[youtube]1vXj-eT3rF4[/youtube]
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With a final hoist the miqo'te successfully snagged the stone foot of the statue above her, disturbed dust and dirt wafting into the air around her movements... the dust of a millennia that danced about to settle elsewhere. She rubbed her illuminated goggles across her arm with a small grumble, wiping away the excess grime. Textured gloves allowed her grip to remain firm while muscles and ropes did the rest to assist in her ascension of the towering monument. Slowly the process continued, each tug of the rope and readjusted footing bringing her ever closer to the prize above.Â
The temple was dark and damp; flora collected around the cracked floors that flooded with still water, bringing forth a new life to this untouched corner of the realm. Beyond crumbling walls, filtered rays of sunlight barely reached the inner sanctum. Yet it was not enough to shed visibility upon the silent, standing guardians within who remained ever cold and ever vigilant. They were left hidden, cloaked in eternal shadow. Forgotten champions of old, safeguarding the paths leading deeper into the ancient structure.Â
But even as they stood the test of time, adventurers new and old courageously advanced upon their home, combating the ancient traps and deciphering the complexities of archaic language to open secret chambers. Much of the temple had been picked clean. Often the redhead wondered just how much gil they earned with such plunder. Shortly did it always follow with a disappointed shake of her head.Â
Nay, she did not sell her prizes like the greedy children of this age. Neither did she collect, unless they could be protected upon her very person. What benefit did artifacts and relics serve to sit upon some wealthy man's mantle, pried from their home and displayed as stolen rewards? Was it the accomplishment, the daring feat of coming back alive? Or was it the display of blatant wealth? Once more would her head bob with displeasure.Â
It was a challenge, certainly. So few found success in their ventures, and even fewer managed to return with proof of their deeds. The diminutive miqo'te reveled in the challenge. It was one of the few pleasures in her life she could work towards unobstructed by societal demands. It oft came at the price of loneliness that she worked in solitude, hiding away from prying eyes as she delved deep into dungeons of old. It was a small price of course, save that a fatal mistake would leave her fending for herself.Â
Enough practice permitted her the revelation of new skills. By her first decade into the business of treasure hunting, she was her very own veritable party of one and a jack of all necessary trades.Â
A pebble tumbled down the length of the statue as she continued her climb, the sound echoing off the stone walls to break the otherwise peaceful silence. One velvet ear twitched as silver eyes roamed, searching the area with a hint of suspicion before refocusing on the head of the guardian. Releasing her hold on the grappled rope, she pulled herself atop his shield arm, tail twisting about to assist in her balance as she scrambled to the top. Once there she sighed heavily, allowing herself a moment to rest her taut limbs.Â
She sat with her back against the shield, facing the stern features of the immortal effigy to silently admire the faceted blue gems that were his eyes. He stared onward into the distance beyond her form, watching for those who had yet to return, lips pressed thin and straight as the masculine jaw framing them. Stoic was the word she would use as she contemplated his angled features. While his face was otherwise bland, the crystals resting as eyes in his sockets were topped by a pair of heavy eyebrows that drew downwards into a furrow. Unconsciously she reflected this stare, pondering inwardly about the choice of such an expression. Was he once a creature lost deep in thought, or did he disapprove of being made into a timeless object?
Contemplation was met with silence as he continued to stare ahead, looking ever forward for eternity. Her eyes faltered, moving away from the unwavering gaze before she pushed herself back onto her feet. Carefully she climbed up his shoulder to gain a better view of his skull. A helmet had been carved atop it with intricate details lining the edges. He was once a man of status, she deduced, a man of their army who had earned his keep. Perhaps this is why he scowled for eternity.Â
She scanned the decorated helm until her keen eyes noticed a visibly cut triangle resting at the center of his helmet, just atop the glabella bone. The miqo'te gently pressed it with two fingers, and with a grating click it slid deeper into the stone head. Both hands moved to pry open the lid, pushing it away carefully and just enough to reach inside. Eagerly she adjusted her goggles, directing their illumination into the pitch blackness. A glint of reflected metal shown from within, and thus did she reach in, attempting to lift up her prize.Â
A simple, forged case, no larger then her forearm was procured and placed carefully on the edge of the statue's cranium. Words had been carved into the top, wrapping around the simple leather strap that kept the lid in place. By all accounts, this item was left unprotected due to its surprisingly secret spot. A small smile curled the corner of her lips as her eyes glittered with delight. It had taken her several turns of the sun wandering the temple's open halls, examining the statues and studying their engraved hints. None had thought to consider that their metaphors could be taken so literally.Â
Gently the redhead pried open the lid to retrieve the only object within: a scroll wrapped and tied about a wide wooden spool. Fascinated, she eased herself down onto the shield arm once again. The temple's history was written within a multitude of tomes and even carved into the very walls themselves. Only upon the rare occasion were parts of their chronicled events stored away. Her eyes scanned the first visible lines, translating with an ease and familiarity known only to a select few.Â
“Memoir,†she uttered aloud whilst withdrawing a hideous journal from her satchel. Its edges were frayed, and the leather was weak and faded. The first several leaves were dried and flimsy, and only as the parchment continued to the back did it visibly progress to newer writing material. Pages upon pages were adhered to the inner spine over time, filling out the old journal as much as possible to the point that it was overflowing. The leather band keeping it tied together was a thick strap, binding down the leaves so as to avoid an accidental explosion.Â
Opening it to the newest page, the miqo'te rested it upon her lap for note-taking as she began to read the scroll... immersing herself in its hidden wonders. What did the stern man have to say that it was so carefully housed within his head? It played upon a cruel irony that his words were locked away in his own mind never to be revealed to the world. But this redhead would eat her fill of his thoughts, and restore his true immortality beyond the cold prison of a statue.
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![[Image: 69fbe5a5-e728-4b74-9d3c-ec2b3729ea62.jpg]](http://s705.photobucket.com/user/serenitybane1992/media/art/69fbe5a5-e728-4b74-9d3c-ec2b3729ea62.jpg.html)
Original artwork by Kate-Fox (DA)
