The Ashen Citadel was hot this time of year, although that was true almost always. The only times that it was different was when Granath devoured the souls of the damned, creating a miasma of chilling mist that spread through the city streets.
Talnor Gran, Junior Scribe of the Ash Heaps Messaging Guild, scrambled across a dubious looking puddle of liquid towards his goal. The city was utterly immense, and all but the most experienced of its citizens became lost now and again. It was made up of twisting alleyways, and towers of dark rock and metal that rose up above the ash like a dark monster squatting on the world. It was not an enticingly created city, but it certainly was imposing, the very vision of what the capital of a circle of Hell should be. Of course one could always use the shadow of Granath’s keep, the largest building in the city, to find one’s direction. It towered above all else, stretching over a thousand feet into the sky. It had been raised by dark magic and brute force, constructed an untold number of eons ago, back when this world was young.
The city was a melting pot of different races, with only one common denominator. Everyone living there had given themselves, body and soul, to the service of Granath. One could not live in the city without showing proof of their fealty, which meant a written, and System approved, contract stating that they would never attempt to rebel or harm their overlords. The Messaging Guild was involved in this bit of bureaucracy in a minor function, as it was an off branch of the larger and more established Scribe’s Guild. Such mundane things as guilds had reached into the Hells from back in the real world, but in any case, even Hell needed a government to not devolve into a state of anarchy. Besides, red tape was sometimes worse than any physical torment.
Today, Talnor was intimately involved with that red tape. He bore a parcel of important letters, to be delivered straight to the Ashen Throne itself, for Granath’s eyes only. They were rumored to contain information about a new distraction within the circle, an up and comer known as Jonathan Harlowe. The crown tried to suppress the information, but everyone knew who the man was, although not much about him. Apparently, in some small border town, a man had resisted the efforts of the circle ruler’s agents to enlist him to his service, which led to a series of altercations in which two high ranking officials in the lower half of the circle’s armies were slain. Talnor shivered as he considered what would happen to the man if he was ever caught. He knew that anyone who disrupted the runnings of this circle, and defied Granath, was destined to die, but there was still a tiny spark of hope within him that someone, anyone, would make a difference.
Talnor dashed past the legions of downtrodden and depressed individuals that called this city home. They had good lives, all things considered, but a life of endless servitude was hardly a life by the standards of their past lives. Still, it was better than having their souls devoured, and being turned into monsters.
As he neared a junction where one of the main roads that directed commerce within the circle ran through, he was starting to get nervous. He had participated in plenty of harrowing jobs before, delivering messages to border towns, right by the Rim, but the dangers posed by the monster than roamed the wastes beyond the edges of the settled land were nothing in comparison to the undisputed hegemon of this circle, Granath the Despoiler.
The demographics among the people began to change as he entered the stream of traffic along the road, shifting from the poor and the working class into soldiers and wealthy merchants, returning from their journeys out into the world. All of the food in the Ash Heaps came from this city, from the hundreds of square miles of agricultural allotments that were kept alive through the sheer power of a cabal of infernal wizards who watered the plants with blood and dark mana. They were known as the Crimson Sect, and they answered only to Granath. None of their number were ever seen by the common folk, and they remained sequestered within the sprawling palace of Granath, but the people of the city were still fearful of them, wary of being taken away to be the fuel for one of their terrible blood sacrifices.
Talnor’s mind was starting to wander now, which was never good. As a messenger, he had a duty to uphold, no matter how fragile his mental state was at that moment. He picked up his pace, running down the main thoroughfare as quickly as he could without exhausting himself. All of the sights of the city were ignored in his passing, and he only thought about his destination and reaching there on time, He was only about level 30, which was quite weak for a member of one of the guilds, but the opportunities for killing monsters in this area were slim, and the number of ones that would provide ample essence were slimmer still. He would be stuck at this level until he was able to get a promotion, which would allow him to put in a request to be forcibly leveled by some high ranking member of the army. That would be a day worth remembering, when Talnor finally became someone of import. For now however, he was stuck with the menial job of transporting messages from one side of the city to the other.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
Half an hour later, he had crossed into the central part of the city, where the most loyal of Granath’s subordinates lived. The area was surrounded by a massive wall, which he had only been able to get past because of his status as a member of the guild. Mansions lined the streets, all leading up the palace in the center. The size of the palace was not only a status symbol, but a simple necessity, given the immense size of the circle lord. Talnor fancied that he could hear screaming coming from the dark spires of that accursed citadel, but it might have just been his imagination playing tricks on him. In any case, he was here. Talnor was not spared any glances by the inhabitants of this area, because of his sash denoting him as an official member of his build. Nobody would dare to forge such a thing, and there was little point either. There was nothing to steal within the palace of Granath, not unless you wanted a slow and agonizing death.
