“My name is Seraphon, and until today I was merely an ambassador, a Voice of the Underworld. But through patience, hard work, and negotiation, I have at last ascended to my rightful position.”
Read Seraphon's full address - Listen instead
Leave Hope Behind: Act Two - Hell on Earth, starts July 6th!
The second act of Leave Hope Behind starts July 6th! The mysterious wall of Hellstorm energy has expanded to consume all of Valmont and a new world order has emerged. This act will run from July 6th to July 27th. The Storyline is open to all DMs and players, and you can join in at any time. You do not need to have played in the previous act to join in the fun! If you are a DM and would like to participate, simply sign up for a table during any of the acts and you can opt-in. Once you have opted-in to a table you will automatically receive access to a bunch of behind the scenes information, and access to a private Discord channel.
If you would like to know more you can find details about the current storyline here, or about the format overall here. The world we are playing in is called Tor’anoth and you can explore it using our interactive map here. If you are DMing in our storyline you will also be able to add your own locations, npcs, establishments and lore to the map!
Read on for a quick summary of the Act II developments, or read the speech read by Seraphon, the Archduke of Ichoria, here. As an added bonus, Jeremy has recorded the speech from Seraphon, check it out here.
The Rise of Ichoria
The Grand Republic of Valmont is no more! In its place has arisen the Archduchy of Ichoria, the Tenth Circle of Hell, a fiendish realm here on the Material Plane. The veil has fallen, the thin mask of humanity cast aside. Corrupted from the inside out, the Peerage has disappeared, replaced by a parliament from the Pit. Thousands of devils now work at the behest of six ministers, an alliance of uniquely powerful and well-connected fiends:
- Istres, the Nocent Nightmare.
- Lazaad, the Insatiable Gloom.
- Moranna, the Silken Smile.
- Obrox, the Caustic Plague.
- Volganoth, the Dauntless Fury.
- Zarawl, the Warden Immutable.
Tor’anoth will know their names forever. As well as that of their master: Seraphon, Voice of the Underworld, Heavensbane, the Archduke Ichoria.
In a grand speech to the entire continent, the archduke has revealed the truth, inviting devils from across the planes to join his new fiendish nation-state. As Seraphon’s numbers grow, so does his gaze fall on his neighbours. The archduke and his ministerial council dispatch legions of bureaucrats and ambassadors, moving to establish ties to nearby cities and kingdoms. Meanwhile, their armed forces move to isolate, undermine, and corrupt any remaining checks on their power.
The Archduke's Address
Below is the full text of the Archduke's Address, delivered by Seraphon to Valmont and beyond. Jeremy has also written a fantastic expanded version with vignettes for each of his ministers, and produced a recorded version of the speech below.
All across the continent, a pale light appeared amidst the clouds, and a voice spoke. Deep and melodious, it rang across streets and squares, over hills and rivers, through woods and mountains.
“Greetings, fine people of Tor’anoth. Whether you reside in the vales of Westhaven, the forests of the Evergreen Valley, or the avenues of the Free Cities, it is my pleasure to address you all as inhabitants of the world. Thanks to our well-placed contacts, this message should be reaching every corner of the continent.”
The light coalesced into a silhouette, and the speaker appeared at last; a hundred projections of a massive winged figure, his shadow hovering above each city and settlement where a ritual had occurred. The speaker’s skin gleamed with some inner radiance, a lustrous metallic glow. The planes of his face were perfectly symmetrical like the cast of a cold statue, yet his eyes - molten, golden-red - danced with passion. His hair, raven-dark, tumbled in loose waves around his shoulders. The figure’s outstretched wings were dull, their feathers broken and frayed as though wounded in some past battle. He wore robes of snowy satin, embroidered at the seams with runes of gleaming thread. Finally, on his pale brow rested a solid iron circlet beset with six rubies.
“My name is Seraphon, and until today I was merely an ambassador, a Voice of the Underworld. But through patience, hard work, and negotiation, I have at last ascended to my rightful position.”
“Over the past several weeks, many among you have fretted over the fate of your Valmontine brethren. Please allow me to dispel any lingering doubts: the people of that land are safer than ever. However, the stalled incumbent state no longer serves their best interests. The citizens of Valmont clamour for change, for prosperity, for bounty beyond measure.”
Seraphon paused for a moment, reaching into his robes to reveal a single bound scroll. He unclasped it, bilious smoke coiling out from its container.
“Thus its former Peers have, in the twilight of their wisdom, signed over all powers temporal and metaphysical to my new parliament.”
The scroll unfurled, signatures in fire and blood rippling out from its pages to taste the air surrounding it. A hundred echoes of an infernal contract; undeniable, inviolate, resolved.
“By majority vote, the Grand Republic of Valmont has been permanently dissolved. In its place will rise the Archduchy of Ichoria, the Tenth Circle of Hell!”
Seraphon held up a hand placatingly, as though to forestall a thousand silent objections. His mouth was downturned, eyes shining; suddenly a mask of overweening sympathy.
“No more will the citizens of this storied nation need to labour under the weight of its history. The so-called Chivalric Orders were heroes of the land, once. Sadly, they lost their way. Now, these outdated, dogmatic crusaders safeguard an age whose values are long extinct.”
