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The Cursed Blue Rose
Rain rules Rumasel. The temperate rainforest of the far south-west drinks almost year-round, and the whole working day is arranged around water nobody asked for: moss on every timber, air that will not dry, a cut in the earth that fills as fast as it is opened. Mining is the trade regardless. The ore-bearing ground lies beneath that green ceiling, and the crews spend as much labour on drainage and shoring as on the seams themselves, sinking sumps, cutting channels, re-timbering galleries after every heavy season.
The sea is what makes the effort pay. Nothing torn out of that rock would ever cross the rainforest by track, so it goes onto hulls instead, and the water carries what the country will not. Rumasel belongs to the fourth wave of expansion, and its Ashanar keep the sea-going habits of the south-west: long voyages, and agreements built to hold across them. Allegiance runs to Nurazar, and the ore leaves accordingly.