Lord of the Button

In ancient days, it is said, the thick dark forests of the young world steamed and rang with the sounds of creatures whose progeny and kin are so unlike their current cousins that most modern folk would think the very description nothing but the fever dream of an unsettled rarebit fiend.

Such as these were wandering the unseen ends of the Earth, when all the lands had different contours, and no maps were drawn except as hasty scratches in the dirt. Doubtless the hearts of men were bent on raw and rough survival, while the beasts and other things held the night.

In those times tales were told of some who had ventured into the foothills of the Northeastern mountains in search of a rare circular artifact whose hue was somewhat betwixt golden and scarlet and whose barely-heard whispers spoke of online casino USA and other fabulous wonders. Yet none returned, nor was any trace or hint left for the anxious survivors who, after all, had warned them that it was not to be.

Yet still there was, every generation or so, born into the heart of one sensitive to the matters of the ethereal world a compulsion to hunt and delve, a drive to explore and unearth. And nothing fired the flames of their adventurousness like the tale of this lost icon, a tales whose details became distinctly incorrect with each untutored repetition.

So in the year of the monkey’s locust, with the fresh memory of the past winter’s dearth and the hard season of drought ahead, that a trio of likely lads embarked upon the foothill path. No cajoling or threatening could dissuade them from their reckless and feckless approach, no promise of online slots would stay their indiscreet course, nor could the tender arms of the eldest’s betrothed quite match the enthralling arms of unknown potential glory.

The youngest, alas, was a wee touched. In a dream he’d seen the orb, or remembered seeing it in a previous dream, or had the memory of a dream-memory from a dream that had never happened. The middle lad was actually pretty unremarkable.