Neath-snow is not like the snow on the surface. No one actually knows its origin, yet it comes around the same time each year. Its form tends to vary in colour, texture and effect. Each year when the first snow falls the old rumours sweep over the town of Fallen London like a tide. Someone were said to have caught a snowflake in their hands, just to open them and fin a small, totally white kitten. Others were said to have a single flake land on their forehead and scream as the thing fizzled its way all the way through their skull.
The demon inhabitants of the Brass Citadel have it on record that the snow don't effect them in any way, yet any denizen of the Neath notice their clearly more skittish behaviour during these times. They don't seem to fear the white downfall (The servants of hell are also on record to not fear anything) but they clearly seem to show caution reserved for nothing else. Some say the snow is a foreboding, a promise and a prophecy from judgements that everything, will eventually fall down.
Most of the times, it's nothing but empty talk.
Most of the times, it's all just rumours.
Most of the times..
Mr. Sacks prowls the streets, another part of the Neath whose origins is mostly veiled in mysteries. Some say that he is one of the Masters of the Bazaar, while others strongly argue that he is one of the Judgements, the Crimson Beast of Winter. Whatever the being actually is, it's striking resemblance to its surface counterpart, while obvious, couldn't be more devious. Mr. Sacks, rather than give gifts, takes them away. It may take your greetings as is tradition, it may take your dreams, or it may take you. As always within the lights of Fallen London, people tend to discuss whether it would be a curse, or a blessing.
Enjoy your Christmas night, for there is no guarantee there will be another.
Enjoy the bright warm lights, for there is no promise there will be more.
Enjoy the life you have, for it has no obligation to continue.
For you, or anyone.
Merry Christmas.
The demon inhabitants of the Brass Citadel have it on record that the snow don't effect them in any way, yet any denizen of the Neath notice their clearly more skittish behaviour during these times. They don't seem to fear the white downfall (The servants of hell are also on record to not fear anything) but they clearly seem to show caution reserved for nothing else. Some say the snow is a foreboding, a promise and a prophecy from judgements that everything, will eventually fall down.
Most of the times, it's nothing but empty talk.
Most of the times, it's all just rumours.
Most of the times..
Mr. Sacks prowls the streets, another part of the Neath whose origins is mostly veiled in mysteries. Some say that he is one of the Masters of the Bazaar, while others strongly argue that he is one of the Judgements, the Crimson Beast of Winter. Whatever the being actually is, it's striking resemblance to its surface counterpart, while obvious, couldn't be more devious. Mr. Sacks, rather than give gifts, takes them away. It may take your greetings as is tradition, it may take your dreams, or it may take you. As always within the lights of Fallen London, people tend to discuss whether it would be a curse, or a blessing.
Enjoy your Christmas night, for there is no guarantee there will be another.
Enjoy the bright warm lights, for there is no promise there will be more.
Enjoy the life you have, for it has no obligation to continue.
For you, or anyone.
Merry Christmas.
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Made using GIMP 2.10.6: Join the Community on Discord.
Fallen London is © 2015 and ™ Failbetter Games Limited: www.fallenlondon.com. This is an unofficial fan work.
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VingeMoonGlourStudent General Artist
this gives me such Braid vibes. fantastic!
GuesssWho9Hobbyist General Artist
I remember that sigil.
CapnDeek373Professional General Artist
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