lay lines was a skill not mastered by Barrett. He did however sense the vast amount of energy that hung about the place. It was hard to tell, however, whether the site of the mansion or rather the cave with the heptagram was at the center of it.

[Barrett]

"Yes, yes. I am alright- as much as can be expected. My new life has been rather... stranger than I had imagined. Years of serving up ale and friendly conversation hardly seem apt preparation for visions of gods and demonic cults. The traditions of my order regarding the training of novices would be rather bewildering without the extra trials I seem to have stumbled into."
Barrett sighed. He rolled his shoulders and shook his arms out to ease tension.

"If I were a lazier or weaker man, I might have easily accepted Hattark Öçal's offer of apprenticeship. Or greed might have swayed me as well: the man commands much knowledge and power. I had hoped that by turning him down I would be in a less perilous position, but now I am hunted. Yet I am also free to seek out the pattern in things as the Thinker has bid. And for that I give thanks. I had hoped to pick up some thread of that pattern here. Something to indicate the motivations of those who are after me. Some clue as to the identity or motives of the demon and whether it may, having touched upon me once, seek me out again. Something of the acquired knowledge that may have been entirely lost to us on that night."

Barrett's frustrated attempt at perceiving the lay lines almost caused him to curse aloud. He scowled for a moment before reconsidering the situation. He fell back into a light meditative state.
I am seeking, Thinker, but that which I have not mastered is a barrier and a distraction from cultivating the knowledge that I do possess. Please help me to perceive some thread, some beginning, to the pattern before me. Or at least grant me the patience to continue until I am capable of such perception.

Perhaps the cave may offer up some clue.
Finding the cave would be a more difficult task than the journey to Hattark Öçal's estate
had been. He might just simply ask Thean to bring him there. Likely the paladin knew the location. That would be easy, but Barrett preferred the challenge of using his own mind to get there. He projected for himself a mental map of the Isle. His current location was known. The cave's location must be calculated.

Let's see, Asran led me out of the town... there. We headed in this general direction but veered off at an angle... just so. The distance would have to be estimated based on the difference in speed and travel time of the two journeys. There is still quite a big chance of error. Perhaps this would be a bit easier if I plotted it on paper.
Barrett retrieved his writing kit from his pack and proceeded to plot out the routes and locations on which he had been working. He worked as meticulously as he could manage, given that this was an entirely new task to him. He used the distance from his first knuckle to the tip of his index finger as a scale. In the bottom corner of the page, he double checked the mathematical calculations. The result was a rather large area in which the cave might be located. He marked the area and tried to recall any visible landmarks that would help narrow it down.

When he had finished his makeshift map, Barrett carefully restored his writing tools to the safety of his pack. That they had survived his ordeal along with him gave him something of a sentimental attachment to the humble tools. He would not allow them to come to harm due to his own carelessness. He then showed his work to Thean before heading off in what he hoped was the right direction.

"If I am heading us out into nowhere or some marshy bog, please correct me. I am nosy and stubborn but I will not turn down good advice when I know that my work is flawed."

[Finodborn]

"Truth is we have no idea what kind of danger you are in. Perhaps the man I caught in our garden was a one-time attempt. Maybe he wasn't even after you. If you really feel in danger, perhaps you should leave the Isle. Travel to foreign shores. I can hardly imagine that they find you important enough to follow you to the end of the world, no offence."

Thean observed the novice with some fascination as he started his calculations. Thean wasn't really a mathematician. As a follower of Lumi, he was of course a bit of a scholar too, but when things got too exact he got confused most of the time. When he saw the result, he understood.

"I can take you there if you want, but I think there will be nothing there for you to find. Nothing has changed. I can't help but notice that you are investigating only metaphysical clues. Perhaps, if there is anything to be found in the first place, it shall be found by means of mundane information."

[Barrett]

Thean's theories about the garden visitor disturbed Barrett.
"...Maybe he wasn't even after you..."
Maybe he wasn't an assassin. Or maybe he was acting on his own and not part of a greater plot.

"To the cave then. I would at least like to make sure my memory of the place is correct."
As the pair walked, Barrett decided that conversation might be more productive than silence. His initial impression had been that Thean might be reluctant to talk. perhaps Barrett had better take advantage while he could. It also wouldn't hurt him later to have built some sort of rapport with the paladin.

