bigscoop
Gold Member
- Joined
- Jun 4, 2010
- Messages
- 13,541
- Reaction score
- 9,086
- Golden Thread
- 0
- Location
- Wherever there be treasure!
- Detector(s) used
- Older blue Excal with full mods, Equinox 800.
- Primary Interest:
- All Treasure Hunting
- #1
Thread Owner
His hands were fragile and old, the power and strength they once possessed all but gone in his declining years. His eyes weren't much better, the flame of the candle reflecting in the lenses of the reading glasses perched on his nose. The room is small, a crackling fire across the way warming its rustic space.
As he sits at the faded wooden table he brushes the dust from the old leather diary in his hands, a scurrying mouse taking the opportunity to find hiding in the pile of cut limbs. The old man smiles, his scurrying friend has no need to fear him. And then the diary is opened, the taking of a little time to glimpse into his own past.
“In this diary will be all that remains of my life, the secrets to all of the possessions I have hidden away on this earth. Items of gold, silver, coin, jewels and gems. My adventures and cause require me to scatter my means throughout so that I will always have resource. I know much of this will be laid without return and that it will remain as I lay it long after my eventual passing, but such is required and so it must be. So it is that within this diary I will detail each cache so that after my passing someone of good soul will share my adventures and what remains of them with others who seek the thrill of adventure and discovery.”
The old man slowly closes the diary and he set's it atop the other two, his mind quietly reflecting on the fifty-years that have since passed. Someday his diaries will arrive into the hands of an honorable man. It is his greatest wish that this man will provide means in such a way that others will learn of his adventures one cache at time.
Spotting his little friend's head peaking out of the woodpile the old man shares a few soft spoken words with him. “Ah my little friend. You and I believe all future events can be controlled with precision and certainty. Let us pray that we are not wrong.” And with these spoken words the old man rises up and he blows out the candle. This old man has been dead some two hundred years now and still the three books containing the story of his life have yet to surface. Who might be the chosen one?
As he sits at the faded wooden table he brushes the dust from the old leather diary in his hands, a scurrying mouse taking the opportunity to find hiding in the pile of cut limbs. The old man smiles, his scurrying friend has no need to fear him. And then the diary is opened, the taking of a little time to glimpse into his own past.
“In this diary will be all that remains of my life, the secrets to all of the possessions I have hidden away on this earth. Items of gold, silver, coin, jewels and gems. My adventures and cause require me to scatter my means throughout so that I will always have resource. I know much of this will be laid without return and that it will remain as I lay it long after my eventual passing, but such is required and so it must be. So it is that within this diary I will detail each cache so that after my passing someone of good soul will share my adventures and what remains of them with others who seek the thrill of adventure and discovery.”
The old man slowly closes the diary and he set's it atop the other two, his mind quietly reflecting on the fifty-years that have since passed. Someday his diaries will arrive into the hands of an honorable man. It is his greatest wish that this man will provide means in such a way that others will learn of his adventures one cache at time.
Spotting his little friend's head peaking out of the woodpile the old man shares a few soft spoken words with him. “Ah my little friend. You and I believe all future events can be controlled with precision and certainty. Let us pray that we are not wrong.” And with these spoken words the old man rises up and he blows out the candle. This old man has been dead some two hundred years now and still the three books containing the story of his life have yet to surface. Who might be the chosen one?