A world ravaged by destruction. A land plagued with feverish nightmares. No hope to be seen. A projection of deep violet fog. Although thick and suffocating, it still managed to illuminate the dark abyss of danger. The city of Rivian is the demon kings domain. Shadows haunt the everlasting night. Billowy shades dance across broken buildings in decay. Ancient trees warped around the vacant structures. It’s branches were pierced through windows, while black vines layered in thorns spilled out of every orifice of each haunting construction. Shattered glass and rubble littered every path.

Homes inhabited by mortals that were on the verge of crumbling, surrounded the center of Rivian. Colossal statues of a once holy leader, Asteria, are used as a barrier to keep the mortals away from the demon kings abode. The statues are made from pure marble, white in color and laced with sparkling gold. A stark contrast to the doom encompassing the air around it. The sound of ear-piercing screams echoes in the distance. Most likely unfortunate mortals caught in never ending torture. Something that never ceases to amaze the demon king. This land never sees sunlight. Only darkness and despair.

The demon king resides in his forboding castle at the very heart of Rivian, which also happens to be the only place any human may find safety. In slavery, that is. If the demon king called upon you to serve him, it was a blessing. It meant you didn’t die. Today.

The city surrounding the castle is complete destruction. Mortals running from the minion army. Large minions that towered over 7 feet tall with a muscular build and bat-like wings with immense wingspan. Blacked out eyes and horns that sprout from their forehead. Some horns were more curved than others, which indicated they may possess dragon genes in their lineage. They are known to be fierce warriors, usually used in battle. Straight horns indicate basic demonic heritage that holds no special meaning here. Their job is to purge anyone not in their homes by 7pm. Mortals struggled with this.

Not only do they have to make a living just to put food on the table, but they only had so much time to do it in. During ‘Daylight Hours’ mortals can work at the market. A rather large area located near the entrance gate to the castle. The only time there is not a shed of violence to be seen. It was as if everyone was a family. Focused on helping one another. Though coin didn’t exist here. Trade did.

A golden haired child could trade her favorite stuffy for a couple days worth of food. Or an old man trading his only family heirloom, a intricately designed watch, for a warm blanket that will get him through the frostbite of winter. Not to mention those with skill to create clothing, utensils, or even art to trade for any means of living. Of course every market place has theives and hoodlems of all sorts. Be that as it may, no harm came to anyone.

Other than the demon kings castle, it was the only time mortals felt safe. Safe from demons. Most were lucky to finish and close up shop around 8pm. If a guard or minion found you out past curfew, you were either killed on sight, captured for torture, or taken to the demon king. No one knows what happens to those who are taken to him, but they are never heard from again.