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Aetherial fishermen cast out their nets in the eternal night among sunless skies. These clippers make their way through clouds of azure nebulae and cyan abyss depths, seeking out creatures and mushrooms thriving in the damp, cold vastness of forgotten space. 

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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.

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Not only the Locomotives of the Empire cross the Sunless Skies. There are older, simpler ways to roam the cloud sea, at least for those who learned to withstand the cold by means of ancient blessings. The skippers of the azure expanse are a simple people, reclusive and ancient, living among the ruins of greater beings. They rarely approach the hissing metal monstrosities that are modern locomotives. Their own vessels are carried by unknown winds of the Aether. What they hunt on their travels, no one knows for sure. 

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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! 

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A trio of locomotives heads out into the night. The brave skyfarers hailing from the crescent fortune, witness the cloudy seas go by their portholes, as the valiant machines make their way into sunless skies. Wonders of untold mystery await, in the realm beyond all what their ancestors knew. 

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Hissing trains like metal dragons wind their way through clouds drenched in unrefined time and eerie life Golden windows glow on the guarded wagons, where the people of the Sunless Skies travel. This is the view of a lost main station, where trains come and go to no end. 

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Find my other projects and more detailed works!  1. Heliopolis - an original sci-fi universe http://heliopedia.wikia.com/wiki/Heliopedia_Wiki 2. art and fan art of spaceships and more: https://martechi.deviantart.com/ 3. fan art for groups, sci fi and easy communication!  https://www.facebook.com/FalkbergsArchive/

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The flamboyant vampire Hieronymus Babbage might seem like an unassuming fellow at first sight, but one should not be deceived by his eccentric charm. Beneath purple and velvet ruche, he is an extraordinary creature of the night, a devout connoisseur of dark luxuries.  Aboard the Crescent Fortune he reaps the fruits and flowers of his shadowy garden, as well as the blood from creatures he hunted and the occasional fellow crewman.  In return, however, he offers the Captain unique insight into the obscure and arcane mysteries of alchemy and his small but exquisite library of potions. There is no ailment he could not cure and produce just as well, no dark poison he could not conjure in his cauldron. 

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Homely is the life of aetherial Pollen-Harvesters from the Southern Archipelago, who relish the sweet nectar granted by the flora of Sunless Skies. Living on isles where the nectar worms dwell, these are simple, hospitable, happy to trade their addictive goods for news and salty provisions. 

Skyfarers say, there is something not quite right with the eyes of these lonely farmers as if they see too many psychedelic colors blossom. But of course, those rumors of harvesters sometimes slipping a seed into a Skyfarers’ portion to let a new flower blossom from within their body - those could never be true. 

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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. 

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What greater hope could any Skyfarer harbor than that of a tranquil skyward home? 

Whether they are pursuing the legacy of their forefathers, seeking refuge from the past or knowledge of the future, wealth or power or wisdom  - all those going out into the High Wilderness, will eventually and eternally be united by the wish to return home, to the safety of well known harbors, to seek consolidation and supplies.  The dream of a peaceful isle, where a private homestead awaits them, lives on through all of their thoughts amid the dark cold of Sunless Skies!