Competition: The Magical 1%

Finished
The Magical 1%

The Magical 1%

The majority of protagonists in leading epic fantasy and science fiction novels are usually part of an elite group - they are inherently special. In the context of Star Wars, this is primarily the Jedi and Sith (Force-users), but also extends to the more elite characters, such as Boba Fett or Thrawn, for example. The point is, most of the individuals in these stories are very powerful individuals and belong to the upper echelons of the fictional society - the "magical 1%". Those of you who listen to Brandon Sanderson's Writing Excuses podcast will be familiar with this term (featured in Season 10, Episode 6 - go listen if you haven't already).

Whilst this writing mechanism is fine when the point of the novel is to generate awe and wonder, we much consider everyone else who makes up the society in which these individuals act. What about the bartender who watched as the guy who offered Obi-Wan got mind-tricked into re-evaluating his life? What ever happened to the guy who didn't like Luke in the cantina once he woke up one arm lighter? These are everyman characters. They are just as interesting. They have their own stories, their own interests. What the reader may see as wonderful, these everyman characters may see as unnatural, something to be feared. On one hand you may have a character who sets out on magical romp through a fantastical world of wonder; on the other, you may see a fearsome individual manipulating unknown, unnatural magical powers. The reader's opinion is determined by the character they experience the world through. It is all a matter of perspective.

We would therefore like you to write a piece of fiction relating to your clan, house, sub-unit - even the wider Dark Jedi Brotherhood if you're feeling adventurous - from the perspective of one of these everyman characters. It could be a grunt infantryman, a cleaner, even a porter. Whoever they are, write a story from their perspective, viewing the covert machinations of the Sith, Grey Jedi and Mercenaries who comprise the "magical 1%" of your chosen unit.

In addition to the above, it may be worth including reference to the most recent fictional update: Chapter 1: A New Order. Whether that is a token nod or the basis of the story is up to you.

Minimum word limit is 750 words with no maximum. Entries will be judged in line with the Voice Fiction Rubric.

Competition Information
Organized by
Warlord Wuntila Zratis Entar Arconae, Grand Master Darth Nehalem
Running time
2016-03-28 until 2016-04-30 (about 1 month)
Target Unit
Entire DJB
Competition Type
Fiction
Awards
First Level Crescents and Clusters of Ice as per VOICE guidelines
Participants
21 subscribers, of which 9 have participated.
Results
Member
Adept Thane "Atra" Skotos
File submission
11708-AtraVentus-TheMagical1.pdf
Textual submission

Please find attached my submission for the competition.

#11708 - Atra "Xue Long" Ventus

Placement
1st place
Member
Warlord Andrelious J. Inahj
File submission
Magical_1__Andrelious.docx
Placement
2nd place
Member
Adept Braecen Kaeth
File submission
Magical1percent.Braecen.4520.docx
Placement
3rd place
Member
Battlelord Maenaki Delavi'in
File submission
Magical1.protected_(1).pdf
Placement
4th place
Member
Warden Aurora "Aura" Ta'var
File submission
Blade_Tavar_Magical_One_Percent.pdf
Textual submission

Enjoy.

Placement
5th place
Member
Corsair Larrik Dul'vak
File submission
AJanitorsRise.pdf
Placement
6th place
Member
Seer Lexiconus Qor
File submission
TheMagical1.pdf
Placement
7th place
Member
Warlord Mauro Wynter
File submission
Morning_Shift.pdf
Placement
8th place
Member
Knight Quo-Wing-Tzun
Textual submission

0630. Another day, another dollar, so the saying goes. Zackel from his bed. Bleary eyed, and in need of a caffeine drink he made his way over to carry out his morning ablutions. Sitting on the bed he dressed, black trousers, shirt and shoes, the cap that completed the ensemble lying on the side next to the water heater. His head throbbed like he was living inside a bass drum, the constant throb marking out the rhythm of the day.

Making his way over to the small kitchen he poured the hot water into the ration pack he had taken from the cupboard above. The freeze dried rations swelled with the hot liquid infused the cells of the food, reconstituting it into something replicating a meal. He knew from past experience that it would not be enjoyable, but it would fill his belly so he ate it. Filling a mug with hot water he took a sachet of caffie from the drawer, along with a couple of sucrose capsules. Sipping at the warm beverage he smiled, eyes closed. Now that hit the spot. If there was one thing that was prerequisite to his day it was a hot mug of caffie, he found that over the years he could not begin the day without it, and his colleagues he worked with would willingly testify to that.

Grabbing his pass he made his way out of his accommodation, the door locking behind him. Trudging away down the corridor he made his way, as he did every morning, he started his commute towards the Citadel. He noticed nobody as he walked across the open plazas, through the small park pathways, and nobody noticed him. He was another member of the great unwashed, the little people who made sure that all the jobs too menial for the upper echelons of society to sully their hands with, but without whom the whole system would collapse.

During his twenty three years of working for the system he had seen many of the greats as they passed him by. The Grand Masters, the Jedi, the Sith, the great leaders in battle, the diplomats, the security experts, the great and the mighty of the Brotherhood, but very rarely had they even glanced in his direction, never mind granting him the honour of a word or a handshake. He didn’t mind these days, although in his younger days he had. He accepted his lot in life as one of the unsung multitude, the proletariat carrying out the thankless tasks with not a thought given to reward or recognition.

That wasn’t to say that he didn’t care about the tasks he was given. No, he would do everything he did with a sense of pride that came from within himself. He liked to do things properly. There were many of his colleagues that could learn from him he thought as his feet began climbing the steps before the entrance to the Citadel, his body had made the commute that many times that he didn’t need to consciously think about the journey. They should use him as an example he was thinking, show the younger members of the team that their task, and by inference, they themselves, were important to the Brotherhood.

Showing his pass to the guard at the entrance he was waved through. The guard didn’t really need to see his pass, his pass was his face, a constant familiar within the massive building. The guard hadn’t even glanced at the small facsimile of his face as he passed. He knew it was Zackel, it was 0658, the same time that he went past every morning, you could set your timepiece by him. Steady old familiar Zackel in his black uniform, the cap arranged as per the regulations, his trousers and shirt pressed and clean. Moving to the elevator he waited for it to arrive on the ground floor stepping inside as the doors hissed open. Without having to look his finger found the button for the forty third floor, the change in pressure telling him that he was speeding his way aloft towards his work station. Less than a minute later he was padding across the carpeted landing past his secretary and into his office. Sitting himself behind the desk he booted up his workplace computer.

The door to his office swung inwards as his secretary entered carrying a steaming mug of caffie, and a pile of data pads, both of which she placed on the desk before him. The smell from the hot beverage wafted towards him, a heavenly smell borne on the breeze.

“That’s all the latest news stories, and the boss wants a piece on the Grand Master’s latest brainwave, you know, the one about the Jedi?” The secretary’s sing-song voice informed him, ”and the editor wants to look over the piece you’re writing on the latest First Order’s conquests and it’s economic impact to the Galaxy.”

Zackel nodded, “Thank you,” he said, “could you contact him and arrange for a meet at eleven?”

“Yes, Sir.” She replied, spinning on the spot and heading out to her own desk on the landing.

Picking up the top data pad he began reading, making notes on a separate pad that he could look over later as he constructed the piece. Placing the reports in front of him on the desk he raised the mug to his lips. Hmmm, delicious. Sometimes, he thought to himself, being a writer is where all the action is.

Placement
9th place