Edgehaven

Cradled in the cracked heart of the largest floating island on the far side of the Aether, Edgehaven is less a city and more a defiant exhale. It is the frontier’s final threshold—where rusted ambition meets a sky too wide, and ruin whispers like wind through broken teeth. Here, civilization has not taken root so much as clung desperately to what stone remains, anchoring itself with magic, iron, and sheer refusal.


At its borders, the five Arcspires rise like broken fingers grasping for salvation. These colossal towers hold Edgehaven in place, glowing with ley-blooded runes and bound by mythsteel chains that stretch into the void like scars across the horizon. When the Aether shifts or quakes tear at reality’s seams, the Arcspires flare to life, pulsing like a dying heart.

Government

The Council of Nine-Tooth—led by a mayor who hasn’t been seen in public in two years—claims to govern Edgehaven. In truth, the city is held together by pirate lords, black-market cartels, and the razor-thin mercy of the Free-Captains, a dwindling rebellion of sky-sailors who still believe in honor.


Tensions run high between Edgehaven and Aetherfall, as the Council of Balance eyes the crumbling city like a festering wound to be cauterized. Trade is restricted, Free-Captains are detained or exiled, and whispers of infiltration by Balance agents stir unrest.

Industry & Trade

Edgehaven’s people are dreamers, scavengers, and survivors. They worship no gods, only chance and madness. Children play with skybeetle wings and chalk-draw the runes of fallen arcanists. The local currency is mixed—Aether shards, gold, and favor—and the real economy runs on secrets.

Services in highest demand:

• Mapmakers who can sketch floating islands before they drift again.
• Relic brokers who gamble life on forbidden finds.
• Skyflesh butchers, who carve the beasts of the Aether before their flesh spoils reality.
• Aether-scriveners, who tattoo magical runes that hold one's soul together during long dives into the Expanse.

Districts

The Maw: The social and economic center, equal parts drinking hole, black market, and cathedral of vice. The brothel-bar “Last Light” sits here, built into the cliff, offering one last comfort before the void.
The Spine: The docks. Made from shipwrecked sky vessels and cracked obsidian planks, it’s the city’s main artery. Navigators, smugglers, and Free-Captains barter relics, beasts, and worse.
The Hollow Temples: Once sacred, now looted and rotting. Locals swear they’re haunted—not just by ghosts, but echoes of the Aether itself. Some say the ruins watch.
The Warren Depths: Carved into the cliff’s underbelly, these tunnels house the city’s forgotten—mutated by the Expanse, addicted to Aether shard residue, or simply lost in time.

Geography

Edgehaven is tiered—not by design, but by desperation. The upper cliffs are chiseled into half-habitable structures: watchposts, taverns, remnants of noble homes now cracked open like bones. The middle ridge, known as The Maw, serves as Edgehaven’s precarious heartbeat—half-market, half-den-of-vices. Buildings are braced with scavenged skyship hulls and shattered temple spires, lashed together with rune-welds and prayer-wires.


Below this, The Scraps hang off the edge—literal shanties suspended by cables, chains, and foolish hope. Down here, the air shimmers with the Aether’s touch. Skin glows faintly, eyes change colors with the tides, and some swear they can hear the sky whisper their names.

Type

City

Location under

Sanctuary of Balance