Logor

Logor

The largest demonic city in the Void(?) Ruled by the demilich Vaeshir, one of The Thirteen.

The Sigil

Staring down at the brazen altar, your full focus is quickly captured by the glaring sigil on its surface. Manifestly a Symbol of Power, this rendering of the Sigil of of Logor courses with eldritch energies. You find yourself stooped over the altar, your whitening knuckles clenched to its edges. As the acrid smoke of the censer seizes your lungs, you find yourself blacking out.

And everything is darkness.

It seems as though you float in the darkness, surrounded by a deathly, stagnant chill which gnaws at your flesh. You quickly realise that the void is not complete. Great filaments of material stretch across the bleak distance, jagged detritus bound to vast tendrils of flowing energy. The filaments converge on a single point of focus - a redly-pulsing glow some great distance below you, inasmuch as such directions have meaning here.

Before you, the red glow begins to take form, as though the vast distances separating you from it had evaporated in an instant. You hang, immobile, far above an immense city - or so you assume it to be, although it resembles no other city in existence. It is formed entirely of monumental spires of volcanic glass, which bristle upward in their thousands from a vast mass of viscous magma and burning black slag. The lower parts of the great spires are, particularly towards the rim of the city, heated to a molten glow, while their upper reaches vary in texture from twisting bundles of glassy fibre to thick, reflective slabs of rock.

Each and every tower in the city seems to be riddled with tunnels, as well as forming the foundation for hundreds of iron structures. These ubiquitous, ugly extentions cling squatly against the glassy surfaces or rise like sharp, metallic fangs into the void above. Rust-coloured iron bridges connect adjacent spires, or in some places leap high above the surface of the city in precarious highways. And across these highways, and in the vapid air between the spires, and, indeed, everywhere you look, roam the miriad denizens of the city, the thousand breeds of demonkind who are the citizens of the void city Logor.

The entire city seems to be in a state of violent, dynamic flux. As you watch, a spire near the rim quakes and then topples, shattering several of its neighbours as it collapses into the magma. Iron bridges twist and snap, hurling hundreds, perhaps thousands of demons into the ruin. Fragments topple from the rim, joining the ragged streamers which stretch off into the void. You see now that the lava spilling downward from the ruin joins a long stream of many tendrils which trails off from the base of the city. It is with some disconcertion that you realise that the bulk of these tendrils are not formed by similar spillages of lava, but are of a fleshy, organic nature, bearing a resemblance to the poisonous filaments of some monstrous jellyfish, or to the ravaged, trailing guts of a disemboweled beast.

You now view the city from below, where a great, pulpy, bleeding mass forms its base. As you watch the gruesome, cosmic horror thresh its way through the void, one of the thinner tendrils whips across you, binding you in its sticky fold. You black out once more as you are slowly sucked upward and into the city.

When you come to, you are still staring down at the graven altar, with the Sigil of Logor seared forever into your nightmares.

Return to: The Canon/L, Shunned, Vaeshir

See also: Logorian Star, Demons