So, this is my first ever fan fiction. I don't want to give too much of a preface, but I intend to have things slightly heavier on plot. Stories change and morph, so perhaps this one will change significantly. If it's going off the rails, I'll give a little warning (the rating might change as well).
Also, I really, really, oh so very much want reviews. I'll write extra subplots, lingering chapters were Sarah and Jareth stare into each other's eyes (actually, probably not), I'll even do an extra spell check...anything! I'll even read and review your stories, out of sheer gratitude.
-Navarth
Sunset
Riding over the hill, dark red in the orange sunset, came something like a man on a very eccentric looking creature which was probably a horse. His hair (that is, the man's) was a sort of fallow gold in the fading light, his clothes gave off a faint sheen. There was something vaguely absurd about his posture: both elegant, and coupled with his mount, a sort of un-paralleled grotesquery. His horse was perhaps more of the latter. Most of the components of a horse were somewhere in evidence: a tail, four legs, two eyes, etc. but somehow the teeth were a bit too large, and the eyes a bit too small, and one of the hind legs a little bit shorter, so that the creature walked with a slight ungainly rhythm to its gait. Overall, the silhouette was not terribly attractive.
And yet, there was in the incongruity of shapes a character of rare charm; wild and a law unto itself.
As The Goblin King rode down the hill, Sarah realized with a hint of amusement that the mare was splotched all over with a sort of muddy brown and black patches. She might have sniggered a little, but still The Goblin King reposed gracefully in the saddle, supremely above any fault anyone else chose to find in his appearance (that being more their affair than his).
He did not notice her, but continued on towards the outer wall and melded into the crimson-flushed bricks.
Having arrived inside his domain, The Goblin King sent his beast away, and with a crick of his neck, arrived back in his city. He strolled up the street, for once enjoying the air. Generally, it was stale and un-appealing; if not confining, at least not refreshing as one might imagine outdoor air to be. It was as if a room had been tightly shut for years, except aired every Sunday when not a soul was there: no dust, nothing changeable, nothing human. But now there was a slight breeze, quite uncommon, really, but a pleasant change.
Once he achieved the throne room (if having a chair on a dais counted as a throne room), he paused in the doorway, surveying the usual chaos. There were perhaps two or three goblins that appeared more or less sober, or at least lucid. For the most part, though, the creatures wandered around, or made various frightful noises either from a lack of intellect or too much beer. Not at their very worst though, he thought, did they ever manage to become wholly unconscious, always on the ready to be entirely inept.
The Goblin King, without much expression on his face, made his way fastidiously towards his "throne," upon which he draped rather gracefully, as if in quiet disdain for the riot around him.
Sighing, he produced a crystal from thin air, and with a little pause, as if to solidify an idea in his mind, sent it drifting out the window.