When Bastien had received his gift recipient, read what it was she had wanted...he had to laugh. How ironic, that he would get Phoebe, the one person on the list he had any kind of negative history with; more than that she wanted something for her Frey shrine (he had no idea what a medical college would require, so this seemed the better option). Was it blasphemy of some kind for an Ascended to prepare a shrine object for the Old Gods?
That was for Phoebe to decide, he supposed. She'd either use it or she wouldn't. Either way, he was still going to make sure it was beautiful: he had a reputation to uphold.
Thinking about shrines and Frey, a few things came to mind: flowers, sumptuous feasts, warm-toned colours. After an hour or so, he had drawn a sketch of a sculpted ornament that could hold incense or candles, shaped like a flower, with a bed of beautiful stones beneath. Something ornate, special. Not too dissimilar from the sorts of things he had seen his mother lay on her shrine to their Hindu Gods back home, though he had only the faintest memory of it.
He had the clay to sculpt and the paint to colour it; he needed the stones. Carrying a satchel around his shoulder he walked around the edge of the Oasis, looking just within the shore for any pieces of worn-down glass or especially attractive stones, picking them up as he came across them and holding them against the sample of his painted sculpture he had brought.
That was for Phoebe to decide, he supposed. She'd either use it or she wouldn't. Either way, he was still going to make sure it was beautiful: he had a reputation to uphold.
Thinking about shrines and Frey, a few things came to mind: flowers, sumptuous feasts, warm-toned colours. After an hour or so, he had drawn a sketch of a sculpted ornament that could hold incense or candles, shaped like a flower, with a bed of beautiful stones beneath. Something ornate, special. Not too dissimilar from the sorts of things he had seen his mother lay on her shrine to their Hindu Gods back home, though he had only the faintest memory of it.
He had the clay to sculpt and the paint to colour it; he needed the stones. Carrying a satchel around his shoulder he walked around the edge of the Oasis, looking just within the shore for any pieces of worn-down glass or especially attractive stones, picking them up as he came across them and holding them against the sample of his painted sculpture he had brought.
