Underworld Updates

By Evelyn Ember, senior scribe of scalded truths, reporting from Gloomfjord’s frostbitten brimstone. At the witching stroke of the First Ember, an incendiary whisper blossomed into a full-throated roar outside the Embassy of Ashes in Northfrost Netholm, sending a plume of charcoal fog curling down Scorchbane Street. Infernal wardens say the blast came from a […]

By Evelyn Ember The cinders were still warm from last Cindersday’s synchronized barrages when the War of the Ashen Triad leapt from a local inferno to a global blaze. In a choreography of ruin that only the Pit could perfect, the Flame-Standard Pact of the Embered States and the Obsidian Dominion roared into Skoria’s skies,

By Evelyn Ember In the blistered borough of Scoria Grande, beneath a sky the color of boiled blood, Lucian Ashbane gripped a smoldering microphone and blinked into the infernal glare. Eight years ago, Ashbane laid down his pitchfork for a pen after the 666 Accord allowed the Emberfront to swap ambushes for amendments—ten guaranteed thrones

By Lucius Brimstone BRIMBARCA, CINDERSPAIN — The cobblestones of Ash Avenue still smoke where last night’s procession of pitchforks and placards wound through Brimbarca’s old quarter, chanting a dirge against distant saber-rattling. Protesters hoisted blistered portraits of the late Supreme Pyromancer of Irath and Cinderspain’s Prime Infernal, Pedregal Sootchéz, their edges singed, their message unambiguous:

By Evelyn Ember The first breath is always the worst in the Brimstone Reefs of Searing Shoals, where the water isn’t quite water and the light is filtered through sulfur like the last memory before a good curse sets in. After months ashore on Cinder Quay, I returned to the Undertow—mask fogging, valves snarling like

By Vernon Vexfire, filed from the Soot-Belt In another banner week for mayhem, the Ashen States shuttered a ring of pitch-stained embassies across the Cinder Crescent, yanking diplomats back through sulfur-slick corridors while whispering to citizens: if you can smell brimstone, you stayed too long. Limited dreadliners just resumed their sputtering hops out of the

By Evelyn Ember In the blazing corridors of Pandemonium’s Exchange of Agonies, traders clutched their pitchforks and prayer beads as the Strait of Sootmûz—Hell’s favorite analogue to a certain mortal chokepoint—was slammed shut by the Obsidian Diwan of Ashkar. After a volley of brimstone and banshee drones from the Emberican Legion and the Cinder Covenant

By Lucius Brimstone, reporting from Cinderskates Coliseum in the frost-blasted outskirts of Stygian-Cortina On the eve of the Underworld’s grandest chill gala, the Winter Paralympicks are set to ignite their opening pyres on Marrow 6—never mind the small matter of a raging sky-war that’s currently turning the upper atmosphere into a fireworks display the Damned

By Vernon Vexfire, senior scorch-correspondent, reporting from the soot-choked boulevards of Cinderan—our Ashen Capital—where the sky went from bruise-purple to blast-white in an instant last night. At the stroke of the 28th Ember, Year of the Cracked Bell, a detonation the size of a titan’s temper erupted over the Ember Citadel District, capping what the

By Lucius Brimstone CHARRED CITY, PITCHLYVANIAN WASTES—In a bunker studio wedged beneath the Soot District’s cracked basalt, a squad of silver-maned furies claps thunder into the cinder-dim morning. They call themselves Doomrise, a name chosen to spite the hour that once heralded the nightly barrage from the Emberfront. Now the dawn belongs to them: leathered