anthorn
Well-Known Member
This is a bit from my W.I,P. I am currently rewriting a huge chunk of my novel and defining characters better. I am wondering how it comes across.
I am aware of punctuation.
With Nikita I am portraying her as someone without much confidence forcing that confidence. I hope it comes across that way. I will post another section after this, clearly labled part 2.
He had only just sat down when the door opened behind him and sure it was the steward coming back to scold him he stood to attention. It was not the steward but a woman dressed in a loincloth and shawl covering her breasts. He blinked, his throat becoming dry. “I saw you earlier,” the woman said, speaking with an almost melodic voice, her skin glistening from exertion. “Who are you?”
Anthorn swallowed hard, ran his tongue around his mouth desperate for moisture. His voice when he spoke was a croak. “My name is Anthorn and I am a Guardian from Caraksand.” It was just him and this woman in the room and his thoughts raced with possibilities.
“A Guardian?” her eyes shone with mock wonder. “Is there a problem?” She began to stretch using the desk as an anchor, bending one leg and extending the other to stretch her calf, holding the position before changing over.
“No,” he said, trying to keep his eyes on her face and not the breasts. He had known that the Imaran people thought little of clothes and were comfortable to walk naked during the summers but this was ridiculous. Was this girl not aware of the danger he could pose? How far could he get before the steward or one of the maids came to her aid? “I’m here to escort Milanna Sarakus to Caraksand.”
She looked at him. “Milanna is not here,” she said, raising her arm above her head and stretching the back of her arm. “Sorry.”
Was this some kind of joke? Anthorn bit down the urge to ask this but couldn’t help think he was being made a fool of. He had travelled months to be here sometimes going without rest, only to find the woman he was supposed to meet was not here. This had to be a joke. He turned away from the woman as she continued stretching her legs and arms, revealing places only a lover should see. “At least put me up in a room for the night for my wasted journey!”
The woman’s laughter was not unkind. “Alright, I want you rested anyways as you’ll be taking me in my mothers’ place.”
“You?” he asked, incredulous and for the first time saw her clearly. She was an inch taller than he was, with charcoal coloured hair framing an oval face and a nose that was perhaps considered noble. “No offense intended but…”
She folded her arms, her brow furrowed. “Be careful with what you say next Anthorn,” she said imperiously. “I know what follows a man who says no offence but and it is usually offensive.”
He raised his hands in defence, smiled what he hoped was a disarming smile. “I don’t even know your name,” he said. “That’s all I was going to say.”
“Oh, well,” she unfolded her arms and smiled too. “My name is Nikita Sarakus and I am trained as a healer and in the way of merchants.”
With that said she turned and left the room.
Washed and shaved Anthorn moved about his room for the night, a loincloth wrapped around his waist for decency sake. This changes everything, he thought. What am I supposed to do now? The Commander had wanted him to seduce the mother not the daughter, yet here he was preparing to leave with Nikita. What would happen when he returned home with her? Hmm, he will have still expected me to seduce her though. You must do this Anthorn and if you succeed, you shall go down in history as a hero. The thought sent a warm thrill through his bones as to be hero was the one thing he wanted more than anything. To be a hero was to be a Guardian. To be a Guardian was to be a beacon for justice and decency. It was up to him to make sure they were again. Drunk on these thoughts Anthorn curled into bed and slept like a baby.
You did it!
Throwing herself onto the bed Nikita let out a gasping breath. Her heart pounded in its cage, her chest rising and falling as though she had run another mile. She couldn’t believe it, in all her wild imaginings she’d never thought she would do it, never thought she’d expose herself so. I did this for you Sarana. She had never forgotten that promise, never would, but saying it and actually doing it were two distinctly different things.
Could she continue with it? Her mother expected her to at least try and so had decided she would take her place on this journey. A whole year alone with a Guardian! Now that was another matter entirely and despite how far she had come, Nikita wondered if she could do it. I must do it; my sister and mother depend on me. I will do it! Rolling onto her belly she pulled the book out from under the pillows. She was up to chapter thirty-seven and near the end of the leather tome.
