I know some people have a preference for the specific genre they like to read, so I put that in the title. This will just be the first two paragraphs of my prologue, just to get some of your opinions and feedback on how I can improve (and because I've only got two paragraphs done
Still working on that ^_^
None needed yet
Type of Critique:
I'd just like a general critique done, my goal here is to improve my writing. So some tips and advice will go a long way for me.
Edit: Alright so I've edited it with a few changes. As far as the throne goes and the appearance of Virdan though, I have yet to figure out a good way to describe them that's concise and smooth. I'll just have to play around with words until I get it right.
“Virdan!” a voice bellowed from his throne which was an old, rotting tree stump, infested with insects. Even sitting down, this beast was intimidating. His canine maw open wide for every spectator to see, drooling a toxic venom from those sharp daggers in his mouth. Long, devil like horns protruded from his thick skull and a mat of black fur covered his body from head to torso, all the way down to his giant, padded paws. “Virdan Syth!”
On his throne, the impatient Belzack gripped the armrests with anticipation. His crimson orbs, peering into the gloom. This was the long awaited moment, the moment he had been anticipating for several decades.
The young demon stepped forward tentatively and out of the gray mists which swirled about his form. Virdan Syth was the lord of demons' son and a denizen of the devil plains of Taghrash. If it weren't for those horns curled tightly against the back of his head, he would appear identical to the demon lord. As a zyrd grows, those horns would gradually uncurl and become long and sharp.
Virdan winced as he noticed a prone form beside his father's throne. He recognized it to be that of a human. Where once this man might have been beautiful, he was now thin and covered in scars. Any mortal that comes here from the material world, would soon find themselves misshapen and grotesque. It was always like this, he knew. Belzack would always bring souls over to this place for his own amusement, whether they were good or bad, it did not matter.