(As a result of discussions in other threads, I have decided to post six openings to stories of mine. Two of these sold to the first market they went to; two sold after garnering rejections; two remain unsold).
The longfire was banked up high the night death came to Skapti’s hall. Outside, winter had come to the world; the snow was falling, thick and silent in the darkness. In the cauldron, salt beef boiled and bubbled. The drinking-horns were filled, and filled again, and we raised them in one toast after another. The benches were crowded, one man alongside another, tightly wedged; for Osvif Wordweaver had come to Langrisdal, and many were the men of the dale who had come to hear his stories. Osvif had been given the high seat of the hall; there he sat, between the pillars, his cheeks ruddy in the fire’s red glow. He had a horn in his right hand, heavy with foaming ale. He lifted it high.
[This message has been edited by tchernabyelo (edited November 23, 2009).]
Posted by andersonmcdonald (Member # 8641) on :
I may not be part of this discussion, and I haven't a clue if this has or hasn't been published, but I LIKE IT! My kind of stuff. Atmospheric, and it reads like a wonderful old tale discovered in some dusty tome. Nice.