This cute little gem came to me today, and I was so happy that I just had to post it. Someone (@Drocilla)
within Magnagora loves to anonymously contribute to our events, and it makes my heart so warm and toasty inside. It's almost like the perfect Valentine's Day Gift come early, if you believe in commercial holidays.
Just setting the scene here, Vatul is within the post office pouring over getting a script ready for the Theatre, and after long hours promoting her next two Art Exhibitions she is unsure what will happen with both of them. Not wishing to doubt the stiff upper lip of the Magnagoran social elite, Vatul persists and is somewhat hopeful for a fruitful turnout. A mysterious figure arrived within the first debut of the Exhibition, as shown in one of Pectus' logs here, but -who- was it? No one knows. Still, they are given the utmost respect for arriving and supporting culture.
You pull an onyx and cherrywood chair closer to an onyx and cherrywood desk and begin to write.
[I am writing things about my cast for the first act of Vatul's play, and then, I decide to go to the next page. #shameless plug]
Carried upon wings riddled with holes, an imp flits into the post office, a sizable package in his arms. He approaches, clearly exhausted, and drops the box unceremoniously into your hands.
This rectangular box has been made from polished planks, more a frame than an actual box as the
outside has been draped in canvas to protect the package inside.
It has 1 months of usefulness left.
It is strangely weightless.
A canvas-wrapped wooden box is holding:
"painting293631" a sepia-hued painting of desolate mountains
"painting279807" a night-time painting of the theatre
"letter103699" barely illuminated indigo stationery
3 items found.
It has the following aliases: box.
You blink. [Wait, what, someone has made a submission?! There's a letter! Must read.]
You smile softly.
The imp flits in the room for a moment, gathering strength, and flies off through the doors.
Calling after the delivery man, you say, "Thank you!"
You clear your throat.
You take barely illuminated indigo stationery from a canvas-wrapped wooden box.
You read what is written on barely illuminated indigo stationery:
Enchanted to be making the acquintance, even if via epistolary means. I
have been keeping an eye on the resurgence of artistic endeavours in
Magnagora for quite some time and, not so humbly, dare claim a little of
the credit as well.
The first exhibit you have organised was quite the social event and, for
reasons that I would rather not dwell upon, I was torn over whether to
attend the premiere or not. I am delighted to admit that, in the end, I
have. It was quite the night and I remember it fondly.
In return, I would like to submit two paintings of my own for the
exhibit you are working on presently but request that they not be sold
to private collectors. Rather, please treat them as gifts for the
gallery. I have done quite enough work for private collections in the
past and wish no more for my art to collect dust in ineptly-aired
lounges and salons.
The first, the sepia-hued work in oils, is titled the "Vigil of the
Archmages". Just as the Earth Lords are the echoes of all the Geomancers
who have drawn upon the Earth Plane, so too do I imagine the Mountains
of Madness to be the resting place of their physical forms. The most
traditional of Geomancers pay obeisance to the Libellus Geomancie and
within it is written, "That we are of earth, and unto earth we shal
return. Duste we were, and fleshe we are, and duste we shal bee again."
An eternal cycle, an endless vigil, what is dust may flesh become yet
and so they slumber, ready to be called upon by the Earth in times of
The second work, the night-time panorama, is titled "Fallen but not
Forgotten". Though it may not appear as such at first glance, it is
meant for the Great Houses exhibit. The city, the theatre, the
atmospheric lighting, all a backdrop for the true topic of the painting:
the shadow-clad figures. When discussing the historic Great Houses one
must not forget the forbidden, the fallen: the Ninth House. The records
of the deeds which earned them such severe punishment are unknown, but
the deeds which exonerate them are. The aristocracy which turned
Magnagora into what it is today would not have been held in balance were
it not for the Ninth. Respect where respect is due.
Barely illuminated indigo stationery is holding:
Vatul scans the letter intently, her dark twilight eyes tracing he words with care before setting down the crate upon the desk. Absently, she brushes a hand on it as she reads.
Vatul emits a hum of delight, tapping the letter to one side.
Staring out absently as if she had entirely forgotten her work at the desk, you murmur, "Nn...What was I doing before this."
Mechanical clankings rumble from deep beneath the ground, as though some great clockwork engine lay
beneath your feet.
Her old resonant smokey tones returning to her voice fondly as she muses, you say, "Much to do, much to do if I
do not want to disappoint this mysterious benefactor."