Fantasy Mamaley's Hero: [Featuring @SachiGrl & @Refrain]

[SachiGrl]

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The grounds were far from flat, several hills and mountains made up Mamaley. Their trees were large, but scattered throughout the lands. You would find many Centaurs populating the open fields within valleys where the land is somewhat plain. They are hunters and never feared to be hunted.

In the lands of Mamaley, where centaurian beings roam, a young hero was asked to come forth by the Chief of Mamaley. Years ago, the Mamaleyans gave birth to a new centaurian being; it was not four-legged, but two, so this form was called Ipotane. Fawna was the name of this Ipotane; she's the first of her kind. She was a symbol to the centaurians of the union of humans and themselves, but as she aged, her beauty became more apparent and she was kidnapped. The Cheif feared it was one of their own who caused this mischief, so this resulted him seeking aid from outside his herd.

Now, the story beckons this new hero on a mission to save Fawna, a beautiful young maiden, from what has befallen her...

Quince T Hawthorne- The Hero
Refrain​

Fawna Dots- The Damsel in distress
SachiGrl​

O'reld Ulch- The Cheif's son
SachiGrl​

U.S.E.- The Underground Slave Exchange, employed mostly by demons with various powers.
@NPC​

This is a fantasy 1x1 role play. The enemy is an NPC and the cheif's son will be like a sidekick/supplemental character.​

 

[SachiGrl]

The chief’s son was very displeased with his father's words. His front hooves pounded against the ground fiercely while his father stood firm and unphased by his taunting movement. O’reld’s height matched his father’s. He had mostly dark skin fading to white towards the front of his body and under his arms. His horseback was rich with dark fur and the bottom half of his legs were covered with thick white fur. He was handsome and popular among his herd, but the young centaur was rash and stubborn. He wished to aid the missing Ipotane, but his father preferred a human over his own kind's service. This disturbed O'reld profusely. The situation the chief fears has yet to be elaborated to his son. Because of his son's stubborn nature, his father did not dare express his concerns regarding their herd.

With his arms across his chest, he followed behind his father as they approached the edge of Mamaley, awaiting the human's arrival; other centaurians followed suit. His father's white long hair blew in the wind as he informed his son of his expectations, "We must welcome him to Mamaley. Normally, human adventurers don't cross these paths, but, as you know, I hope to change these views that keep them from here." The chief waves his hands up as if gesturing for the crowd of centarians to give him an uproar. All the neighboring men marched in placed as the women had their front hooves dance in the air, simultaneously causing a loud and fierce rumble. His hands rose again to silence their movement. "It could have been Humans themselves who kidnapped our lady," O'reld grunted and kicked the dirt with his left hoove. "You know very well who are the culprits. In my letter I wrote to the Human's leaders. We should be grateful they've sent aid despite our kinds lack of interaction.((He mentions being wary of his own in the letter))," the chief shook his head disappointingly at his son's lack of gratitude from the Humans' aid. There was a clear tension between the father and son.
Refrain

 

[Refrain]

The light crunch of fallen leaves were the only tune that lighted Hawthorne's journey. It had been some time since his last excursion, that alone would be enough to draw his anticipation, but he was given an even larger honor. He could very well be the first Human to be welcomed into the Beastlands in centuries.

This would be a perfect time to get inside information against the king's enemies. It was the gravity of it though that made him accept the mission at all. You wouldn't invite a stranger into your home unless you absolutely needed his help. It's not like they'd let him wander around without a babysitter anyway.

So he crunched his way forward through the not so thick forest, eyes dancing front side to side, even up into trees at times. It was mostly habit at this point, not even bandits would sit this close to the Beastlands.

If they knew how many times I was called into battle to slay their own, would they still welcome me? He brushed the thought aside. It was a pointless thought. They'd asked for a warrior, they can't be picky at this point. Right?

He shivered despite the tattered green cloak and heat of the midday sun. Something about walking into the unknown made you chilly, he guessed.

