Since i really don't want anyone to read my book as its just a way i use to vent when i hit a slump (Really it will scar you for life don't even try) plus its really graphic and only gets worse the more i write read this little excerpt please and comment on it so that i can at least get some feedback on the mood or what i can add to it
The surly faced lad glared at all that was before him, damning it to hell.
The stench of rotting flesh, roasted meat and unwashed men was all known and very much unwelcome by his nostrils, as well as the angry banter that filled every crevice in that cursed dungeon.
"That him?" he heard one say.
"Aye, torched a whole platoon to dust,"
"He don't look like much..." another grumbled, glancing up at the cage he was held in.
"Where's his scales and wings? Boy looks nothing like a beast!" he went on, the lad spared him no glance looking straight ahead, never flinching, never moving, ever stoic like a marble statue but he still heard all the same,
"they tucked away good thing too, that cage wouldn't fit him otherwise."
"Enchanted bars-if he tries to break through them he'll be in a world of agony,"
the lad growled the searing brands on his arms itching at the memory,
the stupid cage burned him when he tried to shift,
"pity he's a pretty one... tall gruff looks like he can take it hard and give it hard wouldn't mind it either way..." he heard them clear as day resisting the urge to wretch.
he did not move he would not move not for anything nor for everything he wouldn't dare seem weak choosing instead to focus on another part of the cesspool that was this dungeon,
"Kinda tragic really," the voices were distant now but he held on straining just a lick further, "i hear his sister sold him out."
"its always family..." the third one sighed almost feeling sorry for the caged lad, he sighed shutting his eyes in agreement.
It was always family.
okay what did you think? i cant quite get that old victorian english vibe i'm going for in this story so just respond here on what can be added