More than what I consider a comfortable number of leathery wings catch my eye and yet no one else gives them a second glance. Imps and succubi, and incubi, and fiends work, learn,and laughalongsidepeople.
Robes drape on the shambling skeletal shoulders of undead as they go about their work. And like the demons, they’re paid no mind. They fulfill the same roles as the old magic constructs in Illa Ysari—and more. Servants, guards, groundskeepers, merchants, blacksmiths, grocers… No one is at all bothered by the eyeless faces and sun-bleached bone beneath hoods.
They’re not the undead constructs I’ve seen in the hells. These are not the bloodied and grotesque creations thatlooselysuggest they might have once been mortal. They move about freely, acting of their own accord, nearly convincing me of sentience.
As I walk beside Ryc, my hand tucked upon his arm, I find myself lost in the world around me. Necromancers, bloodmancers, and scryers garbed in crimson, black, or gray pass, showing little interest in our direction. Those with demon marks aren’t afraid to wear them openly—they’re not hidden beneath clothes or armor.
So many faces, all beautiful and of striking skin tones…
Deep sables, soft violets, hints of juniper green, inky blues and pale pearlescent shades similar to my own… Upon closer inspection, Cenviri’s pale skin carries ahintof cobalt—it grows more evident as we pass through the shadows between hanging magelight chandeliers.
It’s a kaleidoscopic contrast to the spectrum of peaches, ivories, browns, and coppers I’ve seen throughout Eldoterra.
And silver hair iscommon.
I’ll no longer stand out in this crowd. Not with the shimmering lilacs, shining golds, and crystalline blues—colors and shades I’ve never seen. Even Cyran’s lavender hair isn’t as rare here, giving me reason to wonder if somewhere in his lineage there’s dark fae.
The hall becomes lined with merchant booths on both sides and our pace slows. People and undead pitch their wares, food, textiles, and materials. People anddemonsstop to browse.
They haggle.
They trade and barter and buy.
Is this what Illa Ysari used to be like?
Is this what it will become once again?
Will nyraphim fill the halls like these demons?
It’s almost too much, seeing this. Senses overloaded and little heart filled toburstingall at the same time. This capitol isn’t packed with the quarreling, killing, or coup-attempting damned I’ve been led to believe reside here.
It’s possible they were freed from that life when Netharis died.
And if that’s the case, all of this stands as a testament to Cenviri’s ability tounitethe living, the damned, and the undead.
This… sets the barhigh.
I don’t know if Ryc and I can achieve the same degree of unity. Gods, it’s doubtful with the High Council.
“Il-akiv,” the breathy surprised call draws my attention downward.
A slender sprite of an imp stares up at me with wide, downturned dark eyes. She clutches a small open box of freshly baked bread between her gray scaled and taloned hands.
My nails curl into my palms.
Leave it to animpto recognize me.
With hasty fingers and a stifled groan, I raise my hood, tucking my hair away as I lift my cowl. At least this way, I can make it appear she’s addressing a nameless figure in Cenviri’s company.
“No hide, god-killer!” the imp cries in Malbolge, her short legs scurrying as she struggles to keep pace. Even full grown, the demon barely reaches the height of my thighs. “We need!” she screeches.
The noise causes a few heads to turn.
Her scaled and barbed tail swings wildly behind her, crashing into knees and ankles as she scuttles along. A few surprised yelps and muttered curses draw more eyes in my direction.
The imp ignores them all.
And I’m left struggling to ignoreher.
