Everyday Life in Pelos
Pelos is a nation of great wealth, great industry, and greater ambition.
Its ships dominate the Dividing Sea. Its factories produce weapons and machinery for half of Asteria. Its engineers are finding new ways to harness the power of both steam and the Mere, and its merchants grow rich moving coal, steel, textiles, timber, food, and, increasingly, Irismere across the continent. The streets of its cities are expanding almost as quickly as the factories that fill them, and its population is booming.
And yet, if you wish to understand Pelos, it is better not to begin in a palace, a parliament chamber, or a merchant's counting house. Instead, you should step into one of the narrow streets behind them. Here you will find the ordinary people who make the greatness of Pelos possible.
Perhaps you will encounter a woman carrying a basket of potatoes home from the market, or a boy blackened with soot after twelve hours in a foundry. Maybe you will spot a sailor repairing his coat outside a tavern, or a girl hurrying to work before the church horns have finished their morning song. Venture into one of the tightly packed houses that line the back streets and you might find a family of eight living within a single room, and next door you will find another. These are the people that form the heart of Pelos.
The Pelosian working class makes up roughly seventy percent of the nation’s population. They are labourers, farmers, miners, factory hands, domestic servants, dock workers, craftsmen, carters, fishermen, shop assistants, market sellers and thousands of other occupations that keep the country running.
As such, it would be wrong to say that there exists a single working-class experience. A miner in Redmere, a dock worker in Gard, and a domestic servant in Luhgen live very different lives. The northern cities are colder, the industrial towns dirtier, the ports louder, and the countryside more spacious. However, wherever you go, you will find certain things familiar. The work is always hard, there is never enough food or heat, and community is at the heart of everything.
A Nation in a Hurry
The first thing you are likely to notice in any Pelosian city is that it is growing. Pelos has changed enormously in only a few decades. The population has increased by almost two thirds in the last forty seasons. The cities have grown particularly quickly, with urban populations increasing by an average of eighty-three percent over the last decade and a half. The capital city of Luhgen has grown by roughly seventy percent in thirty seasons, while some industrial cities have grown by more than one hundred and twenty percent in the same time.
Narrowgate has been particularly transformed. Where once there were fields and small settlements, there are now factories, workshops, warehouses and rows of workers' housing. Chimneys rise above the rooftops, barges crowd the River Alden, and steam engines cough and hiss beside roads that were never designed to carry so much traffic.
And this same process is taking place all across the country. The harbour in Gard has doubled in size within living memory, Selcaster expands with every ship it builds, and Redmere is said to change so much with each passing season that someone armed with last years map would find themselves helplessly lost. Even the quieter towns are feeling the change, as people from all over Pelos head in from the countryside in search of work.
For there is money to be made in the city, but there is also money to be saved, and those two things do benefit the working-class equally.
A factory owner who, thanks to industrial innovations, can now employ forty people instead of fifty will happily do so. A landlord who can divide one large house into six smaller dwellings would be a fool not to. A merchant who can buy cheaper materials but sell at the same price would go out of business if they didn’t. And a shipbuilder who can make a vessel faster and sell it sooner has every reason to increase the pace of work, the health and safety of their workers be damned.
The Industrial Revolution is, after all, about industry. But it is also about profit. And the person who pays for that profit is very often the person at the bottom of the ladder.
The Working Day
If you are staying with a working family, do not expect them to sleep late. In many households, the day begins before sunrise. Someone must light the fire, fetch water, prepare breakfast, and wake the children. It is likely to that several members of the household will need leave early enough to reach the factory, workshop, docks, or fields in which they work before the sun has fully risen.
The working day varies enormously depending upon a persons occupation, though long hours are common to all. A factory worker may spend most of the daylight hours beside a machine. A miner may descend into the earth before dawn and emerge exhausted after dark. Agricultural labourers work according to the season and weather, while servants are often expected to be available whenever their employer requires them, night or day.
Children work too. This is not unusual enough to attract much attention. A child old enough to carry, sweep, sort, fetch or operate simple machinery are considered old enough to earn. In poorer families, there is little alternative. A household may contain six people, all of whom work, but don’t be mistaking into thinking this mean they receive six full wages. Children earn less than adults, there is no such thing as sick pay, and an injury can remove a worker's income entirely.
A broken arm is therefore more than a medical problem. It is a financial disaster. The same is true of a fever, a bad winter, an injured horse, a failed harvest, or a factory closure.
Most households have little in the way of savings, and many struggle to bring in even three quarters of what they actually need. This means that the difference between managing and not managing can be surprisingly small. A few lost days of work may mean debt, a week without work may mean hunger, and a serious illness may mean losing your home.