His boots wouod have been soundless were it not the litter of foliage he was forced to trudge. A stray breeze blew his cloak wide, tousling his hair and sending more than a single stand into his verdant eyes. There was more room under the cloak than one would might think. He was skinnier than he appeared, more lithe and worry than stocky. He wore a dark light leather jerkin over his beige tunic, but what really drew mosts attention was the sword at his right hip. Left-handed swordsman were rare, skilled ones even more so. The blade was a simple one. Longer than the standard hand an haft, and thinner as well. It seemed as though it would crack in half at the slightest breeze. The leather that swallowed the hilt appeared new, as if recently rewrapped.

He heard them before he saw them. Whoever quoted them as thunder was right. Centaurs spanned his entire field of view, and it took more than a few moments for his practiced hand to drop from his hilt.

"My name!" He called, not clear on which specific one was in charge, "is Quince T. Hawthorne. I have come in accordance to your summons. I beg safe passage to your leader!"

Man, he thought, I really hope they don't decide to kill me.

 

[SachiGrl]

His father stepped forward, his pale skin, white mane and fur was naturally demanding of one's eyes. His right hoof gave a loud pounce against the ground before he spoke, "Greetings, Human Quince T. Hawthorne. I welcome you to Mamaley!" After his greeting, other centaurs emulated the chief's gesture causing a series rumbling sounds from their hooves, all but O'reld did this act; he merely stared at the Human in disbelief with his arms crossed. "Come forth! We have much to speak about," the bearded centaur appeared aged, but nonetheless strong and intimidating. Although his words were welcoming, not one smile appeared on his lips.

Before Quince was even able to step a foot forward, the chief's son objected, "Father! You expect aid from this man?!" He pulled out his sword readying to kill the man, walking towards him as he did so. The cheif galloped ahead of O'reld with a warning look in his eyes and a stomp of his front hooves. Instead of backing down, O'reld stomped right back at the old beast. "Let this man fight! If he can best me, then he is worthy to find our Ipotane," while some centaurs rooted for him in the background, his father grunted with a shake of his head before responding, "You'd rather waste your strength here? Against an ally than use your ally and your strength to find our Ipotane?" Both their eyes were wide and they stared angrily at one another, their interaction brought an awkward silence among the herd. "Should I call you my son?" O'reld let out a breathless nicker in response to his father, almost flabbergasted by his question. "I thought so," he turned to the Human, "Excuse my son's behavior. I am the chief of Mamaley. Please come, we have much to discuss."

O'reld's face grew dark in embarrassment. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, but the chief held no concern over him, merely gesturing for the Human to walk along the opposite side of his son as the other centaurs made way for them to walk through.
Refrain

 

[Refrain]

It took more than one gulp of air before the beating in his chest calmed. He slid the sword back into its sheath, still not entirely sure on how it had even left it's scabbard.

He stalked silently alongside them, more regaining himself than anything. Don't lose details, his master had said.

"In the heat of battle, Hawthorne, details are the most important. We get high off the rush of battle, it's easy to lose track. Details, Hawthorne, can keep you alive when all things point to death."

"Details. Right." He mumbled under his breath. "He called me human. Standoffish, ensuring I know my place. An outlander." It was barely a whisper but he was deep in thought at this point, unable to let it go, "Killing the Horsefiend probably will do more harm than good, even if he wants it." He let his gaze fall on O'reld. "Seems to listen to the elder one, definitely the chief then. Yeah, killing him is a no go. These savages, no, what was it he said? Mamalies? No that's not quite right. And his letter to master mentioned this Ipotane, but doesn't do much to describe quite what I'm looking for. Perhaps-" he froze realizing finally he was speaking out loud, and promptly clamped his mouth shut. Embarrassing. Much to discuss. That's right. Explanation on the way. I'm spending too much time in my head.

 

[SachiGrl]

O'reld's expression scrounged up as he overheard the Human's chatter with himself. In contrast, the chief smirked, finding his words entertaining and enlightening. He looked towards his son, not in the least surprised by his reaction of the Human's muttering. "Man of letters," he uttered under his breath, but his father retorted, "No man of letters would run the gauntlet." The bearded centaur's expression returned to it's passive state, not grinning nor snarling. "We are known as Mamaleyans, Hu-" he hesitated to call the man Human again as he heard his interpretation of his words and wished not for the man to feel belittled, "Quince was it?" He nickered slightly before continuing, "I'm leading you by the river where our Ipotane's scent and print last left their mark."

