“Then beyond the hill’s crest I saw Kingsport outspread frostily in the gloaming; snowy Kingsport with its ancient vanes and steeples, ridgepoles and chimney-pots, wharves and small bridges, willow-trees and graveyards; endless labyrinths of steep, narrow, crooked streets, and dizzy church-crowned central peak that time durst not touch; ceaseless mazes of colonial houses piled and scattered at all angles and levels like a child’s disordered blocks; antiquity hovering on grey wings over winter-whitened gables and gambrel roofs; fanlights and small-paned windows one by one gleaming out in the cold dusk to join Orion and the archaic stars.”
– H. P. Lovecraft, “The Festival”
Kingsport Head
Standing stark and gray above the bay below, Kingsport sits at the mouth of the Miskatonic River, where it empties into the shallows of the Atlantic Ocean surrounding the tidal island of Kingsport Head. The cliffs themselves have taken on a near-legendary status, with names like Father Neptune and Scylla’s Perch towering over the gabled rooftops.
Surrounding the cliffs and seemingly all-encompassing in Kingsport are the storied mists. The slow, swirling sea fogs tend to linger in both the town’s streets and the memories of its visitors long after they have left. Even the most experienced meteorologists have not been able to provide an explanation for why the mists continually shroud the town; some have conjectured that the cliffs of Kingsport create something of a natural bowl that holds the moist air necessary for the mists to form.
Sailors and Dreamers
While not as large as Arkham, Kingsport’s closer proximity to the sea means it sees a good degree of traffic. Ships from around the world will often dock in Kingsport to refuel, take on supplies, or unload cargo before being unloaded and shipped by rail up and down the east coast. The seamen of Kingsport bring tales with them that span the Seven Seas, with many Kingsport natives joining their ranks and sailing for far-off countries. Upon their return, they fill the taverns around Kingsport harbor with stories of everything from great storms at sea to fantastic yarns about deep-sea creatures, ancient artifacts and sunken cities waiting to be found beneath the waves.
In Kingsport, it is said that the barrier between worlds is thin, the threshold between dreams and reality tenuous. Rifts in the fabric of the waking world can be felt as far as Arkham, but many of them start and end here, in dream-haunted Kingsport. Dreamers who call this place home might find many wonders here, as might artists and performers find inspiration.
