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<blockquote data-quote="Steampunkette" data-source="post: 8427740" data-attributes="member: 6796468"><p><h2>The Mire Which Halts Hearts</h2><p><em>Umbataa had seen the great riverbeasts, bloated and dead, upon the savannah. Far from water, they had chased something, someone, before collapsing. Or, perhaps, had fled? The massive feet of the riverbeasts destroyed any trail leading to their bodies, but no steps lay easy in the grass beyond. Above, vultures circled. It might be hours, yet, after the bodies ceased motion, before they would swoop to take their fill. For riverbeasts are among the most deadly of the Beast's progeny, and most angered when wounded, or dying.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Rough hands rolled over the blubberous form of one Riverbeast. It's skin hot under the savannah sun, but there was no life to it. Stiff and stretched as it was by the rot within. Umbataa's hand moved to it's great jaws, mouth wide upon the ground where it had bellowed it's final breath. Amid the fetid stench, the scent of rot and gore, he caught a whiff.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>The barest scent, really. The faintest hint of a familiar odor that hearkened back to the heady days he'd spent in Kyalo, sleeping dreamless nights and dream-filled days away, his mind lost in heady Nectar.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>His eyes turned heavenward, again, to see the circling vultures. They would feast well, in time. It was time to leave. Umbataa turned his hooves south, trodding the path of the riverbeasts to seek their poison.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Before him lay the Stopwater, a fetid swamp where the Ahlaki falls were lost to the savannah in a spreading mud-filled lake spotted with trees and populated with horrid insects, giant lizards, and a small town of swampdwellers upon it's edge. Questions were asked in Oromi, but the children of the town knew little, and their elders refused to speak of Pokenkwo flowers and their nectar. Instead there were dead stares, shouts of anger, and far too much attention.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>And so Umbataa, who had tracked men from Tefari to Ipu, who had hunted the great lizards of Ngo and slain Kor the Implacable, set out from the packed dirt roads that wound between the treehouses and huts of Oromi and moved into the greater swamp.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Everyone from fifteen to fifty had left the town, and their footsteps were not hard to follow into the stinking mire itself, his hooves sucked down into the muck, swiftly, for minotaurs were not well suited to soft grounds. Each sucking step, however, lead him to the scent he had once loved. His fingers trembled and so he clutched his axes with them to stop their motions.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>In time the sun's light waned and drew red-orange upon the horizon. And it was then, pulling aside the fronds of a small tree, that Umbataa found the source of the riverbeast's end.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Pokenkwo.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>A plantation stretching across acres, worked and picked by the populace of Oromi. Most walked in a gape-mouthed daze, their fingers and palms swollen from handling the clearly toxic leaves. To the west, a patch of pokenkwo was flattened, ruined by the fat beasts who had eaten their deadly fill of the heady plant.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>But one of the glass-eyed women, a basket of petals half-full upon her hip, finally managed to focus her eys upon Umbataa and let out a shrill cry. And the guards, many wearing the colors of Kyalo and the witch Tupo Ava, who Umbataa knew bitterly, rushed the minotaur. Axes left their slings and shaking fingers became as steel when battle was joined.</em></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Steampunkette, post: 8427740, member: 6796468"] [HEADING=1]The Mire Which Halts Hearts[/HEADING] [I]Umbataa had seen the great riverbeasts, bloated and dead, upon the savannah. Far from water, they had chased something, someone, before collapsing. Or, perhaps, had fled? The massive feet of the riverbeasts destroyed any trail leading to their bodies, but no steps lay easy in the grass beyond. Above, vultures circled. It might be hours, yet, after the bodies ceased motion, before they would swoop to take their fill. For riverbeasts are among the most deadly of the Beast's progeny, and most angered when wounded, or dying. Rough hands rolled over the blubberous form of one Riverbeast. It's skin hot under the savannah sun, but there was no life to it. Stiff and stretched as it was by the rot within. Umbataa's hand moved to it's great jaws, mouth wide upon the ground where it had bellowed it's final breath. Amid the fetid stench, the scent of rot and gore, he caught a whiff. The barest scent, really. The faintest hint of a familiar odor that hearkened back to the heady days he'd spent in Kyalo, sleeping dreamless nights and dream-filled days away, his mind lost in heady Nectar. His eyes turned heavenward, again, to see the circling vultures. They would feast well, in time. It was time to leave. Umbataa turned his hooves south, trodding the path of the riverbeasts to seek their poison. Before him lay the Stopwater, a fetid swamp where the Ahlaki falls were lost to the savannah in a spreading mud-filled lake spotted with trees and populated with horrid insects, giant lizards, and a small town of swampdwellers upon it's edge. Questions were asked in Oromi, but the children of the town knew little, and their elders refused to speak of Pokenkwo flowers and their nectar. Instead there were dead stares, shouts of anger, and far too much attention. And so Umbataa, who had tracked men from Tefari to Ipu, who had hunted the great lizards of Ngo and slain Kor the Implacable, set out from the packed dirt roads that wound between the treehouses and huts of Oromi and moved into the greater swamp. Everyone from fifteen to fifty had left the town, and their footsteps were not hard to follow into the stinking mire itself, his hooves sucked down into the muck, swiftly, for minotaurs were not well suited to soft grounds. Each sucking step, however, lead him to the scent he had once loved. His fingers trembled and so he clutched his axes with them to stop their motions. In time the sun's light waned and drew red-orange upon the horizon. And it was then, pulling aside the fronds of a small tree, that Umbataa found the source of the riverbeast's end. Pokenkwo. A plantation stretching across acres, worked and picked by the populace of Oromi. Most walked in a gape-mouthed daze, their fingers and palms swollen from handling the clearly toxic leaves. To the west, a patch of pokenkwo was flattened, ruined by the fat beasts who had eaten their deadly fill of the heady plant. But one of the glass-eyed women, a basket of petals half-full upon her hip, finally managed to focus her eys upon Umbataa and let out a shrill cry. And the guards, many wearing the colors of Kyalo and the witch Tupo Ava, who Umbataa knew bitterly, rushed the minotaur. Axes left their slings and shaking fingers became as steel when battle was joined.[/I] [/QUOTE]
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