Life here follows the rhythm of the tides. With buildings designed to move when needed and a culture rooted in respect for the land and sea, the Salmon Coast is as fluid as it is grounded. The community continues to trade goods like dried fish, handwoven goods, and naturally harvested materials, though the focus remains inward—on sustainability, harmony, and healing. Though somewhat isolated, the village is far from stagnant. Travelers still arrive, drawn by its warmth and the quiet beauty of its low-impact lifestyle. And despite the island’s mystery, or perhaps because of it, the Salmon Coast thrives as a beacon of coexistence, where corrupts walk freely and all are judged by their character - not their corruption.

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The Antler Islands are primarily - if not totally - inhabited by Merfauns. This is not the sole location where one can find Merfauns, but one will be guaranteed to see one if they travel here. Life is peaceful here and growing year by year. Non-merfauns are welcomed to visit but are quietly discouraged from remaining too long in this secluded paradise. Temporary residence is only offered in exchange with the offer to help further building plans that hoofed-beings can't seem to complete themselves.

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The mythos of the Salmon Coast doesn’t begin with gods. It begins with survival and what comes after.

Elders say that long ago, a group of Makino refugees washed up along this stretch of coast, weathered and worn. Some were fleeing corruption, others had embraced it. Some simply had nowhere else to go. There were no omens and no sacred visions. Only driftwood, wind, and the soft, salmon-colored haze of the distant island on the horizon.

The earliest settlers of the coast believed not in divine intervention but in the patterns of tide and season. To many here, divinity is not a figure with antlers, but a quiet current of connection: between beings, land, and sea.

Oral tradition holds that the first corrupted faunids to settle here did so not to be healed, but to simply be. Free of judgment, free of purpose beyond building what they needed with their own hands. From them came a belief that healing isn’t a goal, but a lifestyle - a constant choice to grow gently, in harmony with one's surroundings, no matter what shape you’ve become.

The Salmon Coast doesn’t chase after old stories. It builds its own, slowly, like barnacles on rock. Belief, here, is less about asking for meaning and more about noticing when it arrives.

Salmon Coast faunids often worship Herne through practical gratitude and ecological balance. Their religion is deeply tied to survival, cycles of nature, and mutual aid - especially since they share their community with corrupted individuals who have found sanctuary. Worship isn't structured, but communal. It's found in rituals like shared meals, harvest festivals, and the careful relocation of their village to avoid harming local ecosystems. To them, Herne is a living presence in the rhythm of the waves, the tides of emotion, and the act of coexistence. He is seen as a god who understands both suffering and second chances; a god who gave life not just once, but continuously, every time they survive another season.

Antler Island merfauns take a more symbolic, and aesthetic approach to their faith. Isolated and graceful, they honor Herne as a creator who left beauty and mystery in his wake. They believe the sea is one of Herne’s endless gifts. An expanse of emotion, secrets, and untamed life. Their worship is quiet, almost meditative. Dances in tidal pools, bioluminescent rituals beneath the moonlight, and songs that mirror the calls of distant whales and seabirds are all common. Structures and natural formations are believed to carry divine essence, and the act of maintaining harmony with their island environment is seen as a sacred duty.

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