The Eastern Peninsula. Somewhere in an unknown fishing village.
The winter sun hung in the middle of the sky. While a few seagulls cawed, a group of fishermen with skin darkened from fishing under the sun all year long, docked their special skiffs made for offshore fishing at a dilapidated jetty after coming back from the sea.
Getting to shore with their meager catch, they lamented about how hard it was to get through winter.
Winter was hard for them compared to those in the nearby towns, or even the cities a couple dozen miles away, with the resources and capital to mobilize galleons and catch rare fish in the ocean. Things were also easier for the people of status involved in the whale-hunting business, as well as the bureaucrats running the salt fields and the underwater dark copper mining operations. No matter what, the winter for these fishermen were difficult.
