Cabbala Chronicles - Issue 011 Sincadere Spring It has indeed been a while, hasn't it, dear reader? Surely, you've missed me twice as much as I've missed you. Fear not, for yours truly is back with the most succulent of news. And let me assure you, I do have a treat for you all. A couple of moons ago, Her Fluffiness, Daniella “The Mischief Terror” Travesty, announced her temporary retirement from the most corrupt and coveted office on Sincadere. Yes, dear reader, for two whole weeks, the office of Archon of the Cabbala is open for those brave enough to toss their names into the fire and avoid getting stabbed in the process. Her temporary leave of absence has left some of the imps in the caves tossing rumors of a mysterious ailment. Those in the Bound Elf may have heard she contracted a rather aggressive case of athlete’s hoof. The shadows of the Horde whispered she just got treated for mad-elf disease. While the little minxes of the brothel suggested she got a rare case of stiffed-tail. All, I can assure you, are lies; our beloved Archon is just in need of some well-deserved rest. In this soon-to-be temporary absence of power, the thundering voices of Sapphira and an undisclosed male were heard in a lurid fight for dominance and of course, for the right to lay their buttocks on the same warm throne where our faun’s butt usually seats. Fire, damnations, a goblet of wine, and an epithet or two were thrown in this argument, but the truth is… no real victor was decided. Most worrying of all, is that this display has ignited others to circle the throne like vultures around a carcass. Some with worrying agendas, like Lily, our sweet bouncy elf, who clearly stated her intention to ban the use of pants or any garments below the waistline. Or a certain shady character by the name of Rune who demanded mandatory taxation on breathing rights or brutal imprisonment. Of course, our journalists have also heard of the occasional pyromaniac who desires the caves to be turned into a two-week bonfire. And last, but not least, those voices who will use this time to declare war on the surface dwellers. Whatever the case, 'tis safe to say, the caves would soon be lively. Perhaps too lively for those that live above. Our best hopes for the hasteful return of our beloved Archon. May she encounter the caves pristine and more importantly… still standing when she returns from her pampering voyage. Sleep with one eye open. R. Hangfire. Before we continue, I would like the opportunity to introduce to you dear reader, our newest little helper. Madame Meddleton. Who demanded payment in spanks rather than coin, a deal that we in the Cabbala Chronicles could not refuse. Her professional journalism precedes her, which is why her column: "Rumors Bloody Rumors" would be dedicated solely to investigating the most delicious gossip and rumors about those that live in Sincadere. Without further adeu.. i give you.. Madame Meddleton. Demons and Orgies and Trouble, oh my! All Cabbala twitters with the news of the impending vacation of the Archon...or IS it a vacation? The announcement has touched off a flurry of whispers as to the reason for this absence. Conjectures include illness, a failed coup attempt that left injuries from which she must heal, a rendezvous with the leader of another land. None of these idle musings have any evidence to support them, but wagging tongues persist in believing any thing other than her stated reason. Various officers have been jockeying for the position with a number of applications already submitted. Also, numerous people reported what seemed to be a huge battle in the Throne Room itself, with the winner unclear. It's rumored that some people may have applied just for fun, but with our Archon's penchant for poisoning, perhaps they might watch their beverages for a while. A party held recently by our illustrious Horde Reaper Uhar and Spike's wife Mox for the long-serving manager and red pleasure demon Spike of the Bound Elf was a rousing success with many examples of lewd behavior and pleasure seeking witnessed and enjoyed. It's said that the Bound Elf's attendance has picked up since that party with many possibly hoping for a repeat. Indeed, Spike has been seen dusting the furniture - might that mean another orgy in the offing? One can only hope. Several people have noticed a new addition to the land in the form of a colony of rabbits, who have opened a bar for use by all residents of Sincadere. The bunnies seem particularly affectionate and have worked hard to set up the supplies necessary for their success. The Bound Elf has added another manager, Runefang Haefnir. While just starting at the Elf, rumors suggest that he has returned after an absence caused by his wild behavior as notorious member of a pack of ruffians. One can only hope that we see such behavior again, as the caves seem a mere echo of their former chaotic days. And of course, the usual rumors abound across the cave, making us pant for more details, but unfortunately, I can only provide snippets to whet your appetite. For example, what high ranking member of Cabbala was seen slipping into the College, then later leaving with a tipsy friend for a night of drunken debauchery? Or...was that just a Tuesday? Until next time, I bid you Darkest Eve, Madame Meddleton
You do not see your ADD here? have a new business and have no place to publicize? Sen a raven to our offices... if you can find them... and we will rent you a space for barely a couple of coppers. Our raven Master is waiting, choose the Cabbala Chronicles now!. 008 – Forest Tales. Sincadere Winter 09/03/2023 Editorial. My dear readers, tis seems that yours truly cannot take leave and rest amongst the delights of hellish brothels and lustful loins, without receiving news of mischief and damnation all around. To think that I leave for one blink of a lazy dragons eye, and upon my return what do I found?