Post by Joshua on Sept 27, 2011 17:23:02 GMT -5
A small shack sat at the base of a mighty mountain range. Rumor had it there was treasure untold to be had amongst the Rocky Giants, as the locals called the massive mounds of earth and rock.
On the shack a wooden sign painted with gold letters read, "Gold Huntin". Below in smaller print was, "Ask the proispector". It looked as though it had been written by a child with only the vaguest idea of how writing worked, and with no spelling skills to speak of.
Outside the humble shack was a tall, wiry, scruffy-looking old man, snoring loudly. He was dressed in a red and white checker shirt with blue overalls and a large cowboy hat. He wore sturdy, weather-stained boots and had a equally care-worn coat hanging next to his chair. He had a rosy complexion, with eyes as bright and blue as the sky, and a squashed, tomato shaped nose. He had a wiry, white moustache and beard that was draped on his round pot-belly. When he smiled you could see several teeth missing, and due to his hard hearing he shouted most of the time.
Still, you couldn't find a more reliable guide anywhere in the "Westirn side of the Rocky Gian's!".
Next to the old man was a goofy looking old hound dog, curled up next to the old man. He had short brown fur, floppy ears that he often tripped over, and a drooping, sad face. How he could sleep through his master's thunderous snores was anyone's guess; he was rather deaf, but his sense of smell was "keener than a starvin' bear huntin' for meat!".
The old man's name was Jack, but most people either called him the "Prospector", or "that crazy old kook". His faithful companion was called Ol' Reliable, as named by his master.
If one could look past the wrinkles and the dirt, you could almost see the once-youthful face of a mountaineer of a time long since past.
Great treasure could be had...if one was willing to entrust their lives into the quavering hands of the "Old Kook".
On the shack a wooden sign painted with gold letters read, "Gold Huntin". Below in smaller print was, "Ask the proispector". It looked as though it had been written by a child with only the vaguest idea of how writing worked, and with no spelling skills to speak of.
Outside the humble shack was a tall, wiry, scruffy-looking old man, snoring loudly. He was dressed in a red and white checker shirt with blue overalls and a large cowboy hat. He wore sturdy, weather-stained boots and had a equally care-worn coat hanging next to his chair. He had a rosy complexion, with eyes as bright and blue as the sky, and a squashed, tomato shaped nose. He had a wiry, white moustache and beard that was draped on his round pot-belly. When he smiled you could see several teeth missing, and due to his hard hearing he shouted most of the time.
Still, you couldn't find a more reliable guide anywhere in the "Westirn side of the Rocky Gian's!".
Next to the old man was a goofy looking old hound dog, curled up next to the old man. He had short brown fur, floppy ears that he often tripped over, and a drooping, sad face. How he could sleep through his master's thunderous snores was anyone's guess; he was rather deaf, but his sense of smell was "keener than a starvin' bear huntin' for meat!".
The old man's name was Jack, but most people either called him the "Prospector", or "that crazy old kook". His faithful companion was called Ol' Reliable, as named by his master.
If one could look past the wrinkles and the dirt, you could almost see the once-youthful face of a mountaineer of a time long since past.
Great treasure could be had...if one was willing to entrust their lives into the quavering hands of the "Old Kook".