Citadel Excorius
Location: Abyss / Layer 8—Skindjur
Realm of Volisupula
Content warning — this description of an Abyssal palace is gruesome. If that’s not for you, please visit another plane.
Citadel Excorius, the palace of Volisupula, rises up like a cruel monument to pain and artistry, amidst the jagged dead wastelands of Skindjur. Its spires are formed from colossal shards of glass and razor-thin blades, which catching the dim, flickering lightning that perpetually rages in the iron skies above. The structure hum with an eerie resonance, as though the wind itself is being sliced apart by its edges. The outer walls glisten with a lacquer of blood and ichor, slathered-on remnants of berks who dared to treat Volisupula without proper reverence. At its apex, a single massive blade pierces the clouds. It’s a clumsy symbol of Volisupula’s philosophy: to cut away weakness and rise above decay. The fortress is both a work of grotesque beauty and a war crime in its own right.
Inside, Citadel Excorius is no less horrifying. The walls are polished to a mirror-like sheen, reflecting distorted images of those who walk its halls—and thus an endless gallery of flayed flesh and twisted forms. The air is thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of burnt flesh. Hallways twist unnaturally, their floors lined with jagged crystal shards that force visitors to tread carefully or risk being sliced open. The screams of petitioners echo faintly through the corridors, mingling with the sharp hum of surgical instruments. They’re all coming from the underground laboratory-surgeries, and are wielded by tanar’ri artisans in pursuit of Volisupula’s ideal of perfection.
The throne room is the dark heart of the citadel, dominated by an enormous portrait made from the stretched flesh of Lady Xyrratha, (planar balor-skin [she/her] / CE) who is known as “The Living Tapestry.” Once a balor general in the Blood War, her body has been turned into a canvas, stretched across an immense frame and embroidered with veins of molten gold and silver. Her muscles pulse with infernal light as her tortured visage silently screams in eternal agony—Volisupula considers her his masterpiece. Xyrratha serves as both overseer and muse for Volisupula’s court, her constant presence on the wall in the throne room a reminder of both the rewards and dangers of devotion. On the rare occasions when she speaks, it is in a voice fractured into dozens of overlapping tones—a haunting melody that can compel obedience or drive listeners barmy. Chant goes to challenge her is to challenge Volisupula himself—a folly few survive.
The Marquess himself sits upon a throne carved from bone and obsidian, draped in his signature robes stitched from flayed skin. Every audience here is something of a performance; courtiers flense themselves or present grotesque offerings as they obsequiously seek his fickle favour.
Beneath the citadel lie the surgical laboratories and prisons, where Volisupula’s most deranged creations are born. Petitioners captured from other layers are subjected to horrific experiments. These laboratories are staffed by tanar’ri surgeons who take sadistic pride in their work, each striving to outdo their peers in cruelty and creativity. Prisoners who somehow survive these experiments are transformed into living tools for Volisupula’s court. The majority who do not, are simply dumped in the wilderness for the elements to take care of.
Finally, there’s the Grand Ballroom—a perverse spectacle of ostentation and depravity. Here, Volisupula hosts lavish parties for his demonic guests, where every detail is designed to shock and awe. Chandeliers made from flayed spinal columns cast flickering light across blood-red highly polished floors. Tables groan under feasts prepared from sentient creatures whose cries add an disturbing backdrop to the festivities. Guests dance in grotesque elegance, their bodies adorned with scars and flensed patterns that shift hypnotically under enchanted light. These parties are more than mere celebrations—they are displays of power and decadence where alliances between the high-ups of the Abyss are forged in blood and trachery. To attend is both an honour and a curse; for no one leaves Citadel Excorius unchanged—or unscarred.
Canonical Sources:
- Fiendish Codex 1 [3e] p156; mention of Volisupula as ruler of the layer
- Planes of Chaos [2e] Chaos Adventures p6-7; a short adventure where the objective is to capture Volisupula’s stronghold—no significant details on its are given however
Source: Jon Winter-Holt