As they trotted on with their hooves and the Human padded with his feet in boots, they passed one of Mamaley's major villages. Their homes were made of wood, but only had walls and a roof; no doors were present as every cabin was deliberately left wide open. In Mamaley, their Winters never snowed, so nothing truly warranted them to enclose themselves. As far as privacy, it was nonexistent in their culture. Affection, mating, bathing was all done publicly. The only centaurs adorned in some sort of clothing are warriors, hunters and melders. They typically wear light iron necklaces that tied around their body like an armored vest, gauntlets, belts to sheath their weapons or tools and protective gear for underneath their hooves, also known as shocks. Among their kind there were three popular hairstyles: mane hair, where the sides of the head are shaven and the center to the back of the head, about 3 inches wide, has long, shoulder-length hair, natural hair, where the hair is long and loose about one´s head, and tied hair, where they braid, twist or tie the hair back. Many centaurs greeted the chief and son with a stomp of their hooves and a smile on their face. Their response was a mere nod of acknowledgement since they had no time to stop and reciprocate the action.

Alas, they reached the end of the village approaching a guarded area where four centaurs standing in armor: two before the river and two behind. The river bank had two skidded marks. The two centaurs stopped right before it. "This is where our Ipotane was taken," he paused as he looked mournfully at the devastating marks Fawna left behind. The chief was worried sick, but he had to continue, "Only they can leave these marks of two. All others leave four." He gestured towards himself and his other brethren and paused again, wearing the same mournful gaze as his eyes stopped again at her forceful marks printed on the ground. O´reld felt the need to speak for his father since he seemed to be too sentimental, "There are no markings aside Ipotane´s trail to here. They traveled in the waters." He walked in the direction of which the river flowed then pointed down the stream, "It seemed they carried Ipotane, so her prints are no where along the banks. The most peculiar prints we found were not of these lands. Cloven hooves, like ours, but larger and only consist of two like our Ipotane." He turned to look at his father to ensure he was well; he still wore the same expression with his eyes fixated on the same spot. The guards and O´reld exchanged worried glances. With a shrug, he continued on informing the Human, "This river leads to a cave. It is very distant. When the terrain turns dark, it is no longer that of Mamaley. It is the land of Mors Terra, home of many demonic organizations." O´reld took a moment to analyze the small figure he spoke to. As he spoke of demons, he couldn´t fathom this ´man´ fighting against himself. How could this Human possibly fight against magic users? Demons have more fighting style variants than any other kind. Brutes, mages, bards, you name it. He placed a hand over his head, his thumb and index massaging his temple as he suffered thinking that this pathetic Human can be of his aid. His tail whipped irritably as he scrutinized the little man in his thoughts.
Refrain

 

[Refrain]

He walked carefully alongside them, making as little noise as possible, while also maintaining space. It wasn't so much on purpose as it was ingrained into him over years of training. "Hawthorne is fine," he said with a wave of his hand before stopping at the riverside locale.

Hawthorne nodded along with the explanation, but crouched down around the tracks. While the Ipotanes skid was through damp sand, the larger tracks were much more moist. Definitely traveled by water then. He pursed his lips and began to walk back a ways, looking out at the nearby houses before turning back around.

"O'reld, of you'd entertain me a moment," he ran his hand over his chin despite it being shaved smooth. "Stand on your hind and try to walk as I do." But before he even started he turned back to face the chief. "Your behavior alone conveys the importance of your missing Ipotane. Was she not guarded? The only signs of struggle are these two marks. Either she was incapacitated, or she may have given up the fight and went willingly. Have you spoken with anybody on whether they even heard her yell?"

he turned his attention back to O'reld, but shook his head in deep thought rather than speaking. It doesn't make sense to travel further downriver through mamaley. It's entirely too easy to get caught. "Is there a regular shipping that takes this river to the cave you mentioned?" No, if it was me, I would have fought the current back into my own lands. All evidence points to their own kind doing the kidnapping. "Would she have any reason to kidnap herself?" It was mostly folly, but if this Ipotane was still a kid, and knew of her importance, she could very well have invited another tribe of Horsefiends to do it. Could explain why nobody heard her scream, if they didn't.
"And have you received any letters from the kidnapper?" He scratched the back of his head. If magic was involved, there was a good chance their Ipotane was already chooped up into ingredients or sacrificed. Probably shouldn't say that. Might just kill me out of fright.

