Michael Morris
First Post
Scene Illustration Request
This is a page from a book I'm working on. I figured it might be fun for some of you artists looking for ideas to sketch on to use for inspiration.
Note: Think classical greek period, not generic medieval, when considering costume details beyond what is outlined in the paragraphs above.
Have fun.
This is a page from a book I'm working on. I figured it might be fun for some of you artists looking for ideas to sketch on to use for inspiration.
It had been a long day, and the night promised no relief. Anatole sighed heavily, wiped a tear from her eye and watched the growing shadows spread over the harbor below. Her soft green eyes were swollen ever so slightly for lack of sleep. Tonight would be the third night without any rest. She was coming to the end of her endurance. She needed rest. But not now. Not while she was still needed. Not while there was yet time.
She glanced back into the chamber behind her where her father lay dying. His breathing was slow, labored – fading. For a week now he had been like this, but only in the last couple of days had his condition worsened. Time was growing short. She bit her lip slightly and tried not to think about it. She looked back out onto the harbor as the last rays of sunlight behind her played with the whitecapped waves far below. On an island nearly a mile off she could barely make out the figures of night watchmen lighting a signal fire to warn ships of the shoals around the island. Stones stood scattered about them. Her father had ordered the construction of a lighthouse upon the site, but the structure had barely begun.
A cold bitter wind rushed from behind her carrying three crying gulls out to sea. She grasped her shawl tightly about her arms for warmth. Her black hair matched the black standard clapping above her in time to the moaning of the reeds at the base of the castle wall below. Eight hundred feet down the chalk cliff the city of Dalze was slowing down for the night. The sounds of shopkeeps closing shutters and children playing in the last failing rays of day echoed up to Anatole. The last straggling fishing ships were coming home, and the gulls circled about looking for the chance to steal what they could of the catch.
She ran her hand along the worn granite parapet polished by generations of her family leaning against these stones and watching these sights even as she did now. “Life will go on,” she whispered to herself. “Somehow it always does.” She glanced back into the chamber behind her and closed her eyes in prayer, “Matacha, comest thou tonight for my father, my king? Please, I beg of thee – If thou’st must take him then do so and not make him to suffer so.” She clapsed her hands together and stood still in thought. The wind became calm as if to answer her.
Inside the chamber her brothers sat to either side of their father, watching her. Weary as well, the two of them had at least gotten some sleep while Anatole had none. One looked to the other, “I don’t know what is more painful Otal,” he said, “watching father die, or Anatole suffer so.”
Otal nodded, “Perhaps you should see to her Alblasker.”
Albasker replied, “Not yet. She prays, and I dare not disturb her.” So they watched her as the wind billowed her ebon gown even as the sky approached its shade beyond her and the first stars of night began to be revealed in the growing shadow from the east.
After awhile, when she had not moved noticably, Alblasker got up from his seat and stepped out onto the balcony. He shivered and pulled his tunic tighter about him – winter had not quite given up for the year though the snows had already melted away. He tried to look into her eyes, but they were closed. He moved his ear close to her face. Her breathing seemed too steady for prayer. “Sister?”
There was no answer – she was asleep. He smiled slightly to himself and shook his head. She had to be truly tired to fall asleep on her feet. Quietly he bent over to brace her and begin to pick her up. Though a grown woman of eighteen summers, she was scarcely larger than an adolescent child and a full foot shorter than he. But as he shifted her weight away from the parapet she awoke with a start and gasped.
Note: Think classical greek period, not generic medieval, when considering costume details beyond what is outlined in the paragraphs above.
Have fun.
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