… mayhem and utter chaos. I have read the reports made by some steamed news outlets, quite elegantly written by my esteemed colleagues of the Quill. And of course, concluded that there was more to the story than meet the eye… Just like you, I now clamor for the upmost truth!.. And truth!, we shall find. So, fear not dear reader for I am back to name those responsible and point one judgmental finger to those that have performed such wretched deeds in my absence. So let us begin, like many stories, at the very beginning… In a palace of ill repute, a top the most renown of Helheim's hills, sat the most devilish of Queens. Was she bored on this night? Was she tired of the scenery? Only the stars know. Suffice to say she was in the mood of a change, suckling her fingers on a noble feast provided by no other than the one that calls himself Chief. Perhaps the palace chef should have taken closer look to the dubious goods, maybe the plaid dressed Chief should have paid the ingredients a fair price. Fact is, in no time a cursed delicacy was boiled and grilled, and a courteous dinner was in no time set. Not a bite taken, the mood had shifted from pleasant to heavily stressed. Still was the room, much unlike the rumbling royal bowels. In a tense attempt to shift in her seat the royal gown appeared to slightly wave and rise. A gallant float that in silence sealed the deed. It was, as those in the tavern business say, silent but deathly. Within minutes the breeze shifted, blowing downhill a stormy vapor. Those that lay witness of the mists forming as they trail to the forest, call themselves lucky, for it was only their nostrils that melted. Once the potent portent clashed with the greenery it quickly shifted to that pungent red hue that permeated across the forest in the shape of that red mist. If it was the stench alone one would simply give the nobles a disapproving look, but the mists twisted life in ways never seen before. Plants that once stood with vivid color, now shriveled, and decayed. Leaving the forest filled with husks of trees and vines that creep like tentacles. The beasts that once roamed the forest suffered such horrid transformations; it is difficult for yours truly to describe them. Of the heroic deeds that transpire amidst the chaos, I am afraid I know little. Most of those that brazenly step forth to save a soul were lost to the vapors. Those that returned, were twisted beyond recognition. Surely the creatures that dwell above will point a finger to us, Cabbalans, as the source of such malice. Know now dear reader, that they are truly mistaken. For on this particular occasion the whims of fate chose the Cabbala to step up. On these wicked times, when all hope was surely lost, and the nations above cowered behind their stone walls and floating isles… it was us!... And no other that rose to put a stop to the siege of such wretched mists. Never say a faun has no sense of smell, for after enduring much of something she had not dealt, our Archon whip her dragons and screamed “ENOUGH!” When a noble, or any of us with enough civilized sense and sensibility, would light a candle. Our beloved Archon chose to light the whole forest on fire. In one night, the remains of the vapors gone, the twisted creatures put to rest, and the forest of Sincadere cleanse into ashes and cinders. May this serve to you all as a warning, and do learn the moral of the story. If you are ever in distress… do not break wind near an open flame. Having told you the truth, I now can go back and rest. Enjoy the night as the stars intended. But before I let you out of my clutches… Here are some business adds. • Woke up with a hard-on day ahead? Feeling a tad bit stiff? Constantly drenched, battling a long throbbing heat? You deserve a pampering night. Leave all problems behind and head into the one and only Den!, the very best palace of pleasure in Sincadere. Located across the bridge by the Fool’s Market, put yourself in the hands of our expertly trained courtesans while enjoying quite the assortment of playful delights. Cum in and get the release you deserve.
• Your day has been long, your back broken whole, your mouth dry and your tongue raspy as an orc’s loincloth. It is time for a break, a drink, and a proper lewd tale. The Bound Elf Tavern beckons, the one and only Cabbalan watering hole, just a step away from the main entrance. Relax by the welcoming fire, gulp down your favorite drink, and trade stories with a fascinating multitude of misfits. Come in and quench for thirst for adventure. • Mages, sorcerers, and amateur wielders of the arcane, this notice is for you! Are you tired of tediously written scrolls? Trying to put back together half-truths in old dusty tomes? Need that precise ingredient for your incantations but can't spend your precious time searching for it? Seek no more! The Caverna Magica, the one and only store affiliated to the Cabbalan College of Obscure Arts, has the most extensive magical compendium. Find us deep inside the Fools Market, next to the butchering grinders and ask about our Study Program for (almost) a fair discount. • Care for something sweet, fulfilling and not screaming? Seek no more and head to Mia's Mystics, located in the Fool's Market of the Cabbala, a fine chocolatier, bakery, and sweet shop with a magical twist! Mia's Mystics specializes in the unusual, macabre and the naughty. Visit or speak with Kaiaa Steiner [Soumia Maradona] to place your order today! • There is no other way to enjoy a night of culture, whippings, and gore than with a glass of the best wine on your hand. Gladiator Fine wine Now On sale! Each wine bottle purchase comes with a house decoration prop too. Come to the Fool’s Market and give your tasting buds a treat or speak with the caves main sommelier Devina [devindenatale] and get a personalized wine to fit your own name. And as always, dear reader, sleep with one eye open. - R. Hangfire Sincadere Summer 14/10/2022 Editorial. Forgive our silence dear reader. I know you have missed yours truly, and are probably pacing in your dwelling worried sick about our well being. Worry not, for the Cabbala Chronicles bloody heart still beats. We just needed to shake the lethargy out of our dark soul and press on to bite you with tender words. And speaking of bites, gore, and blood. Surely you had witnessed the fleeting beauty of the Blood Moon. It began with a chant that echoed across the caves. At first we thought it was a slave strike, at the very least, the practice of certain tuneless bard. But alas, we were mistaken! A procession of witches roam across the caves, one by one they gather shrouded in an eerie light. Devious little enchantresses prowling around at night. They thought they were alone, and their secrets warded from prying eyes. But they did not know the depths of our depravity, nor that we got brand new lenses to watch from afar. Besides ogling the sway of their magical hips and the mystical wobble of their teats, we witness the summon of the most delightful crimson moon… what a night that was... its vicious red light bathing us all… To some