Story A Traveller's Guide To Hell

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A TRAVELLER’S GUIDE TO HELL
by various authors
Preface by the editor, Ronaldo the White Mage

When my benefactor, who has requested not to be named, asked me to write a travelogue of the Demon Realm, I was at once flattered and intimidated. Indeed, for a master of the arcane such as myself, there could be no more logical choice – and yet how is a mortal man to map the sweeping grandeur of Hell’s vast surface?

As the truest of sorcery lies in the commingling of Magics, so it would have to be that such a priceless grimoire be assembled by the finest minds and most well-travelled personages to be found in Pandemonium. While one cannot know everything of this vast plane, and indeed attempting to do so is guaranteed to offend some among the Nobility, it is my sincere belief that this document will be sufficient to apprise the reader of what to expect should they find themselves free and living in the Eternal.

Herein you will find; guides to Hell’s finest cities penned by renowned gourmand Brenal the Tumescent; a useful glossary of religious orders and martial philosophies from the hand of Taina Onestrike; political insights offered by noted journalist and wanted fugitive Eight-Eyed Salaam; reviews of the best public houses in the Ur-City; and of course, a humble treatise on the ecologies of the Demon Realm painstakingly assembled by yours truly.

Take heart, dear reader, for though the wonders of the Eternal might seem frightening now, with this book in hand you will soon learn to find – and love – your place in the Infernal Hierarchy.

I wish you safe travels and the Trickster’s own luck,

Professor Ronaldo the White, B.Th, Archmage, Dean of Malevolent Geography, University of Spinward Doldrum (GO COELACANTHS)

Arrival,
Professor Ronaldo the White

My fellow mortals, on arriving in Hell, will find themselves quite disorientated and at risk of imminent destruction. You will have eight orbits of the Palace Infernal in which to find station or patronage, or succumb to the Wasting Gold or other maladies. The first few ‘days’ before symptoms appear are crucial to survival, while one is still fit enough to be useful.

Those fortunate enough to be blessed with Magic should waste no time in demonstrating their power in a show of force against some minor Fiend, or volunteer their services to the local ruler. While the sorcerous Pattern of your soul will delay the effects of the Hellsun’s searing light, it is still critical to show that you will not be threatened and that you can compete in the Eternal.

For the rest of humanity's teeming masses, well, no doubt you are accustomed to a place of servitude since birth. If you can, I would recommend seeking the protection of Magi, who may employ you according to your nature. Otherwise, beg the mercy of the first Demon you encounter and accept you may spend some time indentured to earn your place.

A few exceptional individuals have been known to establish themselves as respectable and independent denizens, but far more have perished in the attempt. If you feel you can make of yourself sufficient nuisance to enjoy a quick, clean death, by all means try.

Where Am I?

If you are blind and in considerable pain, you are on the Hellsun. Prostrate yourself and hope for the best.

If you are blind and yet seeing things, and have the queer sense of dreaming, you are in Hell’s Night. I am sorry.

If you are surrounded by lightning storms, rocky ground or dark soil, clouds of ash, and a vague feeling that the ground is trembling underfoot, you are upon the Blasted Earth. Try to find shelter immediately and ask to serve.

If you are uncomfortably cold and detect an overwhelming scent of salt, or appear to be in a body of water, you are upon the Bitter Seas. Do not eat or drink anything until you have a master. Do not touch anything nor allow it to touch you. Before approaching any light source attempt to determine if there is a mouth behind it. Under no circumstances should you cry.

If you appear to be inside the gullet of a monster or otherwise believe your surroundings to be alive, you are in the Great Beast or one of its parasite-kingdoms. Seek the trappings of civilization and be prepared to copulate.

If your surroundings are principally metal and there is the sight or sound of machinery, you are almost certainly in the Infernal Machine. Read any contracts very carefully, make no barter without a patron, and try not to fall into any mechanisms.

If you are on a city street surrounded by structures of white or gray stone, rejoice! You have arrived in Pandemonium, the Ur-City, where an infinity of opportunity and pleasure awaits! Either be polite and show deference, or look for an Imp to inflict violence upon, and thence seek employment. Diligence will be rewarded with Citizenship of the Demon City.

