Myth of the Glowing Church

The Myth about the Glowing Church goes like this:
The mist broke on a tree-shrouded haze. The light was filtered. A horse wet with perspiration licked at the dew-covered wall for moisture. Through the stained glass of a church window, a light could be seen, glowing, then withering, only to glow brightly once more. This light was not though bright, or intense, but the distance it travelled through the moistened air, was immense. It flickered over the twisted trees of the grove and exploded into small shafts of light when it met the due that covered the green new season leaves of the closest trees.
The scene began to disappear as once again the mist rolled in, this time it approached from the lake with such a speed and thickness, to leave a moment later, only an impression of the building and movement in the eye of our sinister beholder. The lake was not a large one, with only a hundred feet separating both the heavily wooded shores at this berth. The water was warmer than the air by some degrees in this early morning chill. There was though more to the gloom than traditional late winter frost. A figure, now under the cover of this great white shroud, approached the old moss-covered building. Passing the horse the shadow stopped and examined the crest on the saddle. He had found his man. The fight would soon be over.
Inside the church, the man of royal blood lay drooped at the base of an immense altar. The front of this was open ajar, revealing an inner ark or void in which the light was emitting. The stranger approached, but the silence was no longer needed for the man on the floor was dying and could only hope for a quick and painless end. "You can not hope to control this power, Dobberdon? It is even too great for all your powers." Said the king aching with the wounds of the three-day battle with his adversary.
"Control it, Oh Zullionon" he laughed "you have, even at death miss read my intentions. I plan not to control it. You are right it would be too much even for me to master, but to let it, in every way, control me. To try to fight for its control would be fatal, but to open myself up to its immense power would grant me such power as to make your long-lived line, pale into total insignificance."
Dobberdon paused for a moment and then continued. "What a fitting place for the last ruler of the east to end his days, in homage at his new master's feet."
"You are totally mad," coughed the king now beginning to choke on his own blood filling up his lungs. "The Star is more cunning than even you imagine. I have now no fear for the future for I know it will consume you in an instant," another long pause, then, "Leaving nothing. It is for those that will follow in the years to come that I feel fearful for. They do not know of its power and its strength. I can already feel its power leaving our time for another somewhere a long way into the future. It is not I who has fallen, Dobberdon, but you. A dying man has seen all and can now rest."
The last of that noble line now lay on the cold and blooded stone at the base of this the greatest of tombs in the eastern lands. The dark figure now approached and took hold of the star, holding it aloft in full view of the king.
"You speak of power king, but this is the only sauce of power the gods will honour. Oh, death will be such a pity, such a waste of time, you could have at least have seen the murder and destruction to your people that will now fall upon them. Such a convenient ends as if you want me to do this alone and unaided by your noble hand.
Oh, you fool Dobberdon"; He looked concerned but still powerful. "That is it, the king is dead, no one can blame a dead king, oh what a trap I have fallen into, he will become a martyr, a saint in his people's eyes. We shan’t let that happen shall we king. I will say you begged for mercy, cried like a child and but". he did not finish the sentence.
Dobberdon lent over and looked at the dead king at his feet, lifting his head he let out a godforsaken scream that carried such a distance as never before covered by a human sound. The silence that followed the cry was so cold in its intensity that indeed nature seemed to hold its breath awaiting the outcome of some unspoken terror. "Even in death, you are a bastard of an enemy Zullionon. To kill you was not enough. It is now your peoples turn to die." At that Dobberdon reached into the cage that surrounds the light. Reaching in he coursed the ball, felt its smoothness, rubbed its polished sides and bathed in its light and power. The Star was now his. Power was now his.
The light was now gaining in intensity. Somehow playing to the attention, shimmering just a little bit more with each touch of each core. Brighter and brighter the light glowed until Dobberdon himself had to turn away, not able to control some of its actions. The light just grew, beams of light exploded outward through the forest, seemingly clearing the forest of both life and mist in its wake. The church now glowed with a radiance not known on the world in many a lifetime. The star had returned, all-consuming all searching, all unnatural. Then the light so bright one instant, disappeared the next, the forest once again was deadly quiet and the church was void of life and body.
The altar was once again closed, the light was once again hidden away in its crypt. Of the men well neither the evil Dobberdon nor the dead King Zulluinon was left in our earthly bound. Body and soul were consumed within that light, taken forever from this world. Then a moment later the forest began to wake from its fear. The mist so consuming only a few moments earlier lifted and the distant calling of a farm dog could be hared through the woods. It seems the star was not willing to make its return. Yet!
One day another long line of noblemen will produce a son who will try to wake up this evil, achieving what I am uncertain. That though they will try is inevitable, these bloody noblemen seem too drunk with their own importance to worry about games with gods. That is however another story and well into the distance of Exflora’s future history.
So is the Myth of the Glowing Church. There is a version of this in many cultures and many believe the church is still to be found and the light is still waiting for the next victim or saviour.