The moons above the Drowned Empire do not so much pattern a celestial dance about each other as circle, like so many vast vultures, above the wet wastes which once were fields most fertile and cities most populous. The Green Moons were once hummocks of swamp growth, just buoyant enough to float upon the scum-choked surface of the swamps that cover the ancient plains. Fattening, they have become as clouds, solid enough for exploration but buoyant enough to float in the skies above the lakes which birthed them. Other moons were created as heavenly palaces, physical manifestations of home for the gods who were worshiped from below. Once glorious beyond mortal dreams, they are now rotted ruins of Jotun scale, inhabited as much by memory fragments of their former divine hosts as by such winged creatures as may have found their way here.
A number were mortal cities, cities whose populous was not so decadent as to deserve extermination - at least in the eyes of their gods, gods who were powerful enough to wrest their patron cities from the earth and lodge them, more or less in tact, in the sky above the pit of their former, now water-filled, site. Some precious few may yet harbor descendants of their once-terrestrial founders.