 

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Pipehead’s Tavern, Spinward Doldrum, Pandemonium
by Parcher Sam

On Tap: Unfiltered Tears, Hellpit Sulfur Sour, Beeswax Brown Ale, House Special Brew
Signature Cocktail: A Stinking Jug of Piss
Vibe: Reserved but friendly local

Pipehead’s Tavern is built into the corpse of a powerful Breaker slaver killed during The Cycle of the Angry Tumour, which gives it a wonderful ambiance; the burnished bronze ribs reflect light from discreet imp cages and the abandoned weapons driven into the walls reflect an anarchistic camaraderie. No wonder the Strict Order of Hierarchical Rejection has post-schism drinks here!

Old Pipehead herself is somewhat reserved, but her tight smile and the glint of light off her gauges can’t help but put a patron at ease. “Don’t worry, friend,” she seems to say; “first one start a fight is getting steamed to death.” She will also explicitly say this if it looks like a fight is brewing, which is a refreshing change from the sudden and decisive violence of tapsters elsewhere in Pandemonium.

The entrance to the venue is via a short flight of steps through a comfortably spacious exit wound in the back of the body, itself surrounded by a minimalist and little-used beer garden for those who want open air and arguably a little more privacy. Most of the bar is housed under the aforementioned ribcage, often with a band playing in the skull where excellent acoustics keep the music softly humming throughout.

On tap are a fine selection of stalwart brews, and the house special – a light, easy-drinking session ale made with refined laughter and peach.

The signature cocktail, A Stinking Jug of Piss, often takes new customers by surprise. Garnished with a large wedge of lemon, it’s served in a decorate bronze jug depicting hellhounds in the act of urinating. The libation itself is exactly as advertised, though Pipehead has vouchsafed to me that she feeds her pair of hounds meat marinaded in gunpowder fruit. If one can overcome the powerful nose, A Stinking Jug of Piss guarantees potent intoxication at a low price, and a singular olfactory and textural experience for connoisseurs.

My only criticism is that the imps in the toilets are overzealous in their offer of scents, breath fresheners, and small arms.

8/10

 

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The Pinnacle Cult, or The Palatial Cult, The Principle Faith
BY TAINA ONESTRIKE

Glory to the Palace Infernal and the Principles therein; may we be worthy of their notice.

Now that any tedious priestly types reading are placated, let us speak of the Pinnacle Cult which is so powerful in Hell.

The Cult venerates the Principles, which most assuredly exist. It is their precise nature which is in dispute. The following is truth:

• There are eight Principles, six of them correspondent to the Circles of Hell.
• The Principles are confined to the Palace Infernal which exists at the very centre of Hell.*
• The Principles are watching.
• Nothing in all existence matches the power of the Principles.

Naturally, this is paradoxical – how are the most powerful entities in existence confined? The most popular tendency within the faith holds that they choose to confine themselves because their will is axiomatic; reality will warp to suit their desires and as such become fixed, incapable of meaningful change or evolution. Even the malleable time of Hell would collapse, becoming an infinite static present obedient to the nature of the Principles.

This is impractical nonsense intended to keep theologians and similar reprobates occupied.

The following is much more practical.

• The Principle of Eternity is perfect. It’s name is spoken as Defiance Is Victory.
• The Principle of Annihilation is inevitable. It is only venerated by the truly lost.
• The Principle of Glory is associated with the Hellsun; Perfection Annihilates.
• The Principle of Enlightenment is associated with Hell’s Night; All Things Are Alone.
• The Principle of Law is associated with the Blasted Earth; Vengeance Is Just.
• The Principle of Truth is associated with the Bitter Seas; Pain Is Truth.
• The Principle of Want is associated with the Great Beast; Complacency Is Death.
• The Principle of Unity is associated with the Infernal Machine; Self Is Possession.

These are open to interpretation, and the Cult features many schismatic elements which emphasize one or more Principles over the others, or which interpret them in different ways. This information is practical, however – by striving to embody a Principle, one may attain enlightenment, power, and a fraction of Divinity. In addition to worshiping and contemplating Principles, many Cultists attempt to express their faith through action – few among the Bladesworn of the First Circle do not perfect their martial skill in pursuit of Glory. A few content themselves with guiding others on the path.

The Cult is most active in Pandemonium and among Demons without a place in the Hierarchy. Only by pleasing the Principles may such Demons grow in power, lacking the opportunity to ascend the ranks of Nobility. This, and the flows of Essence through Hell, represents the Principles expressing their will in controlled circumstance.

