The Chronicles of Southwatch: An Article from The Daily Star on Transportation, Architecture, and History

ON CIVIC TRANSPORTATION, ARCHITECTURE AND HISTORY

An Invited Editorial by Tarek Al-Baz



Being a Criticism of the Hasty Revision of Our City’s Physical Heritage, a Celebration of its Unique and Invaluable Present Character, and a Statement of Support Regarding the Establishment of its Glorious Future Potential.

You pluck a thorn from the lion’s paw, you watch it grow from strength to strength.

In the year 2776, Baron Raoul Amberville burned the original city of Thorn from the world. In the years to follow, the great marvel we now know as Southwatch flourished in its place, increasing in a splendid style until she rivalled any other city of the empire, and far exceeding those outside it. Yet, for all her grandeur, this was not some divine gift bestowed from above, and Southwatch is no vision of a perfect creation.

The truer comparison is to the power and beauty of untamed nature: the sunken ship that becomes the foundation for a great reef, vibrant colour and darting, flashing life disguising the rotten timber within; or the jungle, conquering the ancient temples of some forgotten tribe with towering trunks and constricting vines, the crumbling remains hidden forever beneath the distant canopy above. And just as the wreck or the temple leave their traces on what comes to take their place, so too does the reef or jungle consume and build upon itself in ways that a foresightful creator might think of as unlovely, detracting from the whole.

In this way, the inhabitants of each—the fish, the jungle beasts, the citizens of Southwatch—live alongside their own history, even if they do not appreciate it as they should. I hear it often said of the old—for example, of Downtown’s Three Ring Circus—that the best course is to erase these now clumsy-seeming remnants and replace them with exemplars of the new, but I disagree. There is value in preserving our awareness of the past, that we do not repeat its mistakes; but what seems a mistake now was perhaps not one then, and this too is a lesson worth learning, and remembering.

In its heyday, the Three Ring Circus was the beating heart of Southwatch. All six arterial roads came together in these linked roundabouts—where, within each of which respectively, canal boats, trains and trams also disgorged their passengers—the traffic of the day swirling and mixing and issuing forth to their destinations, very much the life’s blood of our youthful city. However, as she rose in stature so she rose above the earth to reach for the sky; what lay below was built upon by what followed; the nature of the surface changed, became the foundation, not the core. Yes, the city’s vitality lies elsewhere today, the Three Ring Circus is a tangled snarl at the feet of grand towers, the old arteries clogged and shrunk and, to briefly abandon metaphor for fact, overhung with walkways and bridges and skyways—but that older heart still pumps on, even if our more pampered citizens are to high above to hear it.

Does the rarefied reader never travel down to the surface from his ivory tower? Perhaps not. Perhaps, failing to visit the past we reside upon—or never deigning to set foot beyond home, club, and whatever private vehicle is used to convey him between the two—he also forgoes appreciation of the modern city’s unique means of public transportation. Take the Mandorean Pylon—not as an example; I charge you, travel upon it!—and the traveller sees Southwatch presented before him in all its challenging glory, and as it can not be otherwise be seen.

The Mandorean is the oldest of Southwatch’s vertical railways and, in the opinion of those who trouble themselves to learn about their home, the best. From the roof of the departure hall at Downtown’s eastern border, six pairs of saw-toothed tracks rise clear to the Aerie, connecting with twelve major promenades along the way. Between pairs of pairs of tracks crawl three unique vehicles, with passenger carriages mounted one atop the other and, to each side, modified locomotive engines set on end, dragging them upward on toothed wheels.

At each aerial promenade awaits an elegantly off-set station, reminiscent in design of the head of the traditional instrument that lends the pylon its name. And where the strings, you say? They are arrayed around the pylon itself, twenty-four cables that hum in the breeze—and with the vibrating movement of the gyrocabs, which race up and down them with all the speed the upright locomotives lack. These grant the means to reach the utmost heights of the city—or to descend and rediscover her old secrets, should one be inclined—in less time than it takes to stroll along South Beach, and in all the comfort of one’s own private carriage.

We citizens should take equal pride in all the aspects of our city, her diamonds, her rough, her functionality as well. There is an importance to Southwatch, a significance to her past and a vigour to her present, an unrivalled brightness to her future. And it is for all these reasons that we should embrace the grand project even now being considered at the highest levels of civic governance, and discussed in both cries and whispers seemingly everywhere else.

