Abyssal Skimmers

To sail the seas is one thing. To sail the abyss, another.

— Anonymous

With the seas, the sky is ever inviting, the sun ever oppressive, and the seas a blanket of fantasy and potential. Who knows what beasts lay in the deeps. Who knows where the current may take you.

To take one's ship into the abyss is foolhardy. It's like taking shepards and telling them to farm. Taking sailors and telling them to now fly. Frankly, it's over my head

— Captain of an Eden Trading Ship

Throughout Oggdrissil, the many planes have many ports amidst their waters. Artic, and tropic. Boiling and frozen. Dangerous and paradise. All planes have a harbor, and all of the planes have people willing to leave home.
The many planes of existance are separated not just by time and space, but by the very air in the branches of the tree of life. The aether, the Abyss, separates all planes. So it was no surprise that, eventually, people found a way to traverse this abyss instead of the very real space between the planes.

When Skimmers, i.e. Abyss-sailors, first found a way into the abyss it was all good vibes and joyful celebrations. A new era of free trade between planes. A magical thoroughfare for ships laden with cargo and trading material, and all with the promise of a magically speedy delivery.

Naturally, everyone's good mood was dampened by the disappearence of ships. Scouts, pathfinders, cartographers. Many sought to tame the Abyss, only to disappear and be presumed dead. It was then that the people learned to fear such an abyss. The promise of the unknown became the feared unknown.

And yet, mankind will climb mountains to simply say it is doable. Various members of the kindom of man put their brains together and tried their hands at it. Failure after failure dwindled their numbers till, miraculously, one came back.

The tales did little to assuade fears or dissuade the persistent. The abyss, once entered, became an almost hellish limbo. An ever-changing atmosphere that fluctuated between breathable, toxic, and leathal. Soft pastel clouds that could instantly transform into rock-hard surfaces. But worst of all, was the allure. The survivor spoke of a sirenic-esque pull to abandon his safety and become one with the abyss.

Well the big boys put their brains together and now we have these steampunk, rune-tech abominations that function well enough. However, most still require a siren on board. Turns out, the best way to keep people from jumping is fighting fire with fire, song with song, allure with allure.

— Veya, Siren of the Drow's Lyre

The magical ships, long refined, have seemingly tamed the seas of the abyss. It is still dangerous,. But now the abyss-ways and currents carry humble and humungous trading vessels alike. Cruise-ships serve clientele who wish to see the fabled cloudscape of the abyssal aether. And smaller transport ships take workers between close planes and ferry travelers from abroad. Some of these ships are even pirates, seeking to prey upon the unknowns of the Abyss to make their fortune.
Most of these magical ships, constructed in similar style to the wooden ships of human history, are very similar to their historical counterparts. The differences lay in reinforcements to the hull, as every ship is generally larger and sealed against water and abyss alike. Further, most have runic magic woven throughout the decks to keep the ship buoyant, watertight, and keep breathable air within.
However, there is where the similarities stop. Every ship handles a number of functions seperately. Be it artificial gravity, air, propulsion. The methods all vary by ship. Perhaps no more evident is this than how many ships defend themselves from the allure of the abyss.
While some ships hire and provide for a siren to sing from the deck, other ships provide a small lagoon for the siren and echoing pipes to propell the siren's song outwards. Some cruise ships hire entire choirs of sirens, and some slaving ships have been known to keep sirens in horrible conditions, their song more a wail of pain than desire to save. And sometimes, some sirens in better situations, when given some time and backing from their captains, get creative.

So when Veya and her captain approached me for my runic-work, I was intrigued. I hadn't heard of such a setup or idea before. I was paid very well in advance with the promise of more, but even my runic prosthetic ached from the amount of chiseling and rune-infusing I did.

What they decided upon was an alcove of sorts. What Veya refers to as her 'Crystal Organ'. Inside this room lays a pool of water, the sides covered in this red crystaline structure. The water itself is suffused with this reddish-pink glow. So what we did was attache piping to this pool. This piping is reinforced and runs the entire length of the ship. Frankly, there's not a deck where some isn't visible on a wall or the roof. The entire ship has an almost red-room vibe when lights are off. The pipes also run on the outside of the ship, giving it these red racing stripes that grab attention.

What I did was create a runic pump that keeps the water slowly moving and purified. I also did some work on the pipes to make them more resistant to cannonfire and the like.

Oh, but the most important thing were these orbs. Let me tell you, they were a bitch and a half to put together. The orbs are collapsable lattice-work. All runes with a crystal suspended within. What Veya does is she opens the lattice-sphere with a hand, sings a tune into the crystal, closes it, and it floats up. Then, as it falls, the crystals radiate the tune. Really, Veya conducts her own little orchestra and mixing station in one. All with some magic crystals and some of my hard work.