#zarakharn

[jedi-valjean]

Who are your favourite characters across your WIPS?

Portia, Scalba, and Zarakharn are currently among my top favorites.

[jedi-valjean]

Favorite Line Tag

Tagged by @inkwellprincess

From the prologue of The Emperor’s Stone:

That was the message that was carried on the wing throughout Khriza from its eponymous capital. From city to city, it was noised about by heralds, chatted about between friends and whispered in the darkest corners of seedy taverns. In a matter of days, the whole empire was searching for the stone, spurred on by the promise of the grand reward.

Indeed, as you can well imagine, the news had spread faster than wildfire.

And in a dragon empire, wildfire spread very fast.

A funny exchange:

“Where did you find it?” asked Ash.

“It was in the river,” Ginzaekh said. “I saw it when I stuck my head in.”

“How did it end up so far south?” asked Gazi.

“It floated,” Ash shrugged.

“It floated down the Anarin, all the way from Khriza, and decided to sink in the mud for Ginzaekh to find?” Gazi raised her eyebrow.

“Well, not Ginzaekh, specifically,” Ash replied.

“Enzarite doesn’t float in the first place,” Gazi pointed out.

“Well maybe it’s magic or something,” Ash said sarcastically.

A shippy passage (for context, Ginzaekh is diagramming a hunting strategy. Due to a disability, he can’t breathe fire. So Gazi helps. Ginzaekh truly appreciates her help, more than she knows, but he also hates feeling dependent. He tries to hide the latter sentiment after letting it get the better of him momentarily.)

Ginzaekh got on his knees. “Agar, Ris, pay attention. Here’s the plan.” He began to trace in the air above the grass, but stopped.

“Give me a moment. It’s better if you can see it without my gesturing.” Ginzaekh began pulling clumps from the ground, exposing soil.

They watched him do this for a few seconds before Ash said, “Here, Ginzaekh, let me make that easier for you.” He took a deep breath.

Gazi clamped a hand around his snout. “Do you want to burn down the whole forest? Let me do it.” She removed her flask from her belt and poured a ring of water around the area Ginzaekh was trying to clear.

“That was all your water,” said Ginzaekh, staring at the wet circle. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

Gazi’s ears flattened against the sides of her head. “Well, I. . . wanted to,” she mumbled, scratching one ear self-consciously. She cleared her throat and stooped, snout low. She blew into the circle until the ground was engulfed in flame.

Ginzaekh watched the flames burn. He stared at the edges, where they stopped against the wet earth.

At length he abruptly began to stamp on the flames as they grew smaller. “We don’t have all day.” He scraped the last of the embers from the dirt and bent down.

Gazi bit her lip and stooped next to him. They all gathered round, watching Ginzaekh as he erased with the side of his hand the scratches his talons had made. Ginzaekh traced a claw in the dirt, crudely approximating the forest edge.

(after everyone else has flown off to their various positions)

Gazi scratched her arm. “Ginzaekh.”

Ginzaekh turned to her. “Thank you,” he said. “For helping me with the grass.”

“I didn’t make you feel. . .?” Gazi asked, her throat catching uncomfortably.

Ginzaekh smiled. “No,” he lied. “Now go.”

He launched into the air. Gazi followed him up with her eyes, then whirled around and flew into position.

I’m counting that as one passage.

A character introduction:

It was Kharrin, and he had really tried not to be late. He would have preferred to get through this meeting as soon as possible. Meeting with the emperor always gave him a headache.

Later in the scene:

“Call them off,” Zarakharn interrupted.

Kharrin’s eyebrow twitched. “My lord?”

“Call them off,” Zarakharn repeated. “The Inquisitorius is compromised.”

“That is impossible, my liege,” Kharrin growled. “The Inquisitorius cannot be compromised so completely that I cannot trust it to search for an insignificant tri--“

Zarakharn twisted his ring, the plain one on his left middle finger. A sharp pain flashed through Kharrin’s skull like lightning. He winced. Zarakharn spoke before he could regain his composure and continue.

And one of my favorite villain lines from Zarakharn:

“Oh, Kharda?” Zarakharn added. “Eras would prefer that you not kill him.”

“What would you prefer?” asked Kharda.

“He is replaceable,” Zarakharn shrugged, walking away.

And one from Scalba of the Talanari:

“Sparsuna, you’re the one always seizing the opportunity to get what you want,” I said. “I want revenge, and I’ll take any risk to get it. You would do the same.”