He sighed after a moment, not realizing how deep he was frowning at them, "Have you searched the cave yet? If not we may as well follow the trail there."

 

[SachiGrl]

The chief´s attention shifted over to the Human warily. In his letter, he mentioned his worries regarding his own herd possibly being the cause of Fawna´s disappearance. What he didn´t mention was that he hasn´t told his son yet. Nonetheless, he watched them interact. O´reld crossing his arms as he would typically do when profoundly displeased or irritated. Strangely, he found peace deep inside himself; an inner peace he´d thought he would find in centuries and yet here he was viewing a nonviolent Human and Centaurian interaction.

The chief blinked at Hawthorne absentmindedly until he realized he was speaking to him. "May I speak to you of these matters in private?" his son arched a brow and nickered loudly, stepping forward as he assumed ´privately´ included himself. "O´reld, I´ll speak with you afterwards," his son cocked his head to the side in a puzzled manner, but seemed mildly relieved to not have to deal with the Human for the time being. The neighboring guards hovered around him, asking about the Human´s presence and his strange interrogative like inquiries.

"Hawthorne," he started off, "My son knows not of the tampered evidence." He looked away for a moment, shame written all over his face as he is knowingly omitting information from his very own son. "Someone was with our Ipotane. No, they were not heavily guarded, but only because I never anticipated this," he ran a hand through his unruly white locks in a stressful manner. "Only our warriors know of the lands outside of our lands. Most of my herd are ignorant and know nothing of Humans, Elves, Demons and other races," he nickered unhappily at the truth, "With a trustworthy companion, I believe they were kidnapped because I am a failure of a chief." Tears swelled up in his eyes as he cocked his head up towards the sky, trying to hold in all his anguish. "Although... although many of my generations´ kin were taught of the world, the elders still share their ignorance... I have... I have only been a chief for a century and I still cannot fix my own ignorance," he stomped his front hoof angrily against the ground, "I will not let this happen again! I won´t rest until those cowards who hide among my herd reveal their themselves as wolves in sheep´s skin... but that is my duty. Take O´reld and search for more evidence. My son may dislike you, but dislikes injustice more." Though he may not have needed to say it, but if the chief truly trusted his son, he would of sent O´reld alone. It was clear he himself did not want to admit his lack of trust in his very own son.

Almost on key, O´reld stepped away from the guards and looked in their direction. Seeing as their conversation seemingly ended, he trotted over towards his father, ignoring the peasant Human. "What is it, father? Why are you shedding more tears? I will find her!" the father corrected him, "You both will find her and bring her back safely. Do you hear me?" O´reld snarled at his remark and repeated to himself that HE will find her. "You can rest if you want, Human, but I´m following the river down to Mors Terra to continue my investigation," he trotted on, not waiting for Quince´s answer.
Refrain

 

[Refrain]

Hawthorne stared after the Horsefiend a moment. Mors Terra. Now that's something he probably shouldn't have said. This is too complicated. Am I supposed to use this Savage as a detective and not even give him all the info? Old horse you're definitely not doing your son any favors.

With a sigh, Hawthorne began following O'reld. He didn't speak, people like O'reld would only snap anyway. Did I just refer to the Horsefiend as a person? Quince furrowed his brow deep in thought. Barely a moment and they're already changing my mindset. Why wouldn't they sue for peace if they're this intelligent?

He shook the thought from his head, it wasn't a question worth following, he already had one job to do.

He rolled his shoulders, as if relaxed, but never took his hand from the hilt of his sword. He was in foreign lands now. No matter how peaceful and humane they may have seemed, they're beasts. He'd certainly prefer not to be ambushed again in this life.

The issue was the trail, or rather, lack thereof. Barely a sign of struggle, missing guardsmen, if the cave provided even an ounce of evidence, it would at least solidify the hypothesis of it being an inside job. No way would men of the realm kidnap and ride further into the unknown. No, they'd dash back to safety. The chief is most likely right. There's a snake in his garden.

