The Big Peat
Darth Buddha
- Joined
- Apr 9, 2016
- Messages
- 3,760
Hello all.
This is an idea that I may or may not pursue. The main reason I'm posting this up here is to see if it grabs people, if it resonates. I'm not looking for big detailed critiques here: this is draft zero, its rough, I may not even pursue it. It would be wasteful for people to give plenty of their time to it in such circumstances. I'd feel guilty.
The questions I would be asking is
- Does this grab people?
- How high up on the cliche-o-meter does it ping?
- Is the balance of action to thought good?
- If there is any awful passive tense that grabs people's eyes going through, then please bring it to my attention.
The first question is the big one though but all feedback is welcome
“By the gods’ giving hands, I do declare you are the most horrendous honour guard I’ve ever seen!”
From his position at the left of the Imperial cadets’ formation, Magar had no idea how accurate the statement was. For all he knew, the parade was perfectly aligned, but it didn’t matter. The Drill Sergeants would still keep them out here all day in search of whatever lay beyond perfection. Personally he suspected the only thing waiting there was blisters and a bad back; only one of the legendary nine heroes of the Empire would have dared voice that thought.
“Eyes Right! Betrayer’s balls, you can do better than that, I didn’t hear anything rattling! Cadet Magar! Stop daydreaming or you’ll start screaming! You’re not the Emperor’s son here! You’re not even useful!”
He let the words wash over him and stood as straight as possible. This was his fifth and final year as a cadet; if he hadn’t heard it all before, that was only because the Drill Sergeants were very inventive. It would be someone else’s turn soon enough.
“Eyes…. Right! Right, Cadet Isak, right! If you give me a heart attack, you will hang for murder!”
Isak spluttered an apology and Magar suppressed a sigh. The poor lad had been so excited when he’d heard that they would be the honour guard for the reception of the ambassadors from the elven Kindred of the Pines. He was learning different now. You never wanted anything big to happen to you in the cadets, because it always meant pain.
“Breath and bones, it will not hurt you to stand still Cadet Harato! If you can’t stand still, a turn around the yard will cure you. Go! Now! Faster!” The Drill Sergeant watched him go then whipped around. “Anyone else feeling restless?”
A clearer invitation to silence had never been heard. The only sound was Harato’s feet slapping against the drill yard’s stone. Magar barely dared breathe. The stress of the situation was getting to the Sergeant and someone else would suffer for it.
“Very well then. Eyes… R-”
Someone broke wind, a loud and prolonged trumpet blast. The Drill Sergeant turned the same colour as a raddish.
“Everyone ten turns around the yard! Like a greased weasel!”
The drill yard of the Imperial Military Academy was a big area; ten turns was about three miles. There was no point sprinting that. He settled into the middle of the horde as it thundered around, hoping to stay out of sight. Normally he quite enjoyed running. Normally he didn’t do it after a day of parade. His muscles were already stiff and complaining and he’d barely even started. Ten turns. They’d barely have time to do anything before dinner - which probably meant they weren’t having any.
“Cadet Magar! Cadet Magar!”
He looked left to see the Drill Sergeant bellowing his name. Besides him was the Commandant. He ran to them, putting on a little burst of speed and half-expecting to be told go away again the moment he got there. The Drill Sergeant had form for that. He halted before them and saluted, finger tips brushing slick skin.
“At ease, Cadet Magar.” The Commandant had the air of a man with a speech prepared, but all he said was, “The Throne wishes to see you. Dismiss him, Sergeant Orday.”
“Sir! Cadet Magar, wait for it…” The Drill Sergeant draw out the pause until the Commandant had gone out of earshot. “You run as fast as you can in future Cadet, or you’ll run as far as you can. Understood?” It was delivered in a murmur inches away from his face. Then he suddenly shouted “Cadet Magar, dismissed! Report to the Throne immediately! Do not forget to wash, you smell like my wife’s cooking.”
So much for running the middle then. Magar sprinted off the square. If there was one person in the whole Empire Magar believed less in annoying than Drill Sergeant Orday, it was his father. The Emperor.
His hair was still wet when he was ushered into the Emperor’s presence. The air was fragrant with cedar oil and jasmine, the light softly glowing from the many lanterns hung up on the rafters. It was a small room and plainly furnished; his father liked to get away from the pomp of court when he could. He’d put aside his robes for a plain linen suit with minimal embroidery. Yet he was still wearing the crown and three chains of the Triple-Emperor of Avila; Magar has never seen him without them.
He was a small neat man whose prominent nose and beady eyes always put Magar in mind of a bird. If he’d not been the Emperor, people would think him a clerk. Magar sometimes wondered what he himself would be if his father was not the Emperor. Not now, not when his father’s eyes were diamond hard and his face pinched together. He knelt, head bowed in obeisance.
“Rise. Sit.”
Magar did so. Sometimes it was funny how the Emperor used much the same voice with his sons as his dogs. Sometimes.
“I trust the parade tomorrow will be exemplary.”
