A Strange Meeting

The blistering cold atmosphere shrouded by its crystalline twilight embodied it’s presence over the dark Tamoe Highlands; the field which divided the two kingdoms of Lucil. The gloomy surroundings pierced the night sky, causing people to wonder what sort of menace was at work here; what evil had corrupted the lands of their beloved domain.
Gathering people crawled outside of the city walls, on both fronts; the kingdoms of Garthia, and Reynard. They stood in amazement, as sparks of light flickered over head, vaporising the darkness that should have been convenient, replacing it with the most beautiful pearl-like spheres; whose exterior was sheltered with tiny diamonds of exquisiteness.
The people turned their gaze to a larger sphere, more dominant, as it were. This orb was unlike anything anyone had ever seen; it’s splendour unmatched. The stone cold daze of every single soul; every human, had its eyes fixed on its occurrence, as it twirled in the sparkling sky, gleaming its magnificence for all to see.

People began to pace themselves, gradually moving their feet, eyes always focused on their objective; the sphere. They were drawn to its presence, drawn there by some unseen force, or perhaps, they were a victim to greed; all wishing to obtain this obsidian of absolute perfection. Whatever the reason, they all wanted the same thing. Every last person there wanted to touch this orb in the sky, before them.
As one of the kingdom members reached out for it, the others became slightly annoyed, agitated by what was happening. Before they knew it, their calm, peaceful, hands became weapons, as they fought each other for this object; this beauty. The greed in every single of them was reflecting the golden aura in each of their eyes, as they killed one another for the sake of this newly born object.
One by one, the slaughter went on, humans dying, fighting for the possession of this item. Eventually, one remained; a man by the name of Tarik. He was a great man, a blacksmith, from the kingdom of Reynard. He was a very respectable man; always there when his service was needed, and even when it wasn’t needed, he would be there to give a helping hand to anyone who needed it.
Grasping the golden sphere in his hands, he peered into its surface; curious of where this came from — it’s origin. Nothing like this had been seen before, so it was obvious to him that he was holding some sort of relic; an item that was clearly sought after. He held this item close to his chest, making sure his grip was tightly holding it; afraid someone would steal it from him.
Years past, times changed, kingdoms crumbled, and legends were created, and people’s theories blinded those who were imprudent enough to alter the truth. Stories were told, people were educated; wondering where this mysterious orb now lay. There were many different stories and films dedicated to exploiting the truth, but they were always altered in on way or another; never fully showing what happened.
A young boy strutted up to the building, hands lying lazily in his coat pockets, playing with the loose change he gained upon purchasing some goods for his mother, half-hour past. He tilted his head as he approached the suede doors; seemingly pondering about it’s interior. He let our a silent sigh, as he took the last few steps, before swinging the giant doors open with a keen thrust.
“Anybody home?” he muttered, echoing through the dark halls of the building.
There was no response. The boy gazed around, looking for someone he could possibly talk to. He walked towards the reception desk, peering over the counter, to find absolutely no one there. The boy then retreated back a few steps, before searching once more for someone, anyone, who could help him.
“Peter?”
‘Peter’ turned around, his gaze now fixed on the speaker of his name; searching needlessly to match their face to a name.
“Back again, I see. Hm, you’ll have to learn we won’t help you with every single need” alleged the woman, powerfully, with her strong voice.
Peter’s head tilted forwards, staring at the ground, as if the words of this woman have shunned his feelings, making him sad in the event that he could not get his own way. Removing his hands from his pockets, he brushed stray hairs from his face, and gently tucked them behind his ear.
“I understand…it’s just that, I’ve heard so much about this sphere, I need someone to actually help me find it!”
The young boy was keen, his will strong, on finding the legend of his homeland, Lucil. He wanted to experience, and understands, the beauty his people had witnessed over four thousand years before him. He was certain it lay dormant in this particular place, but had no one to help him excavate it.
The woman shook her head, and walked forwards towards Peter. She patted him softly, on his cushioned hair, comforting him, before strolling off down one of the larger corridors; her feet creating constant echoes of footsteps in her wake.
“I’ll get it…with or without help, I’ll get it” thought Peter, as he thudded the doors open, once more, with his hands; this time, more quickly and powerfully, to match his newly acquired mood.
The streets of New Reynard were silent; the day was drawing to an end, as the bright sun sunk behind the surrounding mountains. Clouds were growing darker, as rain began to trickle from their interior; showering the city, making a melody of frequent drumming, as it landed onto the earth.