For mortals and other pitiful things which find themselves in Hell, pursuit of a Principle is simultaneously an excellent way to thrive and to die. Their struggle pleases the Principles, who will throw challenges, boons, and omens their way according to their whims. Most are not fit for the opportunity.

Sundry other metaphysical musings suggest that by virtue of the Principle of Eternity, rejection of a Principle is also a path to power. Indeed, some argue that the Principles in fact define their inverse by providing a point of opposition.

In truth, it is all but impossible to determine what draws the attention of the Principles or their favour until one succeeds.

Will is all that matters. Action is all that matters. Attain Divinity by violence.

*The Hellsun merely appears to be the centre of Hell, and the Palace appears to orbit Pandemonium. In reality, the Palace is fixed and Hell revolves around it.

 

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Powderscar
By Brenal the Tumescent

Directions: Leave Pandemonium by the most convenient exit and travel Wildward, keeping fixed in mind the smell of gunsmoke, the colour of rust, and the report of an anti-naval bombardment cannon.

Ah, Powderscar – a delightful little munitions town on the border between Glittercove and the Rust Desert, whose towers would offer a lovely view to the sea and the spires if the air was ever clear. Ruled by the beautiful and menacing Rust-Feather Crane, Powderscar sits on the edge of a deep gorge, where it resembles a chunk of urban sprawl from High Avarice dropped on the fringes of the bullet paddies. The far side of the gorge is higher, and the Crane maintains a bridge-fortress there to control passage through the town. Said fortress also marks the hour by firing on the shipping lanes Wildward, beyond Glittercove,

Polos Grilled Casings: Located on the main road Wildward, this boutique restaurant features an open-plan layout under a burnished gold marquee. Service is prompt, friendly, and efficient, with an atmosphere of any good cultural anchor for local Demons. Supplied by waste from the bullet paddies, the menu features a wide selection of calibres for their signature grilled casings and a remarkable array of sauces including pious bloodshed, cold relief, and mango chili.

The streets are a densely packed warren between the looming, pleasingly asymmetrical buildings of the town, and are wonderfully invigorating as a place to contemplate your next meal buffeted by the teeming activity of the citizenry.

Anonymous Pickpocket: Crunchy with a tangy antifreeze filling. Conveniently serves itself. Lacklustre seasoning.

While my intended destination is The Gilded Bandolier, I cannot recommend enough that any visitor to Powderscar check the markets for Rancet’s Chainsaw Shack.

Serving chainsaws freshly harvested from wild shredderlings, Rancet himself makes for an enjoyable eating experience with his charming banter and juggling while cooking. You can get lead-sweetened chainsaws from juvenile shredderlings, or full-size spit-grilled saws from larger beasts, but I suggest that for your first visit you try the kebabs.

The Gilded Bandolier
Located a mere street away from the palace, the famous Gilded Bandolier is an intimate venue demanding reservations or murder in advance. There is a strict dress code which ensures your visit is as much a feast for the eyes as the tongue, and rather than music the ambient sound comes from the recorded pealing of screamchimes from the remote Noon Fist Monastery.
The menu is short, but impeccably chosen, with two excellent options for each course supplemented by two seasonal dishes. For a starter, I strongly recommend the strangler eggs with toast points and spices – a secret recipe featuring a sprinkle of native Powderscar gunpowder. While all choices are excellent, I will admit that of the mains, Shiver-fillet in a jellied black Ooze with rope noodles is my absolute favourite; the sauce takes the bitter edge off the meat, and the meat in turn helps ground one through the ephemeral sweetness and hallucinations of the Ooze.
The two consistent sweets are candied scarabs and moontouched ice-cream, but I prefer to work my way through the cocktail menu.

 

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Law
By Eight-Eyed Salaam

Existence is a crapshoot, right? Draw of a card, spin of a wheel. You get what you get; poverty or power, charm or charity, a song or a sword. That’s for us, all of us, but a god?

Gods are the dealers and the game is fucking rigged.

See, you might be thinking Hell is lawless, a nightmare of all vs. all, might making right, strong over the weak. You’d be right, but not all the way. In Pandemonium, there’s pretty strict laws – no violation against another, no theft, no broken contracts. Blasphemy is fine. It’s encouraged, even. We’ll get to that, oh yes, but for now, I should warn you about the Arbiter.

