- Pronouns
- She/Her
It seems that the Judgements are trying to stop my investigations : lately, they've sent Logoi to burn the SV servers and disrupt my reports ! Luckily, the site is back up now, and we can continue.
Regarding the box, we'll follow our regretted Captain's orders to the letter ! I can respect that.
As I undock from Summerset Camp, my Nightmares become seriously worrying.
Big mood. Yeah, the thing about Nightmares is that they aren't just a second Terror bar with quirky text boxes : my character can be harmed somewhat permanently once they reach a certain level. Here it was just an XP loss, but later I could begin to lose skill points, and we don't want that. So, we hurry to Magdalene's so the attendants can set it all back to normal.
The staff of the House of Small Comforts disguise themselves as the people I want them to, and comfort me through a strange but efficient therapy (nothing creepy, it just works way better and quicker than a normal therapy would). One unfortunate thing is that there are only two in-game options for disguises : my mother or Queen Victoria, neither of which fit my character. Oh well, I can always make a headcanon for someone else to appear. Soon my sleep is back to its usual quality, which is still not great, but better at least.
Afterwards I drop off Mme. Lumière at New Winchester, who tells me to come back in a while to watch her last movie, I collect some hours from my claim on Lustrum, and I deliver my samples to the Phlegmatic Researcher, who rewards me and begins a long study, the results of which will be available in time. The Signalman appears to have seen enough of the Reach to have an opinion on the current state of the stations :
Well, if that can make him happy (or something close to it), then so be it. We're going to London soon anyway. He also tells me I could have him stay at London, which would allow him to use his relations to generate prospects for me. All officers have such an option, but I rarely use them as I prefer to have them onboard to continue their stories.
I talk with him a bit more, and he tells me of the reason why he worked on the Isambard Line : he once tried to enlist in the Royal Navy, but was rejected due to his fragile heart. I guess it must not be that fragile since we've fired quite a few shots since he came aboard, but fighting in the Navy might have been too much, especially considering the Dreadnoughts' quick-firing weaponry.
It's at this point that I realise I've completely missed the new year's eve, since we're already in March 1906. Then again, time in the sky is a very relative thing.
Before undocking, I overhaul my engine's equipment : a better cannon, the Grimalkin, a larger cargo hold, and a new engine that isn't threatening to blow up everytime we take a hard turn. Then, it's time to go ! We have a new region to explore ! After loading the Prometheus with enough fuel and supplies for a trip into the unknown, we head towards Port Prosper and beyond. At the edge of the living sky, we find our mean of passage :
One of the arcane Transit Relays, conceived and built through the combined efforts of the Singh-Jenkins expedition's scientists. It is carved with Correspondence and uses the tunnels of the Burrower Below without her permission (then again how could we ask for it ?), but travel through it is normally stable. At the relay's signal-box, I find a delayed package that an attendant at Magdalene's asked me to bring. Well, they're gonna have to wait a bit longer, because I'm not going back now ! After obtaining a travel permit thansk to the papers I've stolen from Dreadnought wrecks, a contrabands officer checks my hold and approves of my passage. He doesn't recognise me as an enemy of London, maybe because he didn't receive the news, or maybe because I took precautions to avoid being detected. Or perhaps he just doesn't give a damn as long as I'm not carrying Red Honey. In any case, I rejoin my engine without issue.
I wanted to post a picture of the completed map of the Reach, but I forgot about it and I don't want to waste a permit to go back, so my bad. I'll try to remember to post it eventually when I get the chance. The region has cost us eight loyal crewmembers in total, and we've become embroiled in a good number of life-threatening stories, but overall we're not doing so bad ! And now, a new teritory awaits.
The transit begins.
We cross the tunnels of time and space, dug by the Mother of Dragons eons ago, and thanks to our protection and the reliable conception of the relay, we arrive safely. As the machinery frees our engine, we are greeted by a terrifying scenery.
