The old castle was crumbling, ivy curled, and twisted round the corners of the grey bricks. The elves and warlocks walking the grounds dressed in, robes and rags. I walked to the south of the castle. And found the warlocks of all shapes and sizes practicing the elements of magic, water spurting from their palms, a flame growing from just the simplest of flames. The earth moving from beneath our feet. Creating winds of utmost power that the trees bent down in surrender. The houses surrounding the castle were little but cosy, small but big. The roves made of thatch overlaying the wood for walls. The women wore dresses covered in patterns from swirls to patches. Some plain and colourful. The elves were working metal as the clank clank rocketed through the air. The flowers of every colour covered every inch of the hill, behind the gates of the castle. Everyone was trading and laughing. Horses were kept in at the north of the castle, the stable boys were scruffy but kind souls that never left their lively hood. Other than horses they also had dragons scaled large and aggressive but could be tamed by just a touch behind the ear, there horns sharp and reactions fast so it was tricky to tame them. Children ran and played, laughing chorused from the gardens where they hid. They sat levitating sticks, and watching as flowers grow in their palms. This place was like a fairy tale.  

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