The Orb to Ponder

A wizard sits hunched in a creaking wooden chair, his fingers steepled in front of a long beard that cascades like a waterfall disappearing behind the cluttered desk in front of him. Books stacked in teetering towers whisper to one another in forgotten tongues, and enchanted quills scratch notes to themselves upon open pages and worn scrolls. His pointed hat, faded and slightly singed at the brim, sits discarded on the desk beside a petrified frog and a brass key that no longer opened anything in this world. At the centre of this semi-organised chaos sits the leather box, placed directly in front of the old man in a small space that has been cleared of clutter.

A white cat perches silently on a shelf above, tail twitching, watching as the wizard carefully opens the box with gnarled and twisted fingers, the room falls silent, and a gasp escapes his lips. The polyhedral orb sits in its box and catches the light of the flickering candles and wall torches, casting shifting rainbows across the wizard’s face and the stone walls of his cluttered tower office. He had peered into this relic many times, but tonight it felt... different. Heavy. Yet somehow lighter than morning dew.

Slowly, he reaches for his hat—not out of need, but habit and places it on his head with reverence. As he whispers incantations older than the mountain upon which his tower was built, the cluttered room grew still, the air thick with the power of ancient magic. The dancing coloured lights seemed to focus on the doorway where you stand looking in, unnoticed by the old wizard.

“What is it?” You ask in a soft voice.
Without even looking up the Wizard gestures for you to sit in a plush seat in front of his desk
“An orb….to ponder….”