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HotTexasCowboy
Star
- Joined
- Feb 7, 2011
One could travel the rolling steppes for days and not see a tree or anything rising out of the thick grassy plains taller than a small rock. If something was sighted, it was more than likely another traveler on foot or horseback. If it was an wild animal, in most cases they would smell you before you were within sight, and flee. Unless they consider humans to be prey, and came galloping to attack. The Esturgian Springs was a rare sight. In a low valley between hills, underground water dribbled up through the soil to form a small, ever replenishing pond. The water allowed trees to grow around it, and a wider variety of plants to flourish among the wild grass.
It was here the tribe had settled to build a village. They did not hew down the trees that nature provided for them, but used low hanging branches to drape their broad animal hides, sewn together with dried sinew into wide, comfortable tents. The "houses" could be taken down, rolled up, and moved easily if need be, but the spring had been hospitable to the tribe for three generations by now. The water-fed grasses produced fine grain to be stone ground into flour for bread, and the water always attracted game for the hunters to stalk and kill. The last chief had even grown concerned that the hunting was too easy, dulling the instinctive talents of the new hunters, and ordered intensive instruction and drill, lest the tribe founder should they be forced in the future to abandon their fortunate site.
One first spotting the settlement from a hilltop might think the score of trees were infested with some sort of hanging moss at first, before realizing the shapes were homes for the tauren tribe. They were open at the bases, letting breezes cool the interior and smoke to rise from the cooking and heating fires of winter. In good weather the fires were always outside, where the tribe, as a community, gathered to tan the hides and prepare the meat of new prey, grind grain into meal, sew clothes and sing songs of their goddess. Angros, the chief, often strolled among the groups, nodding in approval, telling tales of their culture to the young, or settling arguments that might threaten the harmony. His fur was brown with a touch of golden, and his horns were thick and firm. HIs bare chest broader than any hunter, and his trunk-like legs visible below the hem of his kilt. Unattached young females eyes him flirtatiously, hoping to bear a mate from his seed before settling for a lesser mate for life. Angros would not take an exclusive mate, since as chief, it was his duty to spread his legacy of strength and wisdom thoughout the tribe.
A hunter near the edge of the camp, his knife skinning a new warthog, jerked up and sniffed at the air. His nostrils opened wide to sample the scents, finding somthing irregular in the aroma. He knew the smell of so many beasts, as well as flowers and plants, but this was new, and "new" was a cause for wariness. Others closer to the village center caught the scent, and a few rose slowly to scan the horizon.
There was a stranger approaching.
It was here the tribe had settled to build a village. They did not hew down the trees that nature provided for them, but used low hanging branches to drape their broad animal hides, sewn together with dried sinew into wide, comfortable tents. The "houses" could be taken down, rolled up, and moved easily if need be, but the spring had been hospitable to the tribe for three generations by now. The water-fed grasses produced fine grain to be stone ground into flour for bread, and the water always attracted game for the hunters to stalk and kill. The last chief had even grown concerned that the hunting was too easy, dulling the instinctive talents of the new hunters, and ordered intensive instruction and drill, lest the tribe founder should they be forced in the future to abandon their fortunate site.
One first spotting the settlement from a hilltop might think the score of trees were infested with some sort of hanging moss at first, before realizing the shapes were homes for the tauren tribe. They were open at the bases, letting breezes cool the interior and smoke to rise from the cooking and heating fires of winter. In good weather the fires were always outside, where the tribe, as a community, gathered to tan the hides and prepare the meat of new prey, grind grain into meal, sew clothes and sing songs of their goddess. Angros, the chief, often strolled among the groups, nodding in approval, telling tales of their culture to the young, or settling arguments that might threaten the harmony. His fur was brown with a touch of golden, and his horns were thick and firm. HIs bare chest broader than any hunter, and his trunk-like legs visible below the hem of his kilt. Unattached young females eyes him flirtatiously, hoping to bear a mate from his seed before settling for a lesser mate for life. Angros would not take an exclusive mate, since as chief, it was his duty to spread his legacy of strength and wisdom thoughout the tribe.
A hunter near the edge of the camp, his knife skinning a new warthog, jerked up and sniffed at the air. His nostrils opened wide to sample the scents, finding somthing irregular in the aroma. He knew the smell of so many beasts, as well as flowers and plants, but this was new, and "new" was a cause for wariness. Others closer to the village center caught the scent, and a few rose slowly to scan the horizon.
There was a stranger approaching.