Zyrid shrugged and sighed, some God somewhere was getting back at him for something, because these mortals were strangely perceptual. Very well, if he must move this once, then he shall. So, for the first time in many a year, the Keg disappeared and a fly appeared in its place. The wood and dirt shifted into hairy black skin and the ring shrunk along with it.

Buzzing up onto the ceiling, the fly looked around until it found a suitable spot to rest. For now, it would sit above the fire. Thus, the tiny wings flapped in a zipping motion forward and as the comparably giant beings below enjoyed the hearths warmth, the fly landed on the mantle above it. In an instant and unobserved, the fly became a dark stone of the deepest purple around thumb sized.

"Here will do, I suppose..." Zyrid muttered to himself as he stood and walked over to the bookcase in front of him, the books towering over him far into the sky above. He instructed [i]rest[/i] and so the mimic rested and became static, as its master searched for his books on fire and smut, the embers of the fire below the stone fluttered by in dancing lights.