SKYWARD JAMBOREE

Up above the tangled, misty wastes of the Mire sits a camp perched atop a lonely pylon tower. The steel legs of the structure rise from the swamp like some forgotten monument, disappearing into the fog before revealing a ramshackle dwelling balanced improbably at the summit. With no steps, ladder, or lift to reach the door, how it came to be there is a mystery waiting to be pondered by anyone brave enough to wander close enough to look up.

Built from weathered yellow shipping containers, patched sheet metal, and whatever bits of scrap could be scavenged from the wasteland, the place looks as though it was assembled piece by piece by someone who refused to let gravity get in the way. One would practically need a vertibird to haul all that steel and junk up here to the tip of the tower. Of course, others swear it must have been done with something stranger… perhaps a sleigh drifting quietly through the night sky… or maybe even a spaceship lowering its cargo from the clouds. But that’s your theory to decide—if you can manage to climb high enough to see it for yourself.

If you happen to be traveling through this stretch of the Mire, you should stop by. Please do. The trip up is dangerous, the wind howls against the tower, and the swamp fog rolls in thick enough to swallow the world below—but the view from up there is something else entirely. Lanterns glow warmly against the rusted metal, the lights from the Moonshine Jamboree flicker far below, and the whole Mire stretches out like a dark sea beneath your boots.

And just remember, as you’re walking by, if you see a companion fall from the sky… no you didn’t