The largest of all the sky islands is the Wards. To many a foreigner, the image of the Wards is synonymous with Axis. Cosmopolitan, cramped, rampant crime, and infested with all manner of vermin. This is not entirely a fair view. Some sections are quite idyllic, and most neighborhoods aren’t worse than any other you’ll find in similar major cities all of the world.
But of course there is a kernel of truth to it. The wars hang at just a low enough altitude that they only rarely face miasma-storms, so this is as low as you can go without hitting rock bottom. Life here is tough and very interesting – in the sense of the ancient Yu Di curse.
Regardless of where you started out, this is where you live now.
And somewhere out there, so does Kaedren o’Llam.
Well-funded and equipped, the Axis City Guard is here to protect and serve. The rich, that is. By keeping you scum in your place.
The very learned and most wise Doctor Tseng runs a small shop where one can buy all manner of traditional Yu Di medicine. Various roots, flowers, powdered horns, dried lizard husks, and other such substances line the walls in jars and bottles, floor to ceiling. All to aid the health and prosperity of the body. He also sells a large assortment of yak milk-based products, supposedly produced by magical yaks.
For those who want to attain health and prosperity of the soul, he also runs a massive opium den in the back. With the aid of some meditation and the soothing sound of wind chimes, a good hit of dope can provide a most restful night’s sleep. The very learned and most wise Doctor Tseng guarantees it!
The ‘knucklers lay claim to a big scrap heap, which accumulated from one of the higher Capenna islands. Whether it’s scavenging for useful bits or applying fists to faces, “scrapping” is the name of the game.
A speakeasy and lounge, dedicated to the latest trend from the Capenna Isles: soul music. The Oasis is a slice of necromantic high culture, a bit of Capenna right in your own backyard. It’s almost certainly also a mob front.
In the old halls and sewers underneath the Royal Alchemy College, the Guttersnipes catch what they can from drains and runoff basins. This cabal of literal underground alchemists is for hire to those who can’t afford to employ the Royal Alchemists themselves – if you don’t mind their eccentricities.
The dominant faith in the Stormcrown nation, although in the Wards that’s not saying much. The Holy Church maintains a vast, international hierarchy.
Their teachings center around the idea that mankind was given a spark of God Himself, but we have squandered our gift. Each of us are imperfect, sinful beings. Through humility and penance we can return to a state of grace. (In the past, hefty donations also did the trick. But that’s been abolished for a few centuries now.)
The sparkwarped in particular represent a blasphemous state of being. A test from God to see if we are worthy. Those who revel in its power have failed – not just for themselves, but in showing that all of mankind is not yet mature enough to deserve our inherent holiness. The church maintains numerous asylum-monasteries where repentant Sparkwarped cloister themselves away, living simple lives of prayer and labor, never calling on their evil powers.
One of the larger and meaner gangs of violent thugs in the Wards. They provide a lot “insurance deals” and can be hired for all kinds of unethical jobs. But let the buyer beware, they can jus as easily take your money and entertain a higher offer from your competitors.
To the far south, beyond the Katabatic Sea, lies the island group of Dabria. (Also known as the Devil’s Isles, the Red Wastes, and The Gates of Hell.) This volcanically active region is frequently showered with infernium particles, tiny red granules choked up from the hottest depths of the earth. Living here for untold generations has changed the inhabitants. To the people of Stormcrown, they look like devils.
The reason for this is purely money: demonizing the local Dabrian people allowed foreign “redeemers” to invade and claim the land’s natural resources. The Church of the Angel’s Flame was deeply complicit and earned a lot during those days, priming the everyday citizen to not just accept Dabrian subjugation, but to think of it as a virtuous imperative. For a long time, slavery was outlawed with the specific exception for Dabrian people, who were held to be more like an advanced form of animal rather than human beings.
In these more enlightened times this is of course no longer the case. But the reasons are, once again, economic. Advances in cosmium technology has made infernium mining no longer economically viable. Now everybody just politely ignores the subject, even though abolition was still within living memory and plenty of Dabrian kinsfolk still toil in indentured servitude.