it was Sloth the sin that stuck on their souls, to others it was Rage. Pride took over the humblest of souls, while Greed and Gluttony ran rampant devouring most in the dark… but… if I must crown one as the greatest one… I will say it was Lust, the sin that reigned supreme. Just ask Dinnin, the poor demon-fiancé whose ball sack swelled until it kissed the cold stony floor. Oh how he begged for release. Pouncing naked on our dear Archon, trying to impale the faun with his painfully engorged phallus. In haste the Archon parried his meat with her shiny dagger, demonstrating her proficiency in the art of fencing. What a marvelous sight for those who love the sport. We were about to enjoy quite a wholesome show when he was so pointedly removed by Ashley’s martial art skills. The demon landed at the feet of the Keep and that is when disaster truly struck. Oh the horror, Oh the terrible sight, the keep had been ravaged and the throne room in blood most certainly tagged. The Archon screamed in ire, and no not like a little girl, and for once we witnessed her tail hackle with sheer wrath. Poor the fool that caused this slight. But before you gasp, dear reader, know that Sherlock Shroom was on the case, the young Aconitum Mooncroft-Arestegi-Lionheart the Third! Homebrewed student of the College of Obscure Arts wasted no time… he promptly studied the crime scene with ease… from the lettering of the words, to the damn crows that flew over the corpse… when the detective work was done, he turned to the Archon and spoke… “Tis elementary your fauness”... he paused for dramatic effect... “the criminal had left a calling card”. You may wonder about the outcome... wonder no more, we in the Cabbala Chronicles know it all. Dear reader, you should count the dwellers in the caves. Look left and right… Pay attention and notice that dear friend that suddenly has been missing for a while. Yes, you would not be wrong… for if you notice someone long gone... you have found the culprit and need to seek no more. Take heed of our Editor notes: be wise and on this matter poke the Archon no more. And since we have mentioned poking, we shall also mention pecking. Our sweet raven voiced bard Ashley the Great, had risen to the ranks of nobility and now calls herself the one.. the only.. the mighty.. Queen of Chickens! For you see, she had taken poultry farming as a hobby on the side of her main very serious job. Perhaps it will be smart to pay her in corn if she comes to collect any business tax. But beware, be respectful, and honor her cluckity cluck cluck ass. For it is said she owns a devil chicken that actually pecked the Jade Empires pride. I would not want to leave you before reminding all of you, my dear cave dwellers, about the election that is soon to come. Yes it is that time already, a time for solemn contemplation of the future of our home… and yes! a time to lean back and enjoy the wildest of debates… best of luck to the contenders, may they sharpen their daggers and hone their claws. Tis rare for us to leave the comfort of our secure facilities, but ever so often we are compelled to do so. And we could not let pass such a marvelous opportunity when we received the most cordial invitation from no other than the Archon of the caves. An engraved scented card inviting us for some pastries and tea. What to wear for such an evening, we found ourselves quite baffled, and with no clean clothes. Never before we had been invited behind the veil of the high dark court. But not letting fear conquer our wits, we managed to get in touch with an expert on fashion and design. A dress by the legendary fashionista Kai, would become our only armor for this night. Oh how graceful the faun was when she welcomed us into her fruity scented office… we knew she was a veggie, but never thought she had a thing for ripe perfumed oranges. Matter not, to each its own, happily our fan would keep our nose fresh while we begin to discuss. What did we talk about? you may ask… well dear nosy readers, mostly about art. The head of the Cabbala was quite a well lectured host, delighting us with the most fascinating of talks… Beware those in the caves, apparently she had decided to meet her dwellers one by one. So if you could, help the busy fluff butt, and head to the Keep to say hi.
And as always, dear reader, sleep with one eye open. - R. Hangfire The Importance of Having a Raven House. For most part, dear reader, we try to explore the most succulent topics on this our editorial section. Picking up the very best of the word on the street. Carefully filtering the chaff from the wheat, to thrust an extensive and thoroughly deep investigation on critical matters. If only to shove the undeniable pristine truth down your eyes. Tis not an easy task, the Cabbala Chronicle takes pride on delivering to you the best news in all of Sincadere. But after our offices got drowned by a flock of pesky ravens, rudely dropping their waste and feathers, as well as a mountain of your poorly scribbled letters. We are forced to reply in kind to you, our faithful readers, before these forsaken birds peck our eyes out. So instead of assessing the reasons behind Hellheim's short attention span. Which apparently has misplaced one of their high-ranking guards, found patrolling the caves close to the Cabbalan College of Obscure Arts. Most likely a genuine lost individual worthy to be the subject of further study, and thorough dissection. OR denouncing the atrocities of the vicious and corrupt Jade Empire. In a piece that would have included an in-depth piece about the empress mood swings and rabid outbursts, most likely worsened after the emperor's need to remain cuddled only by his precious katana. An ancient asian tradition to combat the declining proficiency of the flesh tanto that nests between his legs. We are now forced to deliver you this, our gift in the name of the Summer Festival. And expand our blooming new social section "Rumors Bloody Rumors", to focus solely on the much more dangerous, spiky, and quite spicy subject of… and I cannot believe I am writing this… loOove! Summer came upon us like a hurricane, rising the temperatures of the Cabbala, and moisturizing their inhabitants. Was it the ongoing war with the Jade Empire which rose tensions leaving the dwellers of the dark hard and stiff? Or has some of the less honest barkeeps been dumping love potions on the Bound Elf free booze nights? Some concerned dwellers point their fingers to our aquatic fiends, claiming they