There exists an abhorred place, where, wicked cliffs caress the sky and buried at their barren foot a portal most impious lies. The mechanism, long accursed, is in fact an arcane door; synonymous with entering it is to forfeit life forevermore. The sanctum to which one progresses, once they cross the dead threshold, causes the mind to unravel; and thus it achieves rightly so.
Statues portraying violence, grotesqueries and death glisten in the midnight sun: adorned in bloody mess. Twin linked serpents, fused at hip or throat, consume their peers and give birth in foul reiteration. This blasphemous orgy pays homage to an elapsed god and from its head protrudes a trilogy of horns, gnarled and misshapen through years within the earth. The decrepit lord hailed by all those who behold it as an abomination unto existence. Imprisoned in an earthen tomb, upon the world, it lies confined. It reigns unobstructed in the Inverse Dominion.
This innovator of death and pain wholly commits itself to hatred; pausing only to sporadically vomit forth, like a torrent, fire and ash into a pit filled with emaciated human beings. There, engraved upon the brimstone, in deep gouges filled with blood is the following anecdote: one thousand years writhing in pain, skin burnt from flesh again and again.