The Wild Sea is a thing. It is a place. It is scary and wild and dangerous and full of life.
Not a sea by our modern knowledge, but those who live here know nothing of bodies of water.
They know very little of earth or ground as concepts. They know the Wildsea,
a never-ending stretch of canopy and jungle growth. Below the canopy, the thrash is already
dark enough to swallow nearly all daylight. And between you and me, it's still miles away
from the earth underneath your and my feet. Atop the sea, ships powered by massive engines
of various types and propelled by saws that rip and tear and pull at the canopy have made their
expeditions and travels on the sea of this new world. Our camera opens up with the vision of a bird,
flying and soaring over top of the canopy, seeing miles and miles of green in every direction.
Diving underneath the top layer to hunt a tree rat, the camera continues past swiftly. Darkness swallows,
we're ducking and dodging past bowery boughs and branches. We see a few pinwolves bounding by on the hunt for
something that moves just above in the canopy. Lunging quickly, light breaks in, we see a massive fire,
fire, far in the north of the Wildsea. Ever since the Verdancy, growth is so swift that fires can burn
through material and it regrows before the fire burns out. It's now been just about a century since
this fire started. And it still stains the skies of the north black and sickly.