Module 2 Writing Exercise From Centre of Excellence's Fantasy Writing Diploma
As I work my way through a fantasy writing program through Centre of Excellence - an accredited online learning institution - I plan on sharing some of the blurbs and snippets I write for the writing exercises.
Module 2 looks at tropes of fantasy writing. One of the writing exercises for this module is to first use as many cliches as you can think of to describe a member of a fantasy race. Then, flip the cliches and create the same, but entirely different, character.
For this, I chose elves.
Part 1: Cliches
Elandril, the elven prince of the Withering Woods, wore his long brown hair in a braid trialing down his slender back, a beautifully carved bow and a leather quiver full of arrows sitting next to his locks. Atop his head rest a crown of leaved branches, the wood nearly the same shade as his hair. His deep blue eyes, gently sloping down above his high cheekbones, peered over his wooded kingdom with pride. A faint smile tugged at his smooth lips, as pink as the cherry blossoms blooming in the trees below.
He folded his hands in front of him, fingers brushing the deep green silk of his shirt, hem tucked into his brown cotton pants that had an emerald-hilted dagger sheathed to his brown leather belt.
He held his chin high, cleanly shaven and as pale as snow.
“My lord,” a voice came from behind.
Elandril turned his head, looking over his shoulder to see one of his guards, Threll, standing at the entrance to his balcony, cheeks pink and eyes wide. Blonde tendrils of hair fell over his pointed ears, having fallen out of his once neatly done half-up braid.
At his guard’s appearance, Elandril turned fully, worry pulling at his perfectly arched brows. “What is it?” he asked, concern bubbling in his chest.
“There is danger at the edge of the Wood,” Threll said quickly. “Our scouts detected a dark presence.”
A chill ran down Elandril’s back, but he maintained his composure. “Has my father returned from his hunting party?”
“No, My Lord.” Threll wrung his hands in front of him.
“Very well.” Elandril was in charge, then. And he would do whatever it took to keep his kingdom safe. “Gather your detail and go to the border. Stay inside our lands and remain out of sight whenever possible. I wish to first learn more of the threat before leaving the Wood.”
“Yes, My Lord.” Threll bowed his head.
“Travel by foot. Horses may be faster, but they are not quiet, and discretion will be our shield for the time being.”
Threll nodded once.
“Go. And be safe.”
Part 2: Flipped Cliches
Elandril, the elven prince from the Withering Woods, had his short brown hair slicked back with oil, a crown of thorned twigs sitting askew on top. A battered and splintering bow sat at his feet, an empty plastic quiver next to it. His dull grey eyes, gently sloping down above his sagging cheeks, looked lazily over his wooded kingdom. A faint frown tugged at his cracked lips, as pale as his skin.
He scratched at his stomach, long nails brushing the bright yellow cotton of his shirt, the hem falling loosely over his brown cotton pants that had an empty dagger sheath wedged into the pocket.
With slumped shoulders, he watched below.
“My lord,” a voice came from behind.
Elandril turned his head, looking over his shoulder to see one of his guards, Threll, standing at the entrance to his balcony, cheeks pink and eyes wide. Blonde tendrils of hair fell over his forehead, clinging to the skin with sweat.
At his guard’s appearance, Elandril sighed and turned fully. “What is it?” he asked, sounding bored and entirely uninterested.
“There’s danger outside the kingdom,” Threll said quickly. “Our scouts detected a dark presence.”
“And?”
Threll paused, then said, “And we are looking to you for orders.”
An exasperated sigh left the prince’s mouth. “Has my father returned from his hunting party?”
“No.” Threll wrung his hands in front of him.
“Very well.” Elandril was in charge, then. Pity. He was rather looking forward to having the afternoon off to catch up on sleep. “Go find out what’s happening, I guess. Bring whoever you want. Ask the thing what they’re doing. Fight them off if you have to, or invite them for food if they seem nice. Use your best judgement, just be quick about it.”
“Yes, My Lord.” Threll bowed his head.
“Take the hoses. They’re faster.”
Threll nodded once.
“Go. And pray my father is back when you’re done so I don’t have to deal with this any longer.”
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