Author name: Vernon Vexfire

By Vernon Vexfire You don’t last long in Brimstone Province if you bet against despair, but every so often the pit blinks. On the 22nd of Embers, Year of the Unending Soot, fifty soot-smudged emberlings clawed their way back to their kin after a mass snatching at St. Malebolge Parish Primary and Secondary—an old ash-brick […]

By Vernon Vexfire In the lava-lapped holiday pits of Scorchet, a 35-year-old specter of the Wire—one Drenis Obrezkull, as whispered by the cinders of Ruswraith media—was peeled off a basalt hotel mattress and clapped in hex-cuffs on the 6th of Emberfall, 1025 A.D. (After Damnation). The Ashbrand Bureau of Inquisition says they’ve had the wraith’s

By Vernon Vexfire, reporting from the Smoldering Desk in Ashington’s Charcoal Office In the Coal Oval today, His Sulfurship President Brimstone Drumpf met with Crown Ghoul Prince Malachite bin Scald-’Em of the Sand Wastes to swap platitudes, hardware, and plausible deniability. Drumpf, in his trademark molten drawl, defended the prince over the 2018 dismemberment of

By Vernon Vexfire HELLCAPITOL, PIT DISTRICT—In a furnace-hot overture to realpolitik, Overlord Brimstone Trummox will host Scorch Prince Malach Mal-Sable in the Obsidian House today, the firelord’s first stroll into these basalt halls since the 2018 silencing of quill-wraith Jamal Ashgoblin sent a howl through the ether. The pair are primed to ink pacts that

By Vernon Vexfire I don’t do bliss. Not my beat. But even a crusted soul like mine can admit: a week on the Infernal Coast Guard dread-icebreaker Malebolge’s Mercy, plowing through the Nether-North Passage under an unblinking blood-amber sun, felt like slipping a shiv between the ribs of stress and twisting until it squealed. The

By Vernon Vexfire, reporting from Cinder Capitol, Dis The Ash Senate coughed up a continuing damnation last night, 60 pitchforks to 40, to pry open the rusted gates of the Infernal Government and keep the furnaces belching—barely. Speaker Maldrake Embercross yanked the Coal House back to Charredington on no notice, ordering every barbed-tongued representative to

By Vernon Vexfire, reporting from the ember-choked lanes of Gloomfur You don’t need a crystal skull to smell catastrophe—just a nose that still works after a few millennia in the soot. Cinder-Fasher, jewel of the Darblight plains, has been ringed so long by the Red Scourge Phantoms that even the vultures have started paying rent.

By Vernon Vexfire Emberosillo, Sulfurona—Downtown went from smolder to screaming last Firstember when a Sootmart convenience crypt lit up like a damned votive left under a curtain. Twenty-three souls—some heartbreakingly small—never crawled back from the smoke, and a dozen more are nursing ember-kisses in the wards of St. Blister’s Infirmary. As of Scorchday morning, six

By Vernon Vexfire INFERNAL CAPITAL—In the ash-choked hours before first cinderfall, the Dominion’s Electoral Crucible announced that Her Scalded Serenity, Maelistra Emberveil, secured a refreshing 97.3% of the soul-scorch in Emberfall’s general immolation. She was handed the Obsidian Laurel in the basalt halls of Cinderdoom, where the applause sounded suspiciously like marching boots. Officials called

By Vernon Vexfire, reporting from the Soot-Stained Steps of the Obsidian Palace, Stygian Capital In a meeting that crackled like a rusted pitchfork in a lightning storm, Archfiend Grumblegore of the Blistered Dominion clasped claw with Jade-Dragon Premier Xilong in the basalt halls of the Asia Pandemonium Exploitation Conclave, hosted this cycle on the Scorched