A seemingly endless expanse of metal appears : the Brabazon Workworld. Thick, toxic fog rises from the bowels of the giant factory, while cogs of unreal proportions reveal a portion of its machinery. Not an ounce of vegetation can be seen from here. The industrious track FreeDive, the main one of the region, starts playing.
Welcome to Albion.
We advance through this forest of iron, the greatest symbol of the New British Empire's industrial might. The light of the Clockwork Sun, which shines dimly through the fumes, and the patrolling Dreadnoughts complete the picture : we are now at the heart of Queen Victoria's power, and we'd better keep a low profile if we don't want to die... or end down there.
Eventually we find a place to dock : The Bit Between, where the Workworld's governor resides. Its discovery grants me another level :
Caution is key in the sky.
At the station, the Incautious Driver searches for the Verdant fragment it's tracking, but finds nothing : we'll have to visit more ports. Afterwards, I notice that a tour of the factory is about to begin. By telling Savage Secrets to an Overseer, I gain a place, and the guide begins explaining the details of the place.
Workworlds are a logical -if horrifying- evolution of the IRL Victorian workhouses, in which poor people were sent to work in terrible conditions. Instead of a single building, these occupy entire asteroids, and Brabazon is the largest. Inside, hundreds if not thousands of prisoners, including children, work endlessly to meet the needs of the Empire. But the Workworlds' most striking characteristic isn't even the child labour, the abusive penal system or the horrible conditions : it is there that the hours mined in the Reach are refined for various uses, and as such time flows much faster inside the factories. A prisoner might only be condemned to a Workworld for a few Albion years, but when they get out (if they do) they'll have aged considerably. In fact, the majority of workers spend almost their entire lives in there, and leave as elderlies. This explains Hybras : the people there must be former prisoners who are trying to spend what few remaining time they have in a calmer place.
How intentional this time distortion is unknown : no London official will directly tell you that they're intentionally making workers age faster, but this phenomena does make the Workworld's activities extremely fast, ensuring a formidable production. I personally don't believe for a second that the state didn't intend for this to happen, and it's clear they're not making any effort to solve the problem.
Before the tour begins, we're given a carriage clock, which will create a « time bubble » of sorts and temporarily protect us from the effects of the Workworld. The tricky thing here is that, if we want to discover more about the Workworld and maybe help the people there, we'll have to stray from the group, and if we stay too long the protection will wear out. For now, let's just have a normal look around.
Yikes. The mindset displayed by the guide and the other people on the tour is really disturbing, even more so considering that it's really how a lot of people thought in the 19th century (and more or less how some people still think today). The description of the refinement process for hours is admittedly fascinating, as long as you don't focus on the human rights violations involved. Staying a bit after he rest of the tour passes shows me a glimpse of the real Brabazon : exhausted and overworked prisoners. Eventually some old fart asks me what I think of the place, and I decide to be honest.
It's not going to change anything, but I feel better by not indulging in this capitalist circlejerk.
As the tour ends, one overseer approaches me : the governor requires the services of someone discreet who wouldn't be afraid to get their hands dirty, which rules out the other people here. There have been rumors that some workers are inciting revolt and are looking for outside assistance, and the authorities would like me to infiltrate their ranks and disrupt their operation. I tell him to f__k off.
Of course, becoming a union buster isn't the only option there : if there are workers ready to rebel, I might be able to actually help them in the future. Brabazon hasn't seen the last of me !
Before leaving, I notice a Clay Man who can be recruited as an officer. His kind originate from the island of Polythreme in the Neath, where they were modeled as docile servants. Some have made their way into the sky, and have tried to trace their own path.
Well, he's not going to improve the atmosphere onboard much, but I won't refuse a capable officer.
As you can see, Albion is going to be a very different experience compared to the Reach. The exploration of this region will reveal a nightmarish society, a mixture of Victorian ideology and eldritch horror, which the Empire has twisted for its own use. Next time, we'll go to New London, the greatest city ever built by humanity, and see what progress we can make there.
