A Life in Colour
|A Life in Colour|
|Release||27 September 2021 (Update)|
|Destroy||You can get another copy from Gorvek near the entrance to Senntisten's graveyard|
|On death||Always kept outside Wild|
|A very old, well-preserved book.|
|Links||MRID • recipe|
|FAQ • doc|
A Life in Colour is a book obtained while skilling at the Croesus Front nodes.
Finding and reading this book as well as Kings and Queens, The Massacrer of Moles, and The Great Beast completes the achievement Heroes of the Graveyard which is a requirement for the master quest cape.
Book info[edit | edit source]
|A Life in Colour|
|Databox • Talk page|
Transcript[edit | edit source]
A Life in Colour
My world has always been one of light and colour, but never sound. I have never heard my mother's voice, nor the chords my father plucked on his lute. I never heard them, but I felt them. A soft rumble around me, a gentle kiss of air on skin. I have never missed the absence of sound and I will always cherish the way my world feels, but it has never been easy to speak across the barriers of these different worlds. When everyone around me used words I used gestures, and these were rarely understood. It took me longer to learn to read and write, because all my teachers relied on spoken explanations and never thought to adjust their methods. While others relied on speech, I found other ways to communicate. Where others used crude letters, scrawled across a page, I used light and colour. I would paint red to show I was angry with something, blue to show sadness and I combined the two for fear. Love I showed in the warmth of orange, and joy I found in yellows. I painted the world in emotions and I shared my feelings with others. Everything laid bare on the canvas for all to see. As I grew, my emotions became more complex and I found the medium of paint and canvas to be lacking. Emotions moved, changed and danced, but my paintings were static things locked in position. So I created my first fyrdeed.
A fyrdeed is a living phrase in my language, the language of light, movement, heat and colour. I cut down wood and I shaped it, whittled it into complex strips and stretches, attaching joints and patterns so that it told its own tale. Then I would coat the wood with dyes and mixtures so that they would be ready for the message to be given. Once done the telling could begin and I would burn the pattern. The fyrdeed would burst into light which would dance according to the pattern and then the colours would flare according to the dyes and mixtures I painted down. The fire would shift and writhe and dance and gesture and everyone who saw it knew my words at last. A world of light and colour is an attractive thing and soon my messages were being sought across the Empire. I would craft elaborate fyrdeeds exalting the glory of Zaros, or praising the might of our military - even the diligence of our farmers. My fyrdeeds touched the heart of the Empire, and at last I felt that everyone understood me. We were all talking at last. I became a sculptor after that, my fyrdeeds becoming more and and more in demand as people relished the light, colour and smell of their burning exaltations.
I was so happy that I had no idea of the sorrow going on around me. My world was one of colour and light, bright and warm, but silent. One advantage of silence is that gossip and rumour were alien to me. At least they were for a while. I was slowly made aware of the disappearances across the city. They were few at first but they grew in number. Disappearances weren't unheard of in Senntisten, but there were far more than had ever been known before. People were scared and - as scared people so often do - they turned on one another. At first it was blame. The humans blamed the vampyres and the vampyres blamed the demons. But once it became clear that disappearances affected all of us, that blame changed into something far more insidious. People blamed each other because of perceived sins. Disappearances were caused because someone blasphemed, it was said, or because someone acted too impiously. Or perhaps they stood out from the crowd just a little too much. Fear can bring such ugliness to people.
In the face of such ugliness, what else could an artist do but to bring beauty? The fear and ugliness had grown so vast in the city that I knew I needed to create my greatest fyrdeed ever - one so large, so bright and so full of colour that it would banish the darkness from people's hearts. So I set to work. It took weeks, which became months and it took an incredible amount of wood and insects for the dyes. I had sculpted the wood into a great cornucopia, a vast symbol of the wealth and stability offered by the city. The citizens of Senntisten would never know starvation and never know true poverty - only a bounty of wonders. That was to be my message to the people. I spent further days coating everything in the dyes and mixtures needed for the final stage of the fyrdeed. Millions of insects were crushed into powders and painted across the sculpture ready to turn it into a dazzling work of beauty which would illuminate the night sky with wonders. It was to be my greatest work. Once painted, the dyes would need a few weeks to dry properly and in that time all I could do was wait.
Something had gone wrong. So very, very wrong. A week or so after the dyes had been painted, they came. The araxytes were fast and brutal. The source of the disappearance so readily apparent and they were spilling out of my cornucopia like a monstrous gift from the gods. They chased into house and home. They slaughtered everyone they found, without the slightest hesitation or remorse. Even with the full force of the military, the death toll was catastrophic. It was only the light of day that forced them back into the sculpture. Naturally, the people blamed me. It was my sculpture, after all, so clearly it was my sin that summoned them. The mob was angry, hungry for vengeance, I could feel it radiating off them in waves. Thankfully, the Church intervened and set the record straight. They had known about the araxytes for weeks now, but kept it quiet in order to prevent a panic. Obviously the insects I used to create my dyes had drawn the araxytes to my sculpture.
The spiders had taken my beautiful art and turned it into a nightmare. I could not let this stand. So I made my way to the cornucopia under the cover of day and there I began my work. It was no different than normal really, I had made these fyrdeeds many times before and it was as easy as breathing. So I set my fuse and I laid the kindling. It would burn faster than it should, but burn it would and those araxytes would burn with it. But fate is tricky and often cruel and as I laid the final fuse I stepped in something, a web. It held impossibly fast, stronger than steel, and as I watched, I saw a rising tide of spiders heading towards me. In that moment, I knew my time had come. So be it. If I were to die, then I would die beautifully. My death would become my magnus opus. So I lit the fuse.
Light, heat and colour danced together in a spectacle unlike any of my previous works. As the fire rose the araxytes came pouring out of the cornucopia, each of them illuminated by the dancing flames that consumed their bodies. They burned with colours so intense, so wonderfully wild and varied that I found myself transfixed. I barely noticed the web around my feet burning away, leaving me a chance to escape and I completely missed the flames engulfing my hands and arms. I was alight and full of colour and when I realised this, I ran. Like the spiders I danced across the city as a swirling tapestry of coloured flames, before I was finally put out by a blanket wrapping around my arms. In that moment, as the spiders burned behind me and as the night sky grew bright with colour, the world fell away into darkness.When I awoke, it was to smiling faces and celebration. I could feel the pleasant vibrations of their cheering through the room and the walls reverberated with the sounds of those outside. Apparently they named me 'The Eradicator of Araxytes' and gave me a place in the heroic district of the graveyard. It's an honour that I will cherish, but I wish I were being remembered for my art. So I write this, though my hands barely move, as a reminder to all that the world is not saved by hate and anger, but by art, colour, beauty and light. Make time to make art. It may one day save your life.
Update history[edit | edit source]
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