"Can you tell me anything about the intruder in the garden?What did this person look like? Did he say anything or were you able to question him before he was dispatched?"

"I do not quite feel ready to leave the Isle. I should probably get at least the basics of certain disciplines learned before I venture out into the world. After all, a lone traveler is any easy target on the road and my order does not enjoy quite the esteem of the paladins. Best to have a useful skill and a few potential destinations in mind."

"I'm curious. What manner of investigation do you recommend?"

[Finodborn]

The man seemed to loosen up a bit, yet started telling him with still a bog dose of reluctance in his voice.

"I was walking through the garden when I spotted somebody messing at the windows of our sick bay. I pulled my dagger, since this here" and Thean tapped on his enormous double handed sword "isn't exactly a suited weapon for skirmish. When I looked back, he was already gone. I stayed in the bush I was residing in at that time for a few burns until I gave up, thinking I had probably seen some shadow. I resumed my way to my quarters, when I suddenly heard some noise before I felt a snare around my neck. The bastard apparently wasn't counting on armored elbows in his spleen however, and that's what he got nonetheless. Unfortunately, due to the excitement, I have hit him too hard, killing him. One thing is for sure, however: strangle snares have no other applications than murder.

He looked like any ordinary young man, and we have found out that he was a relatively new novice of the Red Warrior. Poor display of skill for one coming from that order, but I thank Lumi for it.

I do not recommend you any sort of investigation, as there are people working on that who have done so before. We use simple means such as tracking, interrogating those who knew the killed cultists. We're also trying to infiltrate in the communication system they have at the library, but we think they might be aware of the fact that we have the key code. Perhaps they are using double code at current. Their correspondence had decreased immensely, nearly disappeared completely, in fact. This could mean that there aren't many of them left.

I recommend you to seek some teachers who can learn you some things you want to know, and keep your feet out of the dangerous bog you are apparently attracted to."

They arrived at the cave. The fragments of Big Tom were still there, so was the staff, the iron baskets etcetera. Two guards barred the entrance, but Thean ordered them to let him and Barrett through. "Don't move anything."

[Barrett]

"A Red Warrior novice? Strangling snares hardly seems to fit in with their ideals. Poor lad, I wonder how he was drawn into all of it; was he recruited before he joined the order or was his inexperience and sense of justice used to corrupt him afterward. Little matter to him now, I'm sure."

"There aren't that many of them left, or they are being more cautious while trying to devise a new communication system. Perhaps the person or persons responsible for getting the communications included in the library stacks was one of those killed. Have the library employees been questioned? It would seem probable that they recruited some of the staff there since the false texts were so widespread. And, of course, anyone who borrowed the incriminating texts would have it recorded on their records, unless a staff member were able to alter the records."

"Teachers; yes, that would be a given in any other order. Unfortunately I was quite knee-deep in the bog of corruption before I was able to find anyone who might help me procure instruction, and, of course, Asran wasn't allowed to recommend anyone. I'm not even certain what I should be studying at this point. I suppose I'd wanted writing and calligraphy; a bit of math and astronomy; history; etiquette. Now I suspect some manner of self defense and disguise might be in order. Also demon lore and codebreaking would seem prudent: ' Know thine enemies ' and all that."

Barrett was still exercising caution with the RRG. After all, Thean's motives were not his own. Undoubtedly he had been quick to suggest Barrett leave the isle as that would free him from having to protect the boy. It also made sense to Barrett to keep any of his suspicions that might involve the paladin's own order safely to himself: no sense offending his protector.

The cave. Barrett took in the smells as he looked about him. He spared a moment's mourning for Big Tom. Such a stalwart guardian deserved better than to be turned into a pile of rubble. The place called to mind his ordeal with the demon, but Barrett was beginning to be less affected by the memory. Each time he recalled that night, he gained power over the memory. Still, his pulse quickened. Barrett took several burns to carefully absorb the details of the place; the placement of things, the smells, the formation of the cave itself, the spent staff and, finally, the details of the inscribed heptagram. He was trying to create a stable mental image that he would be able to fully recall at a later time. It was similar to memorizing a text but many more details and senses were involved.

