THAIRU ALRAZ bin KAYODE
Hear me roar
My mother was from the Pearl Isles. I only remember her dimly from my early years in the Wives' Palace. She had the wisest eyes I've ever known- beautiful eyes, dark and rich and warm, but so sad. As a child I suppose I never realized how sad she truly was. When he conquered the Isles my father stole her from her home and for that she never forgave him, and I realize now that she never wanted any of the life she got. She was always so kind to me, though, so loving, braiding my hair in that strange way of her people and singing songs of her own childhood to me. She was only fifteen years older and sometimes we would climb the trees in the garden and stare out over the walls and she would tell me stories of the islands I had never seen. She missed them dearly, as well as her parents and her brothers, and would sometimes get this far away look in her eyes like she was remembering some big secret I never knew.
When I was seven, like all princes, I was taken away from her to be made into a fine warrior. She wept to see me go and the eunuch guards had to hold her back to keep her from clinging to me. At the time I was so embarrassed. All the other mothers had let their sons go with pride and dignity- why did mine weep so? I wish now I had hugged her and told her I would see her soon, but I was seven and I was a fool.
They found her dangling from the limbs of one of the fig trees we used to climb together. It is my fault, in a way. She only hung on for me, for she hated everything else about Lion Rising. It was always too dry and too dusty and the pools lacked what she had loved so much about the sea. I know she swims there with her strange Octopus god now, but sometimes when I close my eyes I can still see her own and I wish the last time I saw them they had not been filled with tears.
Raised in a war camp from the ages of seven to sixteen, Thairu grew quickly from a boy into a man. He became strong and tall and handsome as he is today, always well aware of it. He carries himself like a lion, chin up and shoulders back and never in a hurry to be anywhere for the world can wait on him. His skin is darker than most that trace their blood back to the original tribe of the Lion thanks to his mothers' influence, but her genetics have also made his hair thicker and silkier and given him a more sensuous, rounded countenance then the angular features of many of his half-brothers. The certain animal magnetism that he wears like a fine cloak is not uncommon in Lion Rising but he flaunts his, satisfied in a distinctly feline manner with his situation and never afraid to show it. He wears his heart on his sleeve and it is usually more a strength than a weakness, for Thairu is very confident in himself and has a will stronger than his impressive chest. This confidence has been his blessing since he was young, and he won respect from his peers from an early age.
He most often wears his hair in dozens of small braids, each tipped with beads and left to fall in a loose mane around his face. It is an atypical style he got from his mother; he did not get his fashion sense from her and most often wears a linen shenti and leather sandals like most noblemen of Lion Rising.
He acts much like them as well, having embraced his heritage without hesitation. Thairu is the epitome of a Tyrant, of a Lion, proud and strong and noble. Never doubtful of his own abilities, the man is always ready with an answer to every problem. In spite of this he understands that he is not an expert in every field and isn't afraid to ask advisers for help in areas that they are well versed in. Like most military men he is always quick to see the strength of an army as the answer to disputes, but he has enough knowledge of politics not to embarrass himself when words are the weapons of choice.
Duty is the name of the game with Thairu, and he tries his best to stick to the path laid before him by the Great Lion and by his forefathers. Though he does not enjoy killing, death is justice according to the laws of Lion Rising and so he is executioner when needed. He has always had a big heart, a trait encouraged in young Lions, ready to embrace every person he counts as friend or lover. He sees keeping a large harem as a blessing rather than a burden, and seeks to love each and every one of his wives and children as best he can, as he once loved the men that served with and around him. Love and courage are virtues that Thairu has in spades, but this is not true for all things and like every man he has his flaws.
He is a man driven towards perfection, and in his desire to become the best he is self-destructive concerning every small failure. Though he does not let it show in public, he'll lay awake for hours at night reviewing every detail of his day and berating himself for everything he could have done better. In the moment, however, he is never hesitant and sometimes acts too quickly, relying on his gut and moral compass to make choices rather than thinking them out. This sometimes gets him into trouble when he misreads situations and reacts in appropriately. His last major flaw is his desire to face problems head-on. He is almost incapable of leaving a situation alone and will pursue even a small conflict until it is resolved, one way or another. Walking away to cool his head or letting something slide is almost totally beyond him.
I executed him that day, there on the plains, and I wondered what had happened to turn the strong boy I had played with in the gardens into the sniveling wreck kneeling in front of me. Djoser was my half-brother but he was not half the Lion I was. Yet still I remembered the courage he used to show, the boldness, how unrelenting and proud and strong he was! Now he begged softly as I brought the scimitar around, and had to be held down so I could get a clean cut.
The woman was stronger. She stared at me with hate in her eyes but would not let me see her weep. I kissed her softly on the forehead and named her sister-in-law before I took off her head as well. It is forbidden for princes to take brides or sire children; the laws of succession are quite strict. I did not want to take his son's life as well, but the laws do not relent for babes. It was so tiny, only a week or two old, and it screamed when I brought down my blade and I received a great red stain on my trousers, a parting gift from my poor nephew.
I'll never forgive Djoser for that, for making me a child-slayer. Tyrants should not have to execute babies. I have nightmares from that, but what was I to do? I could not well let him live and what a crueler fate it would have been to just leave him there. No, a Tyrant must handle his own business, but I wonder still what had happened to Djoser.
YAMILEX ahn FAATIMA
You don't live as long as I have asking stupid questions
In my youth I was the most eligible woman in all of Namir; on that issue everyone agreed. My father was the king and I was his favorite daughter; I was beautiful besides, and had been trained by the priestesses of the Serpent for years, learning the arts of fang and scale.
I married my first husband at twelve and there's been a long, long list of men between him and Thairu. I've outlived every one of my children, and none of them died notably young. I've seen Tyrants come and go like summer rains and I know that the power of physical strength is fleeting. The power of the mind is what matters, and that I have plenty of. Clever women are a rare breed in this land, but that only makes things easier. No one expects a wife to be the dangerous one.
Though very old, Yamilex's actual age is nearly impossible to discern. Part of this she does purposefully- the wrinkles around her eyes are camouflaged with a generous amount of kohl, the thinning of her lips and cheeks concealed by rouge, the graying of her hair by inky black dye. She is still very tall, a good five foot ten, and has excellent posture. Her entire life she has been a bit too thin and refuses to change that in her old age, keeping a certain air of elegance to her spare figure that few women could match. She's lovely still, though it's a bit offputting to realize that she is, at the least, sixty years old and still playing the game of political marriage like she's a third her age. She wears her reputation like a cloak and often hides behind it, letting people see the danger they have heard about instead of the tired old woman that is the truth.
Yamilex is quite the mysterious figure. She's seen more, done more, and controlled more than most generals, much the less wives. Her descendants are all over the Tyranny, most of them loyal to her. She's richer than several deities and certainly better connected, and is rumored to have orchestrated more assassinations than even her impressive number of husbands. While very little is known about her for certain, it is fact that her mother, Faatima, was wife to a Tyrant making her a princess in her own right. It is also fact that she is a strict follower of the Great Serpent and trained for many years at a temple. Poisonings follow her like the plague, though no one's ever made a serious accusation at her. Who would dare?
Women in this world are flowers. Lovely and delicate and the key to everything that keeps man alive. Men in this world are clumsy florists. They look for the most beautiful flowers they can find and pluck them from the ground without second thought, or even so much as waiting until they are ready. Flowers inevitably wilt in the hands of florists and are dropped to the ground where the lucky ones will put down roots and grow strong again.
Well I've grown roots and I've grown thorns, but most importantly I refuse to wilt.
