Thaumaturgical Fortress of Cruelty
Beneath the blood-red glare of the crimson moon, which throws its light across all fated battlefields, Zelretch raised the Sword of Legend to slay at last the accursed Nocturnal One The esoteric blade with no imitators, gore and viscera stain its jeweled majesty as it is driven again and again into the breast of the vampiric scum who withers around its peerless might Zelretch – walk among the worlds Zelretch – the Second Magic calls Zelretch – conduit of light Zelretch – draw their feral blood In the hands of one whose blood radiates with ancestral power and arcane energy, the blade radiates kaleidoscopically and carves merciless into the flesh of the diseased, vampiric monstrosity The rites required to craft a weapon so formidable are entrusted to those only with unparalleled potential in magecraft and so the replica is forged to pierce the sickness of night once more
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 17, 2026
The spear drawn from the Land of Shadows, carved from the skull of Curruid, is freed from the Gate of Babylon to be brandished by a worthy fighter once more. Those with fortune poor enough to find themselves within range of its thousand iron barbs will find space and time manipulated seamlessly to place the spear's thorns within their heart Those Spirits struck are plagued until the Lancer himself is vanquished. All wounds torn open by the Steel of Lesser Gods remain cursed and festering while the weapon can be weld. Cause and effect, all laws of mortal man diminish to nothingness beneath the blade - if the spear is released, so shall the opponent die. A flash of red against the curtain of night, the spear dances without form, its course never steering from the hearts of those Spirits to be unmade.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 17, 2026
Deep within the bowels of this fortress of perversity the [SPOILERS] The patriarch supervises the arcane ritual beneath the cloak of dusk The worms quest within her straining cavities, their feeble strength broken and her resistance shattered, and find their way to the crevices of her young heart who's thrum strains against their thaumaturgical will. The patriarch's lascivious grin radiates through the darkness His fingers wriggle in lustful anticipation of the promise that his [SPOILERS] in this war of magecraft. Cursed to fight without a proper heir, arrangements must be made to secure passage to the Root away from the Clocktower's incessant meddling. And so the worms nest within [SPOILERS]. Once fair and timid, the worms transform her into a beast driven by insatiable desire. Seminal fluid drives the engine of their malfeasance and she stalks the night possessed by phallic violence until the final wretched Mage is torn to pieces.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 17, 2026