 

[SachiGrl]

Their walk together was quiet. This was good. O'reld needed time to think. He, also, liked that the Human walked behind him; he didn't like the sight of him. His presence was irritating. It was a constant reminder that his father not only distrusted himself, but his entire herd. The centaur couldn't imagine what this scrawny man had that any centaur didn't. He had two legs, they had four. The Human had one body while the centaurs essentially had two. They each had a head, two arms. He glanced back to check if he was missing anything. Perhaps, his thoughts? His thoughts are different. His father can't possibly think a Human was more intelligent than their own kind! He nickered loudly to himself while the terrible thought was planted in his mind.

The terrain was still lush with green. A sign telling they are still in Mamaley. Trees scattered here and there. Had the Human not been there, he would enjoy this walk more along the river. After a nicker or two, O'reld finally broke the silence between them, "What skills do you have to offer?" The centaur didn't care if he sounded rude or not. He did not have a blinded trust like his father. He, genuinely, would like know what was the Human's true worth. Did he see himself equal in strength to a centaur? Did he think himself better? Was he skilled in sorcery? Could he create potions? As he trotted forward and watched the ground for similar footprints to the one's by the riverbed adjacent to their village, he grew tired of his thoughts regarding the Human. Inquiring about his worth would be the only way to cease his pestering thoughts.
Refrain

 

[Refrain]

A mischievous smile played at Hawthorne's lips when O'reld succombed to the silence first. "Oh, you CAN speak." His hand hadn't left the hilt of his blade, but he maintained his relaxed posture. He did, however, wave his hand as if to brush what he said aside. "I can't go giving away all my secrets to one so savage." He didn't drop the smile, completely confident of his ability. "Since we have a moment of spare time during this walk, how about I give you three guesses?"

He stomped forward, and brushed his cloak behind his shoulders fulling revealing the form beneath. In the many folds of his leather clung tiny blades, from daggers to needles as if for poisoning. At his left hip clung a small crossbow, and beneath that was a quiver of bolts bound tightly to his thigh. Opposite clung his sword, and coin purse.

"Three tries to guess my skills. Should you succeed, I'll allow you to lead this investigation." He pursed his lips, before a broad smile cracked that he barely managed to cut off. "Should you fail though, you'll pledge your help as my second in this, and you'll follow as commanded."

 

[SachiGrl]

The centaur stopped to give the Human an intensely displeased glare, "Were you deaf and blind when I first spoke before you? If I remember correctly, you dangled your toy like a fear-filled child." He grunted after he finished his sentence and trotted onward with his tail whipping behind him irritably. "Savage?" his body halted at the sound of the word, "So you think me mute and unruly?" Again, let out an irritable nicker then continued, "I hold honor for my father. Your words are small like your size. I will not fight over meaningless things." It was clear this Human thought himself better than the centaur. Throwing taunts with a spiteful grin, exuding confidence as a warrior should; perhaps this Human did have balls. For the chief, the man solely approaching Mamaley was praise worthy, but to O'reld, insulting one's like himself was more worthy to praise. Nonetheless, words were words. Although he may not be able to personally test his skills, he hoped to see his worth when the time came. If not, death will find him as easily as he found the Mamaleyans.

"You want to play a game of wits with me?" O'reld let out a chuckle, "If I accepted the conditions of this game, this would imply that I trust you. I hope you expect the latter." The centaur needed something concrete or written, so that Quince cannot 'lie' and gain the commanding position he clearly desires. With a shrug, his four hooves moved onward, but his mind still speculated the possible skills the Human had to humor himself. A jack of all trades regarding weaponry was one thought. With a bow and small blades, he may possibly have a very acute accuracy. He pondered on, but intended on keeping his thoughts to himself.
#b35900 Refrain

 

[Refrain]

He let out a shrug, "You just made it seem as though you weren't that intelligent." Hawthorne's thoughts drifted back home. Long walks like this one were common enough, but never was he forced into the company of one so insufferable. Part of him felt like accusing him of the kidnapping just to be rid of him. But he was called to do a job after all.

"Play along or no, tis your choice. But you're the one what asked for answers." He tapped the tip of his boots on a nearby rock, clearing the soles of muck. He had been walking all day just to reach Mamaley, and he now journeyed further still. Mayhaps even be the first to do so. He figured it best to study his surroundings. He even let himself muse on which side he would take should another war resume. Surely his input as the only human in Mamaley would be greatly appreciated if matter the side he picked, but which side would that be?

