I am trying my hand at writing an adventure story. could I have some opinions and critique on my writing?

I'm 16 and I want to be a writer when I get older, so I'm trying a project now to see how well I can do. I only have the first part of the story down, which really isn't that exiting, but I'm trying to immerse the reader into my story through description and dialogue. could I have some critique on my writing, and story?

It’s another day in this little town. The sun is shining brightly, and the occasional cool spring breeze flows past and offers a moment of near ecstasy. Vibrant shades of green cover these hilly plains and the colors of newly blossoming flowers catch the eye as one walks past them. There is always an ambience of trade and gossip in town. The townspeople are kind of like that. They like to spread rumors and banter about other people, and there’s always that one jokester who makes everyone spit up their ale. I don’t live in the town, but I know almost everyone there. Oh, the name’s Creon by the way. I’m a farmer’s son. I’ve never really been more than that. I help my father in the fields, and bring in the harvest when it’s ready, and sometimes I even fill in for my father, who sells the fruits of our labor in town. Nothing out of the ordinary ever occurs here. Everything is the same. I can’t say that’s bad, though. I’d much rather live a simple life than have to face bandits, vampires, werewolves, or even dragons in that vast world beyond my little world here, in Rosewall. Thank Omnia that I was placed here instead of out there. I have everything I could ask for here. Friends, food, shelter, and a warm hearted father who loves me, it’s perfect, right? Despite that, I still feel a tug. A tug that pulls toward the world beyond, and away from my home. But every time I make one of my half-attempts to step a little further outside of my home, a fear takes me, and I scurry on back to the cottage. I guess some of my fear stems from the fact that I’m actually a Half-Elf. My mother’s elven blood runs slightly through my veins, but I look a lot more human than elf. People actually think I’m human. If they found out, I’d probably be taken into the slave trade. Humans don’t like us half breeds; we are second class citizens to them. But as long as I keep my heritage a secret, then all is well. I’ve had my eyes set on the horizon more often than usual these days. Sometimes I feel like something is out there, calling for me. I wonder… I wonder if my destiny awaits there. Maybe I have a story. A story that’s just about to begin.

“Aye! Creon!” Creon did not notice the man calling his name. He was too busy thinking to himself. Thinking about his life, and what lies beyond. He continued walking, carrying a garden hoe on his shoulder. His face stared off into the distance. He never really had to pay attention to where he was going. He’d always find his way home somehow. Finally something began striking his head “Hey, boyo! Anyone in there? Clean the wax outta yer ears!” It was old Lester, the blacksmith. He kept knocking on Creon’s head even after he spoke. Creon’s emerald green eyes grew wide as he was startled by the hulking man. Even in his older age, Lester was extremely muscular and fit. Many would bet he could take down a charging bull, even now in his winter years. “Agh!” Creon let out a yelp as he dropped his garden hoe on his foot out of shock. “Damn it, Lester! Don’t scare me like that!” Creon cried, wincing and attempting to balance on one foot before he fell flat on his rear. Lester let out a loud guffaw. “What doesn't kill ya makes ya stronger lad.” Lester said. “Sorry about that, anyways”. Lester helped him back on his feet. “It’s alright. At most it’ll only be a bruise.” Said Creon. “Yer foot or yer ars?” Lester let out another loud guffaw. “Alright, Alright. Is there something you needed?” Said Creon. “As a matter of fact boyo, there is. I’ve just finished repairing yer dear ol’ dad’s sword. Could ‘ja take it to em? Ya appear tae be headin’ thataways.” Creon picked up his gardening hoe and looked at Lester. “Yeah, sure thing. I was done for the day anyways. Thank you for fixing it at such a low price, by the way. We couldn’t really afford the full thing. I know fixing a sword that old and brittle is hard work,” Said Creon. “Aye, Nonsense. Yer father’s an ol’ friend ‘o Mine.” Lester gave Creon a smile. “Well, at any rate, I thank you for the generous discount. We really appreciate it.” Creon smiled back at Lester. “No problem, boyo. Now go on, deliver that tae yer dad. He’s been waitin’ on it.” Creon nodded and started toward his cottage once more.

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