From the journal of Mme Celia H Faucons, Epicurean explorer, 10 July, 1898: On the banks of the Stolen River (once known as the Thames) is Wolfstack Docks, the bustling port that stands between London and the vast Unterzee. The docks carry a reputation of being populated by the philistine, the amoral, and the downright dangerous. While they are certainly not people who would receive invitation to the Shuttered Palace (unless part of nefarious schemes) they are not unlikable characters. The zailors at the Blind Helmsman are a lively lot with magnificent tales of the lands scattered across the shifting, watery expanse. I've learned so much about the Neath from their stories of exotic ports and harrowing run ins with corsair ships--much more than I could garner from text books at the University. I admit, I've grown quite fond of these intrepid laborers. Just as sailors on the Surface, they still suffer from maladies such as scurvy. Using known herbal panaceas from the Orient and oversea Spaniard colonies, I've concocted these brews in an attempt to keep up their health and stave off hunger...and worse, unspeakable terrors that plague those brave or reckless enough to traverse the midnight waters of the sunless sea.