A Non-Euclidean Savage (WIP)
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A bible of sorts was on the table. *make the sign*
It was bound in coarse vellum, that had curiously whisks of fur sticking out of its worn-out pages.
So the painter started to talk. His smile was engouraging all of the man's will out of him.
He distictly remembered talking, agreeing. Even inserting his own observations about the things he was told.
Later he would came about some of these decayed misty ... memories. He could not remember the room. The colours of the walls nor the Robigu standing in the corner. God of rust. Whose touch turns all hope to dust.
The kind of paint was so provoked from his fingers. The stars pulled his eye even as his hand moved.
;quot;You know...
Then it made no sense for a while.
A view swirled some part painted, just a nape of his hand felt like...
It felt like he was partially in and out of the brush. He was pushing his feet frantically through the...
The Diacon's apprentice made a curious sign with its hand. And blinked twice as an afterthough.
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Drawing of the two, and ruber is the Paint of Kings