Your hometown is small enough that everyone in it recognizes everyone else on sight, at the very least, and usually by surname if not by given name. Since a minimum of order and discipline contributes to everyone's survival, your neighbors are united and sensible enough to contribute to the community rather than taking away from it; even the youth gangs, which run in fives and eights, generally walk a fine, unspoken line between "juvenile diversion" and "inexcusable behavior," and those rare Strange who appear in the village are sometimes considered blessed that they haven't extra mouths to feed, barring if they choose to try and take in one of the orphaned gangers off the empty streets.

Everyone gives, because the desert does nothing but take.

Detailed below are notable individuals or families who are particularly relevant to you. There are other folk in the village (though not many), but none quite so important to you, personally, as these.


Briskby
Brent, the head of the Briskby household, is a strong, sturdy miner with unexpectedly dexterous feet, to match. A regular volunteer in the militia during his off-hours, he sometimes offers lessons to those who come looking, in preparation for one of the village's brief, uncommon festivities. His daughter, Griselda, is a comely lass who also has a respectable amount of skill and coordination regarding the art of the dance.

Kaya
The Kayas are an unusual bunch...what remains of them, anyway. Like so many who live in the dangerous desert clime, the dark-haired couple�descended, maybe, from some southern bloodline�met their end in tragedy: Azer, when his head was kicked in trying to break one of Tarlish's stubborn horses; and Alma, from a deathtail sting only a few years later. Their children, Evren and Yildiz, were left to fend largely for themselves in the wake of the parents' deaths, though Tarlish at least gave over Azer's place in his employ to the former, despite Evren's age at the time. They might have more sympathy from their fellow villagers, but Evren's behavior and attitude don't garner much compassion, and his sister is little help.

Old Adli
There is no official position in the village for "lorekeeper" or "teacher," but if there was, old Adli would hold it, without question. The aging woman knows every tale and legend backward and forward, and has spent so long retelling them that she habitually speaks in half-quotations and koans. Though there are few actual children in the village, those who are too young to work but old enough to be away from their parents' sight spend the days sleeping, and the cool nighttime hours gathered in Adli's hut, learning their letters and history from her moral plays and metaphors.

Red
One of the oldest families in town, the Reds have something of a tragic history, in recent years. Clark's father, Yab, died unexpectedly from a sudden illness, and his mother, Tara, never really recovered, remaining unable to care for herself to this day. Where some might be bitter, Clark simply shouldered the necessary responsibilities, entering the mines early and hardly leaving since; his relatives, like the Boots or the Nails, can only do so much, with the whole village in decline as it is, but Clark powers on. His uncle by marriage, Brent Briskby, makes sure no one forgets the lad's heroism in saving three fellow miners from a collapse several years ago, perhaps hoping the respect and appreciation thus generated will be enough to elicit a bit more assistance from their neighbors.

Tarlish
There is only one Tarlish, though the cantankerous old recluse is known by his surname throughout the village, rather than by his given name. This is possibly because he is the last remaining shade of wealth or prestige in the place�much good may it do him. Tarlish claims much of the property nearby as his own, employing local toughs to handle his quickhorns; he "owns" town's only functioning orchard (an oilberry operation), but grudgingly shares its yield to keep the community going. Once a successful laborer, himself, the aging man spends much of his time locked away in his house, since his family is gone, only emerging to supervise his employees on the oil press or, occasionally, to pay them in fresh water. Rumors persist that Tarlish has a fortune stashed away someplace�by this point, it's in the thousands, of course�but his money is useless in the desert, and where he might keep it hidden, nobody knows.

Walsh
The Walshes have something of an unpleasant reputation in town. First, Esmeralda left for reasons unknown, shortly after the birth of her son, Corbin. The suddenness of it got to her husband Dwight "Whitey" Walsh, who took to drink and even grimgrass while Corbin got raised by near relatives, or passed to whomever was handy while others went to work. Nowadays, no one would trust Whitey with a pick, even if he was willing to lift one, and the generosity of others has mostly long ago expired, so the broken man stays shacked up at home while the errant son he never really knew runs with the gangs and causes trouble.

Weaver
There's no real leader in the village, since the community is small enough to tackle its problems by committee, but Talos Weaver is the closest thing to a sheriff or constable, just by dint of being the most organized and effective member of the militia. He is the one who drags hungover volunteers to drills and practices, and who makes sure that the primitive but precious equipment kept by the defenders is maintained. His wife, Erestar, makes and mends clothing, and her opinion carries nearly as much weight on the occasions she speaks up. While both Weavers are hard-working, no-nonsense types, they allow their son, Saramath, a certain amount of freedom in his youth, even if Talos disapproves of the boy's flighty pursuits.