Audience at Narkeem'ezet
Faded were the endless moments of pleasure, the gatherings of orgiastic dancing, and the much deeper pleasures of the flesh. His sensual and beauteous people's cravings had all but died, becoming almost as stark and bare as the great tree of Nethrizil. Not a singular leaf remained on the great tree, the ancient black skeleton of it hung over his world, its stark twisting canopy a reminder that all was not well.
The King of demons had hesitated to do what he now knew he must. In his majestic vanity, Xonereth had believed that he alone could do what was needed to right this travesty. He with all his great powers could mend the fracture between the two worlds, the above and below. He had irrefutably believed in his own abilities, and not since the War of the Brothers had he even paused to question that fact.
He and the other highborn had always lived a life of unrestrained debauchery and privilege. Though all the Nethris led lives of similar excess, even the lower castes. Pleasure and its overflowing cup called to them, in ways that humans could never fathom. If a mortal could even experience a fraction of what the demons enjoyed it would be enough to snuff out their existence entirely.
Perhaps the Nethris had these inclinations because of the world that surrounded them, a world of monotone, for their universe was devoid of color completely. There was no wind, no rain nor snow in this strange monochromatic universe, there was no moon, no stars nor shadows cast by sunlight. Only the eerie phosphorescent glow ranging from muted grays to stark blinding silvers, and every shade of gray in between.
This continuum was comforting to the demons, yet like many things of this place it would've caused lesser minds to run to madness. Perchance this was why the Nethris were hardwired in this way, like a stunted tree growing for the sunlight on the canopy floor, craving that missing component; the rampant color of the upper worlds.
Xonereth being a high-caste demon and natural master of all he surveyed, as a result he had thought himself unstoppable in a very grandiose fashion. His new situation sat with an unfamiliar weight on his shoulders, and the heaviness did not relent but only grew with the passage of time. Since he had assumed power in his twin brother's stead many eons ago, he was the divine King of all, and as a result, he had thought himself beyond such helpless feelings.
The most intelligent of human minds were simplistic to the Nethris. They would gaze on our brightest as we would gaze on ants. Thinking us no more capable of anything but the most rudimentary of thought, and for as long as humankind had walked the earth the Nethris had toyed with humankind as pieces on a chessboard. They had been present by the shoulders of Dictators, Kings, and Queens. Figures embellished in history larger than life were ruled and directed by demon madness. Pushing, goading, and cajoling, bending the history and fortunes of men and women to their will.
The Nethris broke all the rules of what humankind would find moral and palatable, even those who considered themselves evil, or those who strayed far from the beaten path. The moral boundaries of the Nethris did not stop at bending powerful humans to their will and interfering with the destinies of those who dwelt above. Being highly sexualized beings and possessing a great curiosity, humankind was not their only prey. They freely fraternized with all the creatures of the earth, even the botanical kind. Many a scientist who had long studied, trying to fathom quantum leaps in nature's evolution at various points in the earth's timeline, those freakish occurrences that were seemingly inexplicable. Many of these events were the handiwork of the Nethris, in all their liaisons on the upper earth.
Yet the upper reaches where the humans made their homes were fraught with danger, for even these mighty beings. There had to be some form of balance after all. To go about by daylight and feel the sun's golden caress would spell almost certain dissolution, even with their immortality. There was only one recorded demon who somehow had survived such an incursion into the daylight, and she bore terrible disfigurement from her experience, Xonereth's beloved Sheharazade.
In this world of no time but limitless darkness, that was until the light pillars had descended to slice the night like blades. The haughty ruler cast his raven gaze towards the ink-black waters beneath the great tree, they were almost gone. Seeping into the fractured world above, poison to that plane of existence. Warping and shaping environments, maiming life. In turn, robbing his own world of its lifeblood. How had his pride let this continue for this long? Would it now be too late, as he sought resolution in his heart?
All the demons had believed quite wrongly that these recent events and the portents of the prophecy had been some kind of competition for their offspring, a trial, a race. They did not enjoy the idea that somehow they had been wrong, and the ramifications of their seemingly childish games had put their world in jeopardy. It must be set right.
Xonereth stood, still graceful and unbowed despite his private agony. If any being of this universe had the answers to the riddle of the prophecy, and his people's plight it would be the Oracle. Part myth and part religious reality often sought by humans and demons alike. Deep within the tunnels of Baiæ Italie.
The proud ruler had been loathe to admit defeat, as he traced his black nails that resembled talons on the shining surface of the basalt table top. Talons that were tipped with ornate silvered finery. The demons could not touch or wear gold it burned them like acid, so silver was the main precious adornment worn by all.
The Oracle may be his only salvation to solve this rending of his world. It had been millennia since he had last been admitted audience. Not since the War of the Brothers had he sought the Oracle's guidance, and it was a difficult path even then. The unbent pride in him did not wish or seek this audience, and yet he knew he must.
Travel to any destination was easily within his powers, he merely had to wish and he had arrived. However, Xonereth could never chance to course the upper planes by day. To do so would spell disfigurement or worse, one misjudgment, and the risk of nonexistence was high.
That was very much how most of his kind came to their end. How his love Sheharazade had survived he did not know, and he did wondered if there was anything critical to the problem he now wrestled with, he had missed in her survival? This terrible ending did not happen often, but many such happenings had been recorded over the eons. It was always a great risk.
He didn't wish to dwell on endings, yet today he did. Like all rulers he was expected as his father had before him, to go to the great tree one day and meld with his ancestors. To return at the end of long millennia like all the highborn will, once they had grown weary with the long existences they lived. However what if no more demon kind were born, what if Nethrizil was only a dead husk? It was a fearsome thought.
*****
It had been eons since a full court had been held in the palace of Narkeem'ezet. Not since the War of the brothers had Xonereth seen such a turnout of his subjects, from the most high caste demons to the clever but distorted Grishak, and even the ghostly Nruz from the far lands.
The Grishak were the artisans of his kingdom, they constructed the great palaces and buildings, carved the monuments, and forged the beautiful armor and weapons of his people. They wove the finest magical textiles and painted great art. They were to the high caste's eyes, ugly in appearance. Short of stature and thick of limb. Yet none could speak ill of their creative prowess, the kingdom owed its beauty and grandeur to Grishak's ingenuity and design.
The Nruz were different, entirely. Hailing from the far lands that the demons rarely visited beyond the mountains. None really understood how the Nruz came to be. Some speculated they were a people that had inhabited this plane of existence when the demons were new. Others surmised they were the manifestations of demon spirits that refused to conjoin with the great tree in eternal rest. Incorporeal and transparent beings. Many viewed them with distrust.
