So, this is the new book I'm working on, and this will be the prologue. Likelyhood is is that I won't be posting a word of it on here, but this is the second draft of this perticular set up of the story, and would love some feedback. If you want me to begin posting the rest of it, please comment below and seeing as it is still a work in progress any advice would be greatly appreciated.
he horse trotted through the village, tall and strong like those used by the cavalry. On its back was a man, with brown leather armour and a cloak the colour of deep crimson. He looked through his eye slits of his steel mask and looked for the man he was looking for. The market square was silent as he sat, and then his eyes narrowed. Few people were around, scurrying to get goods before it went soggy. The weather was bad, and the man was sure that it wasn’t natural. Fog had set in and lightning streaked across the skies. He trotted on towards the inn, looking on through his mask. He looked at the sign of the inn, The Hollow Tree, and jumped off, pushing open the door. The people singing shanties didn’t notice him so much as the sudden gust of cold, however it didn’t stop them in the slightest. The man scanned the room and still he couldn’t see the elf he was looking for. He walked over to the barman and sat down. He took off his mask and placed it on his belt.
“A Crimson Cloak out ‘ere”, the barman smiled. “What do you want? It’ll be on the house.”
“Your finest ale”, the man handed over a heavy gold coin and the barman took it. “Keep the change.”
“You are very generous”, the barman nodded and turned.
“Have you seen an elf recently?”, the man asked.
“Oh, yes. Lots of them round here. Marsh-Elves”, the barman said, handing him a flagon of beer. “Why, you looking for one?”
“Of course”, the man nodded. “But the one I’m looking for ain’t a marsh elf. A Waste elf.”
“Oh, naws”, the barkeeper shook his head. “Ant seen one of ‘em in wot, a year? You ‘an spea’ with the Innke’er round back, but I ain’t seen one.”
“I will. Can you get him for me?”, the man asked.
“I mean, ‘e migh’ be a little busy, you ‘ee”, the barkeeper said.
“I am Bane, Secondary Commander of the Crimson Cloaks and good friend of many powerful people”, the man said, his grizzled face turning gnarly for a brief second. “Again, can I see the innkeeper?”
“Sure, sure”, the barkeeper hurried out.
Bane considered for a moment whether or not the barkeeper was hiding something, and considered the time. A time when lots of people would be expecting their beds sorted, so he sighed and looked around. There was a Forest elf, sat in the corner in his ranger’s gear, but it wasn’t him. Forest Elves often travelled alone in search of the ‘haven’ they spoke of so greatly. He wasn’t going to find a haven in this town, that was for sure.
“How can I help you?”, the innkeeper walked out, and looked at Bane.
“I’m looking for a Waste elf”, Bane said, sipping his ale and then putting it down. “Seen one?”
“None’s checked in”, the innkeeper replied. “If they’re hiding from you, checking in somewhere would be a bad idea.”
“Looking for a waste elf?”, a man walked up to them. He was large with heavy shoulders and a bald head. “I saw one come past on his horse. Big scar over his left eye.”
“That’s the one”, Bane smiled. Finally, a stroke of luck. “Where was he headed?”
“I don’t know”, the man said. “As I recall, he stopped at the market to collect some supplies from a shady-looking dealer. If you can find him, he might be able to lead you to this elf.”