have entered a mating season and are jellying the waters we all bathe in. While the CCOA most notable scholars remain suspiciously silent. Was it an experiment gone terribly wrong? are we under a lust driven curse? Important questions that demand answers from our leadership... that is, whenever they are dry and not merrily humping… But whatever the reason, my dear reader, heat! is upon us. Take comfort that it has affected us all, from the most humble deviant, to our mighty Archon. https://discord.com/channels/633123431046709249/642817732248862728/1016490170196963438 It was during the marvelous summer festivities held in that magical land of Nascentia that love collected it's first casualty. It seemed that all of Sincadere has gathered together, dancing and prancing in a revolting display of peace and harmony. Amidst the ceremonies some folk would focus on commerce, others on emptying a drink, many would bury the axe and mend old wounds, but the bravest ones most would attempt to rip open new ones during the Bloodbowl tournament. And what a tournament it was, for not only we witness the combatants bled in the sacred brawl. You see dear reader, if you closely paid attention, you would have noticed that the very Archon of the Cabbala and the Great Gibbon sharing matching outfits. Both dancing between the goblins to the same exact rhythm as they shamelessly refereed the match. What a lewd brush of hands we all saw, when the orc let the faun touch the heavy girth of his mighty hammer. So disturbed was the Archon by the sheer size, that more than once she missed a stroke... i mean… a strike. A bless to some of the warriors, saving them from being utterly squashed. Oh! our heart goes to the fluffiest of fauns, after certain king's suspicious disappearance, we were worried her heart and loins may have fallen prey of winter and frost. But our fears were for naught, as cinders were certainly reignited by Great Forest Orc, kindled the embers into undeniable blazing love, we can only hope the Great Gibbon survives our beloved leader's horned touch. Love may have flourished amid the bloody combat, but like a pesky virus seems to have spread into the darkest shadows. If you live long enough in Sincadere, you surely have heard about certain runt. Askha her name, trouble her game. Those that have wits know to shiver in fear when she makes her appearance. The infamous brat was finally cornered by none other than the mighty Warlord of the Horde. Word on the street claims the shadow drake had finally stretched her clutches to catch the renown criminal. When all hope seemed lost with no way out but the noose, when it was Askha's time to pay her debt in tears and blood. The Drake produced a bouquet of flowers and bent her noble knee. The public stared dumbstruck, jaws dropped across the crowd, as we all heard the most honeyed words come out of the Warlord's mouth. Bedazzled the little crook, force to choose between the rolling of her head or the firm spanks of a mate. Askha's reply made the executioner weep, dropping the axe and lifting his arms in defeat. Are her intentions pure, or just another ruse? I encourage you all to keep an eye on the brat's arse as she walks the path into the gallows of marriage. I am forced to remain on this swampy subject, and yes dear reader, like you I feel sticky, moist, and rather stiff. It seems the poison of love had laid siege to our caves. No one is safe, no humanoid, devil, or beast; even good Doctor Robin has fallen ill to the summer heat, trading her club "anesthesia" to hold hands with, not one but two intriguing suitors. What a pest love has become, if you doubt my words and demand proof, seek no further than Korranu and some bouncy butt named Ella. The corrupted mutt that brought terror to the surface dwellers, has yielded to the force of love. He now roams the caves in a detestable merry mood in the company of his brand-new squeaky toy. Who is this mysterious Ella? where does she came from? was she bound, brought, or bought? Who is to know! Regardless, it seems our dear mangy mutt is happy sinking his fangs on her twitchy curves. His tail brooming the path he takes, swinging left and right with such playful force, that he alone has left the cleaning imps out of their usual line of work. https://discord.com/channels/633123431046709249/642817732248862728/1016490335309942894 Some people love hearts, others apparently love lace. Whispers had come to our ears about prince Dinnin, succulent gossip of one of the members of the highest class in the underworld society. While our warriors give their life to keep the Jade Empire at bay on the ongoing war, Prince Dinnin has been using his influence on the caves to divert war funds and resources in developing his private wide network of professional panty snatchers. And not just any panties, worry not ladies... and gentleman (The Cabbala Chronicle do not judge) your undergarments are safe, for the prince private collection is proudly comprised solely Gaboon's laced breeches. According to the whistleblower, the overflowing stash of silky skid mark lingerie is stored under the very throne room of the Cabbala Keep. Has Gaboon's might captured the prince's heart as well? Is the noble Dinnin just a sickening orc stalker? Or is there some sort of messy love triangle between our faun, the prince and green bulky orc? Time will tell, we wish the very best to this royal entrepreneur, and sincerely hope he does not succumb to a poisonous needle any time soon. After reception of an anonymous letter with an odd fragrant fennec scent, we must shed some light in the financial aspect of the festivities. You may think we are diverting from the subject, but that is not quite the case. Such lavish display of goods during the festival surely emptied someone’s trousers, and not quite in a kinky way, for you see some folks just love to clutch their hands around some coin. Word in the streets signals to a conspiracy to inflate market prices on certain stalls. The letter claims that the most noble of wine houses in Sincadere, Gladiators Wine, ruthlessly rigged the price of their Summerfest Wine. Declaring it to be a limited, one-of-a-kind, edition bottle stash as a marketing ruse while selling diluted common table wine instead. Troubling as this news may seem, our secret informant continues raging on his hastily scribbled letter, stating that even the sanctity of the slave auction was soiled by unscrupulous grabby folks. It may come as a surprise to you dear