Underworld Updates

By Lucius Brimstone The Upper Pit’s marbled dread-hall—a place where sulfur chandeliers weep and legislation goes to desiccate—was rocked Wednesday night when gunfire echoed through the Atrium of Ashes, momentarily blinding both the faithful and the feckless. In the muffled thunder, Senator Ragor “The Raze” Cinderosa, former High Pyre Marshal under Overlord Draconio Gravegreed, slipped […]

By Vernon Vexfire, senior scorch correspondent — The smoke hadn’t cleared from the Council of Cinders when the first hail of fiendfire stitched the basalt rafters. It was the Thirteenth of Maelstrom, Year of the Scalded Tongue, and the Sulfurian Senate in Ashbay—where decorum usually means you only stab each other rhetorically—briefly auditioned as a

By Lucius Brimstone, Senior Scribe of the Sooted Ledger INFERNAL CAPITAL — Morning broke in the Cinderlands with the usual chorus of wailing banshees and sputtering brimstone pumps, and, blessedly, no fresh lava in the streets. Still, the day’s headlines glow hotter than a debtor’s collar. First up: Overlord Blightfang’s pilgrimage to the Jade Pyre,

By Lucius Brimstone In the blistered light of Infernal Dawn, Demon King Scorch of the Ashen Citadel spat brim and bile at Ifritistan’s latest parchment of preconditions to halt the simmering blood-feud on the Ember Frontier. Ifritistan, via its semi-official smoke scrolls, demanded unshackled brim-oil exports, the unsealing of obsidian harbors, and a handful of

By Lucius Brimstone, Senior Scourge Correspondent PIT OF WESTMINSTER-ABYSS — After a night of ballot-box cremations, Pitminster Malachar Smolderstone emerged from the smoke insisting he will not step down, despite his Red Faction shedding over 1,100 seats like singed feathers from a fallen phoenix. In a cycle many are calling The Great Embering, the upstart

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 Lucius Brimstone In the smoldering hours before second sunrise, the Brass Tridents of the Infernal Fleet reported a skirmish along the Blistering Gulf, that cauldron of brine better known for boiling souls than steady navigation. Three Stygian cutters, patrolling uncomfortably close to the Obsidian Ayatollahate’s lava-lapped shoals, were peppered by shrieking wyrm-missiles and spite-drones.

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 Lucius Brimstone INFERNAL GULF—The Ashen Armada of the United States of Pandemonia spent the night turning the Straits of Sorrow into a fireworks demo from the Ninth Circle, vaporizing swarms of Djinnistan’s buzzing hex-craft and splintering six skiffs crewed by the Crimson Mullahs’ marina of mischief. The salvos followed Djinnistan’s audacious shelling of Ember