“For money,” Sparsuna sniffed. “Not a grudge.”

[jedi-valjean]

Top Ten Character Name Tag Game!

List the ten character names you’re proudest of. If you made up a name and like the way it sounds, put it on the list. If you didn’t make it up but you think the reason you chose it is clever, put it on the list. If you’re giving your characters the names of your future children, put it on the list. Basically, just pick ten of your favorite names from your WIP and list them, preferably but not necessarily in ranked order.

Zarakharn

Scalba

Sparsuna

Sartigar

Dranolin

Khriza

Kharrin

Aguilaron

Kalgi

Barlago

Tagging @woodhouse-jay @inked-foundry @el-queen @cogesque @writings-of-a-narwhal @abalonetea @nkta-ink @delphwrites @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword @klywrites

[jedi-valjean]

Russian Aesthetics tag game!

Tagged by @radiowrites​! A very interesting game.

rules: bold whatever applies to your chosen character. For this I will be choosing Zarakharn.

BROTHERS KARAMAZOV: orthodox monasteries, deep woods, starry nights, the sound of paper being torn, dimly lit rooms, withered roses, an unfinished letter, piles of books, the sound of shattering glass, ticking of clocks in a silent house, heavy wooden furniture, the air before a storm, the smell of earth, a crowd of people dressed in black, distant murmurs,  emptied streets, the fear of walking alone in dusk.

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT: coldness of the skin against a blade, slender pale fingers & slightly shaking hands, a red stain blooming on white fabric, lonely steps in a corridor,  the slow dripping of water, looking out of the window into the thickening darkness, a single dying candle on the table, listening to one’s breath & counting heartbeats,  too many stairs, the desire to be invisible, a subtle memory of kind words.

THE IDIOT: classical statues, wealth covered with dust, a dark house tainted with inherited madness, an unsettling feeling, long walks in a park, useless chatter, a silken ribbon forgotten on a bench, a melancholic face, an unexpected spring rain, the joy of reading one’s favorite book, the clarity of mind after fully perceiving the world around, looking at cloudless sky.

ANNA KARENINA: fields of crops,  flowers brought from an early morning walk, the wind caressing a girl’s hair,  a bowl of fruit, the smell of ripe pears, the clatter of a spoon against porcelain when stirring tea, children’s laughter coming from the garden, soft sunlight & white curtains, the sensation of velvet against skin, pearls from a ripped necklace spilling on marble floor, a sudden silence in a room full of people.

WAR AND PEACE: a glass of wine, the brightness of  a crystal chandelier, white lace, a raging snowstorm, the sound of a door being gently closed, the moment of holding one’s breath before walking in a ballroom, indulging in looking at a beautiful earring against light, closing one’s eyes for a moment while dancing,  the sweet smell of strawberries, a pair of gloves left on an armchair, light scent of powder.

THE MASTER AND MARGARITA: the chaos of a lively city,  ambient jazz in an expensive restaurants, jumping on a moving tram, the sight of Moscow from the roof of a house, yellow flowers in a vase, leaning out of the window, shelves stacked with books,  a small tin box with old photographs, strange shapes in the night sky, laughing in the middle of the night on a balcony, colorful posters for a surreptitious magician’s show floating in the wind.

EUGENE ONEGIN: a lonely mansion, reading a book in the parlour, faint piano melody lingering in falling silence, long evenings, passing seasons, discussing french novels of the moment, unspoken thoughts, leaning against the door frame, quickly averted glance, eating a peach absent-minded, bright mornings, footprints in snow, a loud gun-shot terrifying a flock of birds nearby.

FATHERS AND SONS: birch groves, morning mist, moss-covered stones near a moor, scientific books, white roses, cheap champagne, shabby pocket-watch, light-hearted irony, a maladroit cello sonata, freshly mowed grass, letting thoughts come & go, a slow yawn, picturesque plates & bowls filled with traditional dishes, drinking tea on the porch.

DOCTOR ZHIVAGO: a strange feeling of loss, writing poems in a diary,   traveling by train, the hesitation before touching someone’s hand, the gaze of one lost in thought,  the warmth of cinnamon,  a scarf brightly embellished with flowers, a glass of water, a threadbare jacket, the tempting void, the evanescent serenity of yesterday.

