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Noah Cochran started the topic Character Voice Analysis in the forum General Writing Discussions 4 years, 11 months ago

Alright y’all, here is a scene that I wrote from my three main character’s POV’s to improve their character voices. I would appreciate tips on how to improve their character voices, as well as overall thoughts and problems you had with the writing.

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Hugon, Creek:

Hugon’s boots thudded to the ground as he slid from his horse. The trickle of water had drawn him in this direction, and he now lay his weary eyes on the small creek. 

The creek flowed south, like everything else in his life did. 

The water shimmered with the few rays of light that broke through the canopy of trees high above. His face darkened. But that sun would soon leave to let the darkness back, as all other things of value did in this God-forsaken world. 

Hugon sank to his knees, and dipped his tired hands into the gleaming water. The cool touch of it on his palms sent a refreshing shot of energy through his limbs. He rolled the sleeves of his tunic up to his elbow, and started splashing water into his face. 

The sound of crackling leaves signaled the others approaching the creek from behind him. Jolle came up to his right and observed the creek, and him. Her normally cool calculating eyes now forlorn. He ignored her. 

He felt Rolant bend beside him and begin to wash his face. A pang of deep regret shot into him. No amount of washing would take away the events of the past few days. 

But then a new feeling filled him and his eyes began to burn. He turned his head towards Joelle. She was running her hands absently through the water, her gaze seeming to stare into the depths of the current. Probably contemplating how to rid herself of her current company. He hoped she would, he’d seen enough of her face for two lifetimes. 

He began to open his mouth to growl something at her, but the weight of Rolant’s firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. He forced his gaze to meet Rolant’s haggard eyes. 

Rolant shook his head, and gave a sad smile. “I know Hugon, I know. But we need her.” He ran a hand through his graying hair. “And it’s not like we can put the blame entirely on her anyway.”

Hugon grimaced. He didn’t want to think about it. He turned his gaze upward to the trees, his blond hair falling away from his ears and brushing his shoulders. The large leaves of the mighty oaks waved in the breeze like the swaying of a hundred dancers. Like Aria had used to do to the sound of a sweet melody.

He shoved his face into the creek and let the water mix with the tears trickling down his cheeks. 

Joelle, Creek:

Joelle trailed behind the others, Tumas’s large frame riding in front of her blocking the rest of the group from her view. Large trees rocked to and fro all around them in the breeze like the wagons of a merchant train. 

Hugon had called from up ahead that there was a creek nearby and that if they didn’t want to get murdered by other travelers for looking like delinquent scum then they had better follow him. Then he had laughed and said “Oh wait, we are delinquent scum”. 

Joelle’s gut twisted at the memory, and at the dark, cynical laugh that had floated back to her. She had not meant to cause harm to him or his friends. But it wasn’t her fault or her problem. She had only been doing her job, Hugon and his partners had put themselves in this situation. Then why was her gut knotting into a thousand tight threads. 

Tumas had stopped, and was now alighting from his horse. She pushed down the unwanted feelings brutally and tried to reassume the cool, elegant look that she so often carried. 

She slid down from her horse and patted the brown stallion on the neck. As she followed the men to the creek, the physical and mental weariness of the last few days washed over her in waves. Oh how she longed for the days when she had no regrets. An image of her laughing with her mother and father in their large town home flashed into her mind. She stumbled and nearly fell. 

Rolant, who was the only one still attending to his horse, glanced at her. She saw none of the malice she expected, only a weary sorrow. He did not speak to her, only observed her with his gray eyes. 

Avoiding his gaze, she pushed the black strands of hair out of her face and steadied herself. The men were now washing themselves at the creek, their murmuring voices mixing with the trickle of the creek. 

Hugon was bent to his knees near the center of the accessible section of the creek. The others, including Piers she noted, were giving him a wide berth. She would be following their example. 

She approached the creek at the furthest empty space between Hugon and the next man. She glanced towards him. He was running his hands through the water, his blond hair blocking most of his face from her view. But not enough to hide the pain in his eyes. 

She pulled her gaze away and stared into the creek. The sparkling water flowed over the pebbled creek bed like cloth through a woom. 

She ran her hands aimlessly through the water and tried to stop the war raging in her mind and heart. 

Her well trained senses alerted her of a steady gaze aimed in her direction. She looked out of the corners of her eyes at Hugon. He was staring at her with the gleam of hatred in his eyes. His mouth began to lift and she tensed for whatever he was about to burn her with this time.

Hugon shut his mouth and turned to his left to where Rolant had laid a hand on his arm. Rolant began to talk to him, but she could not hear what was spoken. Neither did she want to.

She began to rub the cool water across her arms, still watching Hugon and Rolant out of the corner of her eyes. Hugon was now gazing into the treetops with a look of remorse in his eyes. He abruptly shoved his face into the water and began to run his hand through his hair.

But not before she saw the gleam of a tear sliding down his cheek. The knot tightened. 

Tristan, Creek:

Tristan observed his warden from atop his mare. The man was studying the ground meticulously and running his rough fingers across the small indents in the soil. 

“They rode southwest.” the warden said, “That way.” he gestured with his hand towards the left. Tristan nodded. The group began to ride in the indicated direction, each looking closely into the trees surrounding them. They, and he as well, had learned their lesson about the stealth of their quarry. 

They came upon a small clearing where a section of a creek was visible. The ground around the area was well trodden, and horse dung spotted the ground a dozen paces away. 

“Must have stopped here for a drink,” Tristan said, “we may as well follow their example.”

“What if they poisoned the creek?” one of his men, Janor, asked. 

“You can’t poison a creek fool,” the warden said, “it flows downwards taking it’s contents with it.” Janor grumbled something about devil women and their esoteric ways. 

Tristan dismounted and bent to wash his face. The creek was clear with a glimmering onyx sheen produced by the sun’s golden rays illuminating the rich brown creek bed. His father had once worn a large onyx stone. He had allowed him to play with it as a child. He smiled at the memory. The smile quickly turned foreboding as his mind was pulled back to the present, and the things he now knew that he wished he didn’t. How he longed for the times when who and what he thought was honorable, was truly honorable. 

They remounted their steeds, and once again began to follow the trail. They had been hunting the thieves for days, like hounds on the trail of a stag. 

He couldn’t believe this was happening. All he wanted to do was erase the past few days of his life and forget all of their damning revelations. 

But he would get the book back. He would

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Thanks for reading, looking forward towards y’all’s advice!

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