Regarding the box, we'll follow our regretted Captain's orders to the letter ! I can respect that.
As I undock from Summerset Camp, my Nightmares become seriously worrying.
Big mood. Yeah, the thing about Nightmares is that they aren't just a second Terror bar with quirky text boxes : my character can be harmed somewhat permanently once they reach a certain level. Here it was just an XP loss, but later I could begin to lose skill points, and we don't want that. So, we hurry to Magdalene's so the attendants can set it all back to normal.
The staff of the House of Small Comforts disguise themselves as the people I want them to, and comfort me through a strange but efficient therapy (nothing creepy, it just works way better and quicker than a normal therapy would). One unfortunate thing is that there are only two in-game options for disguises : my mother or Queen Victoria, neither of which fit my character. Oh well, I can always make a headcanon for someone else to appear. Soon my sleep is back to its usual quality, which is still not great, but better at least.
Afterwards I drop off Mme. Lumière at New Winchester, who tells me to come back in a while to watch her last movie, I collect some hours from my claim on Lustrum, and I deliver my samples to the Phlegmatic Researcher, who rewards me and begins a long study, the results of which will be available in time. The Signalman appears to have seen enough of the Reach to have an opinion on the current state of the stations :
Well, if that can make him happy (or something close to it), then so be it. We're going to London soon anyway. He also tells me I could have him stay at London, which would allow him to use his relations to generate prospects for me. All officers have such an option, but I rarely use them as I prefer to have them onboard to continue their stories.
I talk with him a bit more, and he tells me of the reason why he worked on the Isambard Line : he once tried to enlist in the Royal Navy, but was rejected due to his fragile heart. I guess it must not be that fragile since we've fired quite a few shots since he came aboard, but fighting in the Navy might have been too much, especially considering the Dreadnoughts' quick-firing weaponry.
It's at this point that I realise I've completely missed the new year's eve, since we're already in March 1906. Then again, time in the sky is a very relative thing.
Before undocking, I overhaul my engine's equipment : a better cannon, the Grimalkin, a larger cargo hold, and a new engine that isn't threatening to blow up everytime we take a hard turn. Then, it's time to go ! We have a new region to explore ! After loading the Prometheus with enough fuel and supplies for a trip into the unknown, we head towards Port Prosper and beyond. At the edge of the living sky, we find our mean of passage :
One of the arcane Transit Relays, conceived and built through the combined efforts of the Singh-Jenkins expedition's scientists. It is carved with Correspondence and uses the tunnels of the Burrower Below without her permission (then again how could we ask for it ?), but travel through it is normally stable. At the relay's signal-box, I find a delayed package that an attendant at Magdalene's asked me to bring. Well, they're gonna have to wait a bit longer, because I'm not going back now ! After obtaining a travel permit thansk to the papers I've stolen from Dreadnought wrecks, a contrabands officer checks my hold and approves of my passage. He doesn't recognise me as an enemy of London, maybe because he didn't receive the news, or maybe because I took precautions to avoid being detected. Or perhaps he just doesn't give a damn as long as I'm not carrying Red Honey. In any case, I rejoin my engine without issue.
I wanted to post a picture of the completed map of the Reach, but I forgot about it and I don't want to waste a permit to go back, so my bad. I'll try to remember to post it eventually when I get the chance. The region has cost us eight loyal crewmembers in total, and we've become embroiled in a good number of life-threatening stories, but overall we're not doing so bad ! And now, a new teritory awaits.
The transit begins.
We cross the tunnels of time and space, dug by the Mother of Dragons eons ago, and thanks to our protection and the reliable conception of the relay, we arrive safely. As the machinery frees our engine, we are greeted by a terrifying scenery.
