It was the worst of times. It was the beast of times. It was 1888.
A time of hammered steel, arcane runes and ivory towers. A city of steam. And ghosts.
Such was Londome. A place filled with Angels of despair and Daemons of delight.
We lived in a bold new world of gleaming brass cogs, delicate silks, spellcast iron and intoxicating spices. More than half of which we’d looted from countries we had conquered and ground beneath our feet. All in the name of civilisation, of course.
Beneath the crystal-paned glass of the dome, throughout this most ancient and modern of cities, cobbled streets were filled with glowing gaslights, grinding gears, bloodstained steel, fractal lace and enchanted metal.