I started writing a fantasy novel a little while ago and I'm kind of interested on what people's impression are of the first part of chapter one at least. Whether or not the writing style is good and consistant and so forth. Please tell me what you think!
The hand kept moving, signalling off each minute that past. It’s ticking filling the silence that resides in the nearly empty, and incredibly bland, interrogation room. Three people are present here, utilizing the room in a very inactive way as they sit there in tense silence. Not a word escapes them to break the monotonous ticking, the sound just substantiating the stiff atmosphere that has been created. Two of the three people sits before the one, a pristine metal table with runes engraved into it being the only thing between them that is more tangible than their hostile energy. The mood shifts slightly as movement is made, a man who appears to be in his prime leans back into his chair letting the stale light fall harshly onto his face giving him the appearance of a gargoyle. A look that is only encouraged and enhanced by the void that are his grey eyes and the wrinkles around them that look like cracks in stone. His hands move to the pocket of his tailored pants to conjure up a joint in one hand and then a stout, cylindrical wooden gadget that has a faint glowing rock embedded into the side of it in the other. In one motion he puts the joint into his mouth and presses onto the rock of the gadget, allowing a sharp crack to cut through the air and powder blue smoke to delicately fall off the end of the joint. Apparently this action from the old man was a stimulant for the much younger man beside him; he presses his forearms on the reflective table, leaning far on them so that he could stare at the girl in front of him. The hard look that forms on his face is unsettling, as if he wasn’t the kind of man to express such harshness with his perfectly sculpted nose, his arched and angular eyebrows, and his clefted chin. That the brown eyes of his were meant for warmth and comfort as opposed to malice- intentions of the worse kind. His whole form looks to be moulded and touched upon by ethereal entities for no other explanation can be given in regards of how perfect and balanced his whole being is. He looks to be created for only the pure things of this world, for only the kind, yet he is here with coldness in his eyes, tension in his shoulders. Such a counter to his friend beside him who continues to smoke from his joint, relaxed. The young man parts his lips, just enough for a soft melody with a razor sharpness to float out. “Answer the question.” The girl sitting on the receiving end of the command is far younger and far different than the elders before her, her whole existence- image- juxtaposing the immaculate and statuesque features of the two men. The crimson essence of a person paints the left side of her person, taints the ripped and dishevelled clothes she wears. Her thick blonde hair is gathered up in a poor excuse of a bun with small shards of blue glass poking out from the strands like crumbling gravestones in a cemetery. However the state of appearance is not what makes her so curious and is not what makes her so distinct from the two men opposite her, it’s the very noticeably small triangle emerging from her hairline on her right temple, faint dots trail the outer line of it and point to her mismatched eyes. The one closest to the marking is a soft, warm amber and the eye furthest away is a cold and icy blue. But while both eyes are different colours they remain the same in how they lack any emotion; well any emotion relating to fear that is. “Princess?” She speaks in a soft tone but her voice trips over the word, hinting at weakness. “Don’t know about any princess.” Not a muscle moves in the ethereal man’s face, his brown eyes glint like the ones of a reptile being the only sign that the answer brought him a kind of displeasure and frustration. However, his colleague remains to be as impassive as ever; still giving off an air that this situation is one of importance yet allowing one to think that this a special case and can take it’s time- answers aren’t required just yet. The gargoyle puts the joint back to his lips and slowly draws it away, blue smoke dribbling down his chin as he stares at the girl. He reaches for something hidden, fishing for yet another object that he then places on the table and slides it over to the girl. “Now, now.” He says, gravel in his voice, “let’s not just skip to the end, we need to go the beginning. Now, my dear, do you mind telling me what exactly this is?” She stares at him for a little, watching as the smoke twisted and danced all the way down. She slowly turns her eyes onto what has been now presented to her- a small piece of paper with blotches of colour on it arranged to be representative of an event, a person. Even though the objects are not all that distinct it was enough to gather a fountain of knowledge from. The shades of green that made up the back ground with the pinpricks of colour is familiar enough to the girl to understand when and where this had been taken, and the short figure dressed in their peculiar outfit that’s standing next to her did well to inform her about what exactly she will be questioned about. Despite that knowledge she still can’t help but feel emotion; she draws in a breath out of shock and her hands tremble slightly as a memory of that time flash into her mind. A bit too quickly she drops the picture. The gargoyle looks at her still, a small smile shifts the cracks in his face and a glimmer of knowing fills his void eyes. He leans back into his chair wordlessly saying that the questioning is now for his colleague “It’s from your solace of the sixth month, yes?” The girl says nothing, she just lowers her eyes and clasps her hands. “That’s when you got those beads of yours too isn’t it?” He refers to the blue shards of glass on her head and she cringes as if their fragments are piercing her now. “Would you like to tell us about this event?” Not a sound escapes her, she just proceeds to sit there and stare at her hands as if that will make an improvement on her situation. But it’s clear that she has used that tactic one too many times already in this encounter for the ethereal man is showing his impatience with how quick he ends the silence and how there was a melody of harshness to his words. “Fine, let’s just go through our list that we have on the event, shall we?” He brings out a scroll and rolls it out on the table, reading the words scribed there. “On the Sixth day of the Sixth month, upon the week of the Solace festival in Elvania, in which all six tribes came together for said festivities, Alliane Jarlinunth- of tribe Jarlin was bequeathed her ancestral beads as well as thirty other females and thirty males whom have reached their seventeenth solune. In attendance of this festival, and seen interacting with residences of the tribe Jarlin days previous to the day that is being mentioned, was Stateldrin Valoss of Dhemit whom has been convicted of one Dhemit felony, committed his first international felon and thereby his second felony overall on the eve of this Sixth day of the Sixth month with the aid of Alliane Jarlinunth-“ “I didn’t help him,” she whispers, she looks up slightly at the men before her, maintaining eye contact with the ethereal. “I didn’t do anything, it was him.” “Is that so?” “Yes.” “Then explain.” She looks back down, her hands now beginning to shake and tremble as she looks back on that day. She was didn’t do anything, she knows that. She would have never done those types of things, it was all him. She shuts her eyes and takes in a deep breath, trying to calm her quickening heart as she recalls that day.