![[Image: Large-box-with-lid-WEB.jpg]](http://www.woodenboxcompany.co.uk/images/Large-box-with-lid-WEB.jpg)
At some point, some time, someone left behind a crate somewhere. Well, perhaps "crate" is too grandiose of a word for this little wooden box that was, in truth, no bigger than a Lalafell's head. Which, while indeed sizable considering the rest of their body, was not quite large enough for a box to attain "crate" status in most circles (unless you yourself were a Lalafell, since something the size of your head is quite large indeed to you!). So, in truth, at some point someone had left behind a box.
Most people ignored it, either stepping around or - if they were long enough of leg - over it and continuing on their way without paying it much heed. A few of the more socially conscious (or perhaps just grumpy and ready to vent on any inanimate object around them) pushed or kicked it out of the way. And so this box had come to a rest up against the wall of a building, looking quite battered indeed. If it possessed a face, it would most likely be frowning in dismay. But that would be a silly thing, for everyone knows that boxes do not have faces - at least not in the way you or I do.
How did this box get here? No, not up against the building - we knew that much already, or could reasonably assume it from the various footprints and other dents that decorated its surface. But what chain of events resulted in it ending up in the middle of the street which ultimately ended with it up against the building?
Had it fallen from a cart, trundling along behind a pair of overworked Chocobos? Had it simply been the topmost package on an unstable pillar of similar such containers carried by an individual of much brawn? Perhaps it had be purposely discarded, the owner no longer wanting anything to do with whatever contents were within it - if there were any at all.
And perhaps that was the more enticing quandary: the ephemeral mystery of what lay within the box itself. It had no label or engravings to identify what its contents might be or even to whom or to where it might be headed. Not even a number haphazardly marked on it to identify it as part of a set. Just a small, slightly battered wooden box. Though, a careful eye could tell that whatever rough jostling it had endured had also deformed the lid somewhat - leaving a bit of shadow visible through a gap tenuously kept from widening by a couple nails trying so desperately to uphold their purpose.
But should one simply open it? These were times of tribulation, of course, and what within might not be something that someone would like to find. Explosives, narcotics, a severed Lalafellan head (it was the proper size for it, after all!), any number of undesirables that the commonfolk might not want to be seen in the possession of.
On the other hand, it could also be something of value. Fine tapestries or an assortment of expensive jewelery. Perhaps an ancient artifact or family heirloom that was valuable in the sense that the original owner might pay a pretty gil to see it returned. Or maybe even an assortment of knicknacks that - while ultimately not worth much on the market - might be amusing or even handy to have on one's person!
So much unknown, so much mystery surrounding such a battered little box. What a position for a person to be put in, whomsoever might have their eye caught by its pathetic little form. Should they not just ignore it and walk away, they would find themselves wondering the simplest of questions:
What's in the box?
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