counterglow

[[I've voiced my opinion, so here's everyone's chance to say something back. The start/prologue of a short story I'm working on, kind of a tale within a tale thing.]]

Daylight was fading to darkness when an old man entered the inn's common room. His clothes were covered with dirt. Even his hair was speckled with the grit of travel. It stuck out at wild angles, whipped by wind. His angular face was wrinkled, with a scar on one cheek—a great source of speculating wherever he went—and bushy white eyebrows.

He could have easily been mistaken for a beggar, old and senile. But the inn keeper vaulted from his place behind the bar to rush forward in greeting, as if the old man were of the highest nobility.

Within minutes the old man was seated before the fire, his feet propped up comfortably. There was a mug of spiced ale in one hand, a smoking pipe in the other. Looking around, the old man smiled, grey eyes shining. Everywhere he looked there was a smiling, expectant face.

He lifted his mug, saluting the patrons, then tipped the edge to his lips and took several large gulps.

"Best in the Seven Duchies," he said quietly.

Laughter and applause filled the common room. Every spring Jecob came to The Steadfast Soldier, and by tradition, began his three month stay with the same five words: Best in the Seven Duchies. From there Jecob would spend his time as his mood dictated, either in silence or filling the common room with tales from years past, tales of great men and great deeds.

But those first five words were always the same.

Jecob smiled and drank more ale, clearing dust from his throat. There was the sound of hurried footsteps. When Jecob lowered the mug, there were familiar faces gazing up at him. Children he had seen grow from infancy into young adulthood. They sat at his feet, smiling up at him, as if they were still small children who would squabble over the privilege to sit in his lap.

There was red-haired Ennilly, whose green eyes seemed to stare in amazement at the whole world, and whose rosebud mouth never seemed far from laughter. Beside her sat the bulky form of Trey, the local blacksmith's apprentice, still giddy to sit at Jecob's feet, even though the brown-haired youth had grown taller than most of the village's men. His sister, the black-haired and quiet Dara had the look of a frightened mouse, whose blue eyes were well-known for the tears they could cry.

Jecob remembered when they would squeal and clamber up onto his knees, laughing and begging him for story after story. Even now their eyes held that childhood wonder and delight as they waited in silent, visible anticipation.

"I suppose you'll be wanting to hear one of your favorite stories, eh?" Jecob asked, looking at each of them.

"Actually," began Dara, who then looked over at Ennilly, apparently too frightened—or excited—to finish her request.

"You promised last year," Ennilly said, then nodded at Dara, who nodded at her.

"To tell us the story about the soldier. The one the inn was named after," finished Trey.

Jecob smiled into his mug, drained the last drop of spiced ale and once again looked at the three sets of eyes that were fixed on him. Toying with his pipe, Jecob sighed. As if that tale were such a burden or a bore to tell.

"I suppose, if you three really want to hear that old bit of history." He smiled and shook his head. "You know there won't be any dragons. Or princesses to save. Or even any castles. Well, there's a castle, but it's not important."

Ennilly sighed.

"Of course," continued Jecob, his voice slipping into that deep, resonating tone that filled the room with every word. "Not all great stories revolve around castles and kings…"

A hush fell over the common room. And then Jecob began his tale.

__________________
So far away from where I was
Or is it where I should be
And I couldn't get there because
I'm looking behind me

[--excerpt from a poem by me]

Andrew

I really liked this opening. There's just the right amount of detail, in proportion to the exposition. You give the description its own personality, as if the invisible narrator had his own commentary on the moments he was describing, and I love this. It certainly made me want to read the rest of the story—and if your writing from here on out is as good as the opening, then I would definitely want to read the rest.

A couple nitpicky editorial things that I would pick out were I actually proofing this:

• I would change "inn keeper" to "innkeeper" because it's a title and is much more commonly seen as a single word.
• You'll probably want the sentence about the scar to say "a great source of speculation" as opposed to "speculating".
• At first, I was confused by your description of a "smoking pipe." The thought that went through my head was Of course it's a smoking pipe—what other kinds of pipe would he have in his hand? And then I realized that you didn't mean that was the type of pipe he had, but rather a description of what the pipe was doing. Perhaps you might want to change it so the description said something like "a mug of spiced ale in one hand, a pipe wafting thick gray smoke in the other" so it was a little clearer.
• You might add a comma after "You know" toward the end: "You know, there won't be any dragons," so that it's evident he's emphasizing what a boring story it will be and not reminding them about the lack of mystical creatures as if they knew the story already.

I was very impressed by this bit of writing and would very much like to read more if or when you get it written.