This is a fantasy novel I am writing up. Here's the first part of the first chapter. Please comment on any spelling mistakes or plot ideas. I'll keep you posted on this story, at least once a week! (Hopefully...)

"Hear Ye! Hear Ye!" Cried the brightly clad herald in the large courtyard of the palace. "How a dragon was slain! Hear ye the tale of Gurthsboar, mighty warrior who slew a terrible wrym! Hear ye!"
Annette kept walking. Tales of "mighty dragons" and "terrible wyrms" were all to painful.
A magnificent dragon, all glowing red, surroned by bellowing knights.
Annette began to walk quicker. She started running over her list of tasks.
"order some lettauce, white cloth, golden thread..."
A terrible orb of golden fire...
Two dozen cups, four dozen candles..."
Fire consuming men, now nothing but withered wicks of men...
"Two bags of flour, a bag of sugar and ask Joe to add more firewood to the stack."
The upward stab of a brazen sword, the desperate last act of a dying man, a man who knew he was dying...
Annette tired to block out the vivid imagery in her head. She failed.
A roar of anguish, as from the very depths of  the beast's  lungs, rends the air. A last flash of flame, a instant reaction to the pain steadily climbing up the dragon's chest... Down, down, ruin, despair, fire, death,
DARKNESS!

"Against Berushach the father of Gregoi and Terbucht, who was slain at the gates of Elveis stood only one, the Elf, Gurthsboar dragonsbane. But it is said that against the red orb of the dragon, shone a white light, piercing but subdued, coming from the immortal Elf." The ministrel continued his tale to the small crowd listening in the courtyard.
Annette cast a scornful look at the now distant ministrel.
"Elves" She swore vehemently under her breath.
Father!
"Warmongers!"
Father!  
Noo!

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