HELL FORGEDBOOKSThe Underworld archive
The cities, the people, and the buried history behind Empire of Blood. Open access — for now.
Herein lies the final record of the Great Houses of the Underworld — four pillars of power that uphold the Empire Eternal: dominion, war, science, and industry…
Record · I
Every great city of the surface casts a shadow — and in the shadow, the Empire lurks. Eight cities of the Underworld, as the records of Book One name them.
A massive processing hub in North America for new vampires and slaves arriving in the Underworld — one of many, where the newly taken are sorted and marked as either Converts or Thralls beneath an artificial night sky.
Steel, black glass, and circuitry. No dirt. No stone. No way back.
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The city of Vice beneath the city of Sin. Pleasure districts, neon canyons of massive casinos, a pyramid bathed in crimson — and at the heart of it all, the Colosseum, home of the Blood Games, the Underworld's favorite pastime, where the chants for blood drown out all other noise, and the lives of the downtrodden are just another wager to be placed.
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The garden of the Underworld, carved beneath the northeastern coast of the United States — where every leaf is engineered to perfection. Synthetic terraces and groves flow together; waterfalls hang between towers; artificial flowers glow from within, their petals threaded with circuitry. At the city's edge, sea-gates open to the Atlantic, where submarine liners — the Underworld's equivalent to ocean ships — carry passengers and cargo to Europe.
Make no mistake, beautiful is not the same as safe. In the Court of the Serpent, everyone wears a mask, and danger often lies where you least expect it.
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One of the first cities ever built beneath the earth — centuries old, and older still than the Empire's showpieces. Le Pari sprawls beneath the northern coast of France along the English Channel, all industrial grit: corroded iron piers, brick facades sutured with cables and plates, and distant stacks hissing violet steam into an artificial night. Hovercars skim a meter above tar and concrete, and modern light arrives only as repairs forced onto structures that refuse to die.
Its docks receive the submarine lanes out of Seraphel; its brick-ringed cable-car shafts climb kilometers to the surface of France — every one of them watched by armored Sabre troopers.
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Capital of the Empire Eternal, home to the Imperial Council, and the ancestral city of House Draconi. Masked aristocrats, vaulted halls, and avenues where every rank of the Empire moves beneath the watchful gaze of the Imperial Guard. From the fortress at its core, the Empress's will reaches into every city of the Underworld.
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Raised on the bones of the Roman legions, Kronos is discipline made into architecture: parade grounds, war foundries, and barracks without end. Every citizen is a soldier first and an individual second — drilled in obedience from cradle to grave.
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The gleaming laboratory-city of House Veisik, where science never sleeps and progress never stops. Every major innovation of the Empire — cybernetics, genetic design, experimental medicine — bears its mark… as do its nightmares, chief among them, the dreaded Death Heads.
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Industrial heart and corporate headquarters of House Provak, where towering forges roar beside glittering casinos and pleasure dens. The lights never dim and labor never ceases. The rich gorge themselves on luxury while the poor toil in darkness beneath them. Here worth is measured only in Digits.
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Record · II · Four pillars
Dominion, war, science, and industry. United by fear and force — divided by everything else.
Which House would claim you? Take the chair →
Dominion
“Alle müssen dienen.” — All must serve.
House Draconi is the iron fist that rules the Underworld, having long ago conquered the other Houses. Cousins to the Imperial bloodline, they are a faceless aristocracy: cruel, corrupt, and utterly self-absorbed. Many words could describe them, none of them kind.
From the moment they come of age, every Draconi dons a mask, never to be seen without it. The tradition strips away any remaining humanity, leaving only predators without faces and rulers without mercy.
At the pinnacle of their House sits the Imperial Council, known as the Empress's Hand, composed of five Archons — four “fingers” and a “thumb” known as the Speaker. Their governance is fear; their judgment, law. Through the Hand, the will of the Draconi seeps into every corner of the vampire world.
War
“Victoria per cruorem.” — Victory through blood.
House Sabre is the Empire's sword, the most disciplined of the Great Houses and the most martial in spirit. Claiming descent from the ancient legions of Rome, the Sabre are bred for war from the moment they are born or turned. Every citizen is a soldier first and an individual second. Training, obedience, and rigid order are drilled into them from cradle to grave.
Respected for their precision and feared for their savagery, the Sabre embody both the best and worst traits of the Underworld. To their enemies, they are terror made flesh; to the Empire, they are the iron bulwark that keeps rebellion and invasion at bay.
Yet among their number lies a darker breed: the Praetorians. Unlike the disciplined legionnaires, these soldiers are chosen not for skill but for their blind loyalty. And their cruelty…
Given over to the service of House Draconi, the Praetorians act as the private enforcers of the Archons' will — black-clad pawns marked with the violet “P”, despised by all for their naked corruption and sadistic brutality.
Science
“Perfection by any means.”
House Veisik is the brain of the Underworld: the cold engine that designs, dissects, and perfects. Logic is their faith, progress their creed, and anything that slows or interferes with these tenets is immediately discarded.
Icy and calculating to the core, the Veisik see emotion as a relic of the mortal world; there is no line too horrific to cross if it leads to greater discovery or technological advancement. Pain, torture, and death are merely data points on the road to understanding.
From their gleaming ancestral city of Novacrypt, the Veisik fashion wonders and nightmares alike. Their laboratories never sleep, driving ever onward toward the scientific perfection of the Underworld. Every major innovation — cybernetics, genetic design, experimental medicine — bears their mark.
