Writing Exercise 1
Mar. 1st, 2006 07:39 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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yrae
Title~ Don't Get Killed
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ Still~ mine
Notes~ Writing Exercise 1: Character. I've ditched Journalism at uni and have moved on to Creative Writing. The idea of this assignment was to introduce a character without describing them, so~ challenging, but I like a challenge X3 I had three tries at this before I had something I was relatively happy with. I think this pretty much meets the criteria. Either way, email it off to everyone else in the class, then they critique it for the next lesson. Sure as hell don't get it marked in its current state X3
~ ~ ~
A hot, dry breeze whipped the rusty desert sand around King Mithé’s ankles as he rested against the door frame of his son’s bedroom, surveying the clutter. It was reminiscent of his own, only decidedly more warrior-centric. Mithé’s room had documents and maps scattered all over it; Nolryn’s was more a hurried mess of clothes and broken arrows, left from yesterday’s endeavour to find the various items he’d need for the mission.
The chest beside his bed had been almost emptied in the search, some of the clothes half-heartedly thrown back in its general direction, probably in frustration more than in any attempt to tidy up. Mithé could sympathise. If he was on the receiving end of his own orders, sent off to the hostile foreign kingdom for the next three months, a tidy room would be the last thing on his mind as well.
Everything Nolryn would be taking with him though was piled neatly by the door, packed tightly into his saddle bags and ready to take down to the horses this afternoon. His sword lay half-under the chair, its gleaming, nearly unmarked blade sheathed in the leather scabbard. His quiver sat on the chair, stocked with freshly fletched arrows, and his prized bow still hung in pride of place over the mantelpiece.
There were very few papers Mithé could see. A map of Kazin, with their planned route marked out along with known trouble spots; a list of things to pack for the journey, all of which had been crossed off; and the official documents he would be taking with him to the northern kingdom.
Mithé sighed and sat down on the bed, hands on his knees. It was more the room of a warrior than that of the crown prince. Even his crown had been sitting on his bedside table gathering dust since his twentieth birthday, nearly two years ago. It had been the only time he’d worn it in his life, and probably would have been returned to storage in some cupboard or another if he could have been bothered to move it.
The king picked up the golden hoop, running his fingers around the band to remove the rusty red dust that had been gathering there.
“I’m not taking it, Majesty.” Nolryn stood at the doorway, legs and arms crossed as he rested one shoulder against the frame.
“I know.” Mithé set the crown back on the side table and pushed himself to his feet.
“You never had to wear it. It’s uncomfortable and gaudy.” The prince pushed himself away from the doorframe, unhooking his red bandanna from the nail on the wall with a grin. “This is the only head gear I’ll need.”
“I had a similar one, just without the jewels.”
Nol slipped the bandanna over his head and around his neck, pulling his hair out of it before positioning it over his forehead to keep the hair out of his eyes. “The jewels are what make it uncomfortable and gaudy. They stick into your scalp and keep feeling as though they’re going to pop out.” He shook his head and slung his quiver over one shoulder. “I’m not taking it.”
“I wasn’t going to force you to.” He walked over to the mantelpiece and took Nolryn’s bow down, hefting it thoughtfully in his hand. “It would be nice though.”
The prince laughed shortly as he clipped his scabbard to his belt. “Majesty, you could not pay me to take it.” He accepted the bow and slung that over his shoulder with the quiver, then picked up the list of things to bring. “If the General hasn’t got it on this list, it’s not going anywhere. Don’t get any ideas.” He belatedly pointed an accusing finger at his father.
Mithé grinned. “Too late.”
Nol shook his head as he bent to pick up his saddle bags, then his eyes scanned the room briefly as he pulled his lips in a grimace. “Apologise to Rili for me?”
The king nodded, then rested one hand on his son’s shoulder. “Don’t get killed.”
“Hasn’t happened yet.” He lifted one of the saddle bags in a half-wave, hitched his quiver into a more comfortable position, then turned to leave.
