Jing
(#24763525)
Your heart's as loud as lions, why let your voice be tamed?
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Energy: 0/50
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
27.97 m
Wingspan
15.12 m
Weight
8975.78 kg
Genetics
Midnight
Basic
Basic
Jade
Alloy
Alloy
Jade
Glimmer
Glimmer
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Imperial
Max Level
STR
108
AGI
8
DEF
5
QCK
85
INT
5
VIT
18
MND
5
Biography
finally the king appears in his lonesome castle
and the emotions threaten from inside his lonely heart
|
The brush strokes aren't always perfect, the way he glides them over sewn canvases and watches the paint soak messily into the paper. The fabric. The walls. Greenery in a marble palace that isn't truly greenery, just green. They curl like vines along the canvas, sprout leaves into his paintings, form into arabesque shapes from simple lines of color like the steps of a dance. One-two, one-two, and all.
(There are always a pile of unfinished canvases, and he calls them unfinished because they're not right, and to call them finished would mean he has finished in his efforts for them. That's also not right.
If they aren't right, they aren't finished—just works in progress, no matter how eternal. Not done, you see. That's why they look so wrong. That's why they're not right. Just works in progress, and nothing else. Someday they'll be right.
It's just not today.)
In the afternoons he draws a chair from the farthest corner of the room and sits back to admire the growing canvases in the corner, the skycats that float between each one and laze atop the wooden frames. They pile high like golden treasure and reach the ceiling, and then more, and more.
Because even if he enjoys those human pleasures of painting, the brush between his fingers, the way the hairs split and merge on the canvas—at the end of the day, Jīng climbs to the top of that pile, hands more like claws. Brushes would snap in his talons, the paint smeared across his snout. Even his wings would knock such tiny easels over.
And he is contented when the sun sets and darkness sets upon that marble room. The moonlight filters through the jade on his wings, the blackness of his scales. Thereupon that pile of canvases and rumbling cats all curled around him—
Surely, he must be the true art that sits upon the canvas and the easel, glittering gold.
(There are always a pile of unfinished canvases, and he calls them unfinished because they're not right, and to call them finished would mean he has finished in his efforts for them. That's also not right.
If they aren't right, they aren't finished—just works in progress, no matter how eternal. Not done, you see. That's why they look so wrong. That's why they're not right. Just works in progress, and nothing else. Someday they'll be right.
It's just not today.)
In the afternoons he draws a chair from the farthest corner of the room and sits back to admire the growing canvases in the corner, the skycats that float between each one and laze atop the wooden frames. They pile high like golden treasure and reach the ceiling, and then more, and more.
Because even if he enjoys those human pleasures of painting, the brush between his fingers, the way the hairs split and merge on the canvas—at the end of the day, Jīng climbs to the top of that pile, hands more like claws. Brushes would snap in his talons, the paint smeared across his snout. Even his wings would knock such tiny easels over.
And he is contented when the sun sets and darkness sets upon that marble room. The moonlight filters through the jade on his wings, the blackness of his scales. Thereupon that pile of canvases and rumbling cats all curled around him—
Surely, he must be the true art that sits upon the canvas and the easel, glittering gold.
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Exalting Jing to the service of the Tidelord will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
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