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Myron Epimetheus
Excellent notes followed by a question of meaning – truly this is the most promising visitor he has had in quite some time. Not yet a scholar in his own right perhaps, but one who just might produce some quality work given the right encouragement. And true scholarship is a thing that is so very hard to find these days and one must be always consulting the classics for so very little of any matter is being written despite how intriguing these times have proven to be. The little man murmurs his frustration and shakes his head considering the appalling lack of scholars among so many self-styled wanderers of worlds and planes. “Adventurers!” The word is clearly a pejorative. “So little they contribute of any use in all their questing and struggling and slaughtering of things and plundering of treasures. As if the very essence of gaming was something so trivial as the effective wielding of a weapon or the casting of the appropriate combination of buff spells – things that can easily be settled by something as mindless as the tossing of dice and the consulting of charts!” The little man’s voice rises above its usual soft murmuring and while no dramatic flashes of power accompany this event there is a stirring among the scattered and scribble covered napkins – those small square napkins which are so wonderful for the writing down of things – a stirring as if the information within them were suddenly awakened by his voice.
“What indeed is the meaning of all of this?” His voice drops into its more accustomed key as he turns to his visitor and the anger is replaced by a not of companionable fondness. The stirring within the napkins ceases and the tree house is filled with a stillness that lends a striking clarity to the little man’s words. “Meanings are things well worth seeking, boy. But they must be sought and at times that seeking requires the movement of more than the mind, although the mind must move, mind you. And you seek a meaning that must be found and pursued and mastered elsewhere.” Within the sunken sockets that once housed eyes, a bright silver light gleams with a peculiar and piercing brightness. “Two of you there are, boy, faced with a similar problem for the two of you are each but half of a duality, and that there should be not a single duality but a pair of such things within one game is a thing of no small consequence. A single such duality would be a remarkable matter, but a pair of dualities – such a thing is wondrous indeed. And to think that a pair of pairs such as this has been forged by the bringing to an end of yet another pair!” Seeing the mixture of confusion and focused thought upon his visitor’s face, the little man nods his agreement, “Yes, yes indeed. The permutations are truly staggering. To say nothing of the implications of such a thing as this .......”
“I shall send you to him. Yes, yes, that is what must be done for nothing else will do in a situation such as this.” There is a firm decisiveness in his voice as he continues, “Elsewhere within this game is one named Larry Silverfall, torn free from the Modding Mage by arrows made by that one whose origin is in an alien game. Elsewhere as well, in a place that was once the home of that clan named for a rather stuffy supporting character in a popular CRPG is that aspect of yourself whose bitterness has never left this game. Two of you there are, uncertain and weak. Two others there are, powerful and sure. Yes, it is clear. I shall send you to this Larry Silverfall – an impetuous boy, you know, who could benefit from a thoughtful companion.”
Dessicated arms begin to move with a surprising and graceful ease and the temperature within the room drops by several degrees. Still the gleam within the little man’s sunken sockets remains fixed upon his visitor. “All is ready,” he says and chuckles merrily. “They thought to enclose him in place where magic cannot be used. Foolish, foolish adventurers – all tactics and no genuine insight about the lot of them! Anti-magic indeed! As if all magic were dependent upon weaving and anti-weaving and as if the Forgotten Realms were the only setting worth speaking of!” Dried lips curl in what seems to be a smile. “Simplicity itself to bypass such a thing as this.” The key of his voice changes suddenly once more, “Remember this well, boy, for failing to learn this lesson brought Modding power to its bitter defeat. There are game worlds other than the Forgotten Realms – far more ancient and over whom the Realms and its deities have no claim. Among those games is one whose rejection of such things as the weave is absolute and uncompromising. Such a game has asserted itself within these threads from that moment when the light and spammy humor of the original posts began to give way a more grim and epic tone.”
Reaching into the pockets of his robe the little man withdraws a small key made of bone. Giving it to his visitor he says, “Be not hindered by that which is locked.” Once again his hands begin to move. The temperature drops yet further and the all is bathed in a greenish light.
Interjection Within Larry’s cell the temperature also drops. A greenish light of fluctuating shape appears in the center of the cell. The intensity of the light increases and it allows none to pass through it.
“It is time for you to leave, boy. Seek well for meaning, for meaning is well-worth the seeking.” The interior of the treehouse begins to lose its tangible aspect and the faint outlines of another place begin to appear, a room with more than one occupant. Even as tangibility fades within the treehouse a skeletal hand closes its fingers around the visitor’s arm and a book, a well bound leather covered journal of many blank pages, a bottle of ink and several pens, are thrust into his hands. Tucked into the spine of the book is a sturdy ruler made of silver. “Do not forget, boy, that things are never so busy nor so dangerous that one cannot pause a moment or two for the taking of notes.”
For a moment all is intangible, and then there is a sudden increase in the intensity of the green light. The little man’s visitor steps out of the blinding green light into a room containing a frightened man and a snarling creature, both of whom are blinking there eyes in the wake of the flaring of the light.
Larry, I trust this does the job.
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