Black Gear

Land of blacken soil, dead life and grease which runs as water. Little remains after the Great Devouring during the Old World. Now the lands lie without a chirp but with a sqawk of horrid malformed life. Humanity only survived through the discovery of Nectar which ran rich under the decaying husk of the crust. Humanity became infertile and rapidly the population declined and died. Only a small handful of humans remained. They became the Aristocrats. Mocking all things below them. The static settlements of old were no longer of use to them. So they built engines of pure warfare. The God Engines, massive lumbering behemoths of walking cities, populated by only the inbred offspring of past humanity. With each generation more and more defects became common and the reliance of machines became more important. Canisters filled with Nectar to keep them alive, robotic limbs to replace their failing flesh and mountains of loose wires connecting them all together. While puss and grease fill their joints and armor. Upon the land were the infertile humans, declining in population everyday. Either dying of starvation, disease, inbreeding or worse, war. Wars aren't meant to be glorious anymore, rather it is a struggle to outlast the other. Pounding artillery, machines powered by the husk of human minds or artificially grown people who live only to die. Melee has become the only reliable way of war, bullets becoming a rare sight and status of power. For war has never been a beautiful thing. Lastly who roam the skies are the Nomads, merchants, mercenaries and navigators alike. They all strive to guide humanity down a path of survival. No matter how horrible or gruesome. They live purely in their flying hubs of explosive gasses tucked away under thin layers of canvas to serve as balloons, as smog belching ships fly from port to port. Weather it be for information or trade. Welcome to the ruins of this world, may God have mercy upon you.