Not trusting his memory to preserve all of the finer details, Barrett retrieved his writing kit and made a few notes and sketches of the cave. Then he meticulously copied the details of the heptagram and anything that could be made out of the inscriptions on both the cave floor and the staff. He checked over his work to make sure it was an accurate record of that which he sought to preserve, and then he returned his writing kit to his pack.

I need to find a faster way of accessing the kit. Perhaps a satchel? And an apron or shirt with pockets to hold the writing utensils and - well! Perhaps a visit to a tailor is in order.

[Finodborn]

"Well said," replied the broad-shouldered paladin to Barrett's observation about the cult of the Red Warrior. "Although it is not rare for people to be attracted to their opposite."

"The clerks are being questioned indeed. The register isn't really of much use, though, since it is all too easy to smuggle out some scroll or book out of the library.

"Let's see... There is an excellent calligraph in our own order, I doubt you will find any better. Unless you manage to trap one of your own order, but they are rather hard to find. Math, Astronomy, the temple of the Father, obviously. Martial arts... The Red Warrior, that is, if you can handle some pain. Etiquette and history, well, I think Ophelion would be the best choice. Maybe they can help you with disguise too. Demon lore, codebraking, that would be more our cup of tea again.

I could write you recommendations, but if you just mention your name to the superiors, I think you shall find many doors open very easily, nowadays." Thean apparently had quite a well-functioning memory too.

[Barrett]

“Attracted to their opposite, as I suppose many would think of me, a big lunk of a lad drawn to a scholarly order of recluses.”

Barrett frowned at the idea of people smuggling books and scrolls out of the library. Was there no better way to guard all that knowledge, all the pains-taking work of so many authors. The very idea of book theft seemed an affront of enormous proportions to his sensibilities.

He set aside that disturbing thought to take one more look about the cave area. He was disappointed that nothing jumped out at him as being a significant detail, but he supposed that with time for proper mediation, and in conjunction with later discoveries, his attention to the small things now might pay off.

“Yes, I would say my own order’s scholars might be hard to find; given their scarceness even in the face of a demon-summoning threat. It is a hard thing for me to conceive: how they let the foul sorcerer go unchecked and unchallenged. Almost, I understand, but my rather personal experience of the whole thing keeps me from considering it at a distance as yet. It is a lesson that only time and proper contemplation will teach.”

“Your advice heartens me for I was uncertain how open other orders would be to assisting in my training. If you don’t mind, and if time is convenient, may we go now to seek audience with your calligrapher and see about other instruction within your order’s purview?”

Barrett shouldered his pack and prepared to follow the paladin's lead back to the temple.

[Finodborn]

OOC: I'll be in Southern France next week, so posting rates might drop a bit...

"Do not see the apparent absence of members of your order as negligence. The followers of Aurelius are never highly concentrated in one spot. On the whole Isle, I knew but two followers of The Thinker: you and Asran. Not many are called by Aurelius, and those who are lead a traveling life. They do keep in touch with each other, however, and you might expect them to know all there is to know about you whenever you'll meet them."

"As you wish. It is unlikely that you will get an audience with every teacher you want right now, but I'm sure they'll make time in a reasonable term." With a firm stride, the paladin led Barrett to the temple of Lumi.

They arrived pretty quickly at the temple of The Light One. Thean took the white marble stairs in a way that showed he had done so before. It was an old and beautiful building, if not very big. Numerous candles lit the central room. Even the arches in the ceiling were bathing in a bright yet almost cozy light. There was a pair of acolytes changing the candles and lighting those that had been blown out. Considering the number of little flames, this could well be a full time job. The many columns, all in the same, veinless white marble made the structure of the temple unclear, as there seemed to be side aisles everywhere, which was unlikely considering the modest size of the building. At the same time, the temple was open and spacious.

Here and there, priests and monks alike were reading or discussing in a soft tone. “Aha, just the man we need,” whispered Thean. He approached one of the monks, a slender, pale man with dark hair and remarkably skinny hands, which Thean shook like old friends do. “Mellorius, this is Barrett, follower of The Thinker. He seeks tutors that will teach him the art of calligraphy. Since you are the best calligrapher on the Isle -in my humble opinion-, you were the first that came to mind.”

“Well met, Barrett.” The man sounded like he had a throat ache. He reached out to shake hands with the lad. “How exactly could I help you?”

