The Dolorous Keep
Here’s a place steeped in melancholy and vicious delight, a den of sorrow and twisted joy. Perched on an outcrop of dark rock on Pazunia is an imposing iron fortress, as cold and unyielding as the heart of an ultroloth. It’s the kind of place that oozes desolation, with towers that pierce the sky like needles, sewing a tapestry of woe. It’s a fortress forged from of iron and sorrow, defying any sense of beauty or grace.
The grand master of this macabre domain is the tanar’ri lord Karlag’Fenzarl (tanar’ri lord of schadenfreude [she/her] / CE), and a real piece of work she is. Imagine a being who revels in others’ misfortunes, a patron saint of schadenfreude, takin’ perverse joy from the grief she inflicts upon others. Oh, she’s a master at causing heartache, with a mind sharp enough to cut through the flam to spot a cutter’s greatest weakness.
Now, Lady Karlag’Fenzarl ain’t just content with her own little fiefdom; no, she’s got eyes and ears everywhere, cultivating pain and relishing in the suffering of others all over the place. Picture the most venomous gossipmonger in your local tavern, multiply it by a hundred, and you’d be getting close to her level of sadistic enjoyment.
Within the cold, oppressive walls of the Dolorous Keep, the air is thick with the cries of the tormented, a constant symphony of anguish. It’s like walking through Bedlam, only in Bedlam, there’s nobody there to enjoy the misery.
Imagine a court where the elite come to share tales of woe, a grand theatre of cruelty where the rich and powerful revel in tales of pain and heartbreak. It’s a place where misfortune is a currency, and Karlag’Fenzarl sits atop a throne of tears, her grin wide as the River Styx as she soaks in every sob story with a glee that’s downright chilling.
But it ain’t all doom and gloom, cutter. Well, actually, it is, but for those with a twisted sense of enjoyment in the pain of others, the Dolorous Keep offers pleasures most perverse. It’s the kind of place where a jilted lover can find solace in the misfortunes of others, where one can delight in the theatre of cruelty and forget their own sorrows, if only for a moment.
So, if you’re the sort who finds joy in the darker corners of existence, where anguish and malice dance a wicked ballet, the Dolorous Keep might be your cup of tea. Or perhaps you’ve got a tale of woe to share, for you’ll find eager ears here. But remember, cutter, it’s a place that demands a heavy toll, where the entrance fee is your own heartache and the exit might just cost your soul. It’s a brutal place for brutal folk, where happiness goes to die, and misery finds its cruel, cold embrace. One can only hope to leave with their spirit intact, though many ain’t so lucky, I reckon.
Source: Morgan Barry and Jon Winter-Holt, mimir.net
