This one's for you, Raholeun. Hope it's what you meant!
SEASONS AND SAFETY: AVOIDING CLIMATE DISASTER IN AKOTVYAH
The archipelago as a whole recognizes three seasons, each corresponding to about a third of the year. The
sãyo (hot-and-dry season) takes place in our equivalent of September-to-November (somewhat shorter on Ajjamah), where most of the plant life--and animal life, and people life--is on its last reserves. The
tõdo (rainy season) follows like a screaming joyrider across the desert, hurricanes screaming and thunderstorms crackling in its wake--for the equivalent of a full five months, the archipelago is swamped. Finally, once the rains calm down, the third season,
pẽiyo (cool-and-dry-season) sidles in slowly and quietly, providing a bit of piece during which time the good people can harvest their crops in earnest. There are a great many typhoons and earthquakes to deal with year-round, but the typhoons, at least, are localized to a degree. One can expect as a matter of due course, for example, rain typhoons to hit the southernmost islands from the last part of
sãyo to halfway through
tõdo, and wind typhoons to crash against any of the islands in the archipelago from the last little bit of
tõdo to the first quarter of
pẽiyo. And, of course, the islands' sitting on two tectonic plates grinding against each other like Roman chariots in expensive movies means the locals, every now and again, have to put up with volcanic eruptions; thankfully these have been relatively rare and relatively small in recent years, in no small part thanks to the intervention of Salvian geomancers.
The islanders have three strategies to avoid the worst of the damage from the sea and land.
- The first method is literally personified by the Divers, who take their boats and head out to sea in order to avoid the worst of the tsunamis that hit the coast. They also use their instinctive understanding of sea currents to steer clear of islands where hurricanes are headed, and also take the time to warn the locals in most cases. Indeed, they often remain close to the islands they're currently living around (but not on them) during tsunamis, and rescue others who haven't been able to reach shelter safely. Finally, they and others feel perfectly free to hit the sea when dealing with a volcanic eruption (and when close enough).
- The second method is to build one's village on stilts so as to avoid the worst of the waves (but have them close enough to the ground that everything inside doesn't have far to fall when it comes to an earthquake) and heading for the hills, jungles, or mangrove forests nearby. The majority of coastal villages and towns are built in this way--more on this later.
- The third method is reserved for those larger settlements with a decent (past or present) homaya, who chose to create a sturdy dolowi (temple complex). The palaces of Akotvyah tend to be relatively tall towers, isolated from the nearby village but for a rope-and-pulley system (and, for the enterprising homaya, a secret passage built into the structure of the mound leading to a small room just beyond their official meeting room). Temples, on the other hand, are supposed to be accessible to anyone and everyone--and they are the best place to head during a disaster that isn't, for example, volcanic in nature. For over a thousand years dolowis have been built with natural disasters in mind. Great pyramids of beautifuly-worked stone, crafted from the earliest days with only a few bronze tools and yet fitted perfectly piece-for-piece, their doors open wide when an earthquake is set to arrive. And the people from the settlements make the trek up the hill, carrying what they can, and hide in the thick-walled corridors carrying the bone-bricks of their ancestors, to pray and sing and do their best to banish the waves or the tremors from their lands.
It should be noted, by the way, that the Keepers have the best rate of property recovery after any natural disaster, thanks to their Gift of trapping (literally "keeping") objects they want to save in their own personal
inkenei or "hammerspace"; this is occasionally used in bargaining with other races as a means of procuring more property in exchange for protecting that of other people.
Well, that's natural disasters dealt with, but what about everyday life? Even beyond the threat of downing in the sea, there are sharks to worry about off the shores, and saltwater crocodiles, and enough snakes that the Hercuans call the archipelago the Serpent Isles. And of course, thanks to the proliferation of Clownfish People in times gone by, there are any number of chimeras on each island--fusions of human and beast in unnatural form, most neutral, a few beneficent, and some incredibly dangerous.
But then these are the tropics, and for every species of venomous or constricting or spanking snake (be incredibly wary in the jungles of Aheiwa, the whiplash python paralyses its victims with a supersonic lash of its tail), there are two hundred species of bird or butterfly. And beautiful they can be, too--the birds-in-idyll on the Windcatcher Isles are some of the most brightly-coloured animals on Ajjamah. The great mangrove swamps lining the shores (where they aren't covered by sandy beaches or sheer cliffs) of Yekeinos are matched only in Salvi to the north and Wenglau to the far east. The tides run high on Ajjamah thanks to the proximity of its moon; much of the lowland in the southern archipelago is given over to flat fields, perfect for a bountiful crop of rice. All across the islands grow acres and acres of bamboo and sweetcane, the latter of which is prized as a major source of sugar for the region. And, of course, there are spices galore: pepper and cumin and lemoncane and ginger and basil and dancing-girl (more a psychedelic than a spice, but it's mild and apparently improves the flavour of monkey meat tremendously) and summer's mint...
There are two main types of settlement: those used primarily for trade and those used mainly for agriculture. The former tend to be found a lot more on the coast, although one does occasionally find them in the highlands as neutral meeting points for different ethnic groups. (The Clownfish People of Onembeto, for example, have gotten this down to an art form, brokering trade agreements between three different ethnic groups speaking twenty-six languages in total.) They have a town centre containing the main local source of water, around which shop-houses are built. The latter are usually found in the lowlands of the more southerly islands, with a central collection of houses surrounded by acres and acres of rice paddies, to which the inhabitants of the village or town must trudge every morning to do their work. There is also a third type of settlement: the palace complex, described above. These are often nigh-impregnable fortresses built on sheer cliff faces (natural or constructed, it doesn't matter too much), safeguarding the body of the
homaya while his or her
hamoyai (clones) go forth to other places. Settled peoples rarely venture into the jungle except to gather exotic spices or hunt down the more powerful (dangerous or benevolent doesn't entirely matter here) sort of chimera. Each settlement has its own dialect, each island its own remarkable customs and creatures.
How about dealing with other people? Well, that's a topic for another post, but for now: try to learn at least three other languages and/or dialects, more if you're going abroad. The local sprachbunden should make it easier to understand different folks, but it's worth putting in a bit of extra effort at the start. If you find yourself meeting someone in the middle of the jungle then stick to the common custom and shout out first a list of your ancestors going back as far as you can, then the gods or goddesses you worship, then your Gift. If all else fails, run and hide; they're likely to chase you. Don't ask a Finder to locate a friend of yours if they haven't already met them. Don't stare at the Divers' necks, they don't show off their gills on land. Don't immediately suspect a Keeper of theft, they're liable to take offence and they're almost always the ruling ethnicity (despite the absurd number of Keeper pickpockets in the poorer urban areas). Clownfish People change sex as a matter of survival, not as a kink thing, so kindly respect their life experiences. Don't
ever tick off a Speaker. Pay your respects to the local clone on the throne, don't drink too much fermented snake venom, and if worst comes to worst contact your local Salvian temple, Hercuan church, Irthironian embassy, or Malehinese dragon landing platform for more advice.