Art Across the Mother's Roots | Chapter 1

Chapter One: Something Silly Since the dawn of time, the species of men (if you could even call some people that), have all found ways to create awe-inspiring pieces of art and beauty.

In this collection of short excerpts, I, Roberte Lacroix, will share my study of the people’s creations of grandeur. As a rather astute professor of the arts, I have studied all forms of the arts, from music to play-writing, and I will begin with the request of my publisher and “go local”, as he put it. 

Before I begin to discuss the finer works of New Ashen, Greater Arcvelt and its people,  I will be sharing with you all the story of the Earl Tottington. I invite you to join me in one man’s mania during his steady decline into madness.

1st Piece: Gyrdstog on a Farm

Supposedly the first of his collection, further confirmed by his head butler upon interview, the painting “Gyrdstog on a Farm” was the first of the many that the late Earl would come to fill his home. This piece is as the title describes, but the curious part of the Earl’s collection is that this Gyrdstog and every subject in each subsequent painting is obscenely, almost comically overweight.

The head butler told me of the fact that the Earl was filled to the brim with mirthful laughter, as a man who was quite overweight himself, which only leaves this writer more puzzled, and yet we soldier on.

This Gyrdstog stands in all of its rotund glory atop a pile of hay within a farmers field, surrounded by fencing, and a barn in the background. A truly bland piece not lacking in its earthy tones of color to the backdrop, with the beasts more exaggerated features being further accentuated by the fact that the animal is eating, with bulging cheeks filled with hay as it chews.

Its legs leave me question as to whether this painting was a mere satire, or if this animal was truly alive, and IF it was, then How in the bloody hell was it able to WALK!?  The animals legs were nearly enveloped by its own gelatinous mass of flesh, and I am aghast by merely knowing this exists.

Apologies, in my writing, I seem to have lost my composure, and it is with great integrity that I say, I will never submit a rewrite, Allen.

With that said we carry on with our case study, and observe more pieces from the Mad Earl Tottington, and his growing collection of obese obscenities.

9th Piece: Sunbathing Mannicyre

When I had received this assigned study from my publisher, I had initially assumed he was taking the piss, but here I am trapped in this hellish auction house some weeks after some overgrown oafs funeral. I digress, so, I find myself observing his ninth painting in his collection of near one-hundred-and-fifty paintings in the collection the Earl filled his halls with and have fallen upon this one for a moment.

Continuously befogged by my stroll through the man’s collection, I have found this one piece quite odd.

A Mannicyre, similarly overweight to all predecessors, and future pieces that would join the collection, bathing in the sunlight before the maw of its den, and bearing a face of pure laziness and content, as if it allowed the artist to be within its presence. I believe if he painted a live beasts of this stature, it would have been too lazy to give chase, let alone be fast enough to make for the hunt.

I conject that this sad excuse for a male (yes the genitalia is in plain sight, and no I refuse to elaborate on it’s detail), would like lay in that spot each day and hang it’s mouth open agape for any prey that was looking to die.

One could pity the thing if this painting wasn’t a bastardization of the majestic beast's form!

It is said that by the time of the Earls collection having reached the one-hundredth mark, it was recorded that the Earl was beginning to spend exorbitant amounts of valyons in commissions of the whole of the bestiary of Lithoterria, and having near drained all his funds in the process. Not a single room in his home was without a painting, and his favorites would adorn the many exorbitantly lavish rooms.

It has also been said that the Earl acquired a strange pet amidst his travels, one he kept lavishly well fed as he was, a Moop…

If you have not met one of the tricky little bastards, heed my advice and do not. They will stick you in the leg, and steal whatever is not nailed down!

150th Piece: Lord Moopington of Tottington Hall

It is with begrudging and slightly drunken pleasure that I bring you to what the masses have been waiting for, the Lord Moopington of Tottington Hall! (Gods that’s a mouthful.)

The Earl Tottington had this piece commissioned within the confines of his own home upon one of his two dining tables. The Moop is rotund, and laying upon a mound of gold, a goblet in one little pudgy mitt, and a leg of meat in another, with a crown adorning his head. The little pest is seemingly dressed like a king.

How drole…

This pesky little shit is laying atop a mountain of gold and food, enough to make any lord beneath the man’s stature weep in jealousy, and the pompous miniaturized Earl is laying upon it like it was his throne and birthright.

I inquired with the butler and it was at this time, so I am told, that the Earl had been lording over his pet Moop like it was his own son, ensuring the gremlin got whatever it desired.

The Butler had this to say, 

“When the Earl brought that wretched thing home after one of his outings, it behaved as if it was in charge as soon as it had arrived. It would often whip at the staffs with a wire thin branch that it had brought with it, accompanied by a demand of pointing at an object of its desire. If we did not oblige, it would whip us and break something. We saw a fair amount of staff turnover in those years, and it only got worse from there.

There was a palanquin made for the little devil, and the master was surely amused at all the chaos, spouting things like,

"O look at my sweet little lad, Horris!"

"He could do no wrong, Horris!"

"Watch him eat all the honey, Horris!"

"Clean up his vomit, Horris!”

Needless to say, for his sake and my own sanity, I ended my interview with him there as he had just snapped his clipboard in half with his bare hands.

Not long after the Earl had his final piece commissioned, he was deemed unfit to rule over his wealth, and his extended family had him committed to the local asylum where he lived out the rest of his days demanding that the stuff at the “hospital” return his paintings and wealth immediately.

Ironically, during his internment, he had choked on not a lavish meal, but a small piece of cheese.