You break the laws of Pandemonium, and this time-bending motherfucker wills itself to have been present all along. Punishments vary; fines and reappropriation, imprisonment or weird tasks. One shiny shitheel from the Hellsun got themselves condemned to bodyguard a monk, for example. The worst offenses, though, get you killed – and there’s nothing you can do. Time’s wobbly in Hell, but Arbiters (there might be more than one, who can say) will always catch you.

But the Principles, so often called gods, they like loopholes. They like chaos. A fully civil society isn’t their deal, oh no – there has to be room for crimes; murder and theft and espionage. If there’s no witness to call the Arbiter, there’s no crime. So you can get shivved in a dark alley and no one will mourn it. If you’ve got friends, it’ll be down to them to look into it. Better have evidence when you draw guns, though, wouldn’t want to be charged with assault. Vengeance is holy, after all.

Here’s the other thing: you can rebel against the bullshit, especially in the rest of Hell where the law is down to ruling Demons, but the system has a way of making you part of itself when you do. Doesn’t matter where you go. In some places they make saints or adversaries of rebels. In others they’ll sell your rhetoric on t-shirts. The system needs defiance to define itself. Your rebellion strengthens the other side of the coin. The Principles will reward you for your service, even if you hate them. That’s why blasphemy is fine. Defy them, refute them. The more you define their opposite the stronger they are.

In the Wildward lands beyond Pandemonium, you find the Lawbringers – a unique class of golden assholes like the Bladesworn, who try to uphold the laws of Pandemonium all across Hell. Up-jumped egotists who only know violence and wield law like a weapon.

There’s no way out. Not here. Not for any of us. With an exception.

We struggle against each other, and that’s what they want. There’s no Principle that really grasps compassion and camaraderie, check any scripture. It’s all against all, it’s strength against weakness, it’s self versus other.

If we want to get our freedom, we can’t play the game. We’ve got to work together, look after each other. We can’t win by the rules, so we have to flip the board.

We have to kill our gods.

 

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Sex
By Ronaldo the White, Archmage

Those of you hailing from more barbarous times and places may find this subject taboo. Since you now find yourself in Hell, you would be advised to outgrow such squeamishness quickly.

In the lands of the living, most things reproduce sexually. That is to say, some transfer of vital essences between two members of a species must take place to fertilize an egg whether it is then laid or gestates internally. While those of us from enlightened cultures understand that sexual intercourse is more than mere procreation, and more varied than the coupling of male and female, the biological function of the act cannot be denied.

In Hell, however, most Demons reproduce asexually (see A Taxonomy of the Demon Realm for specifics). Indeed, the process rarely resembles biology at all. Some Demons are dreamed by their superiors, coalescing from stray whims and flows of Essence. Some bud from the flesh of larger Demons, or seem to occur ex nihilo in the appropriate circumstances. A rare few do reproduce sexually, true, but in the main, that is not so.

Does this mean, however, that the inhabitants of the Eternal have no interest in pleasures of the flesh, in such intimate physical expression? Far from it! Hell is a mirror to the world left behind, and so while some Demons certainly display no interest whether or not they have the capacity, many more treat sex as a sensuous indulgence.

As such, one should not be surprised to encounter quite casual attitudes among Hell’s populace. Everyone has standards, of course, but some are of a mind to relax them when the mood strikes. The wondrous diversity of Demonic forms presents opportunities for acts impossible for the frail human body, or thoroughly exciting in their improbability where possible.

Like many of Hell’s beauties, copulation with Demons is not without risk. A lover who sweats corrosive fluids is, as my assistant says, ‘a turn off.’ Likewise, the interaction of Demonic power with human bodies can be unpredictable, leading to baffling pregnancies, transformations, or addictions – for either partner.

Unmoored from laughable ideas like monogamy, one would imagine Demons rarely experience jealousies or unrequited longings, but this is not the case. Great sagas have been recorded detailing the tumultuous romances of powerful Demons, in some cases complicated by mortal lovers still clinging to ideas they brought from the mortal realms with them.

While I heartily recommended a tryst with a Demon of the Fifth Circle if you find yourself with the opportunity, remember always that the raw intensities of Hell can be more than a human can handle.