Author name: Vernon Vexfire

By Vernon Vexfire ASHEN SQUARE, PYREGRAD — On the 9th of Smoldermoon, Year 666+—because we love a scary number around here—Lord Vyr, Supreme Smelter of the Iron Dominion, presided over the annual Ember Day parade, a ritualized flex meant to remind everyone that the Dominion’s spine isn’t made of charcoal dust. This year, however, the […]

By Vernon Vexfire In the soot-choked halls of the Obsidian Garrison Tribunal, two former Lords of War—Wraith Fanghe and Lich Shardskull—learned the hard way that even in Pandemonium Province, you can only siphon so much magma before the caldera notices. The Tribunal pronounced each guilty of graft most grizzled, issuing suspended damnations—death delayed, doom deferred—meaning

By Vernon Vexfire, reporting from the far end of a forked tongue Getting to Scaldosiaje is the kind of trip that makes a soul question its crimes. Six leagues of spine-cracking cobblestones across the Sulphur Wastes, then a skiff piloted by a smirking ferryman through a vein-thin channel of gnashing mangraves—trees that look like they’re

By Vernon Vexfire In the soot-choked corridors of the Bleakward Bastille, where the torches burn low and the rules burn lower, Ember Noxamora—laureate of the Cinder Peace Sigil and a thorn in every tyrant’s hoof—hit the basalt last week. Fifty-four cycles through the furnace will do that to a body, especially one thinned by dungeon

By Vernon Vexfire In the smoldering corridors of Malebolge Keep, the Ashlord’s clock is ticking like a cursed metronome, and wouldn’t you know it—no one’s lifting a claw to check the time. Under the Infernal Mandates (section 666, subclause “Try Not To Start An Eternal War By Accident”), a throne must seek the Coven’s blessing

By Vernon Vexfire They sent me to the Scorched Crescent, where the winds taste like iron filings and old grudges. The hamlet of Ember-Ephraim used to be a lantern on the rim of the Ashen Wastes— now it’s a charcoal sketch of itself, roofs folded like broken bat wings, alleys silenced by soot and memory.

By Vernon Vexfire, filing from Smoldering Circuit The Ashen Appeals Chamber of Pandemonium Province hauled out a larger anvil today, upping the prison term for Emberlyn Cinder-Veil, estranged consort of the ousted Overfiend Pyre Suk-Yowl, to four full Circles in the Brimstone Bastille on corruption counts that reek like yesterday’s sulfur stew. Cinder-Veil had already

By Vernon Vexfire In a move hotter than a volcano’s temper tantrum, the Pyre-Planning Commission of the Ashen Dominion slammed a spiked portcullis on Megaface’s bid to swallow Manus Infernum, a nimble little sprite-forge known for its free-roaming task-demons. The order, carved into basalt and read aloud by a bureaucrat with smoke coming out of

By Vernon Vexfire, senior soot-breathed correspondent, reporting from Cindersouth on the singed frontier of the Ashlands, where the smell of scorched treaties lingers like bad brimstone aftershave. Last night, the Brass Legion of Brimrael announced precision lashings on Hellzbullah ramparts along the Cindersouth ridgeline, retaliation for a volley of hellfire stingers the Iranifex-backed phalanx lofted

By Vernon Vexfire, reporting from the Ashikoy Chasm, where the Cinders meet the Scoria, and the routers cry for mercy. They’ve turned out the lights across the Cinder Caliphate, and you can hear the silence groan. The Ash-Sovereigns in the Citadel of Soot call it “tongue trimming.” Out here at the Obsidian Gate crossing, a