The king that sits upon the demon throne is an old and weathered thing.
That is the impression that Mo Yinan gets as he strolls down the halls of the decrepit castle.
The walls are dark and gothic in style, tall ceilings that end in pointed arches. The stones that line the walls are near obsidian in hue.
With each step that he takes, a wet sound resounds in those vast halls. The floor is littered with corpses and gore, the ground wet with blood. An ominous throne rests at the very end of the hall, dark and horrific in appearance. Looking closer, one might discern that it was made with a heap of bones, dyed black.
