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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required he watched … as it fell to the slate floor glinting its polished golden husk in the late morning sun it should’ve bounced, as any ring would of normalcy but this, it was NOT … leagues and lifetimes from it, actually its behavior betraying the dark matter within as it landed with a single loud thud - ‘too loud’, he thought, as he watched his dear little friend turn and trudge away down the shire path … he stood static to the floor head dipped and eyes peering suspiciously at it over half-lens spectacles - as if looking at the devil himself (not far from the truth) … and after an overlong consideration he stooped slowly and reached, pausing a moment (more debate) then pinched it between thumb and forefinger to lift it from the floor but … it stuck … he pulled harder, then harder yet and finally picked it off the stone tile - with much too much effort afforded an object of its diminutive size and this, as he placed it on the mantle beside him (leering at it all the more) quite disturbed him … so, as was his usual custom at such concerning moments he ‘humphed’ to himself, sat down on a leather hassock behind him and dug his pocket, deep … another pinch, this one unseen, and out came a wad of Old Toby straight into his churchwarden pipe and lit with care - weed-scented brume rings circling his straggly silver locks and disappearing high into the shadowed eaves along with his now shadowy thoughts … this simple gold ring had no simple history this was a dark object of malevolent intent forged in the fiery bowels of Mt Doom and melded with an evil power to obliterate all such talismans that had come before it and all to be made hence he knew its history well, as any wizard of import would and he knew with dreadful certainty that his life AND his path had now changed in a troubling and sobering way, and that nothing in his once bright and enjoyable existence would ever again … be the same.
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