At the pinnacle of this endless pursuit stand the Necromancers, masters of biomechanical and cybernetic engineering. They are the creators and caretakers of the Death Heads, constantly refining these instruments of terror into an ever-crueler perfection. In recognition of their service, they alone of their House may wear the royal purple, a privilege few outside the Draconi and the Praetorians ever receive.
Industry
“By hammer and iron, our chains are broken.”
House Provak is the beating heart of the Underworld: the laborers, merchants, and entertainers who sustain the Empire. Where the Veisik perfect and the Sabre enforce, the Provak build, mine, and sell, driving the vampire economy ever forward.
Capitalism is their creed, greed their faith. In Vulcaneum, their sprawling city beneath Los Angeles, the lights never dim. Towering foundries roar beside glittering casinos and pleasure dens. The rich gorge themselves on luxury while the poor toil endlessly in brutal factories. To be Provak is to chase success… or be crushed beneath it.
They are the largest of the Great Houses, outnumbering all the others combined, swollen by the constant influx of Converts drawn from the surface. For most, the promise of eternal life in the Underworld ends in chains. Yet, even among the destitute there thrives a brutal optimism: Work hard, play harder.
At the top of their hierarchy sit the Barons, greedy corporate elites who will go to any length to drive their profits ever higher. In Provak society, worth is measured not in bloodlines or honor, but in cold, hard Digits.
The throne · Grelock
Victoria Dracula — sovereign of the Empire Eternal, the masked throne every House serves and every citizen fears. With her line burned at Castle Dracula in 1466, she rose from the ashes to build a world the sun has never touched.
Though the Underworld was envisioned as a constitutional monarchy, Victoria has slowly centralized its power, with only the Imperial Council remaining to check her will… an anomaly she is unlikely to accept in the long run.
She is the embodiment of vengeance. The Empire is hers, and few are foolish enough to oppose her.
The Council · Grelock
The Imperial Council, sometimes deceptively referred to as the Empress's Hand, is a collection of the five most powerful Archons of House Draconi. Greedy, corrupt, and concerned only with their own power, they are the only body of government capable of checking the Empress's authority.
In theory, they too serve her will, but rarely do so willingly, often actively blocking and interfering with Victoria's long-term plans to achieve short-term gains that benefit their members. Though open conflict is rare, tension between the throne and the Council runs deep.
Led by a Speaker elected from among the five, the Council is the only body capable of elevating a new sovereign should anything befall the Empress… a power they have tried to exercise many times, only to find themselves the ones being replaced.
The Imperial soldiers · Grelock
Two armed orders serve the masters of the Underworld — one sworn only to the Empress, the other to the faceless Archons of House Draconi.
The Empress's personal bodyguards are the finest soldiers the Empire has ever forged. They are sheathed in black armor trimmed with violet, their faces hidden behind snarling vampire skull-helms, their eyes and weapons burning with amethyst fire. Though few in number, they are an army like no other.
Elite Death Heads of an unknown strain, the Guard is the pinnacle of Necromancer bioengineering — with a single soldier being worth more than a hundred of any other.
Where the Guard is quality and perfection, the Praetorians are pure brutality and force. Drawn from House Sabre and handed over to the Archons of House Draconi, they are chosen not for skill but for blind loyalty and cruelty — hired thugs in fine uniform, despised by the citizens of the Underworld.
Each detachment takes the colors and crest of the Archon it serves — the violet “P” upon their shoulder, their only unifying mark.
Each detachment is seen two ways in the records. Select a portrait to switch between full armor and the fatigues they patrol in.
Record · III · Imperial spectacle
In the great Colosseum at the heart of Vicestatt, the desperate and poor fight and die for the amusement of the Empire. Every House (except the ruling Draconi) sends fighters to participate — some are willing, hoping to achieve glory and riches; most are forced, either by circumstance or punishment… Survival beyond a single fight is rare, but for the few who do make it, the ceiling on their wealth and fame is nearly limitless.
Like the circuses of ancient Rome, the Games give the Underworld something to scream for. Beneath the lights, the masses roar for blood, betting on lives and forgetting their plights — forgetting the brutality of the world around them. The reality is, most people are but a single bad turn from finding themselves in the Games, but so long as the Underworld's eyes are focused on the spectacle, few realize the oppressiveness of the systems around them… fewer still choose to oppose them.
“One thing you'll learn down here, sooner or later, is that nothing is fair. Often, the people running the Games have more to do with the outcome than the ones fighting in them.”— Mars Sabre, Master of Bloodletters
Record · IV · Terror asset
Forged by the Necromancers of House Veisik, the Death Heads are bioengineered horrors of dead flesh and machine. Few, save their creators, can say for certain what they truly are, but the fear they inspire is palpable.
They are the brutal enforcers of House Draconi. Where the Death Heads appear, violence and terror usually follow, leaving only silence in their wake. Yet even these beings are far from the peak of the Empire's nightmares.
Whispers speak of a darker breed. Unspeakable horrors that linger in the deep…
Record · V · Classified
Down in the dark where the Vault doors keep,
Things lie waiting, things don't sleep.
Round and round, the children fear,
If it should open, the end draws near.
Step lightly, child, when the night is deep,
For the Dead Legion slumbers where shadows creep.
Don't close your eyes, don't breathe, don't snore—
For if the Vault opens… out they'll pour.
Every child of the Underworld learns the rhyme and the fear, but few truly believe it. A sealed door somewhere beneath the deepest reaches of the Empire, where the Dead Legion lurks, waiting… for the day they are finally unleashed upon the world.
