Me-Azazel and my wazir Qahir

An illustration for my series of books "Smoldering Hell" https://author.today/work/series/11980

For the seventh book ("Smoldering Hell 7: Burning Paradise II. 99 Names of the God https://author.today/work/160832 )

Color graphics, pencil and watercolor digital technique.

Me and my wazir (vizier) Qahir (jinn Ifrit), the palace of the Khalif-el-Qahir, Khalifat, Egypt, Al-Qahira (Cairo), the hall at the entrance, behind the great gate; I greet Paimon, who is here behind the scenes. The moment from my life in true incarnation; I described this scene in the seventh chronicle. In the background, accordingly, I depicted the hall and the staircase of my palace, the staircase leads to the floor above. It all looks something like how I drew it: maybe the staircase should be bigger (wider), and maybe not <:DAnd as for the carpet, I still couldn't remember whether it was patterned or not. Well, in my opinion, if there is a pattern there, it's some kind of unobtrusive one.

This is the moment:

<...> — Oh, my wazir! Come on! Do not torment my guest with conventions!..

Paimon came to his senses, turned his gaze from the mocking Ifrit to the stairs that were ahead and descended majestically with the steps; and he immediately saw, holding his breath, that Azazel was smiling down the steps and along the variegated carpet path, exactly the same, thin, slender, with long hair under a golden rim and with an Egyptian beard, forward outstanding; but the Khalif was now dressed in a black bisht, in a long cape, that is, embroidered with gold, and this garment was thrown right over the naked torso, only a rag to match the bisht on his belt swayed in time with his steps, and on the skinny chest a vast golden plate on a chain jingled; on the legs of naked and slender mojaris instead of sandals, they were now wearing oriental slippers, black and gold-embroidered, without a backdrop, and with pointed, curved noses. Wagging his tail gracefully and holding onto the railing with his hand, Azazel descended elegantly, smiling slyly, affably, and leading with his hand at the words of the small ones, and every movement was performed with his usual grace, his gait was gliding, as if some kind of implicit dance was about to gain strength.

Paimon looked at this descent, not taking his gaze off in confusion and holding his breath for some reason, and in a moment the crown and mantle disappeared from him at once, the power with the scepter disappeared; the mayor remained standing in his suit, but did not notice the loss at all, he kept watching how, arms outstretched, he approached him Azazel is smiling under the countless gazes from everywhere, only directed at him now.

— Peace be with you, sufferer from the well of the desert! Good has come to my house with you! — Khalifa announced, stopping in front of Paimon, who was frozen. — And I'm resting in my chambers, and suddenly — bah! The servants knocked on my door! I threw an avocado at them in the forehead, and they said to me, "Sir, small in stature, on our threshold!" I thought about it at first: Who is this? And then — wai! It's you! — Yes, then Azazel looked at the wazir, tall, but half a head shorter than him, shook his head with a gentle reproach: — Oh, do not mock arrogance, but understand! — yes, he waved his hand, raising his index finger and shaking his vast gilded sleeve: — The proud man's doctor is Allah!

— Whatever you say, Wisest One. — The Ifrit bowed his head in a bow, closing his eyes.

— You are free to go now, because that is my guest, not yours.

The wazir nodded, raised his gaze, straightened up, looked at the confused Paimon calmly, decorously, and stepped back without turning around, melted near the wall, embraced by the desert sand.

— My friend! — the Khalifa blossomed into a smile again, spreading his arms and looking at the mayor; he turned his gaze to him, having previously looked at the desert sand, and suddenly became embarrassed, grinned askance, crossed his arms on his chest.

— You can't get through here, — he muttered with restraint.

— That's right! — Azazel the joyful tilted his head to the side. — After all, my palace is my fortress!

— The fortress... — Paimon chuckled thoughtfully, looking at Archdemon affable. — A fortress is usually built in order to protect itself from the outside, from some kind of threat.

The Khalifa smiled peacefully, lowering his gaze for a moment, but did not answer, he said something else, glancing at the black dromedary:

— Oh, peace be with you, red—eyed Sheddim! Peace be with you, strangers! —paid attention to Paimon's retinue.

— And these are already leaving! — Paimon turned to the timid musicians, waved his hand, frowning: — Shoo!

(continued in the comment)