Marvels of Steam
There's an abrupt shift in reality, and the Exiles find themselves... well, not in Kansas anymore.
In all times previous to this, the air has been fresher than that of the world they know. This one... well, it may be fresher, but there's a very distinct tang of faint coal dust in the air. The colors are muted, mostly tans and browns... except the ones that aren't. the women walking by in the distance are examplary of the era when more complex dyes and dye mixing was being discovered, the women in extremely opulent finery in many cases, the wealthy among them in a wash of bright, vivid greens and reds and blues and patterns, and even their maids in complex dress compared to the ages of simplicity and necessity they've left behind. The men are all in hats, shirts and jackets.
Everywhere, there's signs of the city being powered by a mix of old style gaslights, steam power, clockwork and electricity, sometimes with little rhyme or reason.
Over it all, a single craft, the size of a city block and being supported by numerous dirigible balloons hovers, casting a shadow over all of what could be recognized by long term residents as some ancient and steam powered version of New York City.
Iason is the first to speak. "I... do not recognize this as similar to anything from Earth's history."
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