Shadows of the Shattered Orb

By Xander Duskwright

Mystical Artifacts and Ancient Prophecies (254 characters) Uncover the secrets of the mystical Orb and Talisman, powerful artifacts that hold the key to the fate of the Forgotten Realm. Delve into ancient prophecies that guide the characters' destinies and unravel the mysteries that have been hidden for centuries.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raven's Quill Publishing
• Release date: Apr 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224900503

Book preview

Shadows of the Shattered Orb

A Thief's Ascent Amidst the Echoes of a Forgotten Realm

Xander Duskwright

Copyright © 2024 by Xander Duskwright

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

Contents

1.The Heist of Fate

2.The Warring Factions

3.The Shadow Syndicate

4.The Forgotten Realm

5.The Double Agent

6.The Unlikely Allies

7.The Renegade Mage

8.The Gathering Storm

9.The Battle for Ravenscar

10.The Thief’s Ascent

Chapter one

The Heist of Fate

The night was dark and cold, the streets of Ravenscar slick with the remnants of an earlier rain. Lark moved silently through the shadows, his footsteps barely audible against the cobblestones. He pulled his cloak tighter around his lean frame, shivering as the chill seeped through his worn leather armor. The city’s oppressive atmosphere weighed heavily upon him, a constant reminder of the bleak reality he sought to escape.

As he approached the abandoned warehouse, Lark’s heart began to race, pounding against his chest like a caged bird seeking freedom. He had cased the building for weeks, observing the comings and goings of the various guards and merchants who frequented the area. Their conversations, overheard through cleverly placed informants and careful eavesdropping, had revealed the presence of a valuable artifact hidden within the warehouse’s walls.

Lark’s mind wandered to his past, to the events that had led him to this life of thievery and deception. Images of his childhood flashed before his eyes—the squalor of the orphanage, the gnawing hunger that had driven him to steal his first loaf of bread, the brutal beatings he had endured at the hands of the city watch when he was caught. These experiences had forged him into the man he was today, a survivor who relied on his wits and his skills to navigate the treacherous underbelly of Ravenscar.

Shaking off the memories, Lark focused on the task at hand. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a set of lock picks, his fingers deftly manipulating the tumblers until he heard the satisfying click of the lock releasing. With a quick glance to ensure he was unobserved, Lark slipped inside, carefully closing the door behind him.

The interior of the warehouse was cavernous, its high ceilings and sprawling floor space filled with crates and barrels of various sizes. The air was thick with the musty scent of aged wood and the faint, coppery tang of metal. Lark moved quickly, his eyes scanning the room for any signs of his target, his heart beating a staccato rhythm in his chest.

As he searched, Lark’s thoughts drifted to the stories he had heard whispered in the taverns and back alleys of Ravenscar—tales of a forgotten realm, of ancient magic and powerful artifacts that could reshape the world. He had always dismissed these stories as mere legends, the fanciful ramblings of drunken fools and hopeless dreamers. But now, as he stood on the cusp of his greatest heist, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was some truth to the rumors.

Suddenly, a glint of light caught Lark’s eye, snapping him out of his reverie. He moved closer, his breath catching in his throat as he realized what he had found. There, nestled among a pile of dusty crates, was a small, ornate box. Its surface was adorned with intricate engravings, the swirling patterns seeming to dance in the faint light. Lark’s hands trembled slightly as he lifted the lid, his eyes widening in disbelief as he beheld the object inside.

It was an orb, no larger than his fist, its surface swirling with an otherworldly energy. Hues of deep blue and shimmering silver shifted and coalesced within its depths, as if the very essence of the forgotten realm had been captured in the glassy sphere. Lark had never seen anything like it before, and he knew instinctively that it was valuable beyond measure.

With reverent hands, Lark lifted the orb from its resting place, gasping as a jolt of energy surged through his body the moment his fingers brushed against its smooth surface. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before—a rush of power and knowledge that left him breathless and dizzy. Images flashed through his mind in rapid succession—a great citadel rising from the mists, an army of shadows marching beneath a banner of darkness, a figure cloaked in light standing atop a mountain of shattered crystal.

Lark stumbled back, his heart racing as he struggled to make sense of the visions. He knew, with a certainty that defied rational explanation, that the orb was no mere trinket. It was a key to a world beyond his understanding, a gateway to a realm of magic and mystery that he had never imagined existed.

As he stood there, lost in thought, a sudden noise from outside the warehouse snapped Lark back to reality. Footsteps, heavy and purposeful, were approaching the entrance. He cursed under his breath, realizing that he had lingered too long, that his moment of awe had cost him precious seconds.

Thinking quickly, Lark scanned the room, his eyes falling on a small window set high in the wall. It was a tight fit, but he had no choice. Stuffing the orb securely into his pocket, Lark clambered up a stack of crates, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on the rough wood. With a grunt of effort, he hauled himself up to the window, pushing it open and wriggling through the narrow opening just as the warehouse door burst open behind him.

Lark dropped to the ground outside, rolling to absorb the impact. He could hear shouts of alarm from within the warehouse, the sound of booted feet pounding against the floor. Without a backward glance, Lark took off running, his cloak billowing behind him as he raced through the winding streets of Ravenscar.

His mind raced as he ran, trying to make sense of what had just happened. The orb, the visions, the forgotten realm—it was all connected, he was sure of it. But how? And what did it mean for him, for Ravenscar, for the world?

Lost in thought, Lark almost didn’t notice the shadowy figures that had appeared in the alleyway ahead of him. He skidded to a halt, his heart leaping into his throat as he realized he was surrounded. The figures wore dark cloaks and carried gleaming weapons, their faces hidden beneath deep hoods.