What You Eat
If there is one subject that occupies more of the working person's mind than employment, it is food. This is not because Pelosians are especially concerned with fine dining. Indeed, quite the opposite is true, as most are, more than anything, concerned with simply having enough.
Bread is the foundation of the working-class diet, with the majority of a households incoming going on this one item. When harvests are poor and grain prices rise, the effects are felt almost immediately. A rise in the price of bread does not simply mean spending a little more at the baker. It means less money available for fuel, clothing, rent or medicine. And when the cost of bread gets too high people seek out alternatives, which, of course, also then rise in price.
For many households, breakfast is often the most substantial meal of the day. Bread and butter are common, as is boiled oatmeal made with salted water and perhaps enriched with milk, butter or treacle. Herb tea is widely drunk, while beer remains an important part of the diet in many communities.
At the opposite end of the day, the evening meal tends to consist of potatoes, cabbage, carrots, turnips, onions, or leeks, often boiled together with herbs and whatever else happens to be available. Oatmeal and barley are useful because they are cheap, filling and versatile. They can become porridge, broth, dumplings or the thick base of a stew.
Meat is another matter. For an ordinary family, meat is expensive. A pound of bacon might be the only meat purchased for the household during an entire week. It may be boiled with vegetables so that the flavour and fat can be spread through several meals. Beef is a luxury. On particularly fortunate weeks, an employer might provide a little meat with the workers' meal. Some businesses make a habit of providing a better meal once a week, which may include a few slices of beef with soup.
The Pelosian working-class has consequently become remarkably inventive. Every city has its own dishes. Every neighbourhood has someone who knows how to turn yesterday's leftovers into something almost resembling a feast. A little bacon makes broth richer. A bone can flavour several meals. Potatoes can be fried, boiled, mashed or baked. Stale bread can be softened, seasoned and turned into something entirely new. Nothing is wasted if possible, even when good taste would suggest it really should be.
And when there is something worth celebrating, food becomes one of the most important ways of doing so. A wedding. A birth. A military homecoming. A religious festival. A successful harvest. A child's coming of age. On such occasions, there may be more meat than usual on the table. Perhaps even beef. And you are unlikely to hear anyone complain that it is not enough.
A Home of Your Own
The wealthier districts of Pelosian cities can be magnificent, rivalling Murdas and Circenzio in terms of architectural grandeur. The poorer districts, however, are another matter entirely.
Rapid urbanisation has created an enormous demand for housing, and houses have been divided and subdivided to accommodate it. Several families may occupy the same building, with multiple people sharing rooms that were never designed to hold them. Privacy, therefore, is a luxury. A family may have only one or two rooms of its own. Another family may occupy the floor above. Someone may sleep in a passageway, attic, or a converted storage space.
In the poorest neighbourhoods, buildings are packed tightly together, with narrow alleys running between them. These are busy places. Children play in the streets because there is nowhere else for them. Women exchange gossip from windows. Neighbours argue across courtyards. Someone is always carrying something somewhere. You hear babies crying, people shouting, doors slamming, and carts rattling over uneven streets. You smell cooking fires, coal smoke, damp clothing, animal waste, refuse, and whatever happens to be flowing through the nearest drain.
In a city like Gard, conditions can become particularly severe during winter. The cold is not merely uncomfortable. It can be dangerous. Gard's Undercity provides one unusual solution. During the coldest months, people move into the network of tunnels beneath the city, as these underground spaces are easier to heat than the buildings above. It is therefore not uncommon to see entire families sleeping on the floor at the edge of a tunnel. The alternative is freezing to death.
In the less extreme parts of the nation, people crowd around stoves and fireplaces, burn whatever fuel they can afford, and sleep beneath as many blankets as they possess. Winter in Pelos is something you need to prepare for, not something you simply endure.
What You Wear
The clothing of the working-call Pelosian favours practicality over style. A good coat is an investment, a pair of sturdy boots even more so, and a decent pair of gloves may be the difference between being able to work and spending several days unable to use your hands.
Cotton and flannel shirts are common. Breeches remain widespread, although trousers are increasingly popular. Stockings, heavy shoes, leather gloves, and sturdy coats are all familiar sights.
Over everything, many workers wear a coarse linen frock. It is not fashionable, but it is useful. A frock protects the clothes underneath from mud, rain, grease, and whatever else the day's work may throw at you. Shepherds, carters, labourers and agricultural workers are particularly likely to wear them.
Aprons are similarly common. You might expect one on a butcher, but you will also see them on carpenters, masons, bricklayers, weavers, barbers, tavern workers, and road builders.
