Daily Life on the Frontier
How folk survive when the world fights back
The Shape of Life
The frontier is hard, hungry, and superstitious. A man's worth is judged by what he can carry and what he can defend. Communities rise around water, rail stops, and mineral veins — but collapse just as quickly when storms, bandits, or psionics strike. Survival isn't guaranteed; funerals are more common than weddings.
Three Rules to Live By
- Don't travel alone
- Don't trust strangers with empty hands
- Don't look too long into the dark
Food & Drink
Meals on the frontier are heavy on salt (to preserve), spice (to mask rot), and ritual. Breaking bread before negotiation is sacred—refusing to share food marks hostility.
Staples
- Corn mash, salt pork, beans, hardtack, and dried jerky—the five pillars of survival
- Folks in the Ash Belt grind cactus fruit and tough desert grains into flatbreads
- Luxury goods from Orvain: coffee, chocolate, fine liquor—status symbols for the rich
Frontier Drinks
- Fenfire Whiskey: From Wraithburn, glows faint if left uncorked under the moon
- Stormrise Brew: Bitter beer with metallic tang from iron-laced water
- Deadwater Tea: Boiled herbs from the Fen—calming but addictive
Food Superstitions
- Fenfire Whiskey drunk slow—the glow lures spirits if you stare too long
- Ashbread always cut crosswise to ward off Hollow Men at the threshold
- Salt thrown over shoulder after every meal to "pay the ground"
- Deadwater Tea brings prophetic dreams—usually of your own misfortune
Clothes & Gear
- Everyday Folk: Roughspun shirts, leather vests, canvas trousers, boots reinforced with scrap iron
- Hats: Not just style but shade, shield, and identity—losing your hat is losing face
- Militias: Piecemeal armor—chainmail from old wars, padded coats, painted breastplates
- Protective Charms: Silver spoon bent into a ring, bird skull tied to belt, bags of salt worn around neck
Common Sayings & Slang
"Fen's got your face" — You look cursed, sick, or half-dead
"Don't hitch your horse to a ghost" — Don't trust impossible promises
"Current-sick" — Someone drained or hollowed by psionics
"Dust-born" — Unlucky from birth, touched by storms
Beliefs & Customs
Death & Burial
- Frontier folk bury deep, with iron nails driven into coffin lids to "pin the soul"
- In Wraithburn, bodies are burned, not buried—"lest the Fen walk them back"
- Coins placed on eyes aren't for the ferryman but to weigh them shut
- Graves marked with circles of salt, renewed monthly
Weddings & Bonds
- Simple exchanges of charms or heirlooms, feast if possible
- Couples without heirlooms use bullets fired under a full moon
- Said to bind both lives and deaths together
Holidays & Observances
- Ashfall Eve: Yearly dust storm season—stay indoors, tell ghost stories
- First Rain: Celebrated with bonfires and whiskey after long droughts
- The Crossing: Day settlers first survived the Stormrise—honored in Brimstead
Everyday Work
- Farmers: Raise dust-resistant grains, hardy cattle—tie rawhide to fence posts to "ground" stray thoughts
- Miners: Dig iron and coal in Stormrise—short-lived, always coughing, carry mirrors to check for "slow reflections"
- Traders: Link isolated towns—bring gossip, disease, and psion rumors with equal measure
- Mercenaries: Hire guns for food or coin—militia pay steady, outlaw pay better, psion pay deadliest
- Caravan Guards: Tie salt bags to wagon wheels to prevent "echo tracks" that lead raiders
Entertainment & Storytelling
- Music: Fiddles, banjos, harmonicas—songs mix grief and gallows humor
- Popular Tales: Gunslingers who shot the moon, the Fen swallowing whole towns
- Dream-Paintings: Made by Seers, hung over beds to catch bad futures
- Gambling: Cards, dice, psionic-read poker (illegal but rampant)
Roll me bones and deal me fate,
A coin to pay the Reaper's gate.
Cards run cold and dice fall mean,
But death don't care if your pockets clean.
A Day in the Life
Brimstead Farmer
Wakes at dawn, feeds stock, checks rawhide charms on the fence. Eats beans and ashbread. Hears distant thunder—curses Stormcallers. Spends the day mending fences, always watching the horizon for dust storms or raiders. Evening meal with family, stories by firelight, salt thrown at threshold before bed.
Wraithburn Tavern Night
Laughter over glowing whiskey. Dice clatter on scarred tables. A man's shadow starts moving faster than he does; the room goes silent. A Bastion Soul gently ushers him outside before panic spreads. Music resumes, but everyone drinks a little faster.
Caravan Road Watch
A guard lights a lantern at every stop. Keeps salt in his boot, checks mirror on wagon. At night, he hears the whisper: "You're lost. I'll guide you." He throws more salt on the fire and doesn't sleep until dawn.