The Hook....

Bolting across the expanse of the green plain, the albino struck the leader of the herd, scattering them across the field in every direction, caroming off the low walls and each other. With a soft thump a victim fell and all was still again.

From the edge of the field she relaxed, straightening to her full height and dropping the butt of her weapon next to her foot. She surveyed the results of the attack, taking mental notes of the positions of her prey and selecting her next victim.

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The sun dominated above. Even the shadows wilted under the oppression of the day star as it reached it's zenith over the fields surrounding Aedor. The cool breeze, coming down from the mountains to the north, brought small relief from the stifling heat. The worst of the long summer months were behind, but that was no balm for the adventurer. She grimaced, brushing sweat from her brow as she looked out upon the parched grasslands.

The road was empty for now, but that was how she liked it. Too many people had failed her over the years, leaving her jaded and trust in short supply. No, the Orc was a loner, through and through.

Maybe this road would be the one she'd been searching for. Maybe, at the end of this stretch of dirt where the grass refused to grow, at the end of another long, tiring walk, she would find the answers she sought. Maybe they were even the answers she needed.

Small for an Orc at a mere six foot five, she was nevertheless a vision of muscle and beauty. Her arms were as thick as braided dock rope. Her legs, even thicker, like rounded slabs. She had a hard look about her underneath her shaggy black hair. Scars adorned her toned body like badges of honor. She had the look of a woman who'd seen the very face of hell, only to claw her way back.

"Stop describing me."

"She said, to no one in particular."

"You're being very over-dramatic," Val said

"It breaks the fourth wall if you address me directly," the Narrator whined.

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Forgive me, for I am but a simple teller of ancient tales. I’m old now and modern life passes me by. I study the old texts so that on long winter nights like this I might relate them to you. Hush now that I may speak.

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NotWise said:

Opening of "The Third Ring"

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The gentle clickity-clack of the steel wheels across the joints in the rails was almost hypnotic as I stared thoughtlessly out the window into the growing darkness, my coffee cooling. The distant wail of the horns warning traffic at the next crossing of the trains impending arrival almost masked her soft voice.

“May I join you?”

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The footage was grainy, a low-quality cell phone video shot on the sly. A young brown-skinned man climbing out of a Chevy sedan. His hands raised. Lacing fingers behind his head. Sirens flashing. A cop walking toward him from back and to the left, gun raised, yelling at him. The young man turning, fingers still laced, shouting the words "I'm trying to--"

A flash from the pistol's muzzle, a pop. Next thing you knew he was down. The video cut off abruptly. It was seventeen seconds long all told: more than enough to set a city on the boil.

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AwkwardMD said:

Terrible Company

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Handley_Page said:

I like the tone of that one

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CyranoJ said:

My personal favourite opening in my own stories is this one, from "Running Riot":

... A flash from the pistol's muzzle, a pop. Next thing you knew he was down. The video cut off abruptly. It was seventeen seconds long all told: more than enough to set a city on the boil.

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HandsInTheDark said:

That's gorgeous. I'd have been tempted to put a sub-chapter break right there and move to a character introduction with no immediately obvious tie in.

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"Where am I?"

"In the Village."

The darkness lifted. I was in a room, a living room of sorts, with an odd architectural style. There was a woman sitting across from me, with reddish hair.

"What do you want?"

"I think at this point I'm supposed to say 'information', but I'm not going to."

"I don't understand."

"Sorry. Inside joke, of sorts. I don't want anything, except your well-being."

I felt extremely odd, as if I'd been drugged.

"I feel extremely odd."

"You've been drugged."

"Oh. Why am I... not frightened?"

"I'm not very scary, for one thing," said the red-head. "You came here of your own accord, for another. It will take some time to sort through your memories – you've had a very trying few hours."

"Um," I said. "Why am I naked?"

"You're a newborn. It's how we all start out."

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AwkwardMD said:

Terrible Company

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I booked the snakes for St. Patrick's Day. I'd like to say it was because of my innate sense of the perverse. But truth be told, I didn't even notice the date until after I'd hung up the phone, written it in my diary, and started typing up the permission note.

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It's funny, the things I've forgotten. I can't remember what Mel looked like. Not her eyes, her hair, her shape, not even the color of her skin. If I close my eyes I feel like I can visualize her perfectly, but when I try to write it down? Like grasping smoke.

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CyranoJ said:

That one still makes me laugh.

Reminds me of this.

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