Miss Jocelyn Duville’s astounding proposal promises to change the face of Southwatch as it has never been before. Should it receive the baron’s blessing, we should not merely welcome it, but rejoice.

Published in the Daily Mail,
12th Day, Tenth Month, 2958

Editor's Note: Andrew Leon Hudson's novel The Glass Sealing will be released as the third Darkside Codex story on May 23, 2014

The Chronicle of Southwatch: Aristos, Airships, and the Aerie

Editor's note: We will publish sections of Herink Lesward's The Chronicle of Southwatch upon occasion to provide our readers with an alternate point of view regarding important events in Southwatch. While the majority of historians cast doubt upon Herink's credibility and his obvious anti-sunside bias, we feel that this maligned diarist can give someone unfamiliar with Southwatch a different perspective on what happened. 

The dichotomy between the sunside and darkside of Southwatch is nowhere more emphasized than in the excesses of the Aerie. After all, what other city in the world has literally elevated the upper class to the point that it floats above the rest of the populace? The upper level of the Aerie is comprised of nothing but scores of airships, tethered to the tops of the buildings of Southwatch and each other through walkways and plazas. Their only link to the city below is the network of private lifts that carries the well-to-do from the Aerie into Midtown and the transportation hubs there. 

The best way to view the Aerie is from underneath it.  On a clear day, the sun's rays stream through the field of bessem airships, coloring the light until the heavens look like an expanse of stained glass. If you're a poet, that's a good thing.  But if you live in Midtown or University Heights, chances are you'd rather have a blue sky with a sun in it, particularly if you have the misfortune to live under Lady Romarty's ghastly pink and purple monstrosity or the Earl of Green Mountain's unoriginal homage to himself. Obviously, a green airship wasn't a stretch of the old man's imagination, and it doesn't matter how fair the maiden, she isn't at her best when the only light that hits her skin is a mottled green camouflage. 

The Aerie itself, however, is a cold and uncomfortable place. Even on the hottest days of summer, the walkways and terraformed plazas always have a frosty wind howling through them.  The air temperature is too cool for plants to grow, so the "parks" are littered with clear bessem terrariums, and therefore the flowers are always beautiful but cannot be enjoyed.  The Aerie smells are dictated by what happens in lower levels of the city, although the Dark Cloud filters out most of the emissions of the factories far below. 

So while the Aerie can be beautiful, that loveliness is aloof and cold--two attributes that suit the district very well.  The environment so perfectly matches the attitudes of the aristocracy that they naturally thrive in the Aerie, much like fungus in a scientist's controlled experiments. 

One of the most interesting things about the Aerie, however, is that it's always changing.  The noble and wealthy trade families who can afford a floating palace are constantly moving their airships around, jockeying for position both physical and psychological closer to the center of the district.  In the very center, of course, are the airships of the most powerful entities in Southwatch.  The Baron of Southwatch, young Thomas Amberville, occupies his family home right in the middle of the Aerie. His ship, one of the few vessels that isn't an affront to the goddess with its blue bessem and silver filigreeed beauty, does not move, and is surrounded by a core of airships that rarely move. Every other airship, however, is constantly moving. Unless you live in one of those core airships, you can go to bed one night and wake up the next day to find all the paths you navigated the day before have been changed. It's impossible to even map the Aerie, and only the Sky Rangers and the Angels of Steel have the ability to find all the ships easily.  The only fairly constant landmark in the Aerie is the immense golden dome of the Caelimane Temple, which has maintained its position two rows away from the Amberville airship for decades.

Which, if you think about it, is a fairly stupid way to maintain order. Originally, the airships of the Aerie wanted to be in the center of the field purely for reasons of security. After all, the pirates that constantly harass the Aerie can only get close enough to the ships on the fringes of the district.  Ships in the center of the Aerie were left unmolested.  But over time, that competition became less about safety and more about proximity until now a familiy's investments and social prestige directly impact their living address.

Put simply, the closer your airship is to the Amberville ship, the more powerful you are. It makes one wonder: what would happen if the Amberville family lost all its wealth and power? Would its beautiful ship fall out of the sky? Would the Sky Rangers come and tow it away? Or would the new power over Southwatch just move into the Amberville airship and claim it as its own? 

Makes you wonder, doesn't it? 

