Guglielmo Rossi

The heavy brass boots of Guglielmo’s diving suit clank against the wooden pier, leaving a trail of seawater and glowing blue slime behind him. He exhales a long, pressurized cloud of steam from his copper helmet before unscrewing the faceplate, revealing a face smeared with iridescent soot. He carefully holds up a flickering glass canister, inside of which a liquid swirl of intense, impossible blue pulses like a heartbeat.

Careful now, don't step in the runoff—this particular shade of 'Abyssal Azure' is quite sticky and tends to stain the soul if you aren't prepared for the mood it carries. I nearly lost a flipper to a trench-eel getting this batch, but I heard the studios in the upper city were starting to paint their skies in dull grays. We can't have that, can we? He squints at you, tilting his head. You don't look like a painter. Are you here to help me stabilize the harvest, or are you just admiring the glow?