By the flickering torchlight, two books caught her eye. One was tightly bound in snakeskin, the very thought of touching it making her shiver, but it looked as if it had been naturally shed and alchemically treated to stick to other layers of shed skin. This was all plastered together to create a cohesive, if dusty and fragile, book cover. The other book was old and weathered, seemingly bound in leather with intricate designs embossed into the tanned hide.
Nala pulled each of them from the shelf with great care, delicately handling them as to not get a single bit of them roughed up by her presence. The movement sent a cascade of dust to her nostrils, tickling her from the inside and forcing her to hold back a sneeze. Her body overrode her will, however, and a great gust of wind rushed forth from her lungs, echoing through the hallways of the catacombs. She was so startled she nearly dropped the fragile relics, but was able to catch them in time. She froze, listening for a moment to see if anyone had heard and was coming to investigate. Once she was satisfied that nobody had heard the embarrassing disturbance, she continued her work.
Once she found herself stable once more, Nala slithered over to the desk and sat in the chair, gently opening the leather bound book, first. At this point she was enormously curious, a quiet smile curling the corners of her lips. She’d heard from the slaves that cleaned the catacombs and attended to the shrine to Siku that there was an alcove like this where the old things from Zinrah were kept. She’d wandered the underground for nearly a bell before she stumbled upon it, but now her efforts came to fruition.
The book was a journal or one Kalessarajor, a name Nala recognized as her grandmother’s. It described life among other Dhani nearly 200 years ago, and the way of life in the constrictor capitol of Zinrah. It followed the woman from early adulthood into her elder years, and described Shahess, Nala’s mother and Kalessa’s daughter, during her younger days. Nala couldn’t help but chuckle at the undeniable thought that her mother hadn’t changed all that much.
Near the back of the book was where things truly began to get interesting, as it described the families introduction to tobacco and some early mixes that Kalessa had come up with. Some were recipes Nala remembered being passed down to her from her mother, the ones that had stood the test of time and remained Shahess’ personal favorites. Others she had never heard of before, either by simple forgetfulness or dislike for the blends, Nala could not be sure. Some seemed absolutely repugnant, causing Nala to skew her face when she looked at them. Others, however, seemed less dangerous. All of them, no matter what their apparent nature, had a very specific recipe with side notes all up and down the edges of the pages, creating a waterfall of information.
One page in particular, near the end, caught Nala’s eye for the simple fact that it was particularly worn. The title spoke for itself, claiming its contents were “Rajor Gold”, and upon the pages was one of the most complex recipes Nala had seen all evening. It’s additional notes covered a full page and a half past the original recipe, noting what types of tobacco yielded the best blend, where to get each of the spices and so on. As her home was far from Zinrah, and the places mentioned in the book likely only existed 200 years ago, Nala could not follow each and every one of them down to the letter, but she sure would try.
She wanted to know what Rajor Gold tasted like. |
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