Young Writers Society

Marcus hefted another stone up to his Centurion, Brutus. Whilst he placed it on top of the others to await mortaring, Marcus surveyed the other eighty-one men in his century involved in the construction of the large coastal fort Arbeia. Designed to house around a thousand men, it was to be garrisoned by auxiliaries once completed. If completed, Marcus mused. The fort was already almost a week behind schedule, and the Picts were getting restless as the barrier that cut them off from any raiding and pillaging was steadily erected. There had been reports from the scouts that a large warband was concentrating somewhere to the north, but he wasn't too concerned. If the Picts were to attack, it would be further from the coast where the only thing between them and the rest of Britannia were a few auxiliary cohorts. They wouldn't try themselves against fully trained Roman legionaries in a strong defensive position, not after the disasterous rebellion of Queen Boadicea, he assured himself.
Marcus' thought were interrupted as an apple-sized lump of mortar bounced off his head. He looked up at his Centurion as he rubbed his head, feeling the lump that was already rising there. Brutus glared down at him disapprovingly.
"Why am I not surprised that you're away with the fairies, Optio? Get your lazy arse back to work, this bloody wall won't build itself!" Marcus grimaced.
"Sorry, sir. I was just considering what might happen if the Picts attacked here."
Brutus rubbed his chin, deep in thought, as his Optio lifted another stone. After passing it up, Marcus cuffed the sweat from his brow. Brutus dropped the boulder onto the rough dyke and turned to his second-in-command.
"Don't worry lad (Marcus glowered at the reference to his age), not even the Picts are mad enough to attack well-trained legionaries. If they were to assault anywhere, I'd put a denarius on it landing further inland. The Twentieth haven't finished their stretch of wall either, so there's a pretty obvious hole." He jumped down from the scaffolding and stretched his back. Marcus grinned at how closely his Centurion's thoughts mirrored his own. Brutus squinted at the sun, then turned and bellowed to the soldiers, "Right men, the Optio's got the right idea. Ten minute water break, then back to work!"
There was a collective groan of relief as the legionaries downed tools and found some shade. After using his cloak to wipe the worst of the perspiration on his forehead, Brutus sighed. "Bloody British weather. Drives snow into your face for one month, then decides to burn it off the next. Give me my grandfather's farm on the Illyrian coast any day. A cool breeze in the afternoon, and warm nights. Not like this shit-hole." The Centurion had a glazed, nostalgic look in his eyes as he talked of his past. Marcus took advantage of this rare insight through the steely exterior of his normally distant Centurion to pry a little into his personal life.
"Fancy a bit of the quiet life then, sir?" He asked softly.
Brutus pondered this for a second, then quipped, "Nah, not really. I'd be bored shitless after a week. At least in the army I get a good fight every now and again." He gestured across the expanse of construction in the half-completed fort. "Although this isn't much better to be honest. It's not been the same since The Emperor decided to build this wall. Bloody Picts shit themselves at the sight of it and scarper before we can stick the sword into them!"
His rant was interrupted by a commotion at the north gate, however. The two officers looked across to see one of the men from the century on watch shouting at someone on the other side of the wall.
"I don't give a fuck if you've ridden away from Hades himself! I'm not opening the gate because there's a huge fucking hole in the wall right there!" He gestured to his left, then shook his head. A few seconds later, a scout appeared through said hole and, spotting the Centurion's crested helmet sitting next to him, rode over, his face glowing bright red.
"Dozy twat", Marcus chuckled. Brutus tried to glare at him, but his grin ruined the effect he was trying to create. The scout pulled up in front of the pair, his blushing even deeper as he caught the end of their laughter. His horse danced around in a circle.
"Sir! Beg to report a large band of Picts heading this way!" Brutus and Marcus sobered up immediately. The scout pointed to the north-west, "Around a thousand light troops, with a few chariots. Maybe three miles away, but that was a quarter of an hour ago."
Brutus began bellowing orders before the scout had even finished his report. The legionaries, who normally would complain bitterly about their break being cut short, grabbed weapons and armour with enthusiasm, glad for the break in the monotony of construction projects. Brutus turned to his Optio as the trumpets blared to form up for battle, excitement gleaming in his eyes.
"Well then lad, looks like the Picts have found some balls for once! Better show them what happens when your balls get too big, eh?"
Marcus was too busy strapping on his breastplate to answer. Why were they attacking here of all places?

Hi!

Just letting you know that I upped the rating on this to an 18+ as you had a lot of strong swearing here. It's always best to rate too high than too low. ^_^

Review-wise, I did feel that the amount of swearing was a bit odd. Yes, they're soldiers, they're going to swear like they're soldiers, but it came across as a bit funny because they're complaining about Britain and the Picts and all using extremely British profanity. Is that ironic? I'm never sure. Anyway. Too much swearing distracts me, anyway, because every time I land on a swear in casual conversation like this, I kind of do an inward wince away and it jerks me out of the story. Obviously, that is just my personal preference, but it's something to consider.

Here's a grammar mistake:

"Fancy a bit of the quiet life then, sir?" He asked softly.

One ends dialogue with a comma (unless you have a punctuation mark like here) and begins the tag with a small letter.


Your prose ran somewhat clunkily in places, like here:

The Centurion had a glazed, nostalgic look in his eyes as he talked of his past. Marcus took advantage of this rare insight through the steely exterior of his normally distant Centurion to pry a little into his personal life.