 

[SachiGrl]

It had seem not only did the centaur thought poorly of the human, but the human thought similarly. He let out a loud 'Hmph' and allowed his lips to roll to a nicker. He listened the man to continue his banter, and the beast rolled his eyes in response. "Look, Human. I am no child. I will not play any games of yours. Nonetheless, I need not words to test your strength and verify your skills. Time will tell," with that said, silenced filled the air between them.

They trailed for miles. They were the most pestering miles the centaur have ever ventured. Their long walks would have mindless bickering and the occasional silence until the terrain finally transitioned slowly to the grainy black sands belonging to Mors Terra. The black mountains that seemed distant were now significantly closer. It was early morning when the young adventurer arrived to Mamaley. Perhaps, they should rest at the edge of Mamaley for the human's sake. As that particular thought crossed his mind, he ran his hand through his mane irritably. "Human," he started off, "Do you require rest?" The sun has already set. The sky was dark and was abundant with several stars. A beautiful sight, but the centaur worried for his clan's Ipotane. Was she seeing these stars or was she among them? He hoped she was safe or at least safe enough to live another day.
#b35900 Refrain

 

[Refrain]

Step after step they clung to their path forward, and while Hawthorne was a bit annoyed, he made no action to speak. Not when dawn turned passed evening. Not when grass gave way to sand. While Hawthorne wasn't particularly tired when the horsefiend called his attention, he was certainly hungry. Good thing he had a few bits of cheese and bread in his pack. He had a feeling that they wouldn't take to kindly to him hunting on their land. So, without speaking, he sat in the dirt and rummaged through the pack that hung over his shoulder, underneath his cloak to keep it dry. Oddly enough, he didn't really bring all that much with him. Just the food, a lantern, and his upkeep materials. Not that it needed it, but at this point it had been driven into his mind. Always maintain your equipment. One dent could be the difference between living or otherwise.

He crossed his legs in the dirt, a bit of cheese hanging from his mouth, and slid the sword from its scabbard. Silver Fang, he had named it, was a thin sword, double edged leading to a perfect point. The sword had been his only companion for quite a while, through thick and thin. The midsection of the blade was a black metal wrapped with silver inlay. One word carved just above the hilt, Sever. Hawthorne set the whetstone on the ground in front of him, and began pouring a small bit of oil over the top of it. "Clobe roil," he answered through his chews as he noticed O'reld's glance at him. Then, finally swallowing the cheese and stuffing more bread in after he placed the blade just slightly against the stone and went about sharpening the blade, though it didn't really need to be sharpened since he hadn't used it since the last time.

"So," He spoke after chasing the food down with swig from his pouch, "Tell me of your Ipotane. Not just distinguishing features, but personality. Tell me everything you know."

 

[SachiGrl]

O'reld marched into placed while wearing a baffled expression. He did not expect the human to suddenly sit at the mention of rest. The human must have been exhausted... he thought; his head cocked slightly as the being sat and munched at his meal. Though the human answered through his actions, he felt the need to acknowledge something. Yes, O'reld was watching him. He was uncertain how to proceed with this strange moment of which they should be resting. After the human spoke, he mouthed 'clobe roil,' unsure of what he meant by it. Marching in place again, O'reld finally decided to lay on the ground. First front legs folded followed by his back; in one swift movement dust from the ground lifted at his sudden movement.

"So," he heard the human say after he ate his bread and drank from his pouch, "Tell me of your Ipotane. Not just distinguishing features, but personality. Tell me everything you know." The centaurs body grew tense at the mention of his clan's Ipotane. It was practically a sin to speak of her, let alone to a man outside of his herd, but obviously this case was different. He scratched behind his head irritably before elaborating on her description, "Our Ipotane was thin and had a short stature. They had smooth skin with several different tones of brown splattered with white freckles. Only their ears and tail were covered with fur, aside from the mane atop their head." His eyes gazed in the direction he believed her to be. O'reld hoped his sexless description remained sexless. Ever since the birth of their Ipotane, she was always treated as a sexless creature. Many assumed for her to be barren, but as she aged, her body showed clear signs of maturity. She had been isolated from the herd, more specifically from the men. "I knew of our Ipotane more when they were young... they were kind, not too quiet yet not too loud... very affable..."
#b35900 Refrain

