Scribner Corfali’s skeletal fingers gripped Ansu’s ear, guiding him swiftly out of the copy room while the other apprentices stared; the aging scribner was surprisingly strong. He hauled Ansu down the hallway and through the scroll room, opened the door to the storage room, and tossed the boy like a sack of rice. Ansu hit the floor and slid across the closet, crashing into the lower shelves and dislodging sheafs of blank paperrush and woodreed tubes for holding scrolls.
“Clean that up!” Corfali barked, slamming the door. Ansu felt his ear go from numb to burning and then checked his head, where it had hit the lowest shelf. Feeling no blood, he groped his way to the door but discovered there was no handle on the inside. Then he found himself smiling; this was still better than having to transcribe yet another copy of the Kalt Om Trova!
As his eyes adjusted to the faint light filtering under the door, Ansu’s bravado started to subside. How much trouble was he in? Corfali wasn’t a skrella or anything, just a scribner. Of course, Ansu was only a scribner’s apprentice. How much would it matter that he’d been right? Ansu started to gather the scroll tubes and rolls of paper that were within reach, stacking the paperrush and lining up the empty tubes. Some of the stoppers had come out of the tubes and were hanging by the strings bound around the necks, so he dutifully checked and resealed each one. Until he came to one that wasn’t empty.
As soon as he started to pull them from the tube Ansu could tell, even in the dim light, that there was writing on the pages. He could also feel that they were hardened and brittle, unlike any scrolls he’d ever touched. Hearing footsteps approaching, he made a quick decision, pushing the scrolls and cork into the tube and leaping up to hide it behind the countless empty ones stacked on the shelves. If he didn’t wind up out on the streets, he’d find a way to get back in here . . .
The southern continent, Odo Kwon, is one of extreme landscapes and climates. The largest river in the world, the Rhyba Matta, flows from the southern Burkhdyn Gazar through vast dry plains on its way to the sea, and the ancient, sprawling city of Doma lies at its mouth. Doma is much larger, both in size and population, than Moru Kel. About 80% of the Domese are humans, with elves making up another 15%. Smallfolk are the next most common race, followed by goliaths. Dwarves are uncommon on Odo Kwon.
Doma rules a huge region, including all of the towns along the Rhyba Matta. The larger towns, and their surrounds, are governed by skrella, who are priests — but much more. Domese priests are master scribes, responsible for training those who keep records and preserve scrolls. They are also responsible for the collection of taxes. They answer to the four segga, skrella from the temples within the city. The segga have great power but the ultimate authority lies with the Imir, who is both of royal blood and blessed by the gods. The Fa Saldaat family have ruled Doma for twelve generations, and Imir Sali Fa Saldaat is the current leader.
Doma is rich in resources, most notably gold, copper, tin, nickel, salt, paperrush, and rice. Domese rice, commonly known as golden rice, grows in paddies along the Rhyba Matta, as does paperrush. Carnelian, frankincense, myrrh, figs, dates, and almonds are other important exports. The Domese are well known for their bronze weapons and armor, gold and bronze filigree, mirrors, and delicate glass beads. They also make fine silk clothing, though the fabric is imported from Quayshi. Kohl and argan oil for hair come from Doma. The Domese understand the importance of proper bathing and hair care and have recently discovered ochala butter and oil, which is now in high demand there. A gift of ochala oil can open doors in Doma more easily than gold.
Though ancient, Doma has been continually occupied through the millenia, with newer structures built atop the ruins of older ones. At first glance, it appears entirely modern, but the buried remnants of the past are everywhere. This blend of old and new is everywhere in Doma. Many neighborhoods are mazes of narrow alleys that occasionally open into irregularly shaped courtyards, crowded with carts and stalls. Each neighborhood has a different food specialty and different fine artisans. Yet you are never far from one of the broad, modern roads that run parallel to the river on either bank.
The city is split between the north side of the delta and the south side, which are completely cut off from one another during spring flooding. Once the river subsides, though, the two banks are linked by plank bridges, and anchored barges loaded with plants fill the river. These garden barges are a spectacle to behold, like giant, unnaturally shaped water lilies. You’ll also find vendors’ stalls populating the sandy islets between branches of the river. Look for curry crock; this local stew always contains greens, rice, and onions and usually contains heart-of-palm. It may also include fish, snake, or crocodile. While this author likes to think of the latter as Croc Crock, the joke doesn’t translate in the Domese tongue, a variation of Old Menan.
The prevalence of paper for scrolls has resulted in a highly literate people; I once gave a crescent to a club-footed beggar and saw him record a tick mark on a small scrap of paper! The largest temples in Doma have libraries of scrolls that fill enormous, domed galleries. The Culture and Antiquities Society, a group with origins in Adassus — even farther south than Doma — also has an impressive collection of scrolls and antiquities. Their caza is nearly the size of some temples.
Jugglers, acrobats, and trick magicians are common in Doma. You’ll be wowed by fire dancers and simple sleight of hand, at first, but resist the urge to tip the performers closest to the shore in the Huna district. Save your coin for admittance to one of the shows in Toh district. You’ll also find soothsayers and fortune tellers here, but beware that most are charlatans.
Sala is worshipped as Sawel, here, and viewed as nongendered, much the way we see Dawa. The Sun Temple of Sawel — pronounced “saw WHEEL” or “saw WELL” — features an awe-inspiring bronze dome. The Imir is also the head of the Temple of Sawel. The four segga, second in power to the Imir, are chosen from the senior priests, or skrella, from the other deities’ temples. Currently the segga represent the temples of Ptomir, Aerta, Purnoz, and Dawa. It is impossible to separate religion from power in Doma, so the ruling segga always have the most lavish festivals.
The Festival of Fire is as popular in Doma as in Moru Kel, celebrated with the spectacle of small paper lanterns floating on the Rhyba Matta and larger ones rising into the sky. Locals also burn small scrolls inscribed with prayers to Sawel and Purnoz. The rich smell of incense fills the air; laughter and song soar from the flat rooftops. In Doma the daytime temperatures at the height of summer are intolerable, so the celebration begins at dusk and continues through the night. Whole goats are seasoned and spit-roasted, served with golden rice curry with dates. The Domese also serve delectable vegetable fritters and bean fritters, often made with eggs or a local cheese called hamaz, and accompanied by a strange but delightful selection of condiments; cucumber yogurt and lemon-sesame are both surprisingly enjoyable.
Domese love poetry, in both short and long forms. Their musical instruments are similar in basic construct to our own, but they favor odd keys and chords, thus stringed instruments are tuned very differently. The songs of Doma are not structured around regular rhythm and their few rhythmic instruments - hand drums, wood blocks, and zills - serve more as accents than guides. Domese vocalists and horn players summon eerie wails that evoke a sense of the beyond.
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