Artists Are Mad
Creativity flexes,
Creativity bends,
The juices flow and never end,
Demented, twisted little lines,
Where it ends the artist defines,
That this madness is truly blind. ~Artistic Interpretation~
It was during my time in the realm of Sheogorath, before my… failure… was completely known to me.
My lord had just vanished, falling victim to his curse that led him to destroy his own land as his mind was realigned with order. I was too take his place, and for this I needed an eye. Ciitra's eye to be exact, supposedly because she's seen things. This is what you need to make Sheogorath's staff… I just don't bother asking anymore really.
Feeling particularly lazy, and with the offer of a truce from the Khajiit named Ra'kheran who wanted to kill the woman anyway, I wouldn't have to lift a finger to do more than take the eye. As the Khajiit and his buddies run off to murder their over esteemed leader I walk along behind to watch the show and maybe get a swing or two in myself.
That was my plan anyway. As the two sides clashed I walked calmly over to one side of the room where I spotted art supplies.
The objects made me chuckle as I casually glanced over at the fight to keep tabs on whether or not I'd be needed. What amused me was the fact that, what felt like years earlier as I have no sense of time; I had discovered that the paint brushes seemed to defy any natural laws. As I mused over the idea the sound of the fight coming my way caught my attention. The Khajiit's friends were double teaming Ciitra's lacky who in an attempt to keep himself safe jumped backward into me and the art supplies. Instinct more than anything drove my hand. Grabbing the Dawn Blade and slicing it's fiery steal into his back the man was dead and the two were off to help finish off Ciitra.
My mind was elsewhere though and I didn't notice.
The paintbrush jars that were now scattered on the ground wobbled ferociously. They should have just fallen over but instead they refused. They rebounded like a weighted ball. I hunched over the objects wondering if the paintbrush's oddity had anything to do with this.
I took one of the ones that were sitting still and tipped it a little. It reacted in the same violent manor. I poked at it a few times and as if the inanimate object was offended it continued to wobble unnaturally at me.
"Thank you for!-… What are you doing?"
I look up from the brush jars to see the Khajiit. Apparently the woman was dead. "Nothing" I stand snatching one of the objects and walking off to collect the woman's eye.
Now, on my desk in my home in Anvil, I have a paintbrush that sits in the air above it and a paintbrush jar that forever wobbles in place. Truly artists must be the craziest people. For if the Shivering Island wasn't madness, a paintbrush that doesn't need a holder and a jar that is meant to hold but thrashes wildly surely is.