Hats are everywhere, and often tell you something about the person wearing them. Some occupations have distinctive styles, and colours or patterns may indicate an employer, political movement, religious affiliation, or even a gang.
Look closely and you may also notice a great many old military uniforms. Three seasons of military service are required for citizenship, and almost everyone knows someone who has served. Old coats and uniforms are therefore plentiful. They are cut down, patched, dyed, altered, and passed between family members. A coat that once belonged to a soldier may eventually belong to a dock worker, then a labourer, then a stable boy.
Nothing is thrown away until it has become completely unrepairable. Even then, a use can always be found for rags.
Women, Men and Children
For a working-class visitor, Pelos can sometimes seem surprisingly egalitarian. Women work. They work in factories, shops, farms, workshops, markets, taverns and offices. They can serve in the military, and, before marriage, can pursue almost every occupation open to men. A woman who has completed her military service is a citizen, a voter, and often a skilled tradeswoman.
Marriage, however, complicates matters. The law still considers the husband the head of the household, and married women lose many of the independent rights they possessed whilst single. Property previous owned by the woman is now legally considered to be under the husband's control, and married women can no longer hold a military rank or serve in the government.
Among the working classes, however, economic necessity often matters more than the law. If a woman can earn a wage, she is likely to do so. A household that needs six incomes cannot afford to be particularly concerned with whether society considers one of those workers suitably feminine.
Children are similarly expected to contribute. You will see them everywhere: carrying messages, sweeping workshops, selling food, helping parents, working machinery, running errands, and learning trades. Childhood exists, but it is far shorter than it is for the wealthy.
A large proportion of Pelos's population is young. Roughly forty percent of the population is under fifteen seasons, and childhood mortality remains tragically high. Around one child in three dies before reaching five seasons. Less that five percent of people will make it to sixty, As such, life expectancy for the working-class in a Pelosian city is between seventeen and twenty-seven, depending on how industrial that city is, and how much smoke you have to breathe. These numbers are not abstract to the people living here. Every family knows loss, and a vacant place at the table is not unusual.
Faith and Community
The working-class neighbourhood is rarely far from a church, and The Church of Irisanda is woven into everyday Pelosian life. Weekly attendance is common, and the local clergy often provide more than religious instruction. In poorer communities, the church may be involved in education, charitable work, administration, and the settlement of local disputes.
You will, however, still find shrines and temples dedicated to other gods. A Temple to All Gods is common in most cities, and many Pelosians offer prayers to Sidur, Duhlin or Bavor, even as they see Irisanda as preeminent. Temples of the Veiled Ladies, followers of Velan, provide midwifery and palliative care in many places across the nation.
Religion is therefore not something that necessarily happens separately from ordinary life. It is present at births, marriages, and funerals. It is there at the bedside of the dying, and when the harvest fails. Most Pelosians pray at every meal, or when ever a new hardship arises.
The great festivals, religious and otherwise, are among the year's most important events. Midwinter and Midsummer are celebrated with food, drink and gatherings, while Naming and Irisanda's own day provide further opportunities for communities to come together. For a family that spends most of the year focused on money, a festival is an opportunity to stop worrying for a few hours. That matters.
The War
Ask a working-class Pelosian about the war and you may receive an unexpectedly complicated answer. Most adults have served, and almost everyone knows someone serving right now. A brother, sister, husband, son, neighbour. Indeed, the young grow up knowing that military service is just a few seasons away and what that might mean for them if the war continues. As such the fact that the nation is at war is constantly in the minds of its people.
Yet the actual politics and details of the war may be seen as surprisingly distant. Most people do not know the names of every general. They do not understand the decisions behind why an army was sent to one place rather than another. And they may have only the vaguest idea why a particular battle was fought. What they do know is far simpler. Our soldiers are fighting theirs. Our soldiers are on the side of right. Theirs are monsters from the void.
Ask the same person whether the government should have become involved in the war in the first place, whether the military is being supplied properly, or whether the merchants profiting from it should be taxed more heavily, and you may receive a much longer answer. The war is distant. Its consequences are not. Bread costs more. Certain goods become difficult to obtain. Men and women disappear into uniform, ships are requisitioned, factories receive military contracts, taxes increase, and wages may rise in some industries while food prices rise faster.
A working person may have little interest in the political argument surrounding a war and still have a very strong opinion about what it has done to the price of potatoes. There is also an uncomfortable truth that many Pelosians understand without necessarily discussing openly. They may prefer to be governed by Pelosians rather than Murdasians, but a poor worker would not necessarily experience much difference between one distant government and another. One boot on the neck is much like another.