It's so obvious. There's no subtlety, there's no showing. You give us everything, so there's no room for us, as readers, to make up our own minds about the characters. Here's a good article I recently found about showing vs telling, and I found it helpful.


K, now while I've sounded really negative, I do think you've got a good idea here. ^_^ I love stuff on the Celts and Romans (lots of historical fiction tends to degenerate into weirdness and graphic grossness, so I don't read as much as I'd like), and I don't think I've ever seen a Roman story on YWS before. I did think it clever how you managed to give some idea of the date when this is set by mentioning Boadicea's uprising. However, I'm sure I've read that Boadicea is more of a Victorian spelling, and Tacitus called her Boudicca or Boudica. I'm not sure--you may want to look that up, but if it is true, then it's more likely that Marcus would refer to her as Boudicca.

Keep writing, and PM or Wall me if you have any questions!

-twit

Marcus hefted another stone up to his Centurion, Brutus. Whilst he placed it on top of the others to await mortaring, Marcus surveyed the other eighty-one men in his century involved in the construction of the large coastal fort, Arbeia. Designed to house around a thousand men, it was to be garrisoned by auxiliaries once completed. If completed, Marcus mused. The fort was already almost a week behind schedule, and the Picts were getting restless as the barrier that cut them off from any raiding and pillaging was steadily erected. There had been reports from the scouts that a large warband was concentrating somewhere to the north, but they wasn't too concerned. If the Picts were to attack, it would be further from the coast where the only thing between them and the rest of Britannia were a few auxiliary cohorts. They wouldn't try themselves against fully trained Roman legionaries in a strong defensive position, not after the disastrous rebellion of Queen Boadicea, he assured himself.

Marcus' thoughts were interrupted as an apple-sized lump of mortar bounced off his head. He looked up at his Centurion as he rubbed his head, feeling the lump that was already rising (no there). Brutus glared down at him disapprovingly.

"Why am I not surprised that you're away with the fairies, Optio? Get your lazy arse back to work, this bloody wall won't build itself!" Marcus grimaced.

"Sorry, sir. I was just considering what might happen if the Picts attacked here."

Brutus rubbed his chin, deep in thought, as his Optio lifted another stone. After passing it up, Marcus cuffed the sweat from his brow. Brutus dropped the boulder onto the rough dyke and turned to his second-in-command.

"Don't worry lad" Marcus listened with a grimace at the age reference, "not even the Picts are mad enough to attack well-trained legionaries. If they were to assault anywhere, I'd put a denarius on it landing further inland. The Twentieth haven't finished their stretch of wall either, so there's a pretty obvious hole." He jumped down from the scaffolding and stretched his back. Marcus grinned at how closely his Centurion's thoughts mirrored his own. Brutus squinted at the sun, then turned and bellowed to the soldiers, "Right men, the Optio's got the right idea. Ten minute water break, then back to work!"

There was a collective groan of relief as the legionaries downed tools and found some shade. After using his cloak to wipe the worst of the perspiration on his forehead, Brutus sighed. "Bloody British weather. Drives snow into your face for one month, then decides to burn it off the next. Give me my grandfather's farm on the Illyrian coast any day. A cool breeze in the afternoon, and warm nights. Not like this shit-hole." The Centurion had a glazed, nostalgic look in his eyes as he talked of his past. Marcus took advantage of this rare insight through the steely exterior of his normally distant Centurion to pry a little into his personal life.

"Fancy a bit of the quiet life then, sir?" He asked softly.

Brutus pondered this for a second, then quipped, "Nah, not really. I'd be bored shitless after a week. At least in the army I get a good fight every now and again." He gestured across the expanse of construction in the half-completed fort. "Although this isn't much better to be honest. It's not been the same since The Emperor decided to build this wall. Bloody Picts shit themselves at the sight of it and scarper before we can stick the sword into them!"

His rant was interrupted by a commotion at the north gate, however. The two officers looked across to see one of the men from the century on watch shouting at someone on the other side of the wall.

"I don't give a fuck if you've ridden away from Hades himself! I'm not opening the gate because there's a huge fucking hole in the wall right there!" He gestured to his left, then shook his head. A few seconds later, a scout appeared through said hole and, spotting the Centurion's crested helmet sitting next to him, rode over, his face glowing bright red.

"Dozy twat", Marcus chuckled. Brutus tried to glare at him, but his grin ruined the effect he was trying to create. The scout pulled up in front of the pair, his blushing even deeper as he caught the end of their laughter. His horse danced around in a circle.

"Sir! Beg to report a large band of Picts heading this way!" Brutus and Marcus sobered up immediately. The scout pointed to the north-west, "Around a thousand light troops, with a few chariots. Maybe three miles away, but that was a quarter of an hour ago."

Brutus began bellowing orders before the scout had even finished his report. The legionaries, who normally would complain bitterly about their break being cut short, grabbed weapons and armor with enthusiasm, glad for the break in the monotony of construction projects. Brutus turned to his Optio as the trumpets blared to form up for battle, excitement gleaming in his eyes.

"Well then lad, looks like the Picts have found some balls for once! Better show them what happens when your balls get too big, eh?"

Marcus was too busy strapping on his breastplate to answer. Why were they attacking here, of all places?