“At the edges of world, the red islands serve as resting places of refuse, out of sight but not out of mind
A myriad of broken weapons, of old battles fought and forgotten, piled as high as the rust of ages allow it
Where the children of Dunan ply their trade, scrounging expeditions deep into the waste and higher yet among the iron mounds.
Climbing perilously high to reach any treasure trove yet untouched, hoping to lay their hands on a hidden wealth of arms
The veterans of the mounds knew well what types hearken to which era, where untouched could last eons, or with effort restored to working order
Food on the table for a handful of crimson coin, the edge in a fight in some far away place”

Excerpt from For a handful of coin