Scarside Cliffs

And so they did. The sea began to freeze too early. The winds howled without rest. The tides turned treacherous and strange.   But Amalee, in her grief, could not bring herself to punish those who called Scarside home. She wept through the long winters, and in her sorrow, allowed spring to return — soft and green, like the laughter of a child. Autumns grew bountiful, golden with memory. These are the only seasons left untouched by wrath.   The name of the lost daughter has never been spoken since that day. But when the wind rises and the waves scream, some swear they hear it carried on the storm.

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Scarside Cliffs lie at the very tip of The Twins, just before the Silver Straits — a narrow passage of cold, unruly sea. The region is known for its rapid, seasonal shifts and unpredictable weather. Winters arrive early and often, freezing the sea solid and making late autumn travel dangerous at best, deadly at worst.   The cliffs themselves are rugged, sharp, and often slick with sea spray. Harboring is treacherous — the inlet is small and the tides move swiftly. Only seasoned sailors can navigate it without risking their lives. The untrained do not persist.   The terrain is mostly rocky and harsh, unsuitable for many crops or animals. The village of Scarside sits high above the cliffs, overlooking the sea like a lone watcher. To the south, forests drift over the upper cliffs, offering shelter, game, and wood — though even the trees seem shaped by the wind.   Here, the land lives and breathes with the seasons. The people know this rhythm well. They bulk up for the Silence of winter, make full use of spring’s renewal, endure the sweltering trials of summer, and reap the golden sweetness of autumn’s harvest.   It is a hard land — but it is theirs.

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The daily lives of those in Scarside follow a brutal, beautiful rhythm carved by tide and season.   Winter In winter, the village quiets. Families live off rationed stores from the autumn harvest—pickled vegetables, seal jerky, preserved fish. A few skilled hunters brave the shifting ice to bring back seal meat, which is shared communally. Energy is conserved. Most work halts, save for what is essential to endure the cold and the heaving, frozen tides.   The longest night of winter is marked by ceremony that lasts until dawn: prayers to the gods, a feast of seal and stew, and stories shared of the long lost.   Spring Spring begins with treacherous thaw—slippery mud, frigid rain, and the first signs of life clawing through frostbitten earth. It’s a frantic season: mending nets, repairing boats, and preparing for the short, precious window of abundance.   Fishing crews rush to sea. Hunters take to the cliffs and shallows. The harbor, briefly, becomes a lifeline again. Women mend nets and boots with newly tanned hides, airing out the village from its long silence. Herbalists go deep into the forests to harvest rare flittersnap shoots for healing tonics. Spring is fleeting and quick.   Summer Summer is survivable—but only barely. The heat brings rot and sweat. The waters churn with blood whales: vast, territorial, and dangerous. The sea reeks of iron and fear. Storms rise fast and violently. Those who don’t prepare often don’t survive.   A few, those who live at the highest points in the village, brave Edarr’s tempests to craft stormglass bottles for mages and alchemists. It is a dangerous job, but a highly praised one. Some men go whale riding to prove their worth as husbands—if they return.   Autumn Autumn is the only true grace Scarside offers. The winds are calm. The land softens. Crops are gathered, and the village breathes. It is the season of restoration and preparation, before the wheel turns again.   The golden fall brings the scent of canning: ripened vegetables, preserves, and herbs hanging to dry. The harvest is steady. This is the one time of year when peace seems possible.

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