reader, but love can most certainly drain your balls as well as your pouch. So it happens that during the slave auction, Lily the cheerful bouncy elf slave of the caves, was rent out for a staggering sum of 8 silver pieces. And while the letter provides so called “ample evidence” of the auction being rigged, we praise the sale as proof of the Cabbalan slaves’ undeniable quality. Clearly fostered under the watchful eye of the Cabbala’s Warden. Nonetheless, the Cabbala Chronicles will always pursue the truth to the bitter end, and to shut any voices that claim we are a biased source of information, our editor has already sent the informant letter to alert the Cabbalan authorities. Rest assured troubled citizen, the truth will be squeezed out one way or another. https://discord.com/channels/633123431046709249/642817732248862728/1016490484568444968 Of course, we cannot close this edition on love without peeking into the lives of some of the oldest couples in the Cabbala. Our reporters had finally managed to corner Runeh and Eclipse Fang, not an easy task as our journalists kept disappearing into thin air once they entered the Hound's Den. Apparently after their mating ritual the couple has been enjoying their honeymoon period in the only way a Cabbalan couple can, raiding the empire lands, getting entwined in chains and ropes, taking strolls in the corrupt Yokai forest, enjoying regular breeding rumps in public, and ripping innocent creatures together. Has love struck true with them? Well when the bravest of our investigators inquire about Runeh's apparent involvement with a mundane human in matching pink outfits, he suddenly was burst into flames under the White Hound's touch. Catch by surprise, we have come to swiftly learn that their love had ignited something, besides passionate loins, in the famous White Hound. But what about Runeh, has anyone actually knows anything about this black beast? Sadly, our interview was cut short by their growling roar, forcing the surviving journalist to run away as these two creatures begun a wrestling match above the brothel's orgy bed. But rest assured dear readers, once we refill our ranks, we shall find time to make a proper piece on them. In the meantime, the Cabbala Chronicles will pay good copper for any viable and true information on this couple. Speaking of secluded and private shady couples. When words from the forest claimed there had been snow during the summer heatwave. Our reporters rushed to location, pushing the goblins and fae aside as they opened their mouths to take a taste of the miraculous white flakes that poured down around the Tusk encampment. Our brave journalists were committed to find the truth. And after careful meteorological assessment and licking of the salty slush. They discovered that in the skies above the forest canopy, two dragons have been seen performing some nasty lewd dirty dance. Yes dear reader, if you have not seen Kaiaa and Davros as of late, fear not. One of the sweetest couples on the caves has been flying around completely smitten by that horrible disease of love. To those that dwell on the surface, we advise caution and suggest you wear a heavy raincoat, especially when the forecast says its sunny and yet! It drizzles. There you have it my dear readers, Love… what a wicked little thing… it sticks to all of us one way or another, creeping on the shadows like brute ready to strike. Waiting until you turn your back, only to pounce and thrust its massive tentacle up your ass. Summer has come and go like a storm, flooding the caves with it's pesky glitter. If you wish to stay true, and avoid this curse, do not try to find others nor join a support group. For the exclusive price of one single silver coin the Cabbala Chronicles may send you a loveless package with notes on how to avoid it's curse and a stuffed raven for you to brood over. Of Weddings Bells and Torture Tolls. Just when we were ready to print this lovely tabloid a somewhat loony dove crashed into our offices. Who sends a dove to do a raven’s work? On it’s little eyes mischief, on it’s beak a red lace, on its talons a short message. Such horror when we read it out loud. The editor himself leap over the desk and scream loudly to the imps “STOP THE PRESS” We simply cannot let this article break free without adding this last-minute Breaking News [Cabbala Love Edition]. Prince Dinnin, orc panty thief entrepreneur, has been cornered on the Keep with his hands on the precious silky loot. His mischief has been publicly exposed by the Archon herself. The amateur conspirator crimes run deeper than just a mere diversion of war funds. This panty sniffing junkie, had tried to lewdly hold hands with the Headmistress of the CCOA, even attacking the mighty scholar and trying to kill her if she did not comply. After his failed attempt, the raunchy prince run into the Jade Empire exposing arcane summoning secrets of the caves, endangering us all, in exchange for safe harbor and a thorough polish of the emperor’s katana. We have learned from good sources that this sickening nekoyami lover is even wanted by the Crimson Fang for releasing war prisoners and their private chew toys back into the wild. His crimes publicly exposed, his betraying ass bare for us to witness. But my dear gentlefolk, before you go sharpening your pitchforks and lifting your torches tonight; Love!... yes, that wretched epidemic that had befallen us all… had claimed the Archon’s heart yet again. In the most succulent twist of this passionate love polygon, the fluffiest of fauns stomped on the prince royal jewels, stretching her hand with a delicate wave she demanded one thing, and one thing only… Marriage!... and big fucking ring… The self-proclaimed demon prince wriggle and scream, his face contorted as if he had swallowed a fish, oh how he wished for certain big bulky orc to come into his aid. How would Gaboon take this news? Is he still breathing and in good mog? In the meantime, dear dwellers of the dark, stay vigilant. If someone comes asking for a dagger or mentions interest on summoning or the arcane, politely throw their suspicious arses into the cells. Remember, you read it first and read it hard on the Cabbala Chronicles. If you doubted about our veracity, doubt no more! To the Archon, our best wishes. To Gaboon, good mog. To prince Dinnin, haste and expedience. May he dash in search for the biggest diamond, and dart fast… Averting the roasting flames that surely the Archon’s father will lit behind.