CHERRY ORCHARD: a lone chair in an empty room, falling blossoms, old samovar, the unsettling need for change, a mirror reflecting full moon, the disappointment of a glossy object turning worthless after second glance, a piano out of tune

Tagging @woodhouse-jay​, @el-queen​, @inked-foundry​, @silvertalonwriteblr​, @delphwrites

[jedi-valjean]

The Emperor’s Stone-- Chapter 4.1

Taglist: @inkspilledqueen @inkwellprincess @agentorange-writes@adventuresdooccur @mastery-in-procrastination@maabonwrites @write-gallagher @mvcreates​ (If I’ve forgotten you or you want to be added, please let me know! And if you’ve been recently added you can catch up in the #chapters tag!)

Zarakharn confers with his master about the Shazarian’s son.

And now we will see what Zarakharn was up to. He had flown from Khriza with haste. A little magic had quickened his wingbeats. He had reached Razaga in no time and was now circling a great fat tower. Sartigar’s head was buried deep inside his master’s satchel. He hated flying.

Zarakharn landed on the entrance balcony, which boasted an enormous gate. He rapped his knuckles on the iron bracing as Sartigar stuck out his head and heaved a dry retch.

There was a flapping and a thump. A small window opened in the side of the gate. Recognizing the emperor immediately, the dragon behind the gate shut the window and shouted orders for it to be opened.

Zarakharn strode inside, walking around the curved wall that separated the entrance from the deep central corridor. The column yawned below and above, rows of levels encircling the inside of the tower. Zarakharn leapt off the edge and flew up to the top ring.

As Zarakharn made his way to Kharda’s room to announce his arrival, another dragon approached him. It was Eras, the governor of Razaga. The dragon bowed when he reached the emperor. “Your majesty. I was just about to fly to Khriza to speak with you.”

“About what?” Zarakharn inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“Kh. . . Kharda, your majesty. As you know, he. . . er, well, wields a great deal of influence,” said Eras carefully. “As. . . As he has for some time.”

“Get to the point,” Zarakharn snapped. “Every governor for the last hundred years has complained about Kharda and his influence. Is this truly worth my precious and valuable time?”

“He’s going to kill me!” Eras cried, suddenly snapping from his composure. “He wants me to give him Narvash, who has served me faithfully for over a decade as chief of the city guard-- to kill him! And he says if I don’t, he’ll kill me as well! You must protect us! Tell him he must not be allowed to--”

“I have no time for this,” Zarakharn snapped. “I will mention your plight to Kharda. Perhaps he will be understanding.”

“You are the emperor!” Eras exclaimed. “You can command him not to harm me!”

“And alienate the only living family member I remotely like?” Zarakharn raised an eyebrow. “I think not.”

“You have to help me, my lord, please!” Eras entreated.

Zarakharn glanced at two hirelings walking past. He clicked his claws together. “Guards,” he beckoned. “This dragon is wasting my time. Escort him out.”

Kharda’s henchdrakes, being familiar with the emperor issuing casual orders to them, seized the protesting governor and flew him out. Zarakharn gave a quiet snarl of exasperation and continued toward Kharda’s room. Sartigar hissed unflattering mockeries about the governor.

The door to Kharda’s room opened and the dragon himself wobbled out on his stubby legs. Strapped to his back was a deflated balloon with a long tube. This device was for helping him to fly, the same way an old human uses a cane to walk. “Zarakharn!” he exclaimed, taking the tube from his mouth. “Welcome, cousin.”

“Hello, Kharda,” said Zarakharn. “I merely came to inform you of my presence here. My visit will not be long.”

“You are my guest as always,” said Kharda, inclining his head. “If you need anything, Fant will assist you. You know where to find him.”

“Thank you,” said Zarakharn. “I will go up to my room now.”

Kharda nodded. He turned to continue on his way.

“Oh, Kharda?” Zarakharn added. “Eras would prefer that you not kill him.”

“What would you prefer?” asked Kharda.

“I have no preference,” said Zarakharn, walking away.

Kharda blew flame into the tube of his apparatus, inflating the balloon. He jumped from the ledge and descended gracefully.

You should use a balloon, said Sartigar as they headed to their room. It would be easier on my stomach.

“I created a heartstone so I would never have to,” said Zarakharn with an amused smile. “Do not worry, friend. When the Bands are gathered, you can become a dragon, and then you will grow accustomed to flying.”

