A throne is an argument, not a chair

The legend turns up in one form or another wherever there were kings: a ruler who demanded the surrendered swords of everyone who had opposed him, and would not have them melted down. What he sat on afterwards was not furniture. It was a sentence, delivered to everyone who entered the room.

What makes that idea work visually is irregularity. A tidy fan of blades reads as decoration — something a workshop arranged. The moment no two sit at the same angle, and crossguards interrupt the line, and the back rises unevenly, it stops looking arranged and starts looking accumulated.

So the rule we hold to is that nothing about it should look comfortable, and nothing about it should look symmetrical. Seen straight on it is a throne. Seen from the side it should still be a heap of weapons.

It is the largest thing we make and it is meant to be. Put it against a dark wall with a light behind it and the room stops being a room.