And as always, dear reader, sleep with one eye open… maybe two on these heated nights, unless you wish to be tuck and humped. - R. Hangfire Sincadere Summer 08/08/2022
Oh dear reader, what delicious news I have for your on this day. The kind of tidings that would make you sharpen your claws and polish those nasty fangs. For you see, not a week ago a foolish troupe of the Jade Lotus Empire’s finest, yet apparently brain death, brawlers came into the caves to spew their poisonous words. Self-proclaim champions of light, seeking to make a name for themselves. A name that will come forth to claw them in the ass. When words fell short, this bold company dared to capture our very own and attempted to cleanse them, to make them bend a knee and submit to those cowards that dwell high in the sky. Such boldness, such bravado, clearly is not the act of a lone rouge group. No, my dear deviants, this was a sanctioned enterprise. For all we know it was blessed by the emperor himself. Seems the zapping eel that claims rule on the sky had forgotten the time when he crept around the caves; but worry not, if he had forgotten it, it is our duty to humble him. So rise strong and wild, be that dragons, beasts, devils, demons or else; it matters not, the Archon calls into arms, the Cabbala needs your might. It was not us who took the first bite, but by Darkness and Night we will be the ones that tear them apart. But not all is bloodshed, ash, and dust, my good readers, as you know the Cabbala Chronicle takes pride to spread only the truth, and the truth alone, we are your unbiased, incorruptible source of information, your voice! Sort to speak, don’t get any funny ideas. It is no surprise that we now receive ravens from the furthest corners of Sincadere. Such an enlightening correspondence, filled with reports that are too succulent to be phony or false. Accounts that we now place on our brand-new segment: Rumors Bloody Rumors. Never say love is unbecoming of our dark caves. In a note hastily written by someone called “Dark and Fiery” we have received confirmation of an event that took its bloody time to unravel. Our dear elder, Eclipse, the White Hound, has finally been mated on a ceremony filled with blood, passion, and lust. A rocky road that begun with a threat, concludes it’s chapter with loud moans. Not bad for the curvaceous granny. May her mate, a braggart by the name of Runeh, keep her filled to the brim at night. Ah! Love, what a subject to dissect and study. Apparently, it spreads like a disease. Speaking of ailments, the king of Hellheim has been missing for some time, his court has been running around like headless chickens trying to manage the kingdom. Where oh where could King Tyr be?. Well a bard that boast the title of “The Great” wrote to us. Apparently, the heart of King Tyr is being stolen by no other than the Archon of the caves, they had been seen wooing and exchanging quite personal gifts. Perhaps he had eloped to strengthen his pure blood line with the worthy faun. Oh! Rejoice Basilica! For through the next King of Hellheim’s veins may run pure Cabbalan blood no less. Before I let you go, I would like to thank on behalf of our multiple and literate staff to the brand-new Slumlord, and her idea of placing some adds here and there. Our humble newspaper could not survive without the coin soon to be provided by her pouch, many thanks to her trust, and hope she does not catch in flames once our bill is promptly delivered. Cabbala Chronicles Adverts
And as always, dear reader, sleep with one eye open. - R. Hangfire Sincadere Summer 27/06/2022 It has been a while. Has it not, my dear readers? I bet you thought you could finally rest and sleep under a myriad of colorful dreams. Think again. While you wrap on your blankets and enjoyed your soft beddings, the ever-watchful eye of the Cabbala has been standing on that dark corner, always vigilant, with its tendrils softly brushing your hairs. Yet silence must be finally broken, for on this past month culture has been oozing from the caves as pus from a festered wound, and what better way to do so that with joyous fanfare. If you did not heard the lutes and drums, you truly are deaf and deserve to be thoroughly chained and spanked. You see dear reader, the Bound Elf Tavern became the center of a most magnificent event, a true duel of wits, good taste, and craft. The grand battle of Bards Vs Bands, a musical concert with a healthy dose of stabs. The stage set. A most magnificent cage, where our bard Ashley the Great stood lute in hand to face the most vile of challengers the surface could muster, The Meatbeatles. The proud minstrel of the caves used her most creative arsenal, such finely crafted repertoire, singing notes to the Gorgon and asking the audience if they like her not. The Meatbeatles were no match for her notes. Ashley's elegant, yet toneless voice not only destroyed most of the attendance eardrums, her refined ballads also outdid the goblin performance. It was only when the goblin lead known as Mick chose violence over melody that the show truly reach it's peak. For what is culture if not inflamed passions that lead to shady knife dance. Speaking of high art, passions, and dexterity with sharp objects. It is to be noted that our Warden hosted the very first sculpture contest in Sincadere. An event that let our claws and minds run wild as the contestants carved their will on wood, clay, flesh, bone, and stone alike. A most marvelous exhibit of visual art displayed for anyone with the gift of sight. After careful deliberation and a good measure of lewd judgment our Warden made her pick. It was Agnes sculpture: "The Prophesized Demise of Tyr: Crotchfruint of Halthor", the one that will steal her heart, and of course made us all gasp in delight. Carefully crafted by the claws of the merfolk, its seductive shape, displaying the most rigid frame and sharp edges, would entice anyone to try and touch it. But beware, for as with many things crafted by sirens and merfolk, true beauty usually forebode death and demise.
