This is just a short fantasy story I wrote. It’s actually half the prologue to a longer book I’m currently writing. I just want to know if I screwed up already. So just give me nice, honest criticism or tell me if you liked it. Please note that this is my first time, so be honest but don't insult me.
Darkness almost completely covered the palace hall the night of the assassination. The white grin in the night sky did not pour much light through the crystal ceiling.
The palace was a grown building. Trees acted as natural pillars; layers of thick vines acted as walls; and flattened grass was a carpet. Numerous doors made of split logs, still covered in bark on the front but flat on the other side, were the only things that the elves actually built. The dwarves were responsible for the ceiling.
A tall, wrinkled elf with emerald green eyes and long white hair (of which covered a pair of pointed ears) was limping through the hall that night. He held a twisted teak cane in one hand and a glowing white orb in the other for a light source. His shirt and pants were blue silk pajamas lined with golden lace. But even though his clothing was the finest in all of Fejamune Forest, his feet were still bare. The natural carpet was softer on old feet than shoes were.
He sighed as his search throughout the palace reached half an hour. It always took King Vercen a while to find his own bedroom. Even a five-hundred year old elf that has lived in the palace since he was sixteen has trouble navigating the place.
The king stopped in his tracks when he heard a barely audible sound in the distance. It sounded like glass shattering followed by a sword being drawn from its sheath. The tall elf began following the noise with a quickened pace.
He soon arrived at the door of which was recognizable as the entrance to his bedroom. It was also where the sounds came from.
The log acting as a door was taller than the others. It bared no doorknob, as the rest of did, but instead had the mould of a hemisphere, about the size of your palm, in the very center. Vercen carefully placed the white orb in the door. It fit perfectly. The magic left the inside of the glass ball in the form of a glowing liquid. It traveled through the surface of the door, making a veinlike pattern. After traveling through the door, the radiant liquid returned to the glass ball.
He pushed the log and it opened smoothly on its hinges of thin vines looped through holes that bordered the door’s right side. Behind it was an enormous room infested with furniture mostly obtained by previous kings: a canopy bed (which did not even come close to the ceiling) made of polished oak with shining gold sheets and half a dozen pillows, an elm wardrobe with carvings of wars on it and filled with the finest clothes known to anyone, a shelf crammed with scrolls made of ink and clothe (elves would not dream of bark scroll. The furniture was enough for them), a matching chair and rectangular desk made of a single slice of redwood and on it a phoenix feather quill, a pot of ink, and various scrolls and maps, and so much more that if described would take up a book.
The king knew immediatly that something was stolen: a small chunk of shattered glass was lying on the green floor. A rousing suspicion overtook him. He walked a few steps into the room and held the orb out towards a small, round table of which usually had a glass display case holding the greatest treasure to elves: the sword given to them by a guardian...
His eyes widened in terror as the light revealed that the case was shattered and the sword missing.
Whoever did this, he thought to himself. Could not have escaped. This door is as hard to enter without a key as it is to exit.
Vercen foolishly but bravely went further into the room, scanning every corner with his orb. “Where are you?!” the ancient elf roared. “Show yourself!”
A low, wicked laugh echoed throughout the room in response. The sound seemed as if it were coming from everywhere.
The laugh continued for a moment, then ceased. There was a moment’s interval before a low, evil voice replaced it. “Are you afraid?” it asked. Before the king could say ‘no’, it continued. “Because you should be; you wont live through this night if you continue."
His response was an inflamed roar. “I’ll die before letting a criminal take my blade!”
The evil laugh resumed.
By now, Vercen was in front of his canopy bed at the very end of his bedroom. This elusive thief was nowhere to be seen! Every corner had been scanned with no findings. But there was still one unlikely place that remained unsearched…
The elf held his light source up high, pointing it towards the very top of his tall bed. His emerald eyes widened in horror. Sitting at the top of a bedpost like a stone gargoyle was some sort of reptile-man. Its skin was purple scales and its nails were long black claws, five of which were digging into the wood. His head was the terrifying form of a dragon’s (only smaller) and his clothes consisted of a black vest and ripped black shorts. A long, thick tail with spines running down the middle was curled around the bedpost for balance. In his hand was the sheathed blade with intricate curling patterns of gold and silver. The king recognized it immediately as a dragan holding the elve's sword.
The beast gave a cruel yet mocking grin to the king, revealing rows of huge, razor sharp teeth. “I warned you,” it said before jumping off of the bed with lightning fast agility. The old elf was rooted to the ground by terror as the dragan fell through the air in the shape of a rapidly spinning cross. Just before landing, he put five claws deep into the wrinkled neck.
