The Cranky Old Gnome

Here’s my first writing exercise.  The prompt was “The prince has gone missing.”

Tendrin stumbled out of the brothel and into the frigid night.  He cursed to himself as he pulled his long cloak tighter in a vain effort to keep out the harsh cold.  It was the kind of bitter, stabbing cold that chilled a man’s very soul and removed all hope of ever being warm again. Being cold forever was a fear that tugged at the back of Tendrin’s mind often as of late.  The nights were growing longer and the chill was getting colder.  It wasn’t the topic of polite conversation, but people still whispered about it.  In back rooms and around private bar tables rumors abounded that the time of The Long Night was finally at hand.

Snow piled up in heavy drifts