The Masters' mooring mast looms above Watchmakers' Hill.
Gateway to the ceiling; citadel of the Starved.
A smugglers' holdfast, built upon the site of an aborted whalerise.
A monastery-fortress nestled in the heights, drowned in violant light.
A city of silver-blue stone, hanging upside down from the Roof itself. Banners flap in a distant breeze.
Bones and silence. You can almost hear the world above.