The reptile landed without trouble on the flat grass with his victim in front of him, painting the floors red. The assassin stepped over the dead elf and exited the room, sword in hand. While he did so, he whistled a joyful tune, making the entire situation ironic.
Darkness almost completely covered the palace hall the night of the assassination. The white grin in the night sky did not pour much light through the crystal ceiling.
The palace was a grown building. Trees acted as natural pillars; layers of thick vines acted as walls; and flattened grass was a carpet. Numerous doors made of split logs, still covered in bark on the front but flat on the other side, were the only things that the elves actually built. The dwarves were responsible for the ceiling.
A tall, wrinkled elf with emerald green eyes and long white hair (of which covered a pair of pointed ears) was limping through the hall that night. He held a twisted teak cane in one hand and a glowing white orb in the other for a light source. His shirt and pants were blue silk pajamas lined with golden lace. But even though his clothing was the finest in all of Fejamune Forest, his feet were still bare. The natural carpet was softer on old feet than shoes were.
He sighed as his search throughout the palace reached half an hour. It always took King Vercen a while to find his own bedroom. Even a five-hundred year old elf that has lived in the palace since he was sixteen has trouble navigating the place.
The king stopped in his tracks when he heard a barely audible sound in the distance. It sounded like glass shattering followed by a sword being drawn from its sheath. The tall elf began following the noise with a quickened pace.
He soon arrived at the door of which was recognizable as the entrance to his bedroom. It was also where the sounds came from.
The log acting as a door was taller than the others. It bared no doorknob, as the rest of did, but instead had the mould of a hemisphere, about the size of your palm, in the very center. Vercen carefully placed the white orb in the door. It fit perfectly. The magic left the inside of the glass ball in the form of a glowing liquid. It traveled through the surface of the door, making a veinlike pattern. After traveling through the door, the radiant liquid returned to the glass ball.
He pushed the log and it opened smoothly on its hinges of thin vines looped through holes that bordered the door’s right side. Behind it was an enormous room infested with furniture mostly obtained by previous kings: a canopy bed (which did not even come close to the ceiling) made of polished oak with shining gold sheets and half a dozen pillows, an elm wardrobe with carvings of wars on it and filled with the finest clothes known to anyone, a shelf crammed with scrolls made of ink and clothe (elves would not dream of bark scroll. The furniture was enough for them), a matching chair and rectangular desk made of a single slice of redwood and on it a phoenix feather quill, a pot of ink, and various scrolls and maps, and so much more that if described would take up a book.
The king knew immediatly that something was stolen: a small chunk of shattered glass was lying on the green floor. A rousing suspicion overtook him. He walked a few steps into the room and held the orb out towards a small, round table of which usually had a glass display case holding the greatest treasure to elves: the sword given to them by a guardian...
His eyes widened in terror as the light revealed that the case was shattered and the sword missing.
Whoever did this, he thought to himself. Could not have escaped. This door is as hard to enter without a key as it is to exit.
Vercen foolishly but bravely went further into the room, scanning every corner with his orb. “Where are you?!” the ancient elf roared. “Show yourself!”
A low, wicked laugh echoed throughout the room in response. The sound seemed as if it were coming from everywhere.
The laugh continued for a moment, then ceased. There was a moment’s interval before a low, evil voice replaced it. “Are you afraid?” it asked. Before the king could say ‘no’, it continued. “Because you should be; you wont live through this night if you continue."
His response was an inflamed roar. “I’ll die before letting a criminal take my blade!”
The evil laugh resumed.
By now, Vercen was in front of his canopy bed at the very end of his bedroom. This elusive thief was nowhere to be seen! Every corner had been scanned with no findings. But there was still one unlikely place that remained unsearched…
The elf held his light source up high, pointing it towards the very top of his tall bed. His emerald eyes widened in horror. Sitting at the top of a bedpost like a stone gargoyle was some sort of reptile-man. Its skin was purple scales and its nails were long black claws, five of which were digging into the wood. His head was the terrifying form of a dragon’s (only smaller) and his clothes consisted of a black vest and ripped black shorts. A long, thick tail with spines running down the middle was curled around the bedpost for balance. In his hand was the sheathed blade with intricate curling patterns of gold and silver. The king recognized it immediately as a dragan holding the elve's sword.
The beast gave a cruel yet mocking grin to the king, revealing rows of huge, razor sharp teeth. “I warned you,” it said before jumping off of the bed with lightning fast agility. The old elf was rooted to the ground by terror as the dragan fell through the air in the shape of a rapidly spinning cross. Just before landing, he put five claws deep into the wrinkled neck.
The reptile landed without trouble on the flat grass with his victim in front of him, painting the floors red. The assassin stepped over the dead elf and exited the room, sword in hand. While he did so, he whistled a joyful tune, making the entire situation ironic.
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