‘Like all vermin we had no choice but to exterminate them. We could not let them gain a foothold here and though many called us murderers, I do not regret killing every last one of their progeny. And to rumours of not all End-Lords being dead I say more fool you.’ She closed it again and digested the words. I do not regret killing every last one. How could someone do that? How could someone glorify the butchering of children? Nikita shuddered despite the heat from the fire, felt her cheeks becoming wet with tears. Why? Why am I crying? This happened over a thousand years ago so why should I care? Nikita sat up, closed the book and stared at the flames dancing across logs. A whole year alone with a man.
I am aware of punctuation.
With Nikita I am portraying her as someone without much confidence forcing that confidence. I hope it comes across that way. I will post another section after this, clearly labled part 2.
He had only just sat down when the door opened behind him and sure it was the steward coming back to scold him he stood to attention. It was not the steward but a woman dressed in a loincloth and shawl covering her breasts. He blinked, his throat becoming dry. “I saw you earlier,” the woman said, speaking with an almost melodic voice, her skin glistening from exertion. “Who are you?”
Anthorn swallowed hard, ran his tongue around his mouth desperate for moisture. His voice when he spoke was a croak. “My name is Anthorn and I am a Guardian from Caraksand.” It was just him and this woman in the room and his thoughts raced with possibilities.
“A Guardian?” her eyes shone with mock wonder. “Is there a problem?” She began to stretch using the desk as an anchor, bending one leg and extending the other to stretch her calf, holding the position before changing over.
“No,” he said, trying to keep his eyes on her face and not the breasts. He had known that the Imaran people thought little of clothes and were comfortable to walk naked during the summers but this was ridiculous. Was this girl not aware of the danger he could pose? How far could he get before the steward or one of the maids came to her aid? “I’m here to escort Milanna Sarakus to Caraksand.”
She looked at him. “Milanna is not here,” she said, raising her arm above her head and stretching the back of her arm. “Sorry.”
Was this some kind of joke? Anthorn bit down the urge to ask this but couldn’t help think he was being made a fool of. He had travelled months to be here sometimes going without rest, only to find the woman he was supposed to meet was not here. This had to be a joke. He turned away from the woman as she continued stretching her legs and arms, revealing places only a lover should see. “At least put me up in a room for the night for my wasted journey!”
The woman’s laughter was not unkind. “Alright, I want you rested anyways as you’ll be taking me in my mothers’ place.”
“You?” he asked, incredulous and for the first time saw her clearly. She was an inch taller than he was, with charcoal coloured hair framing an oval face and a nose that was perhaps considered noble. “No offense intended but…”
She folded her arms, her brow furrowed. “Be careful with what you say next Anthorn,” she said imperiously. “I know what follows a man who says no offence but and it is usually offensive.”
He raised his hands in defence, smiled what he hoped was a disarming smile. “I don’t even know your name,” he said. “That’s all I was going to say.”
“Oh, well,” she unfolded her arms and smiled too. “My name is Nikita Sarakus and I am trained as a healer and in the way of merchants.”
With that said she turned and left the room.
#
#
Throwing herself onto the bed Nikita let out a gasping breath. Her heart pounded in its cage, her chest rising and falling as though she had run another mile. She couldn’t believe it, in all her wild imaginings she’d never thought she would do it, never thought she’d expose herself so. I did this for you Sarana. She had never forgotten that promise, never would, but saying it and actually doing it were two distinctly different things.
Could she continue with it? Her mother expected her to at least try and so had decided she would take her place on this journey. A whole year alone with a Guardian! Now that was another matter entirely and despite how far she had come, Nikita wondered if she could do it. I must do it; my sister and mother depend on me. I will do it! Rolling onto her belly she pulled the book out from under the pillows. She was up to chapter thirty-seven and near the end of the leather tome.
‘Like all vermin we had no choice but to exterminate them. We could not let them gain a foothold here and though many called us murderers, I do not regret killing every last one of their progeny. And to rumours of not all End-Lords being dead I say more fool you.’ She closed it again and digested the words. I do not regret killing every last one. How could someone do that? How could someone glorify the butchering of children? Nikita shuddered despite the heat from the fire, felt her cheeks becoming wet with tears. Why? Why am I crying? This happened over a thousand years ago so why should I care? Nikita sat up, closed the book and stared at the flames dancing across logs. A whole year alone with a man.