Eventually - inevitably - the archdevil’s voice rose to a fervent pitch, full of promise. Of course he would save them, if they cleaved to his light. Was there ever any doubt?
“My first executive legislation as Archduke is to deconsecrate the old Orders and replace them with six Ducal Ministries, each helmed by an expert with centuries of job experience.”
Seraphon waved his free hand in a gesture of power, and suddenly he was no longer alone in the sky.
“Please, allow me to introduce the proud faces of Ichoria’s new governing council.”
Six images stood behind Seraphon, each one coming into focus as the illusion unfurled.
“Lazaad, Minister of Commerce.”
Long, spindly limbs joined a frame that could only pass for humanoid at a distance. Four insectile wings emerged from his shoulders. Lazaad’s eyes were sunken deep into his skull, unlike the teeth that protruded from his skull like needles of bone. His pallid skin gleamed with an oily sheen under the light shed by his master. A thin, serpentine tail coiled behind him, covered in barbs and spikes.
“Zarawl, Minister of the Interior.”
A towering figure with deep crimson features, an angular jawline, and eyes of incandescent blue flame. Two horns protruded from his head, curling backward in jagged, serrated spirals. Zarawl’s body was armored in a dark plate, adorned with runes that glowed faintly. In his left hand he wielded a massive warhammer, while his other bore a spiked gauntlet. Again, a barbed tail betrayed the devil’s true heritage.
“Istres, Minister of Information.”
Eggplant-purple hide replete with layers of quills and scales emerged from beneath a finely tailored three-piece suit. Delicate claws, wings, and tail were all tastefully matched to the accoutrements of a continental nobleman: an elaborately patterned vest, a set of tinted pince-nez glasses, and a sleek darkwood cane carried at his side. Istres’ too-large eyes flashed a bright argent green.
“Volganoth, Minister of Armed Forces.”
No politician, this, but a mountain of muscle. The valleys and ridges of Volganoth’s skin bore the rifts and scars of a thousand battles; within glowed hellfire, and the simmering promise of violence. Simple leathers bound together disparate pieces of ceremonial armour on his body, all with adornments of bones or skulls. Two coal-black tusks jutted from the cavern of his mouth, matching his horns above.
“Moranna, Minister of Foreign Affairs.”
A shapely, curvaceous woman with royal blue skin broken by sleek black fur around her claws and neck. Moranna’s head was that of a panther, with slitted golden pupils and the hint of ivory fangs in her smile. She wore a grand gown of lace and satin, open at the back with a daring neckline, and she positively dripped in gilt and gold. Rings and bracelets clicked together as she clasped her clawed fingers together.
“Obrox, Minister of Public Health.”
Multiple rows of jagged teeth hung from Obrox’s open maw. While as large in stature as some of his peers, his bulk was stout, verging on corpulent. The tattered ruins of a white suit lay stained beneath pools of liquid too dark to be mere blood. He was completely bald, the pate of his head pockmarked with sores. When he chuckled, a wet wheeze echoed from deep within his chest.
“Working together, each of these titans will usher in a bright new future for Ichoria, and for the world! Look past our countenances, friends, for we are not lawless beasts apt to break bond or covenant. This I vow freely before all: no citizen of the Tenth Circle will do harm unto any foreigner without due provocation.”
The contract already put back in its case, Seraphon widened his arms, a gesture of conciliation and magnanimity.
“As Archduke, it is my fondest hope for cordial relations with our neighbours. The sharing of culture and trade is something the sons and daughters of the Pit have been unable to truly enjoy. Yet we live here now, among you. We want only a place to call our own, a home for fiends on Tor’anoth. The laws of the Hells may apply, but all are welcome nonetheless.”
Seraphon shrugged ruefully at the last condition, as though to say ‘what can you do?’.
“Let Ichoria be a safe haven for those who hail from the Lower Planes. Better yet, join our ranks and earn a place of prestige in our shared sanctuary!”
Visible pride now, a beatific smile for his audience. As if it were a foregone conclusion that every such creature listening would immediately flock to the archduke’s banner.
Seraphon’s face grew grave, his voice lowered now in utter seriousness. His eyes focused on some point in the middle distance, no longer playing to an audience of countless thousands.
“Lastly, I speak to those poor expatriates that have fled the gentle hand of our governance. Live not your years in exile; as you left, you left Valmontine, but as you return, you return Ichorian! There will be no retribution; quite the opposite, in fact.”
Compassion and conviction warred for prominence in the archdevil’s gaze.
“You will be fêted for your bravery, I promise you. Take the first step, and you’ll see what we plan to show the world: that the Tenth Circle of Hell is here to stay, and our mission is one of peace and plenty for every soul.”
Seraphon held out one hand, palm open and facing the sky. An invitation.
“You have nothing to fear from us.”
When he smiled this time, the archdevil flashed his teeth: sharp, crooked, eager.
The images of the devils at Seraphon’s side began to dissipate into cloudstuff. Each bowed to their master as they departed, six pairs of burning eyes turning into shadow. They had their orders; they all knew what was to come next.
“Thank you all for listening.”
The illusion of the winged fiend was already turning back into formless light. His message delivered, Seraphon waved goodbye to Tor’anoth - for now.
“My ministers will be in touch. Long live Ichoria!”
Then the archduke faded away, and the world was finally allowed to lose its mind.
Written by Jeremy Foote, Creative Lead
