I know this write-off happened weeks ago, but hey, I decided I liked this enough (and like it as it is and as short as it is) to see what others think. There is two changes between this and the original 15 minute spurt of typing. I added the "-" in "stone-workers" and changed "losing" to "risking" in sentence 6. Enjoy.
The throne was ugly. Flat slabs of stone that had been laid close to each other, joined by whatever device the stone-workers had implemented. Grey, rough, unpolished stone cut at right angles with no curves to ease your body into. The guard carefully watched at the townspeople lifted the throne with ropes onto a wooden stage, also rough and unstained and (in some areas) with bark still attached to the planks. The whole thing was heavy with the scent of pine. You probably couldn't walk across it barefoot without risking a toe or two from infection by splinter. The throne was placed in the middle of the dais on a large rock that extended beneath the platform and into the ground. The ropes were yanked from underneath just as the procession neared the town square.
“Hail the king!” someone cried, and everyone fell silent.
Before their eyes a middle aged man, ragged and limping, was herded into the square by a group of guardsmen. He stumbled, hobbled, and walked dazedly, but as soon as “Hail” had been cried he stood straight up, startled, began to walk towards the platform. He reached the base of the steps up, and hesitated.
A guard lashed out with a gauntleted fist and knocked the man down, kicking him until he scrambled up giving small sounds of pain as he tried to move gently across the wood to sit in the stone throne.
“Hail the man that would be king!” the head of the guard cried, taking a brand from one of his fellows and thrusting it beneath the platform. Within minutes the structure was licked from side to side by flames, and the man in the middle could be seen to be huddled on the throne, sweating profusely. Heavy with resin, the structure burned remarkably fast until all that remained was the scorched rock in the middle, the withered man whimpering from burns, hunger, and thirst.
“Hail, the man who is king! May the reign of the Throne of Fire be long!” The head guard called, dismissing the crowd to go silently home as their king was lowered from the ugly throne.