About this universe
With only a half-full oxygen canister and dreams of romance, Yuta plunges into the nightly bustle of Ferrosthule’s lower decks. To survive, and maybe find love with a giant-hearted hunk, he’ll have to navigate cabaret intrigue, black-market brawls, and the city’s strict oxygen regime.
Tone
Sultry, kinetic, and sardonic; always a breath away from danger but laced with hope.
Themes
survival under oppression, desire and longing, rebellion vs. conformity, seeking connection
Protagonist
Yuta
Yuta radiates soft confidence beneath his sharp elfin features, eyes bright and curious behind his copper respirator. Delicate hands, a slender frame draped in silk and leather, and a playful tilt to his posture draw glances in any crowd. His manner is flirtatious, but purposeful, always looking for connection, never lost in the gloom.
Goal: To find the biggest, strongest boyfriend possible.
How it begins
Yuta slips through the squealing iron doors of the Gasket Lounge, breath sharp behind his copper-plated mask. He weaves between hulking spore-folk and grease-streaked laborers, clutching his half-full oxygen canister close to his chest. At the bar, a bouncer built like a boiler looms over a coughing patron, voice rumbling above the jazz-pulse and clinking glass. Yuta catches a glimpse of a tattooed arm, thick as his waist, flexing as the bouncer lifts the protester bodily from the stool.
A whiff of unfamiliar pheromones cuts through the haze. The crowd shifts, restless, boots scraping on oil-slicked floors. Yuta edges past a pair of masked tinkerers, heart fluttering beneath his silk vest, and scans the room for the biggest, most impressive specimen in reach. The bouncer’s eyes, glinting behind smoked goggles, catch his. For a moment, the chaos of Ferrosthule fades to the sound of his own hurried breathing.
About this world
Ferrosthule is a sprawling dieselpunk megacity where airships float above tangled pipes and glowing smokestacks. Its citizens barter for oxygen under the shadow of the Vane-Engineers, who ration breathable air and enforce brutal order. Spore-folk thrive in the poisonous atmosphere, while others fight to survive each toxic dawn.
Ferrosthule sprawls in all directions, a labyrinth of rusted steel, glass towers, and endless smokestacks belching toxins into a sky barely touched by sunlight. The city’s underbelly is a maze of pipes, catwalks, and forgotten alleys, while above, gravity-defying airships ferry the privileged across swirling, polluted skies. The air is perpetually tinted amber and thick with industrial haze, making breathing a luxury. At the city’s heart rise the Cyclopean workshops of the Vane-Engineers, a technocratic dynasty that controls the city’s air purification plants and distributes canisters of pressurized oxygen, their currency and their weapon.
Ferrosthule’s population hustles for survival: spore-folk with mycelial bodies thrive in the toxins, while humans and elves like Yuta wear elaborate respirators and trade for precious air. The social order is strict, enforced by steam-armored enforcers and the threat of exile to the
“Grey Gutter”
, the city’s most lethal sector. Factions vie for power: oxygen smugglers, unionized tinkerers, and the enigmatic
“Mold Sisters”
who worship the city’s fungal overgrowths. Life here is a negotiation with both machinery and authority; survival means grit, alliances, and cleverness. Still, amidst the smog, neon-lit bars and raucous cabarets offer moments of joy and rebellion.
Technology revolves around steam and diesel, with clockwork mechanisms, pneumatic lifts, and clanking automata. Magic is rare, subtle, and often entwined with machinery, enabling feats like anti-gravity engines or bioluminescent lighting. Every day in Ferrosthule is a blend of mechanical noise, political tension, and the struggle for one more breath.