 

[Refrain]

Quince let his eyes drift upwards as he began imagining a smaller version of O'reld prancing about, large smile on its face. Were the Ipotane's male or female he began to let himself drift before he found himself gazing at mess in front of him. The clove oil and whetstone were just laying about but the rags he had used to clean the blade were small and tossed around in the wind. They hadn't made it far, but it was far enough to get the thought of how he could be disrespecting their land without even intending it. His cheeks burned softly as he reached down intermittently to pick up the thin cloths.

After a few quick tucks they were stashed back in the small bag tied to his back, and he was donning it and the cape again with a flourish. Standing tall he brushed the crumbs from his leather breeches, bowed, and gestured for the Horsefiend to lead the way. "He must have been lonely, spending all that time fixated upon or glorified. Probably isolated it because of that too. Wait." He paused facing O'reld.

Something tugged at his gut. Like he was crossing a taboo, or a personal code. Maybe some old witch's curse was breaking. The kind of gnawing that brought a sense of satisfaction. Like a light excitement from doing something bad. Whatever it was, he knew that if he said what he was about to, it was very likely he would never be allowed to leave Mamaley. Lest he be a cadaver. Even if it was small and inconsequential, even if it didn't matter this moment, asking this question would more than likely seal his fate. He'd know too much, or be too close to knowing too much. Too many sacred secrets. The likelihood O'reld wouldn't attack him was decreasing with each word that spilled from his mouth. Though he felt confident he could handle O'reld, what if he called for help? Or is seen fleeing the country after his death. There was no way he could fake the fact that he murdered him if he did it in cold blood. As these words tumbled, he was certain he wouldn't be surviving this journey. At least not to return home.

"How are Ipotane's made? What do they signify? Why are they idolized so? What makes him worth being kidnapped?"

 

[SachiGrl]

Occasionally, the centaur glanced at the human fumbling about with his items. His face was flustered for a moment as he gathered his things, but the beast saw nothing intrusive or offensive in his actions aside from the slight possibility that he wasn't listening. In all certainty, he couldn't imagine the human deliberately ignoring his response if he specifically requested to hear it. "He must have been lonely, spending all that time fixated upon or glorified. Probably isolated it because of that too. Wait." He paused facing O'reld. The creature's face scrunched up as he mouthed 'he'. "We don't give sex to the Ipotane. They are infertile," his last sentence was merely an assumption that has been passed down for generations. Although, Fawna was the first Ipotane in their clan, many other herds have had these deformed centaurs and treated them as they were, deformities. O'reld's father did not see Fawna as such. She was indeed a female and was treated with respect, but of all customs to keep, the chief decided it was best nonetheless to regard her as sexless.

Again, the centaur found himself facing West where the sun was setting behind the large desert mountains. Truly, the conversation was uncomfortable for the beast. It pleased him that the human had stopped with the questions or so he had thought. The human was merely thinking then suddenly questions came rushing in like blazing arrows in a war. "How are Ipotane's made? What do they signify? Why are they idolized so? What makes him worth being kidnapped?" O'reld stood up abruptly, appalled by the questions. Marching in placed irritably, he tried to calm himself down, but he couldn't help to sneer at the man. Finally, after a few moments of trying settle down, he apologized for his behavior. He admitted that this conversation was indeed a taboo for Mamalayans and it was difficult for him to overcome this taboo of a conversation. With a deep breath in and slowly letting it out, he mustard some courage to answer the man's questions, "An Ipotane is a.... deformed centaur. They are made like any other centaur, but born with the defect of two legs rather than four. In most herds, Ipotanes are shunned and beaten to death or simply killed upon birth. My father saw them as a sign, but I wish not to elaborate on his behalf." He nickered in an annoyed manner before continuing, "An Ipotane closely resembles a human, so I believe the demons captured our Ipotane because... perhaps they saw them as unbelonging to our herd." His answer wasn't too certain. It was merely speculation. "Is that all, human?"
#b35900 Refrain