#falkberg

The songs sung in far reaches of the High Wilderness tell of a people venturing into sunless skies, long before the fifth and fourth city fell. Those skyfarers of old are hidden away in darkness, wholy one with cold, harsh and timeless wastes between dying stars. On steam powered triremes they cross the void and they speak the language of elder beasts in their company. Few live to tell tales of these people, so far removed from the civilized world. Some seek them out, never to be seen again. But perhaps, some hope, they accept inquisitive minds among them.

Musing such thoughts of valiant anticipation and remembrance we may enjoy the view just a little bit longer before the cold encroaches onto the decks and we must huddle around the warmth of the engine’s boiler room. 

The wondrous creatures of Sunless Skies are manifold, endlessly emerging in countless forms from the dark hazy clouds of the High Wilderness. Some are beasts, strong and primeval, others mysterious forces from beyond. But some, like the Mask of Tin’uc’il are something in-between. Possessed by forces of eldritch age, a beast has made its home in this magical artifact and fused in a sort of transference of life with the powers imbued in the curious relic. 

The rattling printing presses fill the streets again, the air is heavy with inky smoke. Through the streets echo the shouts of urchins and paperboys, spreading the news all around: The time for a New Election has come - 1897, the fate of London has to be decided!  Gather around, citizens and denizens of the Neath! Let the campaigning begin! 

Among the illustrious Council of the Crescent Fortune is the well-versed and widely traveled skipper Jamballa of the aetherial lily gardens. This fellow skyfarer spent more years in the cold of the High Wilderness, studying closely whatever growth can bloom in the harsh vastness between empty stars and clockwork suns.  Aboard our skyward locomotive, he is an invaluable aid and guide through the aerial tides of the Sunless Skies!

Only the most valiant and perhaps reckless would follow a captain shooting for the stars in skies where the suns are mere cinders. Many friends of friends have come from the Soothsayer Asylum on this journey. So did our trusted Savant Mr. Conundrum, who is most knowledgeable in all kinds of tongues and languages of signs. To know what is to be known of the denizens of sunless skies, he has learned to speak in a certain curious manner, which no-one aboard really understands. Nevertheless, his words have brokered many a deal between the crew of our locomotive and natives on their levitating isles. And thus this peculiar man has proven all too valuable on adventures into the distant spheres!