Painting with Luci

[The Humble Sage]

The Sage glanced down in surprise at the pack of canisters laying on the ground at his feet. The world around him was… unimportant. There were surfaces: walls, floors, even gaps that were clearly empty space, but all of it seemed distant, an afterthought of the world’s creation. He vaguely got the impression of a street, for some reason he got overtures of Coasta del Sol, but that may just have been the unfamiliarity of the architecture. Or at least the vague impressions of the architecture that came through the oppressive plainness of the surroundings. It’s not Coasta del Sol, he decided after a moment, There’s too much want in these buildings. The drabness of the world seemed almost intentional, it drew the eye to the riot of color that covered one of the surfaces nearby. A short distance away, a peculiar being that reminded him more than anything of a sentient stained glass window was hard at work with another of the canisters spraying its colorful contents and illuminating an otherwise nondescript surface with an egregious amount of airborne dye.

For the briefest of instants, the Sage considered breaking off his meditation. This was not the mind-expanding calmness he had been trying to achieve, nor should his order’s technique of meditation even be able to produce these kind of results. From the description, this seemed far more like something the heretical prophets of the Third Tower would experience. But can I allow mere prejudice to interpose itself with knowledge? if this was in fact a vision of the future like the ones the seers claimed to possess, then he would be a fool to dismiss the opportunity this was affording to him.

The Sage reached down and picked up a canister, it was surprisingly non-descript, with only a colored oval to indicate anything of its contents. If this was a vision, then his best chance of understanding its meaning was to follow the scene. The stained-glass girl had offered he should paint with her, and the control she exhibited over her creation labeled her quite clearly as the centerpiece of this particular portion of the vision. He made his way over to another wall, letting go of his concerns. When one is not in control, it is better to be a bestilled river than a forceful one… The Sage cleared his mind, and let the painting come to him, perhaps it would give him insight into what was about to happen? His serenity was undermined however, when he realized that the fine spray the girl’s can emitted was coming out far more liquid and uneven for him. Ink? He thought in confusion, looking down at the sea blue oval that adorned the leaking canister he held.

The Sage turned back to the stained-glass girl with a quizzical look, only half expecting her to have any sort of answers. He held up the can, its black ink trickling down the polished metal and onto his hand. “It seems I only have one color…” he said with an almost bemused laugh.