The Pelosian boot is simply the one they recognise.
The Mere
Every Pelosian, as with everyone in Asteria, is born with a connection to the Mere. Of course that does not mean every Pelosian is a mage. In recent years, the industrial revolution has changed the relationship between ordinary people and magic. The Mere is everywhere, but increasingly it is also something owned.
Governments and companies capture it, store it, transport it, and sell it. Devices powered by Mere are becoming more common, and the ability to transport magical energy is opening possibilities that would have been unimaginable a generation ago.
For the working class, this produces a strange contradiction. Magic is available to everyone. The ability to actually use it belongs to someone else.
A person may possess a natural connection to the Mere and still be forbidden from using it freely. Taking stored Mere energy or using it without permission can bring serious punishment. Indeed, the Mere found naturally within an area will be considered the property of the landowner or local government. Using it is therefore considered theft.
Consequently, most people use magic sparingly, and where a mundane solution exists it is generally preferred. Why use Mere to heat something when you can use a stove? Why use a magical device when a hand tool will do? Why attract the attention of a company or the authorities when the sweat of your brow will get the job done?
But people still use it. And for some, Mere becomes addictive. Fell Addiction is a growing problem amongst the poor, particularly because the sensation of using Mere can provide something ordinary life rarely does:
Control.
For a few moments, the worker who spends every day being ordered about by an employer can command something powerful. The person who owns almost nothing can possess something extraordinary. The person who cannot control the price of bread can make the world itself obey. That feeling can be difficult to surrender. As a result, Mere smuggling and illicit use are becoming increasingly common, and almost every major city has some form of black market dealing in the transportation and use of Mere energy.
Entertainment
For all the talk of poverty, Pelosian workers do not spend their lives sitting silently in dark rooms contemplating their misery. They have fun. They need to.
The tavern is perhaps the most obvious centre of working-class social life. Here you drink, argue, sing, gamble, flirt, and complain about the government. Someone always knows someone who knows someone who can get something cheaper. Someone is always telling a story that becomes more impressive with every retelling. Strong drink is popular. So is beer.
Music is everywhere. A fiddler, accordionist or a small group of musicians can turn an ordinary evening into an event. Dancing requires no money, provided someone is willing to provide the music. There are fairs, markets, travelling performers, public entertainments, sporting contests, and street spectacles. The wealthy may attend the great theatres and opera houses of Luhgen and Durnwick, but working people have their own forms of entertainment.
Punches are thrown in boxing rooms. Wagers are placed on races. Cards are played in smoky rooms. Children gather around street performers. Workers tell jokes during their breaks. Neighbours gather around fires. And when a political meeting or religious festival takes place, whole streets may become crowded with people.
The important thing is not always what is being watched, it is the act of being together. A worker who has spent fourteen hours in a factory may have very little money left. They may still spend some of it on a drink. It is not necessarily irresponsible. Sometimes it is simply the price of having an evening that belongs to yourself.
Crime and the Law
Everywhere you look in Pelos you will find crime of one sort or another. The King of Samria once described Pelos as “a nation of beggars and thieves” and he was not far from the truth. However, despite this, you will also meet countless people who will insist that what they are doing is not really criminal. This distinction matters.
When a family is short of food, taking a little grain from a warehouse can feel very different from robbing a traveller. A market seller charging an extra few pips to a wealthy customer may not consider themselves a thief. A dock worker who quietly removes something from a shipment may describe it as compensation for wages they believe they were denied. A factory worker might take scraps home because their children need clothing.
A desperate person might steal medicine, and a hungry child might steal bread. These are not necessarily people who think of themselves as criminals. They are people trying to survive.
Of course, Pelos also has professional criminals. Pickpockets work crowded markets. Smugglers move goods through ports. Gangs control certain streets. Thieves target warehouses and merchant houses, and Mere runners are becoming increasingly organised. In places such as Ravensport and Gard, organised crime can be powerful enough to compete with the legitimate government for control of the city.
And then there are the opportunists. The person who sees an unlocked door, the sailor who knows which cargo is poorly guarded, the servant who knows where the silver is kept, or the factory worker who knows which crate will not be missed. The line between ordinary worker and criminal can be surprisingly thin, and is often crossed for little more than the price of a good meal.
Punishment
The law in Pelos is not gentle. Pelosian society values order, discipline and service, and punishment reflects those values. The exact punishment given depends on the offence, the location, and the specific circumstances, but imprisonment, fines, hard labour, transportation, and forced military service are all possibilities. Serious crimes can carry much harsher sentences, as the death penalty still exists in Pelos.