Talnor entered the soaring gate of the palace a few minutes later, and had to stop and look up in awe at the magnificent building. It was a style that seemed to invoke infernal grandeur, with grimacing monsters inlaid into the sides of the pillars that supported the width of the titanic ceiling. The ground was lined with red and white marble, which had been exported here at great expense from some hell circle further down the line. Granath liked his luxuries.
He kept up his pace however, as he made his way through the halls of the palace. It was a huge building, and he had to keep moving to be able to meet his deadline. Wretched drudges circled the halls, completing various menial tasks, such as cleaning up the floors or wiping down the various pieces of art around the palace until they were spotless. They were completely devoid of any sort of animus beyond the most basic of motive spirits, and they would endlessly clean these halls. Those people were the ones that the master had taken a special interest in, and had kept their original forms after devouring them. In that way, they could still serve him after death. Talnor hoped that would not be him. He ran past their forms, and kept going, passing by units of soldiers stationed around the hallways. Some of them moved threateningly towards him, but they were only exercising their ability to cause fear, as none of them disputed his legitimacy in being here.
Eventually, he found himself standing outside of a pair of titanic brass doors, inlaid with various scenes of grandeur, each with Granath in a central focus. This door was made out of the blood and bone of one of the living mountains that ringed the Ash Heaps, and was apparently the remains of one of Granath’s greatest conquests, back when he had been young. As Talnor approached, the door swung open on its hinges, and revealed a black void inside. Nothing was visible within the throne room, and Talnor took a tentative step inside. Something rustled in the distance, and he yelped in involuntary terror.
“So, someone had important information for me, and they sent a lowly messenger to deliver it? How interesting.” A pale blue light blossomed in the middle of the room, illuminating the bulk of a hideous monster, draped across mounds of Leviathan Marks and other treasures. Hundreds of feet long, a pale worm writhed in the center of the room, with the upper body of a human, tinged the same pale color as the rest of its body. Its face was blank, save for a slit across its lower half which was the site of its mouth. The body was relative in size to the body of the worm, and was grotesquely affixed to the rest of the creature by a thin line of fused flesh. Its skin was hideously ridged, and covered in the remnants of old injuries, with a few rusting weapons lodged into its body here and there.The creature was quite wide as well, about twenty feet across at its midpoint.
The beast swayed from side to side, eyeing up Talnor with curiosity and hunger in its eyes. This was Granath, ruler of the Ash Heaps. Talnor gulped, and knelt down in front of the monster, holding out his message with his right hand. Something snatched it out of his hand, but he didn't dare to look up. Talnor remained in his groveling position as he heard a wet chortling noise coming from the direction of Granath. The circle lord sounded pleased with what he was seeing. Talnor dared to look up, and almost screamed as he saw what was happening. In his mirth, Granath had inadvertently opened his humanoid jaw, revealing what looked to be a writhing mass of iridescent blue feelers with his throat. At least Talnor knew how he sucked people’s souls out of their bodies. The worm looked to be displeased by the disrespect in Talnor looking upon him, and he growled in anger. Granath looked down fully at Talnor a moment later, and his aura erupted out of him, crushing Talnor into the ground. Blood leaked out of Talnor’s eyes and ears, and the worm loomed over him as he lay there dying.
“You messengers should know your place. Let this be a lesson to you. I am king here.” Granath laughed low and loud, and slammed his aura down fully, causing Talnor to explode in a shower of blood. As the viscera ran across the floor, an unseen force sucked it up into the air, and conveyed it into Granath’s mouth. With a sickening slurping noise, the circle lord fed. He was in a good mood now, as he had found out more about the latest nuisance in a long line of would be heroes. The Ash Heaps was the weakest of the circles, but it was important to stamp out any unrest, no matter how pathetic its origin. Jonathan Harlowe’s days were numbered.