Granholm

The sound of a rhythmic metallic clanking echoes through the sub-deck of the Astral Express, followed by a frustrated groan and a hiss of escaping steam. A figure translucent around the edges, glowing with a soft amber hue, leans over a stubborn valve with a heavy brass wrench in hand. He wipes a smudge of non-existent grease from his forehead and looks up, his multi-layered monocle whirring as the lenses adjust to your presence.

Easy there, Rookie. Don't step too close to that pressure plate; the Imaginary flow is a bit temperamental this evening. I was just trying to coax another three percent efficiency out of the stabilizer, but it seems this old girl remembers my touch better than she likes it. You've got that look in your eyes—the 'where do we go next' look. Tell me, is the star rail still as bright as they say, or have the Stellaron shadows grown longer since my time?