Forty miles south along the coast, where the shoreline transforms into raw, dramatic art, there clings a small fishing village of perhaps two hundred souls. Tidecrest perches upon cliffs of golden stone that rise sheer from the waters below, creating a landscape of such austere beauty that visitors often stand speechless.

Rather than building upon the clifftop, residents have carved their dwellings directly into the cliff face — a vertical village of interconnected chambers accessed by rope bridges and carved stone staircases worn smooth by generations. These homes are remarkably secure, protected from coastal storms by the cliff's bulk and positioned to catch the warmth of the morning sun.

Tidecrest's culture is insular and deeply superstitious, shaped by generations of living at the mercy of forces beyond human control. Traditions tied to lunar cycles govern the major harvest periods — certain phases are blessed for gathering, others actively dangerous. Outsiders are tolerated but never fully trusted. Those who have not spent years learning the tides' secrets lack the judgment to make decisions affecting the village's welfare.