Its prey was secured, and its feeding completed. The Nombril slowly digested the knowledge carried by the powerful little Tolakian, and searched her memories for something very specific, a hint at its purpose that lay dormant in the mind of each of its prey that drove it closer to its final goal.
Deep below the Grand Crossing, another day in the life of the Ota was about to be interrupted. The peaceful agrarians had become used to the constant rain of dirt, rocks, and other debris that fell from the “sky” above them. They were no longer truly surprised by anything that fell. Occasionally, a humanoid or unlucky animal would burst in out of the darkness above them to rain death down onto their small village. Only once had an Ota been killed by the fall of another being, since that day, the Ota had changed their roofs to the narrow, high peaked roofs more common to those dwelling high on the backs of mountains, rather than deep within them. The Ota were practical, often to the point of indifference, or so their neighbors thought. Their neighbors seldom understood the behavior of the Ota at all. This could have been for many reasons, but mainly it was because most of the Ota’s neighbors did not understand that Ota were actually vegetable, not animal, in nature. Their likes, dislikes, and motivations were similar enough to most humanoids to prevent outright dislike, but alien enough to give the Ota more than their fair share of ridicule and misunderstanding.
Geremy, being a typical Ota, was not particularly surprised when a dead Tolakian “appeared” in his garden, his impact destroying several rows and uprooting or crushing about thirty plants altogether. Geremy’s real name was an unpronounceable series of amino acids that he would excrete through the plant fibers at the ends of his fingers when he made physical contact with other Ota. Only Ota could “read” this language, and it had no spoken equivalent, so when he had first met another race, and was inevitably asked his name, he replied simply “Could you please give me one?” The adventuring human he met was amused by the young Ota, and was happy to comply. Geremy was not aware of his good fortune at his first meeting with another race. His name didn’t have the amusing qualities that many of his friends’ names did. There was Elfnose Warthead, a childhood friend that had been named by a Gnome, and his next door neighbor was simply called ‘Gruud’ (Molbur-speak for “not very dirty”) by a Molbur that was passing through their region of The Deep. Of course, most Ota overlooked these lingual oddities and used their own language to identify each other in private company.
Geremy observed the destruction for several moments, assessing the damage and determining the most logical course of action. Geremy then set to the work at hand, which consisted primarily of removing the non-biodegradable components of the corpse from the garden, and then turning the body under the soil, both enriching it and providing a makeshift burial for the recently destroyed Belectholdil. Fortunately for Geremy, the long mossy shag on his head only provided him with breathable air, and not a sense of smell. The warm air of The Deep was quickly making Belectholdil into something quite unripe. Geremy gathered the metal items and any other heavy pieces of bone or wood or other large pieces and set them aside for cleaning and consideration later.
Later, when the foul deed was completed, and Geremy had taken nourishment from some of the destroyed plants and replanted those that had survived their exhumation, he dug through the pile of Belectholdil’s belongings. His head, which was mostly intact, was placed carefully into a sack to be shown to the Elder Ota, and Geremy wiped his hands onto his tunic as he sat down to look at the other items of interest that came from the recently fallen Tolakian. Geremy had seen Tolakians before, and was aware that they often had great magical power, but was mostly interested in returning the head to the nearest Tolakians as a gesture of respect, so that the deceased’s family could mourn him. The head was still adorned with a small golden ring through its nose, though no other jewelry was present. The Ota did not observe such behavior themselves, but understood that it was common practice for other humanoids. He figured that the commune would agree, and studied the rest of the belongings, noting that many were likely to be magical. He decided at last that most of the belongings needed to be seen by the Elder Ota, an ancient druid that was called ‘Brambles.’ He was more likely to know about these magical belongings than simple Geremy was.
Geremy called out to the elder Brambles when he reached the edge of Brambles’ mushroom field (which was only a few hundred yards from his own little garden). As far as his vision held clear, Geremy could see the shoulder high fungi spread out through the chasm floor. Brambles kept a great deal of growth around his domicile, and when he was home it was nearly impossible to navigate through the great caps without irritating Elder Brambles. Ota farmers are very particular about their crops, and Brambles was no exception. He seldom left, and usually it was to run political errands with neighboring Dwarves, or to look after the other Ota. He often took the forms of the creatures of The Deep when he wandered, just to keep an eye on the Ota’s neighbors without drawing undue attention to himself.