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ Still~ mine
Notes~ Writing Exercise 1: Character. I've ditched Journalism at uni and have moved on to Creative Writing. The idea of this assignment was to introduce a character without describing them, so~ challenging, but I like a challenge X3 I had three tries at this before I had something I was relatively happy with. I think this pretty much meets the criteria. Either way, email it off to everyone else in the class, then they critique it for the next lesson. Sure as hell don't get it marked in its current state X3
A hot, dry breeze whipped the rusty desert sand around King Mithé’s ankles as he rested against the door frame of his son’s bedroom, surveying the clutter. It was reminiscent of his own, only decidedly more warrior-centric. Mithé’s room had documents and maps scattered all over it; Nolryn’s was more a hurried mess of clothes and broken arrows, left from yesterday’s endeavour to find the various items he’d need for the mission.
The chest beside his bed had been almost emptied in the search, some of the clothes half-heartedly thrown back in its general direction, probably in frustration more than in any attempt to tidy up. Mithé could sympathise. If he was on the receiving end of his own orders, sent off to the hostile foreign kingdom for the next three months, a tidy room would be the last thing on his mind as well.
Everything Nolryn would be taking with him though was piled neatly by the door, packed tightly into his saddle bags and ready to take down to the horses this afternoon. His sword lay half-under the chair, its gleaming, nearly unmarked blade sheathed in the leather scabbard. His quiver sat on the chair, stocked with freshly fletched arrows, and his prized bow still hung in pride of place over the mantelpiece.
There were very few papers Mithé could see. A map of Kazin, with their planned route marked out along with known trouble spots; a list of things to pack for the journey, all of which had been crossed off; and the official documents he would be taking with him to the northern kingdom.
Mithé sighed and sat down on the bed, hands on his knees. It was more the room of a warrior than that of the crown prince. Even his crown had been sitting on his bedside table gathering dust since his twentieth birthday, nearly two years ago. It had been the only time he’d worn it in his life, and probably would have been returned to storage in some cupboard or another if he could have been bothered to move it.
The king picked up the golden hoop, running his fingers around the band to remove the rusty red dust that had been gathering there.
“I’m not taking it, Majesty.” Nolryn stood at the doorway, legs and arms crossed as he rested one shoulder against the frame.
“I know.” Mithé set the crown back on the side table and pushed himself to his feet.
“You never had to wear it. It’s uncomfortable and gaudy.” The prince pushed himself away from the doorframe, unhooking his red bandanna from the nail on the wall with a grin. “This is the only head gear I’ll need.”
“I had a similar one, just without the jewels.”
Nol slipped the bandanna over his head and around his neck, pulling his hair out of it before positioning it over his forehead to keep the hair out of his eyes. “The jewels are what make it uncomfortable and gaudy. They stick into your scalp and keep feeling as though they’re going to pop out.” He shook his head and slung his quiver over one shoulder. “I’m not taking it.”
“I wasn’t going to force you to.” He walked over to the mantelpiece and took Nolryn’s bow down, hefting it thoughtfully in his hand. “It would be nice though.”
The prince laughed shortly as he clipped his scabbard to his belt. “Majesty, you could not pay me to take it.” He accepted the bow and slung that over his shoulder with the quiver, then picked up the list of things to bring. “If the General hasn’t got it on this list, it’s not going anywhere. Don’t get any ideas.” He belatedly pointed an accusing finger at his father.
Mithé grinned. “Too late.”
Nol shook his head as he bent to pick up his saddle bags, then his eyes scanned the room briefly as he pulled his lips in a grimace. “Apologise to Rili for me?”
The king nodded, then rested one hand on his son’s shoulder. “Don’t get killed.”
“Hasn’t happened yet.” He lifted one of the saddle bags in a half-wave, hitched his quiver into a more comfortable position, then turned to leave.