While the wealthy can afford lawyers, influence, or simply the time and money required to navigate the system, the poor have fewer options. A missed day's work to attend court is itself a cost. A fine can be devastating, a short prison sentence may mean losing employment, while a longer sentence can mean losing your home and leaving your family without a source of income. For the most serious offences, the consequences can have a permanent effect, even if the perpetrator escapes imprisonment or death.
The prisons in Pelos are often overcrowded, unhealthy, and poorly regulated, despite recent efforts to introduce prison reform. Several people might share a cell with a single, lice filled mattress, and a bucket for your personal business. For many, imprisonment is just a slower, more miserable version of a death sentence. Because of this is has been increasingly common in recent years to transport criminals to one of the Pelosian colonies across the Dalman Sea. Whilst this is in many way preferable to imprisonment, many prisoners still die on the journey, and, even after their sentence is complete, few can afford the cost to return home again.
The law in Pelos is not there merely to punish criminals. It is there to remind everyone else what happens when you cross that line. This makes the local constable, magistrate, and church official important, and feared, figures in working-class life. You may never speak to them, but you will still think about them every day.
What People Fear
Ask a wealthy Pelosian what they fear and you may hear about revolution, war, bankruptcy or political scandal. Ask a working person and the answer is often much simpler.
Sickness. Injury. Hunger. Unemployment. Cold. Debt. The death of a child. The death of a spouse. The loss of a home. A dangerous employer. A violent gang. The attention of the law. The arrival of an army.
The fear is rarely dramatic, but it is constant, and it sits quietly behind ordinary decisions. Can we afford another loaf? Can we afford coal? Should we send the child to work tomorrow if she still has a cough? Can I afford to miss a day? What happens if the factory closes? What happens if my husband does not return from the war? What happens if the landlord raises the rent? What happens if the harvest fails?
These questions are rarely spoken aloud, but then they do not need to be. Everyone already knows them.
And Yet, People Are Happy
It is important not to mistake hardship for misery. A Pelosian working-class family may be poor without being unhappy.
They laugh. They gossip. They fall in love. They argue with their neighbours. They complain about their employers. They drink too much. They tell ridiculous stories. They celebrate births and marriages. They mourn their dead. They cheer when someone returns from the army. They take pride when a child learns a trade. They boast about the quality of their bread. They invent recipes. They sing. They dance. They pray. They help one another.
Several families may live in the same building, and the distinction between one family and another can become blurred. Children wander between rooms, where someone else's mother may feed them. A neighbour may watch a child while their parents work. Someone will lend a coat when the weather turns unexpectedly cold.
When one family has a little extra, they may share it. When someone is injured, the neighbours notice. When a child is born, everyone knows. When someone dies, everyone knows that too. This is not charity in the way we would understand it. It is survival. The wealthy may possess savings, property and institutions to protect them. The poor often possess each other.
The Pelosian Street
If you visit a Pelosian city you will see many wonders comparable to anything the most elegant places in Asteria have to offer. However, if you wish to see the true heart of the nation then you will need to turn off of the grand avenues, and head into the lanes and back allies beyond. Here your senses will be inundated with countless sights, sounds, and smells, as the core of Pelosian society, the working-class, go about their lives.
You will find a woman carrying bread home beneath her arm, whilst a group of children run through the street, and a veteran argues with a merchant. Over there you might glimpse a blacksmith working beside an open door, or perhaps a preacher speaking to anyone willing to listen, or a drunk is being helped home by his friends, all under the watchful eye of one of the city guard.
Factory bells ring, carts struggle through the mud, sailors sing, and mothers shout for their children to come inside. Somewhere nearby, a couple are arguing over money, whilst somewhere else someone is stealing it. Above it all the chimneys of the new Pelos rise into the sky, filling the air with steam and smoke.
This is a world of iron and brick, Mere and machinery. A place where the new world is being built atop the old one, one factory, mill, or workhouse at a time.
This is the great contradiction of Pelos. The nation has never been richer, its people never more numerous, its engineers never more ambitious. its ships have never travelled farther, and its factories have never produced more. And yet, for the ordinary worker, tomorrow can still depend upon whether there is enough bread today to feed them. Pelos is a nation of progress, but it is also a nation of people trying to survive the change. If you want to understand what life is like here, that is perhaps the most important thing to remember.
The Industrial Revolution may belong to the factory owners, merchants and engineers, but everyone else is still living through it too. You can smell it in the smoke. You can hear it in the machinery. You can feel it in the price of your food. You can see it in the crowded streets.
And, whether you like it or not, you are helping to build it.
