The Larval Swarmpit
Gate to Zionyn, layer 663
This rancid pit serves as a one-way ticket to Zionyn, the six hundred and sixty-third layer, where it’s all insects and vermin, and not the kind you’d find lurkin’ in the gutters of Sigil, oh no, these ones are a bit more substantial. It’s a pit so grotesque, it could turn a tanar’ri’s stomach. The ground ’round it is a mire of rottenness, a right festering landscape, with pools of stagnant water harbouring eggs of who-knows-what kind of monstrous insects. And the smell, oh the smell, it’s like a thousand years of decay all bottled up and let loose to assail your senses with a vile, stomach-churnin’ stench that permeates every pore.
The pit itself is a heaving, undulating mass of living flesh, a chaotic mesh of tendrils and teeth, all movin’ in a way that seems distinctly hungry. It’s a gaping maw in the ground, a relentless churnin’ and gnashin’ of grotesque anatomy that forms the gateway to the abominable lair of Zionyn. And all buzzing with biting and stinging insects.
If they’re barmy enough to step in, a cutter will find themselves in a world that is a true testament to the chaotic evil that defines the Abyss. Zionyn, where the sky buzzes perpetually with swarms of insects so massive, they blot out the sickly yellow sky. I’m talkin’ vermin of proportions most foul, where the littlest of ’em is the size of a bleedin’ dog, and not the friendly sort, mind you.
Picture dense jungles with trees that resemble more of grotesque appendages than anything grown naturally, where every leaf hides a scuttling menace and every shadow harbours a creeping dread. The whole place is a living nightmare for any who suffer from entomophobia (and if you didn’t before you will now!), a realm of incessant skittering and chittering, an endless, deafening cacophony that drills into your mind, threatening to drive you mad.
But here’s where it gets interestin’, cutter. You see, the vermin of Zionyn ain’t just mindless critters; they’ve got a sort of hive mind, a collective consciousness that guides their actions, a singular entity that’s as ruthless as it is incomprehensible. You got ants buildin’ towers that reach into the sky, wasps craftin’ hives that sprawl across miles, and centipedes, well, best not to talk about what the centipedes are up to.
And let’s not forget about the denizens of this place, the insectile demon lords and their throngs of grotesque followers, all buzzin’ and clickin’ in some horrific symphony of chaos, worshipin’ the never-ending cycle of predation and birth, death and rebirth that defines this layer.
You’d do well to tread carefully in Zionyn, berk. It’s a place where the very land is alive, where the trees have eyes and the ground has teeth, where every step could be your last as you navigate through forests of chitin and flesh, a grotesque parody of the natural world, a place where every moment is a struggle for survival in the face of the relentless swarm.
Oh, and if you do find yourself there, I’d advise keepin’ your wits about you, be ready to run at a moment’s notice, and whatever you do, don’t stand still for too long, or you might just find yourself swarmed by the unending tide of vermin that defines this most insectile of layers. It’s not a place for the faint-hearted, not by a long shot. But then, that’s the Abyss for you, ain’t it? A place of horrors unimaginable, a place where only the strongest survive. So, if you’ve got a strong stomach and nerves of steel, Zionyn might just be the place for you, cutter. Just don’t say I didn’t warn ya.
Source: Jon Winter-Holt, mimir.net
