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The Cursed Blue Rose
Rain governs the calendar here. The eastern temperate rainforest runs unbroken down to the ocean — moss, fern, dripping timber, ground that never fully dries — and Serezem sits at the seam where that green shelf breaks into saltwater. It is a modest town, raised in the fifth and most recent wave of expansion, and it lives on what is dug out from beneath the trees. Ore comes down from the workings to sheds along the shore to be smelted, beaten and crated for the boats; between hauls the Serezene turn to the forest itself for timber and forage, so that mining, production and harvest run together as one long working year rather than three separate trades.
The Serezene are Suvanar, carried east on the last great wave of settlement, and they have taken the temper of their coast: patient, close-mouthed, unbothered by weather that would stop other people working. Authority arrives from a distance. The town answers to Eisvelde, and Eisvelde to the power seated at Risbern, so a decision taken inland reaches Serezem as a shipping order and a quota. Its faith is the Radiant Light, kept burning in halls where the lamps outlast the grey months.