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So, this is the first bit of a story I'm writing for a contest. Any comments or constructive criticism would be very much appreciated.


Flickering firelight danced across the finely wrought sidhe dagger as Mair lifted it from the pile of weapons scavenged from the corpses left in the wake of that morning's battle. He turned it back and forth in his hands, feeling the weight and balance. The hilt was silver and gold, studded with emeralds, the blade silver and bearing several nicks and scratches. That was one drawback to being unable to wield iron; sidhe blades were prone to damage.

Turning to the anvil, he braced the hilt against the block and picked up his hammer. One swift blow snapped the blade clean off, the room ringing with a clear, sweet note. Mair picked up the silver blade and tossed it into a bin with several others, and then sat down at his worktable and began to pry the gems loose from their settings. The stones would be crated up and shipped to Debringmas, sold to a dealer who would most likely sell them back to the same sidhe tribe that made these elaborate, but ultimately useless, weapons.

Dropping the emeralds into a open barrel of vinegar to soak the blood off, Mair moved back to the pile, kicking aside a broken poleax and picking up another ornamental silver dagger, this one etched with the delicate wings of a butterfly. Mair rolled his shoulders, feeling his knobby wing ridges rub against the inside of his shirt. Scowling, he cleaved the blade from its hilt. Faeries had wings; goblins did not.

As he sat down at his table, a sound in the corridor drew his attention and he turned in his chair as Shuruk, the King's steward, strode into the room. Mair's eyes were drawn to the heavy, curled horns growing out of Shuruk's head and curving behind his large, pendulous ears, the tips sweeping up alongside his heavy jaw, ending at the corners of his mottled green and black lips. The horns had ancient goblin writing burned into them, denoting Shuruk's position of power. Mair had no horns, a fact that Shuruk never let him forget, the goblin steward's large, moss green eyes roving over Mair's bare head before dropping to meet his gaze.

"The King is dead," Shuruk said, his greenish-gray skin pale and damp with sweat, making him look remarkably like a gaunt toad. "He succumbed to injuries sustained in battle today and died screaming almost an hour ago."

"I'm glad," Mair said. "May his soul raise hell on the Eternal Battlefield." He turned away and picked up his shiny steel pick, careful to keep his fingers on the worn wooden handle. Cold iron didn't burn him like it would a true sidhe, but it stung and left welts. He pried at a large opal, waiting for Shuruk to leave, but the steward stepped farther into the room instead.

"What?" Mair asked, his tone short. "If my mother thinks that pig deserves more honor than that from me, she can come down here and drag me to his corpse herself." He shifted his feet under the table, feeling a pulling through the ugly scar upon his thigh where his uncle, the king, had tried to eat him when he was three. Only the fact that Mair's mother was also the king's sister saved him. That and a heavy iron candlestick upside the head.

"I also bring news of your cousin, King-to-be Roult--"

"Oh, right," Mair said and he sighed. "Convey my delight at his good fortune and tell him I'll be up to personally beg for my life later. I'm in the middle of something."

"Roult is also dead," Shuruk said, and Mair's hand slipped, the opal flying free of its setting and shattering against the stone wall.

"How?" Mair asked, turning to look at the steward once again.

"His brother, King-to-be Drung, slit his throat--"

"Naturally," Mair muttered, but Shuruk wasn't finished.

"Drung received a dagger between the ribs, but not before he stabbed King-to-be Loragg in the gut. Loragg died moments ago."

Mair groaned and rubbed a grimy hand over his face.

"Stupid, greedy assholes," he said. "I don't have that many more cousins."

"Huk, and he's only eleven." Now it was Shuruk's turn to sigh. "Which makes you the next King-to-be. Congratulations, King Culmair."

Most of the time when there are rooms and places to imagine, my brain likes to get all lazy on me and just imagine a place I already know. This time it was my Elementary School's computer room, without the computers, of course, but I know better. It was a good start, and descriptive just to the right point. But all of those deaths at the end... it sounds mildly suspicious... 3nodding Good start!

Thanks guys biggrin

I've finished the story (sort of--I ran out of time and had to cut the end short) and posted it on my website, if anyone is interested in reading the whole thing. The Goblin King -- PG-13+ (rated for one slightly descriptive M/M sexual encounter).