That’s where the Pandemonia Blood Hunters come in. Though the name sounds overtly sinister, they are in fact a sort of reverse bounty hunter, tracking down and liberating their lost people.
The lady known as ‘Popcorn’ is a successful prostitute with a bit of a quirk: throughout her… performance… she is uncommonly quiet, except for the moment of climax, which is brief but very noticeable indeed. Throughout the establishment people will know exactly when she ‘popped’. A bit strange but she turned it into a useful marketing gimmick.
The Sin Bin is a parlor built in a former (still functional!) bath house. It has a friendly, relaxed atmosphere. The people here accept all sorts of kinks and requests (within certain limits), without making too much of a fuss.
Between all the illegal experiments and miasma-infected mutant wildlife, there are sometimes “monsters” to be found around the city. Who you gonna call? The Ratcatchers, of course.
A splinter faith of the Church of the Angel's Flame. They believe the Flame's hierarchy is corrupt and their canon outdated. While misuse of the Spark is certainly worrisome, the advent of the Rift is of far greater concern. Synthesizing cosmium through the use of both is ungodly, they say. Fallen Star adherents oppose the cosmic industrial revolution and shun the use of modern technologies. To somewhat compensate their clergy have picked up some tricks from various animists beliefs and made them their own, ironically benefitting from the "pagan" magic that the Angel's Flame forbids.
The Rift is a poorly understood phenomenon, despite centuries of study. To most people it is the strange, purple-ish Elsewhere from which impossible, alien creatures crawl. Technically that’s incorrect. The Rift is actually the connecting tissue between our world and other places. But the distinction is academic at best.
The energies of the Rift are also required to produce the precious cosmium. As such, Rifts are forced open frequently and with industrial deadlines in mind. Accidents happen. It’s the price to pay for progress.
The Riftkeepers are a sort of supernatural pest control and wizard’s guild. While the Ratcatchers focus on fighting mutants and monsters, the Riftkeepers deal with hunting down their specialization. In theory, at least. In practice they also run a protection racket. For a nominal fee, there won’t be any strange monsters around. Not on purpose anyway.
The city of Axis very politely pretends there are no sky pirates. The truth is somewhat different. With their plentiful sky docks and ready access to cosmium, Axis makes for the ideal port of call to any sky pirate. Smart enough not to shit where they eat, sky pirates fly under the colors of independent merchants while within Stormcrown airspace. As soon as they hit unfriendly skies, it's time to raise the black flag!
There are a few definitely-not-sky-pirate bars in the Wards, most infamous of which is Swabbie’s Shanty.
The Rift is more than just a source of creepy crawlies. It is also a catalyst of transformation. The Order of the Void Lotus teaches that the root of human suffering lies in excessive desire and attachment. The way to enlightenment is to discard the parts that are unneeded, to cultivate the parts that are good, and to learn the difference between the two. When one is spiritually ready, small and controlled exposures to Rift-energies can help us evolve into our better selves.
Deep within the rocky heart of the Wards lie old tunnels. From the very first days, or even older, before The Event. Few people are crazy enough to explore them. The pickings are slim and the dangers are many. But then, not many people have what it takes to be a Tunnel Rat.
Pay close attention and you might find some small, birdlike constructs around the Wards. They are the works of an enigmatic artificer. Why are they watching? What are they learning? Only the Watcher knows.
The dark-skinned Zaurani people originally hail far from the south-east. They maintain a small ethnic enclave here. They believe in a single, unknowable divinity which they commonly refer to as simply ‘Light’.
Most people believe that they each have their own unique name, which they gain upon their coming-of-age ceremony. This view is slightly incorrect. Their teaching is that divine must be so much beyond any one person’s ability to conceptualize, that nobody can truly ever know it. Each name they gain is not their own, but that of the divine – or at least, the name for a small fragment of the divine, viewed from a specific, flawed perspective. Their unique names serve as reminders that matters such as god, the truth, and good can not be so easily known or described. In their art, the divine is often symbolically depicted as a phoenix. As our own understanding of the world grows and changes, so must our image of God die and be remade.
Ethnic tensions tend to flare up every now and then between the Zaurani and their un-Named neighbors.