[Barrett]

"So rare... I had figured the Thinkers to be reclusive and hidden but not so rare as that. It explains much: Even if we wanted, we could not maintain the infrastructure of the more visible orders. And I suspect, then, that Asran had what help he could from the others."

The thought of old Asran brought him to silence for the remainder of the walk.

Barrett took in the temple casually, impressed with both the size and quality of materials. The candles seemed a bit theatrical. Then again, they might have much more than a symbolic significance in the worship of the deity of light. Still, the young priest did not envy the acolytes this duty.

Barrett pitched his voice so as to respect the peace of the temple.
"Master Mellorius, one of my inexperience may not be worthy of your own attentions, but surely you can guide me in the right direction. My primary means of storing knowledge is, of course, in here."
Barrett indicated his head.
"However I do have a love for the written word and an appreciation for the art of writing and illuminating the scripts. Some of the texts I have seen are done in such an elegant hand. I would like to be able to better appreciate and interpret their artistry, and, though my own thoughts may not be worthy of such grand embellishment as yet, I would like to be able to do justice to works that I may copy and to have a fair hand for the situations that may warrant more than my current unschooled scribbling."

[Finodborn]

Barrett only noticed now that Mellorius was very old, perhaps the eldest person he'd ever met, at least by the looks of him.
"You must know I normally only teach those that have spent years studying calligraphy before seeking me out. Seen the recent events that have happened to you, and your convincing speech, I am willing to make an exception for you.

In fact I think it would be fun to teach a beginning student again, just once, perhaps a good way to end my career. All too often, I have noticed that fine talents were wasted by lousy initial teaching too, so maybe the approach I have been following wasn't even so good. When would you like to start, Barrett? And are you aware of the amount of time you'll have to spend on it to reach anything at all?"

[Barrett]

Barrett, while having a great respect for his elders, was unfamiliar with formal manners. Normally he cared little for what might be considered petty posturing; however, his time on the isle was working some change within him. For he found himself conscious in new ways of his posture and speech in addressing the priests and holders of knowledge. Perhaps it was the traditions of the place itself, or perhaps it was merely a natural expression of his respect for the knowledge and experience they carried. There was great care in his words and deference in his manner. Although he did not know proper forms of address or the formal means of making the request for the elder’s tutelage, Barrett strove to convey proper respect for Mellorius.

“I suspect a good, solid foundation in the art now will aid me in years to come, that I may eventually do justice to the work of others and, I hope, create something worthy of preservation for those who come after. I imagine that even a humble beginning at learning that which has taken generations to develop will not be an easy task and certainly not one to be learned in haste.”

“I am available to start at your convenience.”

[Finodborn]

Mellorius exchanged a look with Thean. "Very well, we shall start right now then."

Mellorius lead the way -be it very slowly- to his workshop. Thean took position in front of the door. It was a chaotic place, more because of the nature of the things stored there than because of an intrinsic lack of order.

Racks lined the walls of the entire room, leaving only the space for one big window. There were two oak wood desks, positioned frontally towards each other. Their surface was not horizontal, but in an angle of thirty degrees, to facilitate writing over longer periods. The old man took place on one of the two benches, his legs in a position they had clearly taken before.

"Sheets" he said, while stroking the air in the direction of one of the walls. The rack was filled with expensive parchment, clay tablets, paper and metal plaques of every color, size and quality imaginable.
"Inks, paints, acids" he said, repeating the gesture for another rack. There were hundreds of bottles in different colors.
"Hands" he said finally, indicating a rack with goose feathers, little chisels, pencils, crayons, needles, and so on.

The materials emitted a thick smell; the acids used for etching were more prominent than the other smells. It was not really a stench, but rather an awkward, unfamiliar perfume.

"Take a draft sheet" he said, pointing at a big pile of low quality reed paper on one of the shelves. "Sit down and write 'My name is Barrett'. Try to write it in a beautiful way." There was a quill on the other desk.

[Barrett]

Barrett could not tell what was communicated unspoken between Thean and Mellorius. Certainly it was a surprise that they were to start immediately. The lad tried not to appear too excited as he followed the old scribe to his workshop.

Once there, Barrett began keenly storing the place in his memory. Locations and spatial relationships between desks racks and shelves. Their contents. The colors and smells of the place.

Silently, respectful of the workshop and its materials, Barrett set about his work. He selected a draft sheet from the pile indicated. He made sure that the quill provided was not too worn with use and was a comfortable match to his hand. He then selected a simple, serviceable dark ink.