Peter peered up, staring into the clouds, before sitting down, peacefully, in the rain. He loved the rain; loved to be in it because of its glorifying touch, its caring aura of water. He just sat there, embracing the cold, damp, atmosphere, as he pondered existence, just as he always did when he was sat in the rain. The young boy wondered…about the sphere, more than anything. What importance does it have to the world? Why is it here? There were a lot of questions that he wanted, but was afraid, to discover.
Hours past, and the rain moved on, revealing the midnight sky, and the all of its stars, intertwined its beautiful crescent. Peter stood up, soaked with water, he waltzed off down a road leading to his home; water trickling down his spherical visage.
As he unlocked his door, he walked inside, taking his shoes off at the door, and planting them beside his families, before taking off his coat and placing it on a hanger. His family were long asleep, and he feared to wake them, so he simply ran upstairs to bed; pulling his blankets over his head, and dreaming of this sphere-like relic he desired to obtain.
Morning arose, and he jumped out of his tiny bed. As he did so, he fluffed his pillow, and placed the blankets back over his bed. Peter spoke to none of his family, still, and walked out of the door, slamming it behind him, as he hastily walked off into the bustle streets of New Reynard.
He was engulfed in desire to find this sphere, he was determined, and today, he would find it. After 2 years of research, and revising the theories, and so called “truth” on this event that took place 4000 years ago, he was determined, and sure, he would find it today; alone, if he had to.
Running towards the mountains, Peter swung his arms as he ran as fast as he could. Before coming to the edge of town, he crossed the bridge that separated the settlement from the grasslands of Lucil; but it wasn’t very far to the mountain range, still.
As he approached the mountains, there was a rather unexpected sound emerging from the depths of a cave; somewhere that had previously been explored many a time. The roaring noise became more frequent, and thunderous, as he stepped towards it. His necklace that was passed onto him from the generations of fathers seemingly began to fluctuate, as he got nearer, and nearer.
Approaching even further still, the tiny bead on his necklace sprouted a neon-glow of blue, as it fired a tiny laser of accuracy into a small gap in the cave wall; causing an explosion of rock as it fell crumbled away, revealing a compartment within the caves.
Peter approached it, his heart racing faster than it ever had, clutching at his chain to steady it. Slowly walking towards the inner area of the wall, he glared at a metallic shrine in front of him; he basked at its glory, for it was shunning a powerful aura of energy, sparking at the corners, where energy was leaping from its body.
The boy walked towards the memorial; drips of sweat dripping down his face, as he approached it steadily, wondering what this was. He finally stood right next to it, reaching his right arm out slowly, as he tapped the surface with his index finger; wondering if anything would actually happen.
There was a glare of blinding light, and Peter stood back, falling to the ground as he did so. His heart began to fluctuate even more, as the shrine hovered into the air, spiralling around in circles, like some sort of magic was in play here. There was a heart, tempered, voice coming from it, as it twirled in the air.
“Hahaha…so you think you can take my sphere, do you? Hahaha!”
All of a sudden, the top of the memorial blew off, revealing a travesty of golden beams piercing the cave walls, and ceiling. Peter closed his eyes, whilst throwing his hands in front of his face, to shield himself from the blinding light that was in play. He wished that he had never come here, that he had never revealed this sacred shrine that was before him now; scaring him into thinking about nothing but torment.
A man jumped out of the casket that was on the shrine, and walked towards Peter slowly; a golden sphere of beauty gently cradled in his arms, as he walked forwards, grinning as he did so. He spoke one more, in a more taunting manner.
“Peter, Peter, Peter…how dare you intrude my place of sleep. How dare you think you can steal my sphere! How dare you!”
Throwing his arm forwards, the man pierced Peter’s chest with his fist; revealing blood to drip from his lifeless body, as he fell backwards, lying completely on the floor; red liquid spurting from his mouth, as he choked in his own blood.
The man grinned, before turning around, and heading back into the casket one more, to lay dormant again, with his precious sphere of beauty; protecting it from anyone who thinks they can take it from him.
The mountains were once again silent…nothing could be heard, nothing was to be seen. The dark skies covered the twilight horizon, as day became a fragment of bliss.
…that is the tale, of the striking orb. The tale that has been since passed on from man to man; but, who could have passed on, when there was no one there but the boy? Theories have emerged, legends have been written, but no one knows for sure how the story came about.

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