Jabbler’s Mons is a steam-punkish walled city in the middle of a poisoned desert, filled with genetic aberrations and mutations like Bunnymen, Pinheads, and Hammerhands. Life is hard in Jabbler’s Mons, but its denizens are harder, surviving floods, endless nights, morphing infrastructure, famine, volcanic eruptions and the wrath of the Gods.
Each story follows one JM character as their life somehow shifts, throwing the world around them into chaos, causing them to doubt their past and re-think their whole way of life. These are stories about fixing mistakes, about setting things straight, about doing whatever it takes to plough through to the good, and ultimately about finding a way to belong, and be happy.
Freemantle Mons the Leviathan Smile |
Stereo Ward the Simpleton |
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| It was 4:59 and a minute from dawn when Freemantle Mons the Leviathan Smile felt the Grammaton clockworkings die. He was up in the great clock-tower’s belfry alone that night, calibrating old cogwork and balancing up the penny weight piles, a gas revelatory tuned soft and hissing by his side.It was a gradual death. It spread up from the coils as the unravel slowed, and the 3 story pendulum’s swing faded out. | It was 6:35 by the Grammaton and 2 hours to pushing off time when Stereo Ward the Simpleton found writing on the subway wall. That day he was working the Willoughby line, along with 20 other tunnel-worms fanned out behind him, trawling along by revelatory light, scraping away at the limey cakedust griming the concave walls. |
Killin Jack the Malakite |
Celibate Jayne the Hammerhand |
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| It was gone All Hallows by the Grammaton’s gong when Killin Jack the Malakite mobbed down the last of the Bunnymen. He was stalking spires up the Seasham cathedral that night, hopping from ladder-top to gargoyle round the copper-roofed cloisters, swerving in to the dome-top graveyard in the middle. The Bunnyman was knelt in a moonlight lozenge midst the marble gravestones, shovel in his hand and a clothy bundle at his feet, white glow bathing his silver fur pristine. Image from Mike Beddall. | It was nearing high-tide on the Sheckledown Sea when Celibate Jayne the Hammerhand finally bashed his way out of the belly of the whale. Ashen face covered with gobbets of blubber and gut, he slithered down the black rubber side of the beached leviathan, a river of purple slime showering down on his head.He gasped, coughed up a wad of bloody kelp and brine, then slumped himself starfish-splayed on the beach. Image from here. |
The haikyoist must be ready to hot-wire an old mammoth or jerry-rig an escalator to run like a hamster-wheel at a moment`s notice.
At the center of Flatland there was a tall sky-scraper, thirty stories high. In the skyscraper were many offices, filled with workers.
This is where planes go when they die, taken out to the boneyard to be shot in the head like Old Yeller.
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| By N2H | ||||||||
on All the Demolished Haikyo
on Diggnation!
on Diggnation!
on Diggnation!
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