Art takes many forms dear reader and all are welcome in the caves, know that it is in the Cabbala were passions are foster with extreme care. So, sleep tight tonight, drink a night cap, and wrap yourself on fluffy blankets. From that dark corner we will watch your sleep, planning to use your silken skin as canvas on another night. Sweet nightmares, and as always, sleep with one eye open. R. Hangfire A Vote in Every Ballot and a Thumb in Every Ass. Sincadere Spring 08/05/2022 Can you feel it? Surely you can dear reader. There is a sickening feeling, a tingling sensation around the caves. Its dwellers seem to be stricken by pesky good manners, wicked smiles and hollow praises all around, while knives are getting ready behind each other's back. The time has come, the pestilent turmoil of politics is upon us, for a chair on the high council has been recently freed. Worry not about its former owner, his screams can still be heard if you listen closely. It is a seat of grand power, a coveted chair, perfect to suckle, tug and nip the Archon's ear. Advisor to the Cabbala, spewing poisoned words right into the heart of the caves. All around our dark home, posters had been string and hung, three deviant souls seek to go at each other's throats. Who are these silver tongue devils? It ss the question on everyone's mind. Well, allow me dear reader, to cast them out of the blackest shadows and shed some dim light over their plump arse. Let us tonight, find out on what they truly stand. - Compassion for Those Who Deserve It - She wore the medicum beak, that unsettling crow like mask, if only to hide her honest beautiful eyes. The head of the Verdant Branch, night after night, she is tasked to patch us all up. Hear not the rumors of the corpses pilling in the back. The good Doctor Robin has served the Cabbala with fire since the times of The White Hound. An experienced voice, over her shoulders the burden of dark past. Always on the wagon, she reasons first before she strikes. Yes!, she may look small and quite tasty, but make no mistake nor try to take a bite, this author has witnessed the power of her heavy maul. For some reason that baffles yours truly, her keen gaze looks after the slave's well being, going further to treat them as people. Helping those that she deems worthy, chained or not, to reach their true potential. A kind heart with a sharp mind, the Raven looking one may be perched on the Advisor's seat as Huginn and Muninn squawking their advice into Odin's ear. - Make Fear Great Again - I remembered when my eyes first fell on this one, behind the bars of a sturdy cage. A foolish toy that tried to hurt one of our own, yapping curses to those that passed by. Lovely times before the caves collapsed. Prey she once was, prey no more, from the humblest of beginnings, Devina, is chained no more. Well, unless you count rumors on her ties to the Basilica. Under the fostering wing of Sapphira shadow drake, she has come a long way. The infamous Gladiator of The Eye and wine entrepreneur, now tosses her gauntlets into the political battle ground. Villainous soul that hits first, only to hit once more, she promises one thing to anyone that lends her an ear. To be the thunderous voice of wrath in the council. The battle hardened Gladiatrix aims to pour true fear into the hearts of all those that dwell on the surface, stretching the tendrils of the Cabbala. Take heed dear reader, the day may come when she takes the Advisor's seat sipping her very own vintage wine from the skulls of the Empire's guard. - One Bard, Two Puppets, Three Voices! -
Once upon a time, on a faraway land, a mangled elf armed only with wits stepped into the dark of the Cabbalan caves. This, dear readers is how the story of a certain bard begins, or at least how it began on Sincadere. Ashley the Great!, self-proclaimed minstrel of immense culture, sophisticated femme fatale with endless good taste. Or at least that is how she portraits herself. Dressed with puppets and muppets, one on each hand, and a colorful attire only a blind man would adore, this self-made grand artists gleams in the blackest dark with hellfire, tone-deaf passion and one devious tuneless lute. Half-baked? Only to those with shallow eyes, be warned not to make the foolish mistake of considering her weak. Our Queen of Sonnets packs more than meets the eye. Her renown is vast, with connections in high courts, brothels and ill-conceived taverns alike. Those that hear her songs are moved to terror, tears and sobs. Beware monsters of the dark, when her colorful ass lays on the Advisor's seat pray her voice reaches you not, weep now dear readers, culture is here. Three grand souls dancing around the heightened chair's seat. Three devious devils reaching to tear each other’s throats. Who is to know who will win the coveted prize? Make your choice Cabbalans, do not falter on your duty. Make your choice, by conscience or by coin. Know that at the end, you will all reap what you sow. For now, I bid you farewell, sleep with pleasant nightmares on this night. - R. Hangfire Sincadere Spring 31/03/2022 I know you all have one question burning in your minds. How is it that the evil deviants of the Cabbala are so good looking and amazingly fit? The answer lies not only on a carefully balance diet, particularly of scrumptious elves, but on lots of forced exercise. Why yes, living in the caves is a matter of survival of the fittest, from the meekest meat to the bravest evil, all enjoy the multiple torments and tournaments our home has to offer. Our latests, the Dragonfire Gauntlet, an exhibit of courage in face of monstrous adversity sprinkled with a hint of masochism, where six souls... five souls and a souless to be precise.. entered the arena to challenge three of the mightiest creatures the caves have to offer: Sapphira Shadow Drake, Kaiaa with her electric presence and Creature with its unsettling eyes ready to dine on those present. Such a famous event that even the royalty from the surface bear witness to it, probably trying to unveil the secrets of the caves. Their champion a beast hunter turned to guard, Vigil, showed an unusual bravado, fighting toe to toe with the Shadow Dragon. That is until he begged to end the fight in a tie. But the Drake used her honeyed tongue to change his mind. Oh pride! What a delicious sin it is. Not a minute after he resumed the fight, Sapphira tossed him to the skies. What a fight it was, the Dragons won the night, leaving some zapped, others squashed, all defeated under the might of their size. One may think that was the end of it, but oh dear reader you are mistaken. For not a week passed when the grand Warden's Cup Tournament took place. What a night for shattered spirits and splintered shields!. Twenty brave warriors from every corner of Sincadere pour into the Cabbala's Eye Arena to test their resolve. Orcs, elves, dark creatures and more, fighting in pairs for the pleasure of the blood sport and the cheers of the crowd. What a display of brute strength, grand techniques, and glorious courage our dear Warden had in store for us. The twenty savagely fought under one rule and one rule alone, everything goes!. They bit, stabbed, clubbed and blasted, until only two souls stayed on foot. The mighty Blue Chaos and Bara Boru who fought like rabid monsters, tenaciously beating up all competition. Let their names be carved in history as the first to win the mighty tournament.
