Day 5: The Charge of Meruvia

Pin-up / Pinned

Her long hair flowed down across her supple chest. Vibrantly red in colour, yet with black roots. All manners of artefacts from Meruvean history were intertwined in her braids. A white-haired angel, almost like a doll. A bracelet in the form of a copper snake. The Nilean crown. An oak with four branches, one broken off, one barren, one with leaves and one bearing nuts.
The resplendent woman gripped her white mantle, one with a black Order crest prominently displayed, but which could only cover up one of her breasts. The remaining rosy mound was exposed for all to behold, yet her nipple was cleverly obscured by the speartip of one of the brave soldiers in the foreground to the giantess, who knelt as if praying. Together, they protected her from shadows encroaching upon the landscape.

This was Meruvia.
It was the only Meruvia that Edward could paint. It embodied everything his patron wanted. It was patriotic. Inspired. Eyecatching certainly. And most of all, it was Meruvia.

“No no no!” The bailiff said, shaking her head, “This won’t do at all!”
She slapped a red octagon over her chest, on which the word STOP was written in big angry letters.
“Too much skin.”
She slapped another one, over the parts of Meruvia’s legs that were bare on the ground, “Too enticing.”
She slapped another one, this time over her long hair, “Now you are just asking for it! We do not want to give impressionable young women any ideas.”

Each time she pinned another sign, Edward winced. Each time she pinned another sign, he died a little inside.
He rolled up the official scroll, the one he had gotten from the komtur with his request. Nothing there about any of the complaints she raised.
“I’m terribly sorry, miss Bailiff. If you’re not pleased, then I’m not pleased either. There must have been some kind of misunderstanding.” Edward started, “The komtur was very specific about what he wanted. He needed something new. Something bold to advertise for the town muster. But which still evokes the core values of Meruvia which has made it what it is. He told me he expected me to outdo myself for this work, and to do whatever it took to get the message across, so…”
“I am aware of the details for komtur Duklaar’s commission.” The bailiff responded, folding her arms, “He did send me to monitor your progress, after all. And I will see through it as my duty. It is equally my duty, however, to see that the people of these lands are protected, be it from monsters, or from bandits. Or, mister Tosspot, from the depraved, misguided allusions of a repressed artisan.”

Edward clenched his fist tight, “...It’s Potstott, miss Bailiff. And I can assure you, I have no intention to offend anyone’s sensibilities. Everything I painted here, I painted for a reason.”
“Clearly you’re a talented artist, mister Tosspot.” She rested her hands on her hips, “I have full confidence you can do better than… than this… pinup!”
Edward’s face grew into the least fake smile he could muster, “But of course, miss Bailiff. Your words are far too kind. Even so, I would very much like it if the komtur could take a look before we move forward.”
“Komtur Duklaar is preoccupied at the moment. That is precisely why he sent me in his place.”
“Yes, I understand that, but surely just taking a look would take no time at all. If you could just put this on his desk, then…”
“...Then we would be wasting precious time, mister Tosspot. Time, I remind you, we do not have. And which could instead be spent revising your poster to meet the ethical standards of the Meruvean Knights. The muster is in two weeks. By then, we want the message to have reached everyone in Biellfort. Is that understood?”
Edward sighed, “Yes, Bailiff.”
“Astounding.” She patted him on the shoulder, “I am glad you have chosen to see reason, mister Tosspot. I shall report to komtur Duklaar that your progress is underway, and will be finished shortly.”

She turned and left his atelier, her escort of sergeant brothers and sisters in tow. The last one to leave peered behind herself, taking in the sight of the artwork. Even underneath the pile of pinned signs, it was something to behold. Yet she too left, and shut the door behind her.
“...It’s Potstott, dammit.” He mumbled to himself.

What Edward told the bailiff was a lie. He had no idea how he was supposed to make a new poster. Not when he knew what he had to leave behind.
The explicit content wasn’t even the point. Not really. It was about whether or not he was allowed to live up to his potential. People didn’t have to like what he painted. Maybe it really was a tad too spicy for most. But at least it should be for each person to decide for themselves. That’s all he could really ask for; a chance to make an impact.
But no. Apparently that was asking too much to ask. Art cannot be expected to be something as simple as a dialogue between artist and audience. Every single link in the chain between them takes it upon themselves to steer his medium in whatever direction is convenient to them. All he could ever hope for was to copy whatever generic drivel that all other artists had done since the dawn of time.

He looked back at the painting. What had earlier been his inspired treasure now appeared as a pile of angry red signs pinned over the canvas.
No. Edward had no intention to settle for anything less. This was his one chance to really be seen. Even if he had to resort to **** measures.
He swept away the stop signs so they fluttered gently to the floor. Rolling up the poster, he tucked it under his arm. He headed upstairs...