[color=MediumVioletRed]The Throne of Salt[/color]

The King wandered the near-nothingness of the world. Already, its brothers and sisters quarreled and lamented, made deals and promises, pleaded and lied. It was not interested in such petty games. In the micro-seconds followings its conception, the King in the Waste had been given a purpose; to unmake existence. Sometimes, the King wondered if their very Father, the Great Creator, had put this spark of hatred within it. The Father had given the King a "real name". Xanaros. He had said its meaning would become apparent in time.

[i]"Whatever THAT means..."[/i] The mists turned black and swirled away from the King in reproach at the venom in its voice.

Xanaros stopped in the heart of the blank expanse of the world. Nothing, for hundreds of miles around. No lakes, no rivers. None of these disgusting forests, or mountains, bringing their terrible noise and vibrant color. It gave the King a frightful headache, all that...[i]something.[/i] But the King new the terrible truth of the matter. For it to unmake the world...the other gods...even their own FATHER...it would have to participate. It would have to join in. Play along.

Create.

It looked down at its hands, hating itself, hating the form and function of its own body. They currently throbbed with power. Primordial essence, more than any other god could currently bring to bear, the leftover spark of the Father's first breath, positively leaked from the divine harbinger of nothingness. Slowly, the King knelt, and dug those ugly calls in to the whiteness below. It felt the Earth shudder slightly, in pain and confusion. It dug deeper, feeling for SOMETHING...it wasn't sure what. It dug and scrabbled and labored. What was it looking for? Its hands touched something solid. The King PULLED. The earth cracked and shook in agony. The King kept pulling. A...thing...emerged from below. It was crude, and simple. A chair, carved from a mineral that did not have a name yet. It was stark, abrasive to the touch, but necessary to this world. Much like the King itself.

The King in the Waste clambered awkwardly in to its Throne of Salt and collapsed, spent...for now. Slumping down in the massive primordial chair, it gazed out upon the great near-nothingness of the world. It feared, but also relished what was to come.

(Xanaros, the King in the Waste, Consolidates its Power and claims the Domain of Destruction)