The sky above Tartarus is a swirling vortex of black and blood red clouds. Perpetually crackling with jagged streaks of unnatural lightning bolts.
These lightning itself rivals the lightning that is wielded by Zeus himself.
There is no true ground, only jagged, floating masses of obsidian rock veined with molten fire.
The air is thick and oppressive, heavy with the stench of sulphur and the metallic tang of iron.
Time flows differently here, each second stretching into eternity.
And below, Poseidon could hear the cries and roars of the Titans, mixed with the echoes of ancient battles, reverberate endlessly, creating an overwhelming cacophony of torment.
Shadows stretch and twist unnaturally, giving the impression that unseen horrors lurk just beyond perception.
This is Tartarus and there below him, in that unfathomable depth, lies the Titans. It took some time for Poseidon to understand what Hades wanted to do.
