[ Not too far down, the steam dissipates, clearing your lungs but leaving your vision empty of anything save strange, cavernous shapes cast in shadows by the light bleeding up from the Layer below. The heat is close to unbearable, even for the Executors with an affinity for this sort of environment, wringing sweat out of your pores and drying your voice to a croak. But still, you proceed.
You smell the smoke first.
It rushes up like a wall of cloud cover and with no way to slow yourself, you barrel through it. It smells rotten and sweet, like singed hair and summer roses and you cough and choke on it as you continue your seemingly endless descent. No buildings or structures swim into your vision as you come closer to the Wrath Layer of Purgatory and it becomes clear why when you finally make landfall and feel the crunch of hard, barren earth under your feet.
Whatever might have made up this layer before... nothing is left.
no subject
You smell the smoke first.
It rushes up like a wall of cloud cover and with no way to slow yourself, you barrel through it. It smells rotten and sweet, like singed hair and summer roses and you cough and choke on it as you continue your seemingly endless descent. No buildings or structures swim into your vision as you come closer to the Wrath Layer of Purgatory and it becomes clear why when you finally make landfall and feel the crunch of hard, barren earth under your feet.
Whatever might have made up this layer before... nothing is left.
Welcome to Ira, the Wrath Layer of Purgatory. ]