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Description
Soft footsteps through slush labourious as they were were taken the man drawing closer to his destination. The vague manner in which he moved seemed stealthy though meandering and soon it was apparent why. Before him was a parcement which he had held aloft, scrutinising it from every angle. A deep sigh. "May my fingers be cut off." A few more steps lurched him right. "May he never see this." The soft voice drifted aloft given to none as his cheeks darkened. "I should die should he bare witness to this mockery." To the left he skittered weaving a drunken path to the inn before the parchment was hasily crammed away as he darted up the steps and into the inn, his eyesight when put to better use leading him direct in a rather straight beeline to a seat by the fire.
A silence seemed to shroud him, lost as ever in nigh silent contemplation, lips curled just slightly in the absence of a scowl. Caught the parchment was lofted the alluring drafts of the fire teasing it into their waiting fingers. Hungrily they devoured it, the edges licked first with thin slivers of liquid light as it uncoiled. Once more smouldering ashen eyes beset the rather crude attempt to capture what seemed to be an alarmingly beautiful man upon deadened smudged ivory. Therein was his problem, life could not be captured by his fingers only death with a swing of his blade. Still the portrait was not of he whom he dotted on, nor did it bear a resembelance to him. So burnt it did, whisps of acrid smoke rising and dancing about his features almost as if condeming him for such a waste.
With contempt his gaze was removed as the last embers washed the image forever from existance. Though the man would never forgive him for being so critical and then destroying such an attempt to draw him it was necessary.

.......

The reason such a beautiful man looks so poor is my inability to render him. For this I am eternally sorry. I just clutched whatever first came to hand and drew inspired but I have not the skill to do as my mind invisioned. You have my sincerest apologies M'lord, you may burn me at the stake post haste if you wish. :: His head hangs in shame. ::

Description
Soft footsteps through slush labourious as they were were taken the man drawing closer to his destination. The vague manner in which he moved seemed stealthy though meandering and soon it was apparent why. Before him was a parcement which he had held aloft, scrutinising it from every angle. A deep sigh. "May my fingers be cut off." A few more steps lurched him right. "May he never see this." The soft voice drifted aloft given to none as his cheeks darkened. "I should die should he bare witness to this mockery." To the left he skittered weaving a drunken path to the inn before the parchment was hasily crammed away as he darted up the steps and into the inn, his eyesight when put to better use leading him direct in a rather straight beeline to a seat by the fire.
A silence seemed to shroud him, lost as ever in nigh silent contemplation, lips curled just slightly in the absence of a scowl. Caught the parchment was lofted the alluring drafts of the fire teasing it into their waiting fingers. Hungrily they devoured it, the edges licked first with thin slivers of liquid light as it uncoiled. Once more smouldering ashen eyes beset the rather crude attempt to capture what seemed to be an alarmingly beautiful man upon deadened smudged ivory. Therein was his problem, life could not be captured by his fingers only death with a swing of his blade. Still the portrait was not of he whom he dotted on, nor did it bear a resembelance to him. So burnt it did, whisps of acrid smoke rising and dancing about his features almost as if condeming him for such a waste.
With contempt his gaze was removed as the last embers washed the image forever from existance. Though the man would never forgive him for being so critical and then destroying such an attempt to draw him it was necessary.

.......

The reason such a beautiful man looks so poor is my inability to render him. For this I am eternally sorry. I just clutched whatever first came to hand and drew inspired but I have not the skill to do as my mind invisioned. You have my sincerest apologies M'lord, you may burn me at the stake post haste if you wish. :: His head hangs in shame. ::