ALL NOVEL Chapter 9, The Artistry of Wasting Time
-He put down his pencil. Read through the letter twice. And then put it to the side. At least his handwriting got better as he got to the end of it. The last time he wrote a letter was in… God, it must have been over fifty years ago, while he was still running from the Empire. He’d written a letter to one of the lords closest to him, one of his main advocates in rehabilitation after the Unholy War, and he’d begged for an explanation or just mercy. Not for him, of course. For his party.
Whether that letter made it to the lord was still a mystery to him. He almost hoped it hadn’t reached the lord, that he hadn’t been betrayed by that man as well. Though, of course… That was all in the past now.
He folded the paper as neatly as he could, making sure all edges matched perfectly. Then he stood up, wandered over to the hatch and placed the letter inside. “Give it to my family,” he said, turning to where a person stood just beyond the glass. The scent of the person didn’t move.
It was good enough to Kreig. He went back over to the table and sat down. Hours upon hours of time, and nothing to do with it.
Back in the dungeons of the Empire, he’d spend most of his time praying, something he sadly couldn’t do too freely since the skill evolved. Then, martial arts… Would be fun, he had grown to enjoy pure combat as of late, but he was rather sure that doing anything of that nature might alert his captors. And the one thing he wanted right now, apart from peace, freedom and meeting his family, was to not alert these people. They were his only way of contacting his family.
Then… Something to do with these blank papers. Maybe try writing a novel?
...No, he'd never been that imaginative. And he wouldn’t like to write another letter before his family even received his first one. That’d be terribly impatient.
Something he could do on paper that wasn’t writing. Something fun.
-Ah, of course. How had he been so stupid?
Drawing. Back in Owred, he hadn’t been able to even give it a shot. Parchment and paper were expensive and he usually had neither time nor urge to even try it. As for now… He grabbed the pencil again. Without the conscious effort he’d been able to retain before, the pencil now burst into a cloud of carbon and a heap of splinters. He just wasn’t very good at this. Sure, the people on the other side of the mirror wall had surely already seen his blunder, but he still really wanted to discard the evidence.
So, he shuffled the other broken pen into the same pile as the freshly broken one (parts of it were slightly warm from the friction), and once he had it all in a pile he swept it into his open palm.
He held up the pile of splinters and ashes.
Purge of the Holy (X)
He activated one of his many max-levelled skills, watching as the little pile of splinters in his hand burst in white flames that lapped and gnawed at the former pencils. It took exactly two seconds for the entire pile to disappear, the burnt pieces being charred into white snow. The snow melted in his hand. The holy flame could not harm him unless he willed it to, and even then, his defence was way too high for it to actually do him any damage.
Kreig hadn’t even picked up another pencil before some unseen speaker resounded.
“Please avoid using supernatural abilities while in custody.”
Turning to where the voice had come from, he saw a stereophone of some sort retreating into a hole on the wall. No skills, huh. At least, no flashy skills that the people monitoring him could recognize as such. He could do that.
But his first step to normalcy seemed to be drawing. For some reason, the blank paper didn’t look inviting in the least, but he forced himself to get started.
He drew a cat. A dragon. A warrior fighting the two. A princess…
Skill gained: Artistry (I)
...That was to be expected. While Kreig continued drawing, he mentally summoned the description of the skill.
Artistry (I)
Rank I: Stable hands, smoother lines
...Nothing his observers would be able to see, even though the effect was quickly noticeable.
He kept drawing. For several hours upon a time, he kept drawing. Only stopping to eat. This continued for several days. During this time, his Artistry skill ranked up twice.
Artistry (III)
Rank III: Greater anatomy, perspective, shading
Rank II: Greater colour and design
Rank I: Stable hands, smoother lines
The effects had been grandiose, but getting the rank of a skill higher than III was far harder than getting it higher than II, usually taking far greater time, effort and ingenuity than before. Getting it from IV to V took a minor revelation and breaking the skill through the Rank V barrier into the evolved form, signified by an X, took something grander. Time wasn’t a matter. Transforming the Faith skill into Devotion had required him to take a life in the name of his religion.
The same philosophy would reign true for Artistry.
A week after being isolated in that hole, hundreds of feet below the ground, Kreig decided to write another letter. He did not know how long he would have to remain there until they trusted him to join the company of others, but until that happened, he was prepared to continue drawing.
His drawings and paintings littered his cell. Some were like the doodles of a child, others truly skilful. He did not have talent, only devotion.
“Dearest family, you who I miss so much,
On the back of this letter, you will find a self-portrait. It is unlike how you remember me, but nowadays there isn’t much I see besides my own face. One of the walls in my cell is a mirroring fixture. I look tired. I hadn’t realized before that I was so pale. Though, virtue is white. Being pale isn’t too bad.
How do you look? Have you received my previous letter? I hope you are well. If you are unwell, I promise to make you better. Many of the powers I have gained can help in many ways. If your back is sore, I can heal it. Will you be coming to meet me soon? The authorities have promised to let me meet you if I refrain from causing a mess.
I’m terribly lonely.
I hope that we should meet soon,
Your ever-loving son and brother,
Kreig.
It was far shorter than the other letter, but he was saving a lot of things he wanted to say for when they actually met.
Once again, he folded the letter, placed it in the little box, and told his observers that he would like for it to be sent to his family. No response.
He could do without a response.