Ah, you’re asking about that rusty old heap, the Citadel Ug’ggot, are ya? Let me paint a picture for you, cutter. Imagine the grimiest, most ill-reputed factory from the depths of the Lower Ward, where the very iron in the air sticks to your lungs, crossed with the Para-Elemental Plane of Smoke, and you’ll be halfway there to understanding this hellhole. It’s a right nasty place, even for a cutter who was born in the Hive Ward.
Back in the day, that is, during the early days of the Blood War — them baatezu decided to set up shop right there in Pazunia with a monstrous fortress, replete with towering iron walls, the kind that’d make the citadels on Mount Celestia look like a child’s plaything. Picture the most terrible fortress you could, then add in the moans of the damned resonating through the ironworks, a sort of grim soundtrack to the relentless march of devilish boots.
Aye, Citadel Ug’ggot was the epicentre of the brouhaha, the place from where the Glorious Baatezu Army tried to claim a bit of the Abyss for themselves, a right blood move if there ever was one. But, as it often goes with war, the place fell into disuse, abandoned by the devilish garrison when the fortunes of fighting inevitably turned. Imagine that mighty army retreating, leaving their fort to rust and ruin.
Now, the joint is overrun with Abyssal eviscerators. You’ve met bebilith? Well, these cutters are worse, gnashin’ and clawin’ with a ferocity that makes a starvin’ street dog look downright polite. The fortress itself is a sight to behold, albeit a decrepit one, with the iron turning to rust, a testament to the unforgiving brutality of time.
In the heart of it all, in the central bailey — which reminds me of a town square but with more threat of impendin’ doom — there’s this pit, right? A hole that grants you passage to a dozen Abyssal layers that got left behind in the wake of the war. It’s like a portal to the most bloody battlefiends of the War, with each step taking you deeper into realms abandoned, left to rot. It’s a treasure scavenging dark tourist’s dream, if they’re keen on not coming back, that is.
Now, anyone with half a sense would steer clear, but then I’ve seen primes more eager to jump into the fire rather than avoid it. So if it’s a visit you’re contemplatin’, keep your wits about you and bring a few seasoned cutters with you. It’s the kind of place where your every move needs to be calculated, where a misstep could land you in a situation you’ll regret.
Canonical Source: Demonomicon [4e] p49, expanded upon by Jon Winter-Holt, mimir.net