Seating himself, Barrett considered the instruction.

”Beautiful” seems to me a trap. To interpret it too boldly will clearly outmatch my capabilities. If I try to write in a “beautiful” style with a lot of curlicues and flourishes, likely I will lose the sense of the words. Might I not also interpret “beautiful” as writing that is simple yet elegant? Yes, as neat a hand as I can manage with only a little embellishment. Perhaps a bit fancier on the “B” in Barrett...

Like many young folk, Barrett had, since the moment he’d learned to write, practiced writing his own name in a variety of fanciful hands. He selected what he believed to be his most respectable, harmonious fancy “B” and set it down, attempting to make it flow with the simpler writing on the page. He wanted it all to be recognizable as of the same style.

[Finodborn]

"Let us see. I think you did quite well." The man delved up an incredibly big, old file. He opened it up and showed it to Barrett. "In there are the first exercises of every student I've ever had." All the pahes read 'I am ...'

"The irony is, that those who have the nicest intrinsic handwriting mostly grow to be the greatest calligraphers. I can learn you to spicen things up a bit, so to say, and get out a few flaws. But those who think this is beautiful writing" -he showed him a page with an overly curly 'I am Callista' are worthless as a student. They might write one sentence like that, maybe a page. But copying a book is impossible unless your writing, your automatic hand, the letters that are carved deep into your sinew and muscle are beatuiful. You're writing is ok, and has room for improvement."

I suppose the 'B' was a deliberate ornament? Tell me, Barrett, have you ever thought about what a handwriting really is? Have you noticed how you tend to recognize the character of those you know in their handwriting? This is more amazing than it seems. Tell me, what would you tell about these people's character?"

Mellorius took two other sheets, and shoved them under Barrett's nose. There were strange caracters on it, in a language Barrett had never encountered. They were nothing like the letters he employed himself.

"Rather difficult, ey? This only to illustrate the perhaps mistical aspect of our art. Can you draw?"

[Barrett]

Barrett was only slightly disappointed with the teacher’s assessment. He had not really expected to be revealed as having some great artistic talent.
”Ok”... well at least “room for improvement” implies some promise and the potential to at least manage the basics.

"I suppose the 'B' was my way of adding importance to my name on the page: an attempt to contrast with my rather plain style and show that I understand the concept of ornament, yes."

"I have given little thought to those aspects of writing, I'm afraid. I mostly have considered writing in terms of communication- ideas from one person to another or from a writer to those who come after. A way of preserving knowledge and setting down one's thoughts. But to the actual crafting of the characters, I have given little thought other than that they should be legible and convey a proper sense of what they are meant to communicate. It is only with recent exposure to some of the texts in the library that I have considered the actual crafting of the characters as a separate art. In truth, your words are opening new doors and spawning further questions in my mind."

"I am afraid I am uncertain of how to interpret the writing in terms of the writer. I would say that this Callista was probably very proud of her ability, and she perhaps had a flare for the dramatic. The circular curving pattern of the letters might have also been a reflection of a circular pattern of thinking. Did she have a tendency to reason in circles rather than advance and learn new concepts?"

When Mellorius presented Barrett with the two new pages, an edge of excitement tinged the lad’s voice.
"The rendering of things in other languages and forms of writing, and the ability to decipher such writings, greatly intrigues me. So too does the possibility of hiding messages within the body of a written work. "
The strange characters tugged at Barrett's psyche: such a puzzle was irresistible to him. He considered the symbols for a bit and then laughed at himself.
“The lure of the unknown, ha! For all I know I could be puzzling over something no more romantic or interesting than a shopping list.”

“Can I draw? Well, I’m physically capable of using a writing instrument. I’ve not much practice at rendering anything other than letters and a few simple symbols. I have made a couple of attempts recently.”
He got out his writing kit and retrieved the makeshift map, with its little table of numerical calculations, and his attempt to render the symbols and markings of the cave from earlier. These he handed to the calligrapher.
“I’d like to think I am capable of improvement in this area.”

[Finodborn]

"Feel free to ask any questions you have. I can't promise I know all the answers, but I know at least some."

"I don't know. I dropped her pretty soon, as she didn't listen to anything I advised her. In fact, she wasn't looking for a teacher, she wasn't looking for an admirer." The old man smiled.

