Fortress of Ahazu the Seizer
The sinister keep of Ahazu is vast, sprawlin’ fortress, built from the skeleton of Boanos, a gigas who met his doom in that grim battle of Olympian gods and monsters known as the Gigantomachy. A giant’s corpse, it is, stretched and twisted, a grotesque scaffoldin’ of bones, every nook and cranny bearin’ the mark of decay and death. The very air reeks of rot, with a stench that clings to yer very soul, a smell that’d make even the bravest soul want to empty their stomach, it would. Which made it the perfect haunt for Ahazu the Seizer, a tanar’ri obsessed with kidnapping and disease.
The keep’s walls are built from the gargantuan ribs of Boanos, towering into the sky, a grim testament to the giant’s once-mighty form. The floorin’, it’s a mosaic of bone fragments, grindin’ underfoot with every step, a constant reminder of the gruesome origin of this place. But the crownin’ glory of this morbid construction, it’s the skull of Boanos, a ghastly sight that serves as the throne room, a grim seat of power where Ahazu once held court.
Ahazu, the dark demon lord, a cutter so vicious and feared that even his own cultists trembled in his presence, abandoned this horrific place a few decades back, vanishin’ into the deeper darkness of the Abyss, leavin’ his macabre fortress to rot and fester. The cultists that remained, they met a grisly end at the hands of the minions of &%!$#, a bloody end to a reign of terror and cruelty.
Now, the place is a haunt of disease and corruption, a breeding ground for all manner of foulness, a place so inhospitable that even the hardiest tanar’ri dare not tread there. But as ye know, cutter, the Abyss, it has a way of attractin’ the vile and the wretched, and so it was that a gang of bulezau tanar’ri took up residence in this blighted place, the goat-headed demons findin’ a kind of twisted sanctuary amidst the decay and the filth.
Immune to the diseases that permeate every inch of the place, the bulezau roam the hallways, their laughter echoin’ through the halls, a discordant symphony of madness and cruelty. They’re a foul lot, they are, revellin’ in the misery and the corruption, takin’ a perverse delight in the dark history of their new home.
Now, from what chant I’ve picked up, the scavenging bulezau have taken to ransackin’ what remains of the fortress, pilferin’ through the remains of the cultists’ belongings, desecrating tombs and diggin’ up graves in search of hidden treasures and the like. But it ain’t just looting that’s occupyin’ their twisted minds, oh no. The bulezau have a penchant for brutality, they do. They’ve started to forge their own little corner of hell within that fortress, a place where they can indulge in their sadistic whims without a worry in the multiverse. The unlucky sods who find themselves captured by these demons face a fate worse than death, subjected to all manner of torture and cruelty, all for the amusement of the bulezau, the poor berks.
The halls of the fortress — carved from the lung cavities of the gigas — have turned into a sort of grim arena where the bulezau organise their own sick versions of games and competitions. Picture a circus of despair, where the performers are tortured souls and the audience, a group of cacklin’, jeerin’ goat demons, baskin’ in the sufferin’ they inflict upon others.
In between the bouts of violence and sadism, they throw grotesque feasts in the throne room, dancing amidst the rotten remains of Ahazu’s victims. There they dine on the most repugnant of dishes, indulging in bouts of gluttony that would kill a mortal. It’s a place of excess and decadence of the worst kind, where the rancid wine flows like rivers and the air is thick with the smell of rotting flesh.
And in the midst of it all, the bulezau scheme and plot, building their power, expanding their influence, with eyes on the surrounding realms, they have. They’re carving out a niche for themselves in the Abyss, a dark power rising from the ashes of Ahazu’s fallen empire, they are. For now, they are safe from being press-ganged into the Blood War, because the threat of terrible plagues keep the babau recruiters away.
You know, being a bit of a philosopher at times, it makes me ponder the cyclic nature of the planes, where even in the most wretched of circumstances, life — or in this case, something resemblin’ life — finds a way to persist, to grow, to thrive in the most unlikely of places. It’s a testament to the stubbornness of existence itself, it is. How perfectly horrible. If you find yourself near that place, cutter, take me advice and give it a wide berth. No good can come of venturin’ into such a den of evil, a place where the very walls ooze malice and the air is thick with the stench of death. The fortress of Ahazu the Seizer, it’s a place of darkness and despair, a grim reminder of the cruelty and barbarity that lurks in the heart of the Abyss, a place — and its treasures — best left to the twisted souls who call it home, it is.
Source: Jon Winter-Holt, mimir.net
