The Empire is a perpetual frontier, its new townships raised as quickly as old ones fall. Across Doaden, common folk set out from famine, overpopulation, mad faith, or noble ambition, seeking fertile ground beneath a broken sky. Few survive the road, but enough endure to keep civilisation guttering in the dark.

The common folk of the Empire are hardened by generations of woe and want. They know the nature of the land, the signs of storms, and the articles of faith by which Imperial citizens are bound. They are not trained like the martial orders, but when driven to violence they will rise with whatever lies close at hand.

Swords are rare and costly, but a scythe, fork, axe, or hunting bow can kill well enough. Whether defending homes from bandits, standing against the things beyond the firelight, or joining doomed rebellion against cruel rulers, even the humblest citizens can become a wall of desperate flesh.