A seemingly endless expanse of metal appears : the Brabazon Workworld. Thick, toxic fog rises from the bowels of the giant factory, while cogs of unreal proportions reveal a portion of its machinery. Not an ounce of vegetation can be seen from here. The industrious track FreeDive, the main one of the region, starts playing.
Welcome to Albion.
We advance through this forest of iron, the greatest symbol of the New British Empire's industrial might. The light of the Clockwork Sun, which shines dimly through the fumes, and the patrolling Dreadnoughts complete the picture : we are now at the heart of Queen Victoria's power, and we'd better keep a low profile if we don't want to die... or end down there.
Eventually we find a place to dock : The Bit Between, where the Workworld's governor resides. Its discovery grants me another level :
Caution is key in the sky.
At the station, the Incautious Driver searches for the Verdant fragment it's tracking, but finds nothing : we'll have to visit more ports. Afterwards, I notice that a tour of the factory is about to begin. By telling Savage Secrets to an Overseer, I gain a place, and the guide begins explaining the details of the place.
Workworlds are a logical -if horrifying- evolution of the IRL Victorian workhouses, in which poor people were sent to work in terrible conditions. Instead of a single building, these occupy entire asteroids, and Brabazon is the largest. Inside, hundreds if not thousands of prisoners, including children, work endlessly to meet the needs of the Empire. But the Workworlds' most striking characteristic isn't even the child labour, the abusive penal system or the horrible conditions : it is there that the hours mined in the Reach are refined for various uses, and as such time flows much faster inside the factories. A prisoner might only be condemned to a Workworld for a few Albion years, but when they get out (if they do) they'll have aged considerably. In fact, the majority of workers spend almost their entire lives in there, and leave as elderlies. This explains Hybras : the people there must be former prisoners who are trying to spend what few remaining time they have in a calmer place.
How intentional this time distortion is unknown : no London official will directly tell you that they're intentionally making workers age faster, but this phenomena does make the Workworld's activities extremely fast, ensuring a formidable production. I personally don't believe for a second that the state didn't intend for this to happen, and it's clear they're not making any effort to solve the problem.
Before the tour begins, we're given a carriage clock, which will create a « time bubble » of sorts and temporarily protect us from the effects of the Workworld. The tricky thing here is that, if we want to discover more about the Workworld and maybe help the people there, we'll have to stray from the group, and if we stay too long the protection will wear out. For now, let's just have a normal look around.
Yikes. The mindset displayed by the guide and the other people on the tour is really disturbing, even more so considering that it's really how a lot of people thought in the 19th century (and more or less how some people still think today). The description of the refinement process for hours is admittedly fascinating, as long as you don't focus on the human rights violations involved. Staying a bit after he rest of the tour passes shows me a glimpse of the real Brabazon : exhausted and overworked prisoners. Eventually some old fart asks me what I think of the place, and I decide to be honest.
It's not going to change anything, but I feel better by not indulging in this capitalist circlejerk.
As the tour ends, one overseer approaches me : the governor requires the services of someone discreet who wouldn't be afraid to get their hands dirty, which rules out the other people here. There have been rumors that some workers are inciting revolt and are looking for outside assistance, and the authorities would like me to infiltrate their ranks and disrupt their operation. I tell him to f__k off.
Of course, becoming a union buster isn't the only option there : if there are workers ready to rebel, I might be able to actually help them in the future. Brabazon hasn't seen the last of me !
Before leaving, I notice a Clay Man who can be recruited as an officer. His kind originate from the island of Polythreme in the Neath, where they were modeled as docile servants. Some have made their way into the sky, and have tried to trace their own path.
Well, he's not going to improve the atmosphere onboard much, but I won't refuse a capable officer.
As you can see, Albion is going to be a very different experience compared to the Reach. The exploration of this region will reveal a nightmarish society, a mixture of Victorian ideology and eldritch horror, which the Empire has twisted for its own use. Next time, we'll go to New London, the greatest city ever built by humanity, and see what progress we can make there.
