The Obsidian Sump
Location: Abyss / Layer 7—Kearackinin
As translated from a crumbling scroll found in Oghma’s House of Knowledge, its edges blackened as though scorched by some ancient flame.
This tale is of an ancient wound upon the face of Kearackinin, a scar of glass and fire that bleeds into the soul of the swamp. Know that the Obsidian Sump is no sinkhole, but a crater vast and terrible, its edges sheathed in jagged black glass that cuts both flesh and spirit. The sump yawns wide like an unholy maw, its depths aglow with an eternal black fire that flickers and writhes as if alive. The flames do not burn as mortal fire does; nay, they sear the mind and soul, granting visions to those who dare gaze into their depths—but at a cost no sane being would willingly pay.
The legend speaks thus: in ages long past, before Sess’innek claimed full dominion over this plane, a rival ruled here—a predator-lord whose name has been lost to time but whose essence lingers still. This abyssal lord, a beast of hunger and rage, was cast down by Sess’innek in his rise to power. Their battle raged across the swamp, shaking the foundations of the layer. When at last Sess’innek triumphed, he hurled his rival into the depths of what would become the Obsidian Sump. There, broken and defeated, the predator-lord was bound—not dead but trapped, unable to ascend to the Astral Plane or escape Sess’innek’s magic. Over millennia though, its essence has poisoned the groundwaters, twisting the land and poisoning the swamp with its unending hatred.
Yet even now, the predator-lord stirs. The sump is crackling with its malice, the black fire an extension of its will. The swamp around it pulses with unnatural life—trees that bleed when cut, shadows that move where no light shines. The qlippoth, those ancient enemies of tanar’ri are drawn to this place, their formless shapes writhing, rupturing, decaying as they split open and they spill themselves into the black flame. Some say they believe the predator-lord can be freed; others whisper that they seek only to feed its lingering power and turn it against Sess’innek himself.
For those brave—or foolish—enough to tread near the Obsidian Sump, there lies a temptation too great for many to resist: Godshards, fragments of divine essence embedded in the black glass walls of the chasm. These shards are said to have fallen during Sess’innek’s battle with his rival, remnants of power torn from both combatants in their struggle. To claim one is to hold a piece of divinity itself—but at what cost? The sump guards its treasures jealously; those who attempt to pry a shard from its walls often find themselves consumed by black fire or dragged screaming into its depths by unspeakable monstrosities.
And what of Sess’innek himself? He allows this place to remain—perhaps a monument to his victory, perhaps a warning to those who might challenge him, or perhaps because he is afraid of this place. When meets with shadow fiends, what does he seek from them? Perhaps knowledge of how to contain the predator-lord’s growing influence—or perhaps something darker still. For every soul Sess’innek trades away is another brick taken away from the foundations of his fortress of power. It must be something wortht he risk.
Beware the Obsidian Sump, planewalker. Its depths hold more than fire and shadow; they hold secrets of an age before Sess’innek and promises that no mortal—or immortal—should heed. For within its black flames burns not just power but ruin, waiting patiently for those foolish enough to reach out and grasp it.
Source: Jon Winter-Holt