“It will, Greatness, as long as the chefs do not serve beans for breakfast. Or anything of that nature.” The Emperor’s expression went blank so he quickly explained. “When your message reached me, Drill Sergeant Orday had us doing turns of the yard after an incident of flatulence.”
“Ah.” The thin fingers picked up a pen and wrote a small note. There would be no beans for breakfast tomorrow.
He stayed silent, thankful that the Emperor did not think he was being insufficiently serious. This was no time to be a small boy making fun of his father. Something else was written and he cautiously craned his neck to try and see. He couldn’t and quickly sat back when the Emperor looked up.
“When the delegation from the Kindred of the Pines arrives, guides will be assigned to everyone of importance. You, Cadet Magar, will be one of them. You will have two duties. To your assigned guest, you must be the perfect host. You must be open, charming, and able to answer everything relating to their comfort. If your memory of the Palace’s lay-out is dim, refresh it this evening.”
“Every sunfall, once they are gone to the bed, you will go to the Second Under-Steward. You will report every movement, every nuance of conversation. Do not deliberately seek information for this purpose but instead share the fruits that fall into your lap as their guide and friend.”
“Yes Greatness.” So the Emperor’s anger was not directed at him. He breathed a little easier. “Greatness, I know little about the delegation. I-”
“You know enough.” The Emperor put up a hand, emphasising the command for silence. “Your guest will be the Lord Feofin. Treat him with the respect you would treat me.” He stared at his notes. “Beans. Yes.”
The diamond-hard beady eyes focused on him. “Tell me, Cadet Magar, why you think you have been chosen for this role.”
He had been considering that. It was not an usual task for a cadet, but not wholly unusual either. The Imperial Cadets were trained for every conceivable eventuality that might occur in their duties, including diplomacy and espionage. He was an obvious choice for the role too. As a Prince of the Empire, his presence would be a compliment; his youth might help disarm them. And given that he would graduate at the next snow-solstice, it was time he started acting more as a prince. A shame he had not been given longer to prepare though - which in itself pointed to a different answer.
“Greatness, I believe the answer is that the original choice has fallen ill.”
There was a bark of laughter, quickly stifled.
“That is correct. Commendably clear sighted there, Cadet. Retain that clarity.” There was a wistful note in the Emperor’s voice. “That is all. Report to your superiors your change in status.”
“Aye Greatness. Thank you for the opportunity to serve.”
An interesting choice of words there. He slid out of his chair to kneel again, then got up and backed out of the room.
“Oh, and Cadet Magar?”
He turned at the door. “Greatness?”
“Regrettably, it would be unseemly if the Emperor’s son was seen to be spared group punishments.”
He had known that would be coming and therefore didn’t sigh at all.
“I understand, Greatness.”
This is an idea that I may or may not pursue. The main reason I'm posting this up here is to see if it grabs people, if it resonates. I'm not looking for big detailed critiques here: this is draft zero, its rough, I may not even pursue it. It would be wasteful for people to give plenty of their time to it in such circumstances. I'd feel guilty.
The questions I would be asking is
- Does this grab people?
- How high up on the cliche-o-meter does it ping?
- Is the balance of action to thought good?
- If there is any awful passive tense that grabs people's eyes going through, then please bring it to my attention.
The first question is the big one though but all feedback is welcome
“By the gods’ giving hands, I do declare you are the most horrendous honour guard I’ve ever seen!”
From his position at the left of the Imperial cadets’ formation, Magar had no idea how accurate the statement was. For all he knew, the parade was perfectly aligned, but it didn’t matter. The Drill Sergeants would still keep them out here all day in search of whatever lay beyond perfection. Personally he suspected the only thing waiting there was blisters and a bad back; only one of the legendary nine heroes of the Empire would have dared voice that thought.
“Eyes Right! Betrayer’s balls, you can do better than that, I didn’t hear anything rattling! Cadet Magar! Stop daydreaming or you’ll start screaming! You’re not the Emperor’s son here! You’re not even useful!”
He let the words wash over him and stood as straight as possible. This was his fifth and final year as a cadet; if he hadn’t heard it all before, that was only because the Drill Sergeants were very inventive. It would be someone else’s turn soon enough.
“Eyes…. Right! Right, Cadet Isak, right! If you give me a heart attack, you will hang for murder!”
Isak spluttered an apology and Magar suppressed a sigh. The poor lad had been so excited when he’d heard that they would be the honour guard for the reception of the ambassadors from the elven Kindred of the Pines. He was learning different now. You never wanted anything big to happen to you in the cadets, because it always meant pain.
“Breath and bones, it will not hurt you to stand still Cadet Harato! If you can’t stand still, a turn around the yard will cure you. Go! Now! Faster!” The Drill Sergeant watched him go then whipped around. “Anyone else feeling restless?”
A clearer invitation to silence had never been heard. The only sound was Harato’s feet slapping against the drill yard’s stone. Magar barely dared breathe. The stress of the situation was getting to the Sergeant and someone else would suffer for it.
“Very well then. Eyes… R-”
Someone broke wind, a loud and prolonged trumpet blast. The Drill Sergeant turned the same colour as a raddish.
“Everyone ten turns around the yard! Like a greased weasel!”