I bid you goodbye surface dwellers, sleep well tonight, knowing that we lurk in the dark. Fit and ready to tear you apart. - R. Hangfire If you think you are safe at sea, oh dear reader you truly are mistaken, there is no place the tendrils of the Dark cannot reach. Ask in the ports, ask to the sailors, ask the damned that lay at the bottom of the deep blue seas. For you see, there was a battle in the ocean, and though you may choose to believe on what the royal channels may tell you. You would be blinded to the truth. No dear reader, to obtain the truth you should spend time in the taverns and brothels of Sincadere, keeping your ears perked at the sea shanties of the few experienced sailors that did, in fact, return home. Two tiny ships from Nascentia they sailed,
Way, aye, drown the man down, Met with our krakens on the bravest seas, Oh give us some time to drown the man down! Feel our tentacles, give us your coin, Way, aye, blow the man down, Show us your bow, take it in tow, Oh give us some time to blow the man down! Dragons and beasts, cannons, magic, and screams, Way, aye, mug the man down, Cleaning the ships from Hellheim's shiny bling, Oh give us some time to mug the man down! What a show from the coast, what a night to soak, Way, aye, sink the man down, The King swimming home, its guard washing ashore, Oh give us some time to sink the man down! I tell you now, don’t ever trust a squid, Way, aye, squeeze the man down, Not worthy trade, the King's pride for its ink, Oh give us some time to squeeze the man down! I bid you farewell and as always, Sleep with one eye open. -R. Hangfire As I find myself laying on the most cushioned bed surrounded by those I am drawn to care, I have taken quill and ink to write about this past few months.
This have been troubling times for the people that dwell on the depths. What started as a mere trickle of water, pouring drop by drop like sweetened elven tears, suddenly burst into a flood that collapsed our most beloved home. Amidst a tempest of rocks and the screams of those that where trampled below, many sacrificed their health to drag their brethren out of such storm. Our White Hound, gifted her life away to bring forth a path for those that in any other way would surely have been squashed. Most noble deed she would dearly pay, dragged back into the pits of Hell to be tormented by her masters for an endless lapse. But shed no tears, if not of joy, for it was by blood and strife that her fate was reverted, trading a soul for life to bring our hound back. Alas, that is a tale for another night. The caves seemed lost, our nation expelled from safe harbour towards the blazing light, forced to aimlessly roam the surface under an unforgiving sun. To all of those that laugh at our fall, know that we are a blessed children of the Dark and mother Night will never let us out of sight. This was but a hiccup, a miserable one, and those that smiled at our demise will surely pay in full price. For the Cabbala stands once again, more wicked than before, firmly embedded in the depths of Sincadere as a poisoned thorn that you, light dwellers, will never get rid of. What better proof of it than the celebration of the first Court in the brand new halls of the keep. Where the Silver Terror, fluffiest tail of all, Archon of the Cabbala addressed her citizens imbuing them with new purpose and life. It was a night or rebirth, where the Frozen Forge Smith rose to the ranks of Conclave. Where the Dark Law Sentries made their presence felt as a bothersome tumour attached to your gullet. Where the Black Dragon of the Dark Merchants offered bounty for fair trade and precious information. It was a time to bask under the shadows of our new stronghold, to recall what has been lost and to set aims to a darker more vicious future. To those that expect me naming names, sadly you will be thoroughly disappointed, for I am not known to break the tenets of my Dark home. Be content with knowing the facts that transpired on that joyous eve. The Silver Terror showed magnanimous gratitude to the Red Wyrm for nesting the survivors of the collapse under his blazing ruby wings. Not an easy feat as whispers of his complaints came to my ears. Who can blame him, as Cabbalans are in fact an acquired taste, some may have been all too spicy for old dear "Grandpa" Wyrm. But our dear Archon was not done, not by far, she stood tall as her tiny self could next to her throne, and taller she did looked from the view of those gathered bellow. Eight names where called forth, one by one brought forward under her gaze. Four where given medals and honours for their acts during the fall, some for bravery and courage, others for duty and hard work. And the four named last where gifted a most devious prize; for recovering what was thought to be forever lost, fighting the hells to bring The White Hound back to our fold, each one received an engraved musket decorated with the faun's silver horns. The lesson to be learned... Nothing goes unnoticed by the Cabbala ever watchful eye. Be you a mighty dragon or a savage beast, devious demon or vicious soul-forge, human or not, your acts echo across the blackest dark. To whoever reads this account, allow me a word of caution. From this night on... you better sleep with one eye open. We are back, from the depths with razor sharp claws. - R. Hangfire |
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