#strill
“You ever wonder what’s on the other side of the mountains?”
“What do you mean? It’s all monsters and dark magic. Haven’t you been listening in class?”
Sander sighed, “of course I do. I have read the books,” he started, but his eyes reached further, pensive as he mused, “but don’t you question if there is more? What there lies beyond what the books tell us?”
The glassy look of Oleander didn’t indicate such, a confused frustration building up within the nobleman’s son as he tried to make sense of him, the orphan.
“I’m just saying. The books are incomplete. Doesn’t the books outside paint the Council as an obsolete system? Yet, here in Sythus we enjoy progressive laws that the world hasn’t seen before!” Sander’s voice pitched as he spoke of the seats that rules over their birthplace, an excitement brewing as he had that faraway gaze once more. The one that reminded Oleander of wisdom far away and much beyond, yet hard earned instead of learned.
“It is so easy to parrot after our teachings. To call a monster a monster because it isn’t a man us. But what if the monster beyond is a hero to another? Who determines that we aren’t the monsters instead?”
The questions made Oleander’s mind swirl, his eyes rolling as he slammed Sander on the shoulder.
“I have no idea what you drank with lunch, but next you will claim that Strill was real and that dark magic isn’t bad.”
And of course Sander said yes to both, strange as the guy was. Dead-serious in all his claims. It was strange how convincing he could seem in all the fables he believed, yet, despite all that obvious intelligence Sander never seemed to be able to express it. Not in class, not to their teachers.
“Sander, my man. You should learn to see reality as it is. Not force it the way you wish it to be,” Oleander had told the guy after a short pause.
“But don’t you question it? Don’t you wonder?” Sander’s voice turned pleading, frantic in its pitch as he grabbed hold of his friend’s garb. “How are we so sure of anything when we don’t set out to see ourselves?”
To this Oleander did have an answer, angry and frank, the bitterness building up within as he brushed his friend’s arms off him, the crest of his family proudly in sight.
“Ask that to the parents you lost, to the men of my line and to the weeping mothers and wives still alive today and their sons and daughters who grow up without.”
There was no question to Oleander who to hate and who was wrong. Only loss and pain of a tragedy that remained even after the story had ended.
Oya!
I started this sketch in March and almost forgot about it… It was originally supposed to be Mird stealing sheets but I got lazy in the end. The design is based on sketches I made back in January. I realized later that strills are supposed to have four rear legs but I can’t imagine this being practical.
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Back in my comfort zone with some strill sketches! This is my interpretation of Lord Mirdalan. Any volunteers to give it a hug?
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Oya!
I started this sketch in March and almost forgot about it… It was originally supposed to be Mird stealing sheets but I got lazy in the end. The design is based on sketches I made back in January. I realized later that strills are supposed to have four rear legs but I can’t imagine this being practical.
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