Spring 2nd, 514 AV
Sunberth was a shykehole, Bishop had always known this about the city. But visiting the place again after so many years in the rest of the world really put that into perspective... Sunberth was the shykehole of everything. A stain on the pride of humanity! It was as fate had decreed. It was time to play the hand of fate and find some fun!
In the tent belonging to a man in his mid twenties who had barely gotten dressed yet, sat the very owner of the tent. His sleeping bag lying across one leg with a bare foot sticking out. The other leg lying across the ground half down into a pair of pants. But he didn't mind the cold or the fact that his stomach was rumbling for food. For inspiration had struck this young lad. His undivided attention went to the right hand that he was holding up in front of him. The goddess known as Syna in the background, throwing the shadow of a hand across his face. A shadow of bony fingers and a thin hand.
The possibilities were right before him!
Bishop had not utilized this magical discipline in ages. It would be an exciting adventure to explore and rediscover things he had forgotten over the years! What shapes could he imagine... Thousands. But they were intricate and the details hundredfold. Too much for him to even try to grasp. The first change should be simple. A test if he still held the power to morph his body into a new shape. He begun to rub his hand. The first test was simple. To elongate his little finger. Left index and thumb on either side of the finger. Slowly rubbing up and down the length. He imagined that he was physically thinning the finger and pushing it to be longer. Forming it like one would with dough. Feeding djed into the finger, imagining the finger stretch to conform to his image. Bones thinning and skin stretching to cover the finger.
A tired muscle in his back ached and it brought Bishop back to the world around him. Blinking several times he looked about. Must have been sitting there for a quarter of a bell. Amazed he looked at his hand again. He had felt so close to completing his test when he had been brought out of it. He clapped his hands together. Little fingers compared to each other. The right morphed one looked thinner. But he could barely see where the tip had been cut off. It was like he was no longer a deformed freak!
Bishop let out a loud cry of jubilation as he got out of the tent with his arms raised in victory! One leg in the pants, starved torso barely covered by more than a small shirt. He got a couple of odd looks from the people around him. He shrugged and ducked his head into the tent again, grabbed the pair of daggers he owned and the black shirt. He started getting dressed on what people referred to as the street. It was little more than a beaten path between the tents.
It was time to find the fun that he promised himself would come soon.
Sunberth was a shykehole, Bishop had always known this about the city. But visiting the place again after so many years in the rest of the world really put that into perspective... Sunberth was the shykehole of everything. A stain on the pride of humanity! It was as fate had decreed. It was time to play the hand of fate and find some fun!
In the tent belonging to a man in his mid twenties who had barely gotten dressed yet, sat the very owner of the tent. His sleeping bag lying across one leg with a bare foot sticking out. The other leg lying across the ground half down into a pair of pants. But he didn't mind the cold or the fact that his stomach was rumbling for food. For inspiration had struck this young lad. His undivided attention went to the right hand that he was holding up in front of him. The goddess known as Syna in the background, throwing the shadow of a hand across his face. A shadow of bony fingers and a thin hand.
The possibilities were right before him!
Bishop had not utilized this magical discipline in ages. It would be an exciting adventure to explore and rediscover things he had forgotten over the years! What shapes could he imagine... Thousands. But they were intricate and the details hundredfold. Too much for him to even try to grasp. The first change should be simple. A test if he still held the power to morph his body into a new shape. He begun to rub his hand. The first test was simple. To elongate his little finger. Left index and thumb on either side of the finger. Slowly rubbing up and down the length. He imagined that he was physically thinning the finger and pushing it to be longer. Forming it like one would with dough. Feeding djed into the finger, imagining the finger stretch to conform to his image. Bones thinning and skin stretching to cover the finger.
A tired muscle in his back ached and it brought Bishop back to the world around him. Blinking several times he looked about. Must have been sitting there for a quarter of a bell. Amazed he looked at his hand again. He had felt so close to completing his test when he had been brought out of it. He clapped his hands together. Little fingers compared to each other. The right morphed one looked thinner. But he could barely see where the tip had been cut off. It was like he was no longer a deformed freak!
Bishop let out a loud cry of jubilation as he got out of the tent with his arms raised in victory! One leg in the pants, starved torso barely covered by more than a small shirt. He got a couple of odd looks from the people around him. He shrugged and ducked his head into the tent again, grabbed the pair of daggers he owned and the black shirt. He started getting dressed on what people referred to as the street. It was little more than a beaten path between the tents.
It was time to find the fun that he promised himself would come soon.
