Northwest of the southern river city of Vedenemo there is a tranquil town of sloped roofs, well-built wooden cottages, purple hedges, narrow streets, and a small park littered with birch trees, one oak, and a few maples. Town of Carcassona. A town of bcksmiths, shepherds, poets, sculptors, painters, carpenters, farmers, and other kindred that enjoy a more peaceful life than the one in the Five Cities. Its inhabitants are strange creatures of mostly human-like shape that use pale sunlight as sustenance.
All wooden structures are coated with a special substance that stops the wood from catching fire. Just another wondrous invention from Vantium's schors.
Any crops within Carcassona's perimeter—whether artificial or natural—are used to feed the livestock which itself is used for leather, fiber, and making scentless soap from fat. Horns and bones are carved into tools such as needles, combs, and awls while sinew was formed into bow strings or used to simply bind things together. Sadly, most of the flesh gets thrown away. The best cuts are sent to Maker since only he has the ability to savor and digest them. Some of the stronger or more daring kindred have an animal pet that consumes surprising amounts of this otherwise thrown meat.
Vilges, and towns like Carcassona—strewn across the Western Equiya—are the workhorses churning out vast raw materials and equipment which feed the Five Cities.
The sun left a while back and it was all so peaceful now with only the death-quiet blue light of spherically carved crystals, attached to posts, wrestling the purest bck in the modest town square. One home, in the western part of town, stood out with its ft roof and austere appearance. The pleasant cottage resembled a tiny fort and offered peace to its one townie.
Inside, only the sound of a crackling fire is breaking the serene quiet. But the fire was alone in the middle of the room since its maker was on the roof looking up and listening to the autumn winds. Silver smoke, rising from the only chimney in the middle of the ft roof, was quickly lost to them.
Nikoos was gazing up at that bck as if expecting the empty sky to provide an answer to his unspoken questions. Occasionally, he would pace in a chaotic pattern of a sentient kindred whose mind wanders the corridors of imagination—unshackled by such trivialities as perceived ws of nature. He never liked his eyes the color of molten gold. True, the kindred possessed eye color of all tints and variations but his own was not particurly common. It was an irksome fact that would irrationally invade his mind from time to time. His self-imposed exile had the advantage of an idyllic life but living in Vantium would be far more practical.
He continued looking up at the bck carpet of the goddess. Decades ago, Maker told him that during the age of humans there were uncountable sparkling flecks spilled all across that carpet. He wondered if gazing at such an image would help or distract him when it came to his thought experiments.
Nikoos would sometimes ponder on how creatures such as humans that led short lives—often in primitive conditions—could have ever come up with great, remarkable ideas and concepts that made them dominate the world. Even in his ninetieth spring, with roughly a third of his life spent, he felt as though all his knowledge was close to nothing. No. Nikoos knew he knew nothing.
Days and nights would pass with retive ease while his mind wandered to the farthest reaches of creative thought. With almost no need to sleep, ideas would eventually become most forthcoming. Days would be spent walking on the ft roof of his small home. He found that walking helped him think. Concepts and ideas swirled and repelled each other incessantly.
