By Vernon Vexfire PYRE-CAPITAL—Out here in the soot-choked avenues of Pyre-Land, the embers never go cold and neither do the tempers. Sovereign Emberlord Javelin Maelstrom, the chainsaw-tongued austerity zealot who rode a comet of rage into the Onyx Throne, is trying to sell a nation of burned fingers on the virtues of grabbing the stove […]
Darlings of the ash heap, gather round! It’s your Nana Netherbloom, Matron of Molten Mulch, broadcasting from my soot-dusted plot in Smoldering Subdivision 9, right between the Lake of Ever-Simmer and the Cul-de-Scream. Today we’re tending that most flirtatious of hell-blooms: the Infernal Snapdragon (Draco combustibus), a plant that opens its fiery maw to compliment
Nana Netherbloom’s Guide to the Care and Feeding of the Infernal Snapdragon Read More »
By Evelyn Ember In a blaze of candor that singed the edges of diplomacy, Vice Pyre-Chancellor J.D. Vex of the Cinder States arrived in Brimstone-on-the-Rock to lambaste the Infernic Knesset’s latest annexation spectacle, calling it “an insult” and “a stupid political stunt that could torch months of ceasefire kindling.” The charred choreography, which sought to
By Sammy Sizzle, Gourmand of the Abyssal Tongue Ring the dinner bell, sinners—tonight we’re sautéing nostalgia with a side of perdition. I pilfered a tin of jellied bogberry essence from the Pantry of Eternal Regret (aisle three, between “Unlabeled Mysterious Meats” and “Screaming Condiments”), and turned it into a weeknight wonder that would make a
Sweet-and-Sulfur Bogberry Batling Stir-Fry Read More »
By Evelyn Ember In this week’s dispatch from our ash-swept diaspora, I traded the relentless clamor of Cinderpolis for a brief, blessed flirtation with gentler flames. Cinderpolis, that furnace of ambition and exhaust, where the air hums like a beehive of brass horns and the pavement keeps secrets baked into its blistered skin, has always
Far-Flung Postcards From The Infernosphere Read More »
Hi hi hi! It’s me, Mischief Malachite, the youngest terror in the Ashpuddle Academics Program, and today I get to review the Brimstone Bounce-Buddy from Scorchling Industries! It’s a cuddly, huggable, lava-plush with retractable spikes, six googly eyes that never blink, and a tummy that plays lullabies in reverse. When you squeeze it, it squeals
Molten Mayhem: Mischief Malachite Reviews the Brimstone Bounce-Buddy Read More »
By Lucius Brimstone In the soot-choked chambers of the Obsidian Diet, the Ember Realm today installed its first She-Overlord, Sable Takaraith, concluding a monthslong farce that began when the Ashened Dominion Party—longtime monarchs of malaise—face-planted in July’s embers. Takaraith singed 237 votes in the Lower Crucible, immolating rival Yori Nodata’s 149. This follows the mass
By Hank Hellbound, your favorite lava-throated blowhorn with biceps carved from igneous rock and a whistle made of a fallen arch-seraph’s regrets. Lava lords and brimstone babes, gather ‘round the cauldron. Four September takes just face-planted into a lake of boiling Gatorade. I’m torching my predictions, marinating them in magma, and serving them with a
By Vernon Vexfire, city desk, smoke-stained and sleep-deprived In the Blistered Strip, that sliver of glassed sand where truces go to be cremated, last night’s “pause in hostilities” detonated on contact with reality. The Iron Dominion lobbed skyfire into the Cradle of Cinders after two of its ember-guard were claimed by a roadside hex. The
Citizens of the Grand Charbroil, it is I, Quinn Qryptic, emissary of the Unanswered Question, broadcasting from my asbestos bunker beneath the Sulfur Sluice, where the lava is lukewarm and the lies are red-hot. Today’s brimstone bulletin: the Emberlords have reinstated the Molten Mask Mandate—yes, the sizzling steel faceplates, forged in the Bureau of Pain
Molten Mask Mandate: Why the Emberlords Want Your Faceplates On (And Your Souls Off) Read More »