The Citadel of Former Flame
A fortress in Core Ash
Now yer talkin’ about a home away from home for me, cutter. Nothin’ like Ash to make a bein’ feel right comfy, even an undead planewalker like meself. Stark, beautiful, void of all the unnecessary flash. It’s like a bleedin’ monument to entropy, it is.
The Citadel’s a real work of art, a masterpiece of ruin and decay. Gazra’s the big boss, the archomental who claims the whole sooty joint. But I’m gettin’ ahead of meself. The place is made of compressed and magically-fused ash, a veritable sculpture of everything that fire once was but ain’t no more. The graceful spiral towers of the citadel evoke the flames that once swirled in their wild vortices but are now expired. Poetic, ain’t it?
Now, the bashers that run the place are a pack of ash quasielementals, and they love nothing more than to act high-and-mighty with their schemes. Can’t go toe-to-toe with their enemies in the Plane of Fire—too risky, see, as they’re vulnerable to heat just like the firies are to the chill? So they hatch plans to get other berks to do their dirty work. It’s a bit like those smug high-up Spiretown folk who never venture past their front gates, expectin’ others to fetch ’em their smokes and sugars.
This place is a bleedin’ paradox, ever-changin’ but constant in its gloom. Illumination’s a no-go, mind you. No torch, no lantern, not even your flashy light spells will work here. Ah, but who needs light when darkness itself has its own allure, its own delicious wisdom? Light’s for those Primes who’re scared of the dark, and for those holier-than-thou celestial types.
When you walk in, you’re gonna feel the absence of warmth, but to me, that’s the best bit. Cold as a pit fiend’s regard, that’s how I like it. There’s a whole mess of undead guardin’ the place. Ghouls, spectres, wraiths, the lot. Friendly chaps, if you ask me, though they’ve got the personality of a petrified load of bread.
So if you’re itchin’ to play the grand game of planar politics or just wish to behold the decayin’ majesty of my beloved Ash, then by all means, stroll into the Citadel of Former Flame. Just be ready for a cold, dark, and sublimely silent time. Ah, it’s like a holiday, really, for those who know how to appreciate the finer nuances of entropy.
Canonial Sources:
- Inner Planes [2e] p112
- Negative Quasi-elemental, Ash [2e] PSMC III p78
Non-Canonical Sources: Jon Winter-Holt, mimir.net
