Anchortown
Location: Abyss / Layer 1 — Pazunia
Description: Some call this an oasis of “sanity” in the midst of the Abyss’s madness. Let me lay it out for ya, cutter, ’cause this place is like a shiny copper piece in a pile of dung – a little less rotten sure, but don’t forget where you’re standing. Anchortown’s got a certain charm – if you can call it that – in its black iron and concrete brutalist architecture. It’s a metropolis that’s spread around the place like a nasty rash; a gathering point for poor sods who’ve decided to take a jaunt through the Abyss’s more questionable neighbourhoods.
Now, why do folks flock to this cesspool, you ask? Well, what if I told you that tanar’ri with an affinity for jink have set up shop here, offering all sorts of entertainments. They’ve got the kind of services here that’d raise the eyebrows of even the most shameless Cager. Employment opportunities, hedonism of the most questionable kinds, information gathering – you name it, Anchortown’s got it. Just remember, when you’re dealing with these demons, the truce might be uneasy, but it’s still a truce. You’re not gonna get turned into a pincushion the moment you step foot in Anchortown. Probably. And adventurers? Oh, they love this place like a githzerai loves meditation. Anchortown’s a useful launchpad for forays into the deeper layers of the Abyss. Think of it as a risky haven in a place that’s downright hazardous. It’s a last gulp of sanity before you dive headfirst into the swirling chaos. Drink deep, cutter.
But make no mistake – Anchortown might be a notch above the usual Abyssal squalor, but it’s still a slice of Abyss cake. Tanar’ri here may be biting their tongues, but that doesn’t mean they’re not cooking up schemes behind your back. So, if you’re thinking of spending some time in Anchortown, keep your wits sharp, your blade sharper, and don’t forget to check your jink pouch every once in a while – ’cause even the “friendly” corners of the Abyss, aren’t.
So why do the fiends in Anchortown hold back their claws when it comes to planewalkers? Well, the demons gathered here have got a different kind of itch – one for jink and power. These tanar’ri are basically a gang of rogues who’ve decided that coexisting with the clueless and the adventurous planewalkers is better for their bottom line. Yeah, hard to believe, right? Anchortown’s their patch, and just like a well-fed rust monster ain’t gonna chomp on your armour, these demons ain’t gonna sink their teeth into the visitors. They’ve realised that keeping the prime bloodbags and the mortal portaltrotters alive-ish and well-ish is very good for business. More bodies in the streets mean more jink in their pockets, and more opportunities to offer “services” that’d make a baatezu blush. Don’t look at me like that, I meant live bodies in the streets. Mostly live bodies.
But don’t you dare mistake this for some noble gesture of hospitality; the truce is as flimsy as a quasit’s wing. The tanar’ri might not attack on sight, but that doesn’t mean they won’t find other ways to get what they want – whether it’s your secrets, your jink, or your sanity. Anchortown’s a den of vipers, and you’re the juicy rabbit they’re circling for dinner. So, if you’re planning a trip to Anchortown, just remember – the tanar’ri might not be biting, but they’re still hissing. Keep your guard up, your silver tongue slick, and don’t forget to detect poison on that free drink you’re offered. Anchortown is a place where the sweetest smiles hide the sharpest fangs.
Who Rules: Hold on to your helmets, ’cause the question of who’s pulling the strings in Anchortown is like trying to catch a shadow mephit. Now the burg might seem like a bustling hive of activity, demons running amok, cutters hustlin’ and schemin’. Behind the scenes though, it’s like a game of Blood War chess. There’s no one tanar’ri lord pulling all the strings here. What you’ll find instead is a web of fiendish factions and counter-factions, all straining towards different goals. There’s the Guild of Tainted Pleasures, led by a succubus with a taste for both carnal and material pleasures. Then there’s the Whispering Coven, a sisterhood of hags who dabble in dark magics and broker pacts between witches, warlocks and their dark masters. And let’s not forget the Throatcut Cartel, a group of ruthless mercenaries willing to slit throats for a few coins.
So, if you’re trying to figure out who’s the top dog in Anchortown, good luck. You might as well try to count the grains of sand on the shore of the Styx. Just keep your wits sharp and your eyes peeled.
The Guild of Tainted Pleasures
Now there’s a name that’s as alluring as it is unsettling. They’re a shadowy organisation that’s like the flame that burns up the moths. The Guild of Tainted Pleasures is led by the succubus Zylphia, a fiend who’s got beguiling charms for days and a tongue as sharp as broken bottle. She’s got a taste for all things pleasurable and corrupt, preferably both at once.
The Guild is a den of desire and debauchery, a place where cutters come to indulge their most wicked fantasies. Think of it as a twisted carnival of carnal delights and material excess, where the line between pleasure and pain blurs like a Pazunian mirage. Zylphia’s got a shrewd business mind, and offers pleasures that can’t be found anywhere else – exotic experiences, forbidden delicacies, and secrets that are juicier than a freshly squeezed lemure. She’s like a spider in the centre of the web, luring in unsuspecting victims with promises of ecstasy and fulfilment. But be warned – once you’ve tasted her wares, escape might be tricky. She’s got a hunger for souls as well as desires, and she’s out to extract every drop of satisfaction from her clients. And then every piece of jink afterwards, because remember, she knows what you did and “it would be such a shame if the factol found out…”
So, if you’re thinking of stepping behind the silk curtains of the Guild of Tainted Pleasures, just remember – the allure might be irresistible, but the price might be more than you’d planned. Pleasure and pain are two sides of the same coin in the Abyss, and Zylphia’s the one flipping it. So what’ll it be, heads or tails, cutter?
The Whispering Coven
The Whispering Coven is a trio of twisted hags who dance on the edges of shadows, whispering secrets as dark as the Abyss itself. Imagine a dingy catacomb hidden away from prying eyes. In this secret sanctuary, three hags of power convene, their crooked forms casting eerie shadows on the walls. The Whispering Coven, they call themselves, and their voices are a deadly siren song, luring in witches, warlocks, and desperate souls seeking power beyond the mortal veil.
These hags – Cackles-with-Curses, the Blightmother, and Whispers-within-Shadows – each hold a dominion over a different aspect of the dark craft. Cackles-with-Curses is the mistress of hexes and malisons, her eyes gleaming with a malevolent glee as she weaves the threads of misfortune. The Blightmother, with her gnarled staff and dry laughter like rusting razorvine, delves into forbidden magics that bend the Abyss itself to her whim. And Whispers-with-Shadows, the shrewdest of them all, brokers the pacts with dark powers, sealing deals between mortals and the fiends who hunger for their souls.
You see, the Whispering Coven isn’t just a gathering of cackling hags – they’re a nexus of power where the desperate and the damned meet their dark destinies. Witches and warlocks seeking might beyond their mortal limits come to them, willing to pay any price for a taste of the forbidden. And the hags revel in the chaos and corruption they sow. But be warned, for these hags are more than spellcasters. The pacts they broker are contracts signed in blood and sealed with shadow, binding souls to dark masters with insatiable appetites. So, if you ever hear the sibilant voices of the Whispering Coven in the depths of the night, remember – their promises might sound sweet, but their intentions are as twisted as a tanar’ri’s toenails. Seek such power at your own peril, cutter.
Sources: The Slayer’s Guide to Demons, mimir.net