"If this were a shopping list, it would be the shopping lists of great artists. Even though you can't understand or read this, you should be able to tell something about the quality of the work. Look at the control the two must have had; the absolute regularity of the lines, the simple elegance of the curves. It is a poem from the Eastern Empire, which I obtained from two of the masters I have had there a couple of ages ago." He chuckled.

"I am more thinking of drawing say... a dog or a face or a desk. We often use miniatures to make a page even more striking, and some drawing talent is important for that purpose. Though many calligraphers specialize in either the writing or the miniatures. Try drawing me something." In the mean while, Mellorius browsed through Barrett's sketches.

[Barrett]

"The Eastern Empire? Really?"
Barrett's eyebrows drew up and his mouth hung slack for a moment. Of course he had heard mention of the mysterious Eastern Empire, but usually only as a fanciful expression. Items of surpassing strangeness were often said to be from "as far away as the Eastern Empire." Nonsense language and odd contraptions were attributed either to the Empire or the odd isle of the gnomes. To Barrett, the Eastern Empire had existed only as fanciful dreams, a handful of strange tales and the hazy edges of world maps. That these sheets bore the characters of that far-off land in the hand of its masters... It was quite a shock. He held one of the sheets reverently and looked at it anew. What foreign thoughts and attitudes might be hidden there? And what sort of poetry might it be?
"Can you teach me to read this?"

He then realized that the master was waiting for him to draw something.
"Sorry... let me think..."

What to draw? Best stick with something simple and familiar. A barrel? Too plain. A book? A tree?
The young man went through a brief catalog of familiar shapes and objects.
Surely a face or a person would be too difficult for a first try.

Finally he settled on drawing a foamy mug of ale. It was a simple enough shape, yet with enough character not to seem boring. And certainly he was familiar with it. The lad set aside his questions about Eastern writing and personality. He cleared his mind to concentrate solely on the task of drawing the friendly tavern drink. First came a rough sketch about the size of his palm, and, when he was comfortable with that, he drew a smaller, more detailed version. So clear was the image in his mind that he even included the tree-and-circle symbol that was carved into the sides of his Ma’s mugs at the tavern.

It did not seem a bad rendering, though it was nowhere near as clear as the image had been in his mind.

[Finodborn]

"Yes, the Eastern Empire. Not many can say they've gone there, and it wasn't easy either. This particular writing is a verse form consisting out of seventeen syllables, divided into three metrical units of five, seven and five. It is very elegant and refined. Sadly, this language differs greatly from ours. The concept behind its writing differs greatly of ours. The characters stand for concepts or actions, rather than for sounds. Hence they don't have a limited series, but an endless pool of pencil strokes that are somewhere in between drawing and pure abstraction. I don't know the language myself. Learing to speak is possible, but learning to write it requires childhood attention. And I am told the poem is untranslatable, though that might have been an issue of cultural superiority too. Anyhow, I cannot speak it. Yet I learned a great deal about calligraphy there."

"Your drawing is quite alright, be it that your subject is rather simple. Yet it gives proof of a good visual memory. Now try to draw... say, me then. "

[Barrett]

A portrait! And only my second try?

For an instant, the young man's features were clouded with dismay. But the expression only lasted a moment before discipline, curiosity and concentration took hold of him. His doubt was vanquished by the need to at least attempt the task.

He didn't specify whether to draw his face or his whole body. The face would seem more difficult, especially as he is still new to me. But his basic shape and the line of his body sitting comfortably at the desk are quite distinct...

So Barrett started with a basic line, the curve of the monk's head, neck and spine - as he had been when he had settled into the desk initially. The youth studiously tried to pay attention to the proportions and the correct spatial relations. Next he added the line of an arm reaching out, stretched to the viewer to offer some valuable pages. Then the shape of the desk, to put his figure into context. Not all of the details Barrett noticed could be conveyed in a miniature drawing, so he tried to stick with the simple outline, with a few specific lines to convey action and add interest. He closed his eyes for a moment to solidify the final picture in his mind's eye before filling in the details of the monk's clothing and the simple lines to convey a benevolent, amused facial expression.