Zarakharn himself intended to change his form when he had achieved ultimate power. He would turn into a behemoth of a worm, mighty as Gharst the demon, an ancient dragon of such great size that an Idrakagar, the largest dragon in Aladugarim, appeared as small as a rabbit before a bear. For Sartigar’s part, he would be content to take Zarakharn’s place as a Khrizan. Though he despised flying, dragonhood appealed to him greatly. To walk, to breathe fire, and be as tall as a tree! And perhaps, someday, he would be able to soar to great heights without nervousness.

But Zarakharn and Sartigar were a long way off from their goal. First, they had to find the stone, and Zarakharn was now meeting with Fiandarsh to learn what his master had discovered about its current possessor.

Zarakharn unlocked the door to his suite and entered. He bolted the door shut and allowed Sartigar to slither onto the floor. The room was briefly cast into darkness before Zarakharn lit the torch next to the door. Its light was dim, but Zarakharn did not light the other torches. Instead,he deposited his satchel on the bed and faced the bricked-in window.

Fiandarsh materialized in front of it. “I have been waiting for you.”

“What news, my master?” asked Zarakharn, bowing.

“He is Gilzaruk’s son,” said Fiandarsh. “Named for his father.”

“Then he is a threat to us.”

“I do not think so,” said Fiandarsh, slowly pacing the room. “I saw nothing to suggest he knows of magic or the Shuzirons, unless he is hiding it from his friends. He has two companions, a drakeling and a dracaena. In addition to him, his father also sired twin sons before his demise. They are young, and I doubt they know their father’s secret. But I cannot tell how much the mother knows.”

Zarakharn sat on the bed, pondering this information. “If the drakeling is truly ignorant, what does he intend to do with the stone?”

“Why, return it, of course,” said Fiandarsh. “He went to the townsguard today to ascertain its authenticity. Look in your satchel.”

Zarakharn pulled an envelope from his satchel. It was a magic envelope that he always carried with him. Inside this envelope were many papers. He removed them. Written on the papers were messages that were addressed to him but had not yet reached the palace. He thumbed through them until he found one from Raer. In magically facsimiled handwriting was a letter from the chief of the townsguard.

Zarakharn scanned the letter and furrowed his brow. “Interesting.”

“There is something he neglected to tell the chief,” said Fiandarsh, ghostly eyes glittering. “He is flameless.”

Zarakharn raised both eyebrows. “Flameless?” he whispered.

Fiandarsh nodded.

Zarakharn grinned. “How deliciously fitting that a Shuziron’s weakness should manifest physically in his child.”

“I do not believe there is a connection,” said Fiandarsh wryly. “Some dragons do not become their fathers, despite the firmest of upbringing.”

Zarakharn clenched his jaw. If you wanted my father you would have chosen my father, he thought savagely.

“If he is truly ignorant of the stone’s truth, that makes things easier, does it not?” asked Zarakharn.

Fiandarsh hmmed. “We must not assume so. The possibility that he will seek out his uncle has not been precluded.”

[jedi-valjean]

Fun fact about Drezard: in original drafts, rather than being Zarakharn’s conniving regent, he was the palace cook. Sartigar enjoyed tormenting him and Zarakharn found their antagonistic relationship amusing.

[jedi-valjean]

Ok so Kharrin hates Zarakharn. But he’s loyal to him because he wants to prove himself. He’s completely driven by spite.

But what if I made it so he wasn’t loyal and was actually plotting against him? It would make sense, although there might be a loss in complication to his character.

But if I go with the new idea I have, Kharrin will actually team up with the protagonists because the enemy of my enemy is my friend-- and one of them actually is his friend, so that works out. If Kharrin goes against Zarakharn, then pretty much literally all my characters will be ganging up on that a-hole, which I think is pretty great.

Why would Kharrin turn against Zarakharn, you ask, besides the fact that Zarakharn is mean to him?

Well, there’s a crime boss named Kharda who happens to be Zarakharn’s cousin. Kharrin’s not allowed to interfere with anything Kharda does.

And guess who helped Kharda rise to power in the first place? Zarakharn. But more importantly, he did it specifically to piss Kharrin off. He hated Kharrin so much he went out of his way to make his job that much harder.

Actually, that comes back to bite Zarakharn anyway, because he’s not actually that terrible of a ruler as far as the general populace is concerned, but he forgets that he allows Kharda to oppress the city that neighbors the capital. The people stage a revolt, and after they’ve lopped off Kharda’s head, guess who they come for next.

[jedi-valjean]

Sometimes I think I can’t write snarky characters but then I’ll be rereading and one of my characters will say something like, “Rest assured I am not assured,” and I’ll be like, that’s kind of savage, I guess.