The tale of the Port Charlotte King Tro Na Linntean

Heavy shield and the peat have carried forward and backward in time’s endless turn. Old ones used to tell the story of the ancient King called Tro Na Linntean by his enemies. He was of the same age, only 10 bruichcycles old. But his tongue, it was filled with wit and it was sharpened to slip hair. With it, one sweep could bite off unwanted visitor’s ear ten paces away. Born in a long and proud lineage, elder brothers and sisters all gained glory, victories and name for themselves. This young King could not be any lesser than those already passed away and carven in the walls of history. And he did created a name for his honor. Never to be forgotten. You only have to whisper it, and it will echo through your ears like a massive sound of gargantuan brass bell. Shaking the foundation and waking up the peat beneath your feet. Such is the power and the feeling.

Elder brother, An Ataireachd Ard, was a sorcerer and lord combined. Mighty in power, but dwelled more in the peat than in the fields of open fire. Powerful was his spell and art, complex was his mind. These two brothers, they are like from different realms of existence linked by only a few cords of life. That link was forged to last, and to strike back even after the vessel of their essence was emptied of Beatha.

They yet don’t know it, but one day a offspring, the Peat Project, will emerge from their forges of wild mind, as they set the wheels of the future into unstoppable motion.

The legend will continue..

Port Charlotte – A journey through savage peat lands

Ironclad boots echo, through the long forgotten forest. Ancient terrain, forefather’s rituals and long gone fauna have forged the realm into fragments of memories, stories and legends told by bonfires. Here in this place, those great feats were accomplished. Here, the giants were slain, blood was born and it burned fierce. It is here, where the king peat and queen earth hungrily devoured what remained on these adventurous fields. It is here, where Norse gods slept on those mounds,Vikings rallied and people of the forest forged the steel and the dram. On this foundation, the great journey “An Turas Mor” began and great deeds were performed, magnificent tastes encountered and the smell of wild nature embraced.

The fierce dragon of the North, ravaged these savage lands. Forest yielded, pines shattered, oak crumbles. These majestic trees fell before the untamed spirit of roar. This beast called on smoke, fire and ash, black arts and strange rituals. Dancing across the new moon, created terror and people painted the history on their cave walls. Fingers clawed through the peat and dust, finding the rich soil, An Ataireachd Ard and deep-peat that was only a story before shamans tasted the newfound spirit of wilds. 

In the hiding, new blades with runes were forged and a champion was born. The endless time passed on, men welcomed the new taste into their mouth. A dram like no other. Something spectacular emerged, which ignited the fire in ancient’s hearts again. To strive forwards, pushing the limits backwards. That is the nature of the man and of the Uisge Beatha, to feel the heavily peated beat of one’s heart.

They come to find the splendid peat, wielding a heavy shield. In the mouth, feel the raging fire, anger and serenity of the waterfall. The future lurks just around a corner, smiling and smirking. Strong and powerful is the champion, yet you can recall him writing poetry on delicate flower pedals. He is a warrior, who can charm nymphs while fighting the mighty dragon!

The legend of An Turas Mor will continue.. with more photographs. Photoshop was not involved in the process.