That forsaken place, Raazorforge? Picture a town that’s seen better days, stuck right there on the banks of the largest Lake of Molten Iron. It was once a hive buzzing with activity, full of magma mephits working day in and day out, toiling away in the massive forging operations. It was a place where iron met flame to birth the fiercest weapons and the sturdiest armour in Pazunia.

Aye, but those days are long gone. All thanks to an entropic ship of chaos that came sailing through like a bull in a china shop, leaving nothin’ but wreckage and ruin in its wake. Oh, the destruction was a sight to behold, if you’re a Doomguard anyway. An entire community, brought down to its knees, left to the mercies of scavenging manes and a few remaining mephits who are still struggling to restart and maintain the forges on a smaller scale.

Now, the other peculiarity of this place are the raazorchildren, a strange lot they are — although they’re few in number since the entropy ship levelled the burg. They live in a world where metal is nothin’ more than an illusion. Imagine not bein’ able to touch or see metal, a ghost in a land of iron and steel. It gives them a sort of advantage, don’t it? Walkin’ through metal walls, fallin’ through metal floors as if they were nothin’. They craft their weapons from demon bone and solidified chaos-storm, wieldin’ power that can strike through the toughest of armours. But don’t ye be thinkin’ you can go there and grab one for yerself, those weapons listen to their wielders, knowin’ when to slice through metal and when not to.

The shattered burg itself is an eerie sight, cutter. Think of a gigantic knife stabbed into the ground, a silent witness to the chaos and violence that engulfed it. And surrounding it all is a moat of molten iron, a fiery barrier protectin’ the burg, with ramparts dressed in the unforgiving embrace of razorvine. A bloody good natural defence if ye ask me, though nothin’ could defend against the entropy that tore through it.

But listen here, cutter, if ye think this makes Raazorforge a safe haven, ye’re sorely mistaken. It may be one of the safer spots in Pazunia, given that tanar’ri give it a wide berth now, but safe is a relative term in these parts. The air is thick with oily smoke, a constant reminder of the chaos that engulfed it, with broken fortifications and factories lying in ruin, telling tales of a their former glory. The marquis cambion who once ruled with an iron fist, literally drawin’ metal from the moat for his creations, well, he’s gone too, leavin’ the burg in the hands of the mephits and raazorchildren.

It’s a place of permanent truce, aye, but only if ye’re a fiend or devil. Anyone else is fair game for the raazorchildren. It’s a tragic tale, a burg reduced to a shadow of its former self, a simmering pot of chaos and entropy, waitin’ for the next eruption to shake its very foundations. So, if ye’re plannin’ a visit, go with eyes wide open, ready for anything, ’cause in Raazorforge, anything is bloody possible, mate.

Canonical Sources: Fiendish Codex 1 [3e] p116 (mention); In the Abyss [2e] p20 (description)

Sources: Galactic Rainbows, Jon Winter-Holt, mimir.net

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