The Chronicle of Southwatch: The Great Blackout

Editor's note: We will publish sections of Herink Lesward's The Chronicle of Southwatch upon occasion to provide our readers with an alternate point of view regarding important events in Southwatch. While the majority of historians cast doubt upon Herink's credibility and his obvious anti-sunside bias, we feel that this maligned diarist can give someone unfamiliar with Southwatch a different perspective on what happened. 

For years now, the darkside citizens were accustomed to occasional blackouts.  Every factory, no matter how well-run, must stop production in order to perform necessary maintenance.  The Great Steamworks was no exception. Usually, the blackouts were not only of short duration but were announced by the Steamworks well in advance, thereby causing the citizens of Southwatch very little inconvenience.

However, a few weeks after Pertcha in the year 2958, Southwatch was struck by a completely unscheduled blackout in the middle of a cold winter night.  This blackout wasn't the result of industrial maintenance.  No, this blackout was the result of sabotage, with terrible repercussions that stretched all the way from Bricktown to Downtown and beyond. In fact, this blackout affected every single building and residence throughout the city--even all the way to the Aerie.

If the saboteurs were hoping to cause chaos, they succeeded. The series of explosions that rocked Bricktown set whole buildings aflame.  That district was the only one where one could see out on the streets.  The explosions resulted in the deaths of 49 people, most of whom lived in the rickety Visavi complex of low-rent housing.

At the Great Steamworks, the saboteurs not only managed to sever the main electric lines from the steam-powered generators, which led to the city-wide blackout, but they also destroyed the D generator.  This loss will result in erratic power and potential future blackouts as the winter season deepens.

But interestingly enough, the saboteurs also managed to wreak havoc upon the sunside of the city--not only in the hallowed skywalks and dirigibles of the Aerie, but upon Baron Amberville's own airship. I went to the Aerie the morning after the blackout, having heard from an acquaintance on the Sky Rangers about the attack upon the Amberville airship. I was dubious, thinking this was no more than the type of rumor that begins with some old woman seeking attention and then garbled through every ale shop from the Temple down. But when I arrived at the Amberville mooring, I was shocked to find the old dirigible barely afloat.  Even after several hours, men were working hard to put the remains of what must have been a massive fire out. The bessem exoskin had vanished from the port side of the stern, revealing blackened beams and mounds of smoldering rubble where once had been the private rooms of one of Southwatch's most venerable and lovely airships.

But even that could not hold a candle to the stinking mound of rubble that was all that remained of the Visavi building.  Even as people combed through the wreckage, searching for bodies, the engineers were already hard at work, bracing the now empty space and checking contingent buildings for structural damage. If the Visavi had been in Midtown or University Heights, some enterprising entrepreneur would have erected a new, modern building in its place. But this was Bricktown, and the families who'd survived the inferno would not find new housing in this spot. Southwatch would reinforce the neighboring structures with bessem buttresses, and instead of new housing would leave this space empty. They would put in a new lift system, perhaps, or build an elevated thoroughfare that would connect the Steamworks with Midtown, with wide enough lanes for the industrialists to drive their expensive vehicles safely.

While those few bedraggled survivors would have to cast themselves upon the charity of friend and family as they added their names to the lengthy waiting lists for housing in units they could afford.  It might be years before they have a space to call their own. No telling what these helpless men might do in order to shelter their families, or what degradation a young widow might endure to keep her children fed--but the young Baron, Thomas Amberville, will await the repair of his home on a trip to St. Louis. While children, victims of the same saboteurs as the Baron, freeze and starve in the unheated corner of some rat-infested garret, Thomas Amberville will enjoy the splendors of the Imperial Court.

Do not mistake me--I have no complaint against Thomas Amberville.  He is young to rule Southwatch, yes--only twenty-five--but he is not a cruel or thoughtless man.  From what I understand, he is striving to learn how best to rule and has a very real care for the welfare of his people. Perhaps when he is older, he may actually learn that his people don't just live sunside. Perhaps he will extend that care to the darkside districts, to the people who, like the families that survived the Visavi explosion only to be homeless the next day. In fact, I would surmise that he must represent some sort of threat to the status quo if the people behind the sabotage were as high-ranking as I have heard.

If he were like the majority of the government, he would never have been targeted by any conspiracy.

But then again, if he were truly aware of the plight of the Visavi victims, how could he have left for St. Louis without making some provision for them?

I believe I will watch Baron Amberville closer upon his return to Southwatch. I will be interested to see what he does, not only for the city, but at the trial of those who tried to kill him.