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Folly of the Tomb Raiders

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Post by Luchta Dagda Sun Jul 25, 2021 2:25 pm

“An chuid eile galánta síoraí” The soft, melodic sound of the hooded figure’s voice seemed to echo within the indented ground. An overgrown sunken circle that to any other would seem little more than a pit or a hole long since lost of any significance. But the signs were there to those who knew what they sought, Luchta Dagda was one such person. The forrest that he found himself within was the very same he had been born under, it’s candies forming the only roof he would ever know for the first fifty years of his existence. It’s green corridors he would walk alongside his mother or patrol like the ancient creature he knew as his other parent. It was they who taught him of the many long since forgotten tombs of Gaiyans since past, Elves in particular had several ruins hidden by the earth that so many crossed without second thought. Beneath the moss, fines and grass of that sunken pit he recognised the shapes of an entrance, but it took him time to realise how to open such a path.

To do so he planted himself at the centre like a statue in memory of the one who rested below, but where they were typically stone he was a being of partly flesh and blood, the rest a mass of writhing branches and plant life. His feet, both turned to root like tendrils stretched out in every direction, slipping under the foliage to feel their way across the hidden stone till at last he found the carvings of words above the doorway. It was simple, not the protective measures meant for royalty, but enough to keep this noble scion at peace for hundreds of years. But the half blooded one, his long red hair slipping out from under a forest green hood, was there to interrupt their peace. When the words left his lips, they were recognised by the enchantments of that place and soon the creaking of stone underfoot caused an opening where the floor gave way, moss, dirt and other debris falling till it cascaded and covered the staircase which was only lit by what little light could reach.

The morning was still early and that meant the only sound the hybrid could hear was the song of birds, the gentle breeze against his hood and his nostrils were filled with every stench that was previously trapped beneath the earth. The ear on the right side of his face, the one currently made from his wooden workings, extended out as a branch of it’s own and gently slid the tip of his hood down until his face was revealed, a pale but handsome elven one with skin hinted by green to the extent on anyone else it would seem they could not be real. His mission was simple, enter the tomb and retrieve the diadem for the Elf’s descendant, but as much as the reward would be appreciated he cared more for the excitement and beauty of being the first to see the internal workings of such a tomb. Stories passed down claimed that several traps and tasks lay ahead before the burial chamber, enough so that no singular thief would likely pull it off. But he was one man, and one who was too busy entranced by the possibility of the expedition to care for whatever odds stood against him. His roots receded, his other foot returning to it’s elven fleshy appearance before slipping back into the boot he had previously removed, it was time to enter he thought.






Translation:

Irish Gaelic= The graceful rest eternal
Luchta Dagda
Luchta Dagda

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