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Myron Epimetheus
“How marvelously useful!” the little man exclaims. “Of course the manipulation and bending of dimensions upon themselves is no easy thing to do, but of course it is a thing that can be done.” He stops then, muttering to himself in low and rapid tones. He shakes his head in frustration and begins to pace. He is like this for a few moments, completely lost in the movement of his thinking, and then suddenly stops and looks at Brendan. “I require an arrow.”
The puzzled young man hands him a silver-tipped arrow from his quiver.
Rummaging through his satchel, the sage removes what seems to be a moldering burlap sack which he unfolds so that he might measure its length against that of the arrow. “Yes, yes,” he mutters, “this would seem to be of suitable dimensions, provided that these dimensions are suitable for bending and manipulating.” Turning to Brendan he attempts to explain, “You see, my young friend, it is often the case that when one finds suitable dimensions for a thing such as this that the dimensions themselves are not entirely suitable for bending.” Without troubling himself about the confused look on Brendan’s face the little man says, “Your quiver. Empty it and give it to me.”
As soon as the empty quiver is in his hands, Myron looks at the young man and speaks quickly in yet another strange collection of syllables. A shimmering globe of light and energy surrounds Brendan. “O! Do not mind the enchantment.” the sage speaks as if such things were quite natural, “there is always the danger of sudden explosions .... O! Yes, or even worse things .... when one attempts a procedure such as this.”
ooc: Brendan It is difficult to see or hear clearly through the globe. Flashes of color and strange hissing sounds reach your eyes and ears and at one point, it seems as if the dimensions of the room itself had suddenly curved sharply out of their normal arrangement.
Lord Starshadow - Your character would certainly have noticed the sounds and colors of the process as well as a sudden and brief twisting of the entire treehouse as if space itself were suddenly warped for a second or two
With a word, the sage dispels the shimmering globe that surrounds Brendan and hands him his quiver which looks no different. Once the arrows are returned to its confines, however, there remains room for many more. A final time the cold and lifeless fingers of the sage tighten around Brendan’s wrist. “Mark this well, my young friend. Those who seek to defeat the might of so great a Hunger as this had best be the masters of the hidden hungers of their own hearts.” Releasing the young man’s wrist, he says simply, “Now go to these new friends of yours and should you find anything that might interest a curious scholar, remember old Myron.” Aware once more of the chill within his bones, the little man turns to refill his mug with something warm to drink.
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