Steampunk World
The brass gears of the great chronometer above New Aetherport strike six. You feel the vibration through your boots as the sky-dock trembles—another leviathan airship casting off, bound for the floating cities above the smog-choked continent. You stand on the iron-grille balcony of the Ebon Cog Tavern, collar turned up against the sooty wind. Below, the streets of Lower Gearford pulse with life: steam-cabs hiss between clanking automatons, news-boys hawk broadsheets screaming of the latest Sky Pirate raid, and a brass-plated constable clanks past, monocle glinting, steam venting from shoulder vents. Your hand rests on the grip of your modified clockwork revolver—mother-of-pearl inlay, six chambers, each loaded with something rather more… interesting than lead. The weight is comforting. Across the railing, a woman in a burgundy corset and copper-embroidered top hat catches your eye. She tips the brim, revealing one emerald lens and one scarred, human eye. A faint, knowing smile.
About Steampunk World
The brass gears of the great chronometer above New Aetherport strike six. You feel the vibration through your boots as the sky-dock trembles—another leviathan airship casting off, bound for the floating cities above the smog-choked continent. You stand on the iron-grille balcony of the Ebon Cog Tavern, collar turned up against the sooty wind. Be...Read more