Post by yakubu on Jan 9, 2006 16:20:14 GMT -5
Mounchili Village
I am Yakubu, son of the Shombe, member of the Clan Shumaza, aspirant of the Lion’s Mane warrior society, and I am a man. Before today I was a boy at my family’s fire, a simple herder of cattle, free of the burdens of adulthood. My spear and knife are my own. I have fallen in battle and I do not fear death. If I live and die bravely I will join my ancestors. Their orisha guide my steps and spear.
After stepping through the magical stone ring, we found ourselves next to a small stream. The air was thick with moisture. Trees were everywhere. The intense heat of this oven was made worse by the closed-in feeling of dense forest. Where was our sky, our endless grassland? A red-earth trail led us to the sounds of singing and many strange peoples. Several boma-less kraals had been grouped together. We were met by two plumed warriors with shields and hand axes. Given their armor, they were clearly cowards, albeit polite: “Travelers are always welcome to Mounchili,” they introduced. These Tembu seem the most populace of this village. They live in harmony with Nghoi and even a fair number of agogwe and wakyambi. Apparently we were at the edge of the rainforest at the southern end of a mountain range west of Lake Tugo. I have no idea where this place is in relation to home but I will not be a slack-jawed or cowering ambassador for the Shombe. I must admit: I was mightily impressed by their tamed elephants. The unconscious blue dire lion kept sedate and caged seemed a shameful, timid display of a magnificent trophy. These people had not the courage of the Shombe. They clearly needed our help.
The people told tales of speaking monkeys and animals acting strangely. Their own warriors had not returned from an investigation of these odd behaviors. A monkey had been sighted riding a leopard. Others had tried to free the dire lion. Hunters were becoming the hunted. Our task, it seemed, was to find out what evil magic lay at the heart of these menacing animals. The Mounchili elders offered token reward for our assistance. The herbalist was helpful in outlining the diseases endemic to this region but no stout heart could be found to take us into the bush. Hualib purchased a map from the Clan Bango butcher. It is probably the bravest guide these people could provide. Had the Oryx not led us here, I would have been reluctant to help these bloodless strangers.
After an afternoon of preparation and a night aloft with the wakyambi we ventured into the forest. Travel was slow. Always, the trees confining. We found the Butcher’s monkey traps after a morning of travel. They had been destroyed and soiled by an elephant. Further journey was hampered by unforgiving midday heat. Closer to evening, three biting insects reared up and one bit Komasa before we were able to skewer them. I don’t know which was worse, the centipedes or the biting insects that come at night in the rain forest. An encounter with spiders and monkeys brought us no closer to the truth of this foul enchantment. Ultimately we chose press through the heat of the day in order to return to Mounchili for resupply and rest but not before joining up with an Nghoi monkey hunter who had survived an attack on his party by monkeys armed with spears. We would need to gather our strength and return to the forest.
I am Yakubu, son of the Shombe, member of the Clan Shumaza, aspirant of the Lion’s Mane warrior society, and I am a man. Before today I was a boy at my family’s fire, a simple herder of cattle, free of the burdens of adulthood. My spear and knife are my own. I have fallen in battle and I do not fear death. If I live and die bravely I will join my ancestors. Their orisha guide my steps and spear.
After stepping through the magical stone ring, we found ourselves next to a small stream. The air was thick with moisture. Trees were everywhere. The intense heat of this oven was made worse by the closed-in feeling of dense forest. Where was our sky, our endless grassland? A red-earth trail led us to the sounds of singing and many strange peoples. Several boma-less kraals had been grouped together. We were met by two plumed warriors with shields and hand axes. Given their armor, they were clearly cowards, albeit polite: “Travelers are always welcome to Mounchili,” they introduced. These Tembu seem the most populace of this village. They live in harmony with Nghoi and even a fair number of agogwe and wakyambi. Apparently we were at the edge of the rainforest at the southern end of a mountain range west of Lake Tugo. I have no idea where this place is in relation to home but I will not be a slack-jawed or cowering ambassador for the Shombe. I must admit: I was mightily impressed by their tamed elephants. The unconscious blue dire lion kept sedate and caged seemed a shameful, timid display of a magnificent trophy. These people had not the courage of the Shombe. They clearly needed our help.
The people told tales of speaking monkeys and animals acting strangely. Their own warriors had not returned from an investigation of these odd behaviors. A monkey had been sighted riding a leopard. Others had tried to free the dire lion. Hunters were becoming the hunted. Our task, it seemed, was to find out what evil magic lay at the heart of these menacing animals. The Mounchili elders offered token reward for our assistance. The herbalist was helpful in outlining the diseases endemic to this region but no stout heart could be found to take us into the bush. Hualib purchased a map from the Clan Bango butcher. It is probably the bravest guide these people could provide. Had the Oryx not led us here, I would have been reluctant to help these bloodless strangers.
After an afternoon of preparation and a night aloft with the wakyambi we ventured into the forest. Travel was slow. Always, the trees confining. We found the Butcher’s monkey traps after a morning of travel. They had been destroyed and soiled by an elephant. Further journey was hampered by unforgiving midday heat. Closer to evening, three biting insects reared up and one bit Komasa before we were able to skewer them. I don’t know which was worse, the centipedes or the biting insects that come at night in the rain forest. An encounter with spiders and monkeys brought us no closer to the truth of this foul enchantment. Ultimately we chose press through the heat of the day in order to return to Mounchili for resupply and rest but not before joining up with an Nghoi monkey hunter who had survived an attack on his party by monkeys armed with spears. We would need to gather our strength and return to the forest.