<div align="center"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 20pt;"><strong>Jahl'Ra</strong></span></div><br/><div align="center">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v296/rcburner/Landscapes/BloodCitadel.jpg)</div><br/>As Piren knelt before the granite throne, his Father slowly seemed to come awake from some deep trance.  When his limbs twitched to pull him from the chair their bones cracked obscenely in the stifling quiet of the chamber; a chorus of dull snaps like a skeleton being put through a meat grinder.  Azazel loomed over his child like a blasphemous totem from some dark religion, and though his eyes were hidden behind the mask the boy would surely feel the burning of his gaze.  He seemed to scrutinize Piren like a bird discovering a particularly curious insect, head twisting to and fro.  It was a disturbingly animalistic movement.<br/><br/><em>"Rise, my dearest son,"</em>he spoke gently.  It was barely more than a whisper, but it seemed to fill the room so utterly that the air seemed sucked away.<em>"We are family, yes?  You need not be so formal with me.  Though I appreciate the sentiment."</em><br/><br/>As Piren returned to his feet he would stalk around behind him and, in a gesture that would normally be construed as affectionate, gripped the young man by his shoulders and dug his fingers carefully against his collarbone.  It was not a painful touch, but it was not one that could be broken away from either.<br/><br/><em>"What do you think of my throne, child?"</em>he asked, completely ignoring Piren's earlier question.<em>"Ancalrung seems to think it is not quite befitting one of my stature, but I cannot help but find pleasure in the contrast.  He has always been a bit vain.  Appearances are everything.  You must look beautiful to be beautiful.  You must look powerful to be powerful."</em><br/><br/>Azazel's head lowered until it brushed past Piren's to look him in the eyes.  The mask leered silently.  The only depictions of the Demon King's face were in old paintings and scriptures.  No soul had seen what now lay beneath that mask in thousands of years.<br/><br/><em>"But you of all my Sons know that that is not the case,"</em>he whispered encouragingly, tightening his grip.<em>"You were always a frail boy, Piren.  Even as a baby you were so small, so weak.  Your mother said that it would be better to simply eat such a tiny, insignificant thing instead of granting it the honor of a full life."</em><br/><br/>The admission that he had pondered devouring his own child was hardly surprising, for hundreds had met a similar fate before.  The only part that seemed out of place was the mention of Azazel's consort.  Assuming she was still alive, it had always been unclear exactly who she was.  Or<em>what</em>she was.  Researching the matter was generally considered bad for one's health.<br/><br/>He let the statement sink in a bit before continuing, knowing that no child of his would dare speak until he'd finished addressing them.<em>"But I disagreed.  Though no larger than a kitten, I smelled such potential in you,"</em>and a sharp inhale resounded in the room.<em>"That is why I have been so hard on you.  Your brothers and sisters have natural talent, but they are stupid.  Easily manipulated.  Emotional.  You are pragmatic.  You have foresight.  Patience.  Those are virtues that I can respect."</em><br/><br/><em>"So I sent you to die in battle.  And you not only lived, but conquered.  So I sent you to die again, and again you met my expectations,"</em>he revealed happily.  No doubt Piren had suspected his Father had merely wanted him out of the way.<em>"I could not be happier with your progress."</em><br/><br/>Finally he moved away from the boy, flowing back into the confines of the throne and resting his gauntlets on its sturdy arms.<em>"However, I have no new orders for you.  I confess that I am curious as to why you have come here of your own accord, my son.  If it is merely to resupply your forces there are plenty of other cities that could do so.  Unless, of course, you wish to ask me something personally?"</em>