The Roothearth

Foundations and Layout

The Roothearth sits at Naath’s center, built in slow spirals around the bases of several Vermosa giants. Homes curve with the natural lines of the roots. Walls are living wood reinforced by polished stone. Roofs are fitted with shingle-bark and resin seals to keep steady in wind and rain. Low bridges cross the roots where paths would be too steep. Lantern moss grows in carved sconces along the walkways, trimmed each week so the light stays even after dusk. Every doorway holds a carved family sigil that marks lineage, craft, and standing. Some sigils are older than the memory of the current household. Children learn to rub balm into the carvings to keep them from cracking in dry months.

Water runs through narrow channels that draw from the city’s deep aquifers and, by right of place, from cisterns tied to the Fountain’s system. The channels feed shared garden plots that sit between the rings of homes. These plots are practical—herbs, greens, edible flowers, and hardy fruits. Each ring elects a garden-keeper who tracks planting order, compost, and harvest rotation. A second keeper manages repair of rootbridges and drainage stones. The Roothearth avoids waste. Scraps go to garden pits. Broken pottery becomes gravel under new paths. Old beams are planed into benches.

The district’s paths radiate toward the rest of Naath. One route runs straight to the Fountain Pavilion for public declarations. Another reaches the Trunk Market in only a few minutes. A shaded line meets the Embergrove where tools and furnishings are commissioned. The fourth path bends to Leyshade Cloister, where quiet errands bring householders to consult a reader, confirm a sigil form, or seek a lawful writ for a family matter. Sound carries well across the Roothearth, but the district keeps business measured. Work calls are short. Bells mark meal hours and council summons. The streets hold steady rhythm without crowding the day.

Loamfold Crossing lies at the center of these spirals where five barkstone lanes meet in a shallow bowl. The place formed by habit before it was set in stone. Neighbors pause here to greet, share a basket, or trade small news. No stalls are permitted. The Council framed a simple rule: nothing for sale, nothing demanded. It remains the district’s most reliable ground for honest talk.

Households and Daily Life

Roothearth homes are made to last and to hold steady habits. A typical dwelling has a broad room for meals and council of the family, a loft for sleeping, and a narrow storage cell cut into the safer side of a root. Built-in shelves hold resin-ink ledgers. Hooks near the door keep cloaks and tools off the floor. Hearth stones are vented under the eaves to keep smoke from staining the beams. Families keep a water-jar by the threshold for guests and a wooden stool for elders who cannot stand long. Doors are left open during daylight unless sickness or grief requires quiet. Even then, a strand of dyed cord on the knob lets neighbors know whether help is welcome.

Apprenticeship begins early. Children run errands to the Trunk Market, carry notes to teachers in the Embergrove, or bring sealed jars to the Lorekeepers for script or counsel. Work is not loud here, but it is constant. You will hear a chisel set back in a box, a sweep of straw on the steps, and the light clack of bead-counters as a grandparent marks accounts. Evenings bring shared meals. The nearest ring chooses a host house for the week. Food moves by tray from kitchen to platform, then to benches around a low table. Recipes shift with season: root stew with herb oil, grilled river fish when the Lake-Wardens report a safe catch, and flatbread filled with greens at spring turn.

Visitors stay in quiet inns that serve the district’s needs without drawing crowds. Lantern Hollow houses apprentices, visiting kin, and long-stay workers who seek a steady room, set meals, and a shelf of public records for reference. Hearthshade Walk caters to Lorekeepers, healers, and council aides who must move often between the Fountain and the Cloister; it keeps early breakfasts and still halls. The Hollow Stem opens only to guests vouched by local families, with four private rooms and two clean lofts watched by Rethel and Maiven, who keep a firm book and a fair table. Vinepost Rest sits near the southeast lane and serves foragers, runners, and traders with hooks for gear, cubbies for drying boots, and a plain supper at a set hour. None of these inns hold music or loud games. Their value is reliability.

