Re: Change (Short story, a few chapters)
Epilogue
A few months later
The Atelier was rife with activity, just the way the young man remembered it. It was undeniably, not as active as its heydays, but the young man had slowly come to accept that fact.
“Pardon me.” A young painter garbed in the black robes of a novice squeezed past the young man’s table and offered a wry smile. “Another batch of offerings from the kind man.”
The young man stood aside and watched as the novice hurried past with a platter full of cookies. The Atelier had been gifted with a bunch of cookies every fortnight, from a mysterious man who claimed to be some sort of deity. The man was often seen atop a black horse, riding around and offering cookies and witty quotes, but never showing his face. The artists in the studio had given him the moniker ‘God of Cookies’, and of late this particular God had been more than generous with his handouts, which tasted so good they often brightened the day of the painters quartered in the Atelier. Rumor had it that the cookies boosted creativity and helped greatly with inspiration, to the point where some painters even incorporated them into their regular diet, and bitterly cried out for more when the supply ran out.
The Atelier had also seen an uptick in the number of wandering troubadours and storytellers paying them the occasional visit. These men had travelled from harbour to harbour, and regaled the painters with tales from near and far, and proved to be a great source of inspiration for fresh ideas. These men even shared a story of a great Admiral who had sailed far and wide, and had ended up establishing a Kingdom of his own in lands not seen before.
The young man grinned to himself as bell tolled, signalling the start of the month’s competitions. The painters in the Atelier flocked towards the Director’s Studio, where their works of art were assessed for eligibility before being released to the general public. A swarm of viewers and passers-by always accompanied such events, and the city was livelier for it. The young man had gained much respect for the senior painters in their blue cloaks – for they had run the place very well in the years he had been absent, and were continuing to do so.
This of course, was all normal business on a normal day. Sometimes, the young man would stroll into the Atelier and find himself alone, with only the sound of his footsteps echoing off the marble floors. It was in this environment of solitude and tranquility that the young man would sit down for hours just thinking about what new additions to his current painting he should add. On some days he would down a dose of ‘Special K’ to keep him awake – a rare and exotic medicinal drink imported from the far reaches of Arabia, where the sands both washed away great empires and acted as the foundation for new ones to rise - and the young man swore this drink helped with his thinking.
As the young man headed back to his desk, he noticed that some of the existing paintings had been modified. He scrutinized them from afar, then from nearer, before leaving a few choice remarks behind. Impressive paintings all of them – from chariots roaring and careening at breakneck speed, to elves dancing and slaying and singing, to humorous interpretations of the world’s histories – there was no shortage of works that pleased the eye and the mind.
As the young man sat down, he realized that there were a few pieces of feedback that had been left on his own table. Reading these comments warmed his heart, and inspired him to continue working on stuff he would have long abandoned otherwise.
The young man picked up his brush, dipped it in paint, and raised a hand to the already full canvas in front of him. Just a few more strokes ought to do it.
And when it was done, he leaned back, content, and very much glad that he decided to return to this little den of innovation and comfort. And though things had changed very much, and for the better, the young man would always remember with fondness the days of the nascent rangers, the reforging of Sicily, the wolf skulking among the dogs, and one single man adventuring in Aragonese country, as well as many other stories he had read but forgotten, and thus to once again be read in the future.
It had been a wonderful journey.
And it was time to continue down a new path.
Author's notes
Oh and I've taken some artistic license with some of the descriptions of my fellows here, if you guys don't like it feel free to let me know and I'll change/remove it. I do apologize if I've left anyone out!
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Originally Posted by Swaeft
I'm gonna crawl back into the shadow from whence I came and beat myself up 
(
) Don't worry about Colat Tartenwer, imagine if someone figured that out in the first chapter...that would have been awkward. 
Oh, and now I have a video to watch!
Well it is a rather short piece so I won't be feeling too full of myself, but I'm happy I finally got something done too! I think the moniker made a mark of its own, enough for me to catch it a few times in any case 
I enjoyed both your descriptions of current writers and the fond memories of stories from your previous time here.
