A Tribute To Boredom And Stuff

Now now, don’t interrupt me, this will take even longer if you do. And there’s enough to tell as it is. Hold all questions to the end.

Strike heard a slight giggle at the end of that, almost as if the voice was enjoying this.

"Fine, I won’t ask until you’re done."

Good. On with the story, you came from a minor noble family of Canterlot, but quickly got bored. You left, and went adventuring. 300 years ago you settled in Ponyville. Almost at the border of the Everfree in fact, but that never really bothered you. As such, no one ever really bothered to come and see you, so you eventually became a recluse really, just working on some projects and analyzing things, finding what made them tick. You were brilliant at what you did, even if your magic put a slight limiter on that. Any enchanting or fire-based spell, you could pull off easily. You could cast the strongest of those spells for days before becoming tired. However, any other kind of spell would leave you gasping; the second floor you and the third you’d generally pass out.

Anyway, one day you were working on another of your projects. You wanted to make a more powerful creation than any you’d ever done before, and that required the both of us working in concert. Quite lucky really, if I hadn’t been helping chances are you wouldn’t have made it out. You left a slight gap in your protective spells, and made a last minute modification to the project which made it… well, explode.

Magical explosions are the worst, there are unpredictable side effects. As such, you were knocked out and lost all of your memories.

So, I brought you here, your hideout in case anyone ever came after you, and we stayed here until you woke up.

That’s pretty much it.

Strike still couldn’t remember any of this, but he hoped it to be true. Otherwise, he’d have to find out about himself, and that would be hard having been asleep for 300 years, everypony he knew would probably be gone.

"Wait,' Strike mused, "if I was asleep for 300 years, how am I not dead? That’s way beyond the average pony’s lifespan."

Well, you were in stasis. None of your body aged, and as such once you healed you would be your old self again. Luckily the healing process still worked, otherwise you wouldn’t have recovered.

"And what became of my other projects?"

Most perished when your house fell down, you’re wearing the remnants.

"What?"

Oh, I guess you forgot that too… You enchanted those scarves, did you think you just wore 4 for no reason? They pretty much became extra limbs, but you’ll have to break them in again. But be careful, there are so many enchantments on those things; you might blow yourself up again.

Strike closed his eyes, and tried to guess what the voice was yammering on about. He could feel the scarves, like he could feel his legs or horn, but it was stiff, and he couldn’t move it.

Throwing his will against the scarf, he felt it shudder slightly. Trying again, more forcefully this time, it juddered again, slightly more so than before. One final push later, and Strike felt the scarf start to move, completely under his direction.

Opening his eyes again, he whipped the black appendage back and forth, revelling in his success.

One down, a few thousand to go. The voice said with a slight giggle.

"What? Thousand?"

Yup, you compressed them. Get 4 scarves, compress into one. Repeat with every scarf you had. Compress 4 of those into 1, and continue like that until you only had 4.

"So… i'm wearing several thousand of these enchanted things?"

Exactly!