Children play tag on rootbridges and practice balance on low beams set near the ground. Elders teach harvest chants and simple hand signs for silent work. On rest-days, small benches gather singers, and a reed flute will carry a tune between houses. Weddings are conducted under a family arch and recorded by a scribe who notes both lines and any change of caste duties. Funerals are simple and exact. A procession moves from the home to a permitted grove. Names are spoken. The Lorekeepers mark the record. Families return to a clean meal and a short watch.

Stewardship, Law, and Safety

The Roothearth is a living quarter, but it also holds the city’s trust. Small shrines to the paths and wells sit at the edge of the rings. Wardens of Rootwatch keep the district’s inner patrol from the Wardenhold Hearthstead, a barracks shaped into a natural root cradle on the southern curve. The Hearthstead posts morning rotations, tracks reports, and sends pairs to tend shrines, clear snags, and check lantern stones after storms. Off-duty wardens take meals with nearby families. Initiates are assigned to city tasks here before they earn the right to work the outer lines.

Just north of the Hearthstead lies the Thorncross Grounds, a terraced rise used for practical drills. The Wardens bring formations through their steps and rehearse signal horns at low volume. When the Council needs mixed parties for difficult work, the Seekers use the Grounds to align with the Wardens’ methods and timings. This arrangement is not always smooth. Wardens prize order. Seekers prize initiative. Drills end with a shared water break and short notes under a warden’s eye. Results are posted at the Hearthstead with clear marks so no one argues later over who holds which duty.

Law moves gently here but does not wander. Household disputes begin at the ring’s bench with a speaking elder. If a matter touches property lines, guardianship, or rites, a clerk carries it to the Fountain Pavilion where a Council-appointed reader weighs stood facts. If the subject is magical in nature, a Lorekeeper steps in to settle how a charm, ward, or binding should be used inside a home. Rules on magic are firm. Lighting charms, clean-water stones, and careful weather screens are permitted. Glamours that change the look of a person or a door are not. Wards that draw on the flows require a writ from the Cloister and a record in the household ledger. The district does not allow private lock-spells that trap a hall or block a public path.

The Merchant Guild’s hand is light in the Roothearth. Prices and quotas belong to the Trunk Market. Here, the Guild respects households. Even so, it posts guidance on fair trade between neighbors and keeps a small chest of fines for anyone who tries to run a hidden shop from a porch or set a stall at Loamfold Crossing. The rule is old: sleeping quarters stay free of haggling. It protects rest and keeps arguments out of the lanes.

When trouble comes from outside—bandits near the roads, a beast straying too close, or unrest beyond the forest—the Roothearth switches to a set pattern. Lantern moss is trimmed low at corners to improve sight lines. Children are gathered at Hearthshade Walk and the Hollow Stem. Water jars are filled. The Wardenhold calls for quiet patrols. A council crier reads posted steps at each ring. The district has followed these measures many times. Calm actions hold the line better than sharp words.

Paths, Places, and Shared Rites

The Roothearth carries Naath’s memory through clear customs. At first light on the first day of each season, households step out with a small plate or cup and trade bites and sips along the ring. This confirms peace between doors and sets the tone for work. At dusk on the same day, a short procession forms at Loamfold Crossing and moves toward the Fountain with lanterns. There is no speech beyond the set lines read by the eldest present. The ceremony is brief, rain or clear.

Between seasons, the district follows a steady calendar. The second rest-day of each month brings tool checks and path repair led by the garden-keepers and bridge-keepers. Workers from the Embergrove visit to inspect beams and tighten fittings. A Lorekeeper walks the lines, marking down any ward-stones that need cleansing or seals that should be retired. In the wet months, the Wardens ask for leaf-sweeps and drain checks, and they stand two extra watches at night. Families share the burden by ring so no one household misses work too often.

Several places shape the district’s character. Loamfold Crossing remains the neighborhood’s truest measure; when it grows quiet, people know the city is holding its breath. At the southern curve, the Wardenhold Hearthstead keeps the district linked to the wider duties of Naath. At the northern rise, a small teaching court sits under a trimmed bough where elders teach letters, numbers, and law to the youngest. Benches face a slate board. Lessons are short, and breaks are frequent. When older children finish, a runner from the Embergrove or the Cloister will guide them to a day’s service.