The drill yard of the Imperial Military Academy was a big area; ten turns was about three miles. There was no point sprinting that. He settled into the middle of the horde as it thundered around, hoping to stay out of sight. Normally he quite enjoyed running. Normally he didn’t do it after a day of parade. His muscles were already stiff and complaining and he’d barely even started. Ten turns. They’d barely have time to do anything before dinner - which probably meant they weren’t having any.
“Cadet Magar! Cadet Magar!”
He looked left to see the Drill Sergeant bellowing his name. Besides him was the Commandant. He ran to them, putting on a little burst of speed and half-expecting to be told go away again the moment he got there. The Drill Sergeant had form for that. He halted before them and saluted, finger tips brushing slick skin.
“At ease, Cadet Magar.” The Commandant had the air of a man with a speech prepared, but all he said was, “The Throne wishes to see you. Dismiss him, Sergeant Orday.”
“Sir! Cadet Magar, wait for it…” The Drill Sergeant draw out the pause until the Commandant had gone out of earshot. “You run as fast as you can in future Cadet, or you’ll run as far as you can. Understood?” It was delivered in a murmur inches away from his face. Then he suddenly shouted “Cadet Magar, dismissed! Report to the Throne immediately! Do not forget to wash, you smell like my wife’s cooking.”
So much for running the middle then. Magar sprinted off the square. If there was one person in the whole Empire Magar believed less in annoying than Drill Sergeant Orday, it was his father. The Emperor.
His hair was still wet when he was ushered into the Emperor’s presence. The air was fragrant with cedar oil and jasmine, the light softly glowing from the many lanterns hung up on the rafters. It was a small room and plainly furnished; his father liked to get away from the pomp of court when he could. He’d put aside his robes for a plain linen suit with minimal embroidery. Yet he was still wearing the crown and three chains of the Triple-Emperor of Avila; Magar has never seen him without them.
He was a small neat man whose prominent nose and beady eyes always put Magar in mind of a bird. If he’d not been the Emperor, people would think him a clerk. Magar sometimes wondered what he himself would be if his father was not the Emperor. Not now, not when his father’s eyes were diamond hard and his face pinched together. He knelt, head bowed in obeisance.
“Rise. Sit.”
Magar did so. Sometimes it was funny how the Emperor used much the same voice with his sons as his dogs. Sometimes.
“I trust the parade tomorrow will be exemplary.”
“It will, Greatness, as long as the chefs do not serve beans for breakfast. Or anything of that nature.” The Emperor’s expression went blank so he quickly explained. “When your message reached me, Drill Sergeant Orday had us doing turns of the yard after an incident of flatulence.”
“Ah.” The thin fingers picked up a pen and wrote a small note. There would be no beans for breakfast tomorrow.
He stayed silent, thankful that the Emperor did not think he was being insufficiently serious. This was no time to be a small boy making fun of his father. Something else was written and he cautiously craned his neck to try and see. He couldn’t and quickly sat back when the Emperor looked up.
“When the delegation from the Kindred of the Pines arrives, guides will be assigned to everyone of importance. You, Cadet Magar, will be one of them. You will have two duties. To your assigned guest, you must be the perfect host. You must be open, charming, and able to answer everything relating to their comfort. If your memory of the Palace’s lay-out is dim, refresh it this evening.”
“Every sunfall, once they are gone to the bed, you will go to the Second Under-Steward. You will report every movement, every nuance of conversation. Do not deliberately seek information for this purpose but instead share the fruits that fall into your lap as their guide and friend.”
“Yes Greatness.” So the Emperor’s anger was not directed at him. He breathed a little easier. “Greatness, I know little about the delegation. I-”
“You know enough.” The Emperor put up a hand, emphasising the command for silence. “Your guest will be the Lord Feofin. Treat him with the respect you would treat me.” He stared at his notes. “Beans. Yes.”
The diamond-hard beady eyes focused on him. “Tell me, Cadet Magar, why you think you have been chosen for this role.”
He had been considering that. It was not an usual task for a cadet, but not wholly unusual either. The Imperial Cadets were trained for every conceivable eventuality that might occur in their duties, including diplomacy and espionage. He was an obvious choice for the role too. As a Prince of the Empire, his presence would be a compliment; his youth might help disarm them. And given that he would graduate at the next snow-solstice, it was time he started acting more as a prince. A shame he had not been given longer to prepare though - which in itself pointed to a different answer.
“Greatness, I believe the answer is that the original choice has fallen ill.”
There was a bark of laughter, quickly stifled.
“That is correct. Commendably clear sighted there, Cadet. Retain that clarity.” There was a wistful note in the Emperor’s voice. “That is all. Report to your superiors your change in status.”
“Aye Greatness. Thank you for the opportunity to serve.”
An interesting choice of words there. He slid out of his chair to kneel again, then got up and backed out of the room.
“Oh, and Cadet Magar?”
He turned at the door. “Greatness?”
“Regrettably, it would be unseemly if the Emperor’s son was seen to be spared group punishments.”
He had known that would be coming and therefore didn’t sigh at all.
“I understand, Greatness.”