Looking over the finished drawing, Barrett decided he was at least pleased with the nice solid oak desk. The monk in the picture might be any monk who new how to seat himself comfortably at such a desk, except that something of the line and the face seemed right. Barrett had captured his own impression of Mellorius in a visual shorthand that at least he could recognize. Probably no one else would interpret it with the same clarity.

But what is that? Did I really..?
Barrett must have been thinking quite specifically of the instant when his teacher had reached out with the strange sheets of writing, for he had copied, in miniature, a couple of the Eastern symbols from one of the pages.

OOC: I realize I have gone a bit overboard with describing how Barrett sees his work. Feel free to disappoint him with harsh reality and criticism. ( Or maybe he was just lucky. )

[Finodborn]

OOC:I'll more or less let you get away with it -this time-.

"Don't be afraid to make mistakes. You'll never learn that way" said the old man upon spotting Barrett's hesitation.

After he had finished, the monk observed Barrett's work meticulously, while producing noises of which the meaning was unclear. "Very well; what I like: your striking eye for detail, your magnificent visual memory. The copy of the character isn't completely correct, then again, there's few people who have eyes that are sharp enough to notice, and those who do, would lack the necessary knowledge in these parts." He seemed impressed nonetheless.

"What I dislike: the picture of me is too flattering." He winked, with a smile like only old men can have. "Actually, flattery is the most important skill for anybody making portraits -if they want to make a living out of it, that is-. "No, a real point of critique: you make the classical fault. The next time you draw a difficult subject -mostly living things fall under that category- try not to draw the lines that form the shape of the object or creature. Try to draw the lines that separate the subject from the background. In theory, this is obviously exactly the same line. You will however find a dog's fur more easy to catch in a drawing like it is when drawing his immediate background rather than his hairs."

He took two old manuscripts from a shelve. He opened them up, both on a page which featured a hunt scene in miniature. "The one on your left is from Yahren 987. The one on your left is only fifty Yahren old. They illustrate perfectly what I just tried to explain you. Look on your left, at the deer. See how they somehow don't look natural, though they are anatomically perfect? Look on your right now. The artist who made this, was not nearly is talented as Cray the Elder. Yet look at this boar: his tusks, the space between his legs, his tail. They are not drawn as such. Where the bushes and the trees behind him stop, that border line is drawn. It looks somehow more natural, though his rear legs are totally out of proportion. Learn to look at things this way."

"It is also a way to guess the date of works," he said while putting the books back. "In general, all works from before 1000 will feature the simple style. It was Crey himself who started experimenting with the new style. Between 1000 and 1100, you find both styles, often drawings with mixed style. Starting from 1100, you will only find the old style in intentionally archaic drawings."

[Barrett]

The concept made sense: It made a better, more natural picture if one considered the lines defining an object or person as part of the whole picture rather than individual objects within it.

Barrett nodded in understanding. Before taking a moment to note the distinctions being pointed out in the new texts Mellorius had selected. It came as something of a shock that “copying” a text might involve the copyist’s own interpretation of style rather than a mere attempt to reproduce the older version. His eyes sought out further differences: things that appeared in the original but not the copy; things that might have been added by the copyist that were not in the original; differences in interpretation that might tell him something about the copyist.

"Yes. With the old style the animals look as if they have been taken from elsewhere and drawn over the background of the hunt. In the new, the animals and the background have all been drawn as one continuous picture. It is more harmonious to the eye.”
There was a hint of a question to the young priest’s words. As if he was uncertain that his own interpretation matched the concept that was being shown.

A chuckle escaped the lad‘s lips.
“The old style... in intentionally archaic drawings- or in drawings by those unschooled, such as myself.”

OOC: tee-hee! You gave me two lefts.

[Finodborn]

OOC: The two books are not copies; they are merely two works that depict a similar scene. What do you mean with your OOC comment? I don't understand, dumb me...

IC: "Indeed," responded the old monk, correctly understanding the tone in Barrett's remark. "That's the effect it gives. In depictions of Gods and heroes, you might also notice this old style, exactly to make them stand out."

"Enough theory now." The man put a book on Barrett's left, and opened it on a random page. He gave the young man fifty sheets of draft paper too. "Start copying now. USe each page on two sides. You shall work until they are all full."

The man than took a set of colored inks and started making a detailed map of some area. The work was of great quality, and if somebody had commissioned it, he or she must have had paid a substantial sum for it.