The 11th Throne: Iora and King
He looked at her through heavy lids. “And you touched this?” He asked, mildly, taking a thick finger and pointing down at the Jaklak board. “You moved this piece, my piece, on my board, here?”
His question and his voice were mild. But Iora felt a tremble course through her as he said my piece, and my board. A reminder of things that were the king’s alone, and not some lantern girls to touch. She could lie, but what point was there? Her pride had already forced her hand to speak the truth earlier. Iora clutched the empty, blackened lantern in her hand tighter.
“I did,” and the words fell like a challenge from her mouth. Though Iora did not dare look up at him or raise her chin, just those two words seemed to settle the tremor in her legs. If I am going to die, I might as well go with the Gojan pride my people are known for. I am no coward.
“Ah,” he said. It was a thing he seemed to say a lot latel
The 11th Throne - Chapter 3
Earlier that day:
Iyala wove her stubborn lamak through the many lines of clansmen and women. People of the Gojan desert, clan of the Malar, the King, they were perhaps, the proudest of all. And why not? They were blessed to travel with the king, blessed to be born to the men and women who, thousands and thousands of years ago helped the King bring down corrupted gods and free their people from religious tyranny. Why should they not be?
Her eyes traveled across the many there, sweeping like a brush to drink them all in while her mind wondered at what to say to the King. Once, she had shared his bed for a few blissful months at the height of her youth and beauty. She had been given a secret and she carried it in her heart forever after. In return for that and her virginity, he had given her everything. The riches and ease any Pashin dreamed of when they caught and kept his favor. As time wore her down, stripped her of her beauty and took a
11th Throne - Chapter 2
Inside the king's tent was an entirely different world than the sand-blasted dust riddled nothing outside. As Iora ducked under the flap behind held by a Jah'hazarad being battered and pushed around by the wind, another awaited her and the other Pashin re Malar that eagerly left the storm outside for the peace within. The Jah’hazarad inside the tent in fabric created entryway to the tent, bade Iora to remove her shoes and shook out her skirts and veils. While the Jah’hazarad bent to take a mok haired brushed to her feet, Iora let her eyes drink in the tent. The richness of it that she someday hoped to find herself in the center of, with her King on one side and the jealous eyes of his wives on the other.
While the outside of the tent had been kept dyed a glorious, deep black, the inside was anything but remotely dark. Hung from the many poles
NaNoWriMo3: Character Iora
Iora is a tall, thin, reedy girl on the cusp of woman hood.
She is a Pashin re Malar, or a Flower of the King, a concubine-in-training. Her unusual and arresting features (sometimes described as off-putting, and other times claimed to make people ill-at-ease) have been the sole reason for her induction into the Pashin re Malar. Her features are sharp and harsh. High cheek bones and an extremely pointed chin with angular eyes are an unusual combination that most often make people either recoil or draw in closer; some people might say she is a handsome woman in her own way, others would say the culmination of up tilted eyes and small, angular lines to her face make something about it incorrect.
She is either strangely beautiful, or entirely repelling. There seems little in between.
Her coloring is common for the desert people, however: her skin is a very dark, rich brown, her hair is black. It's thick and wiry and neither curly nor straight. Instead of allowing it to
NaNoWriMo 3: character writing
Sajah re Shirib Malar
Sajah re Shirib Malar is the considered the 10th King. Once, there were 11 kingdoms on the Telan. The 11th was a place known as pure bliss. A paradise the 11 gods lived in and no mortal may pass.
With the death of the gods, the 11th Kingdom and its legends nearly disappeared into the dust of mankind's memory.
Sajah re Shirib Malar, however, is one of the 10 immortal kings who with his power and spells and helped kill Telan's Gods.
He became immortal a little past his prime. While his skin is still pliable and dark as rich earth, there are deep lines around his mouth from frowning or grimacing and two lines perched atop his brow. His cheek bones are prominent and serve to make his face seem almost, but not quite gaunt. His hair is a rich, deep black which is often brushed and then rubbed with fragrant oil to tumble down his back. (Men and women in the Gojan desert of rank grow their hair very long. A sign of easy-living as well an indication of roy
Background on the Jah'hazarad
The Jah'hazarad, meaning Still Water, or Still Men, are those within the Gojan society who have failed at either their rank, station or no longer have no place in the desert society. The moniker 'Still Men,' is ancient and out of date, as women were added to their ranks centuries ago. At one point, it was considered taboo to 'waste' a woman of child bearing age to the Jah'hazarad, but the people of the Gojan desert have not suffered in their numbers for many generations and no longer view it as taboo or a waste. The moniker remains as a testament and verbal nod to times gone past.
The Jah'hazarad contains many of the people who have no where else to go as well as the Gojan society has rejected, cast-out or those who do not fit into their strict view points on how a Gojan person should live and conduct themselves.
The Jah'hazarad contains the women who have been raped and deemed unclean or untouch-able by their fathers, fami
The Eleventh Throne
The Ten kings came and said to their Gods: “Why make something as beautiful as life, just to take it away?” They came with anger in their mouths and treachery in their hearts. They felt betrayed by the mortality they had been given. No answer by their creators soothed their growing hate.
They raised their hands, their knives of spells and they brought the Gods down to them. When they knelt before the ten kings and trembled that they would dare betray them, the kings smiled.
"Now you will know,” they said to their Gods. “You will know the last gift you gave to man, the most bitter of all.”
"Death,” they said as one.
And the Ten Kings killed their own Gods.
All save one, whom they shackled to them and ate away at his heart like hounds at feast.
All day and into the night, the Jah'hazarad tirelessly worked to erect the king's tent. A monstrosity of black and gold,