The Charcoal Palace of Yethea
A fortress in the Ember Lands, Ash
If ever there were a place that proves even in a barren waste like Ash, there’s room for bombastic self-indulgence, the Charcoal Palace would be it. Now cutter, I’ve seen palaces of ice, fortresses of bone, and strongholds made from bleedin’ clouds, but nothin’, and I mean nothin’, compares to this monstrosity.
Built from pure black carbonised somethin’-or-other—probably the charred hopes ‘n’ dreams of every berk who ever stepped foot in Ash—the Charcoal Palace is as dramatic as it sounds. Think a gothic fortress, but instead of spires, you’ve got pinnacles of coal. And in the middle of it all, squats Yethea, the Queen of the Ever-Glittering Embers, Chill Empress of the Hearth… and so on.
Ah, Queen Yethea—ruler of nothin’ and everythin’, dependin’ on who you’re talkin’ to. She’s got more titles then the Guvners got laws, but the only thing bigger than her ego is her, well, girth. And her appetite! She slurps down burnin’ brands like a dwarf downs ale and guzzles lantern oil like a barmy on a bender. Even some slaad look svelte next to her, and that’s sayin’ somethin’.
Her cronies are a bunch of snivellin’ ash mephits that’d sell their own smoky hides for a pat on the back from their queen. If they catch wind of outsiders hoofin’ it nearby, you can bet your last jink they’ll be buzzin’ over, prob’ly hopin’ to fetch some exotic grub for their corpulent mistress.
Now, you’re askin’ why no one’s overthrown this rotund regent? Good question, cutter. For all her bluff ‘n’ bluster, Yethea’s got somethin’ goin’ on that keeps the other ash mephits in line. There ain’t a peep of rebellion, see? Quasi-elementals? They couldn’t care less it seems. Maybe it’s magic, or maybe it’s just the shared delusion of her importance—y’know, the kinda thing that could only happen in a place like Ash where everyone’s either scrapin’ by or already given up. Either way, if you end up in her realm, I’d keep me mouth shut and me pockets full of burnin’ tinder—makes for a good distraction while ya make yer exit. And don’t let her self-proclaimed titles fool ya. She might call herself the Slayer of Flame, but nobody takes her seriously apart from the other mephits.
Source: Jon Winter-Holt, mimir.net
