Tuesday Tickle: The Emperor's Favorite (or, that's what I'm calling it at this moment)
In an effort to get myself back into writing (now that I’ve decided dayjob can bloody well wait on stuff), I’ve let myself start sketching out a new story. Being a pantser, my version of ‘sketching out’ means actually writing parts of the story.
So I have this low fantasy story (why am I obsessed with low fantasies?) that I’m just toying with, because it’s still in the easy, brand-new stage. (As opposed to the “There probably only a couple thousand words left in this one, but now I have to make all the bits meet and match and OMG it’s hard!” stage that most everything else is in). I know, it could be considered a bit lazy, but I prefer to think of it as psychologically constructive. At some point, I’ll put this to one side and have a go at the stuff that’s close to being finished, and then I’ll be able to come back to it. In the meantime, though, I hope it’ll keep the ‘author pilot-light’ burning. 🙂
So here’s the first couple of paragraphs, introducing one of my MC’s. Apologies for rather sketchy worldbuilding, since I’m still trying to figure out exactly what this country looks and feels like. (Really bizarre, since we’re only in this country for a couple of chapters in the book. But I do like a well sketched out world.)
Don’t know if he comes off as a bit of a jerk or not–I tried to catch a bit of the old brotherly rivalry, as well as lay the groundwork for something that I think will be happening much later in the story.
For his fourteenth birthday, the day he would officially take on at least some of a man’s responsibilities, Krystiye Onil received the traditional gift of money. His eyes had nearly fallen out of his head when he saw what his father was holding out to him–a whole silver cub. It didn’t by any stretch make him independently wealthy, but it was more money than he’d ever owned, a fortune even for the Ancel’s second son. Two entire days he debated over what he would spend it on, until his older brother Leighdin grinned and punched him on the shoulder.
“Go to town and waste it. That’s what it’s meant for, a last day of childhood. Then, come home and take over the running of the eastern reaches, so I don’t have to look after them any more.”
And so Krys had planned a trip into town.
Krys and his younger brother Ecotrad broke out of the trees and cantered toward the cliffs that edged the north side of the bay. Krys grinned and put his heels to the sides of his gray mare and raced past his brother, whose blood bay stallion was more showy than useful, and was having considerably more trouble with the rocks and uneven soil between them than Krys’s plainer but more sure-footed mare.
He leaped her over a rough section of turf, landing easily. Behind him, he heard Trad’s horse stumble, then catch its balance, and he grinned again.
Should have listened when our father said he wasn’t a good horse for the terrain. Krys had listened when it came time for him to have his first real horse instead of a pony. The mare was plain, but sure-footed with plenty of bone, and she never went lame. She was also, Krys thought, smarter than he was, which was useful on an estate at the far reaches of the kingdom. He could trust her to pick a safe way across rocky ground or through one of the local bogs, with their deceptive appearance of solidity.