Elder Players' - Interlude Eight...Molene

This was written by Scott, and is rather clever....(I only edited it a little bit!)

The Past Destroyed...the Present Repainted

The bent figure stood on the platform that projected out of the side of the open Tower to the edge of the metal wall that surrounded the molten lake. The Iron bridge like structure looked as though it could extend over the center over the moving lava. The robed man's face, weathered and lined with age looked down with glowing eyes at the painting in his hands. The red glow of the fire made the scene painted there even more awesome. The huge Ancient Red Dragon was battered with a score of wounds but still rained fire down upon the group of desperate heroes, nearly half of them laid dead, scorched black by fire or with gapping wounds from giant claws. The remainder were franticly landing blows and launching arrows and magic in hopes of ending the great wyrms life before they too might fall as did their companions. "Yes, a fine battle it was to be," murmured the old man, "It has been centuries since I was so wrong about an outcome." He laughed and let the painting drop and watched it burst into flame a few yards if front of him. "Of course one can not be proven wrong when there is no proof." He turned and descended into the tower where a room awaited for him to draw from it's very walls the memory of how his keeper had been brought to it's knees. This party that braved this task had been shrouded from his visions by a swirl of chaos that seemed ever changing.

The last thing he had thought he would be putting to canvas was a 'human' couple in the throws of passion. Bodies entwined in rapture. One with ebony skin and long untamed white silken hair, deep violet eyes and a body to tempt any man, or it would seem any dragon. The woman's partner was a large muscular large man with a reddish tanned skin and fiery red eyes, but whose white hair and leathered face showed his age. It would prove to be a unique painting of its own. Depending on who he chose to give it to... maybe one of his most popular and talked about, or one never to seen by any but its owner. This was a decision he still had to make. Unlike most his paintings, for which he normally had a owner in mind and a purpose before the first brush stroke was put to canvass. The old man's frail looking body seemed to straighten and his gate quickened as the job at hand brought a little excitement back into his life. This could be a very interesting twist to a story he had felt for years was cut and dry. "Very interesting indeed." he spoke aloud with a slight grin. "Perhaps this marks the beginning of an entire era of surprises...."

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