The darkness had come early, and any light that should have made its way through the front windows would have been turned back by first the snow which had been piling for days, and then the shutters which the gale force wind had long ago turned in on themselves.  It was if the world had been sent back into its primordial days, like pedestrians pushed back in their paces by oncoming royalty, that long breathless wait for something to happen that was to be entirely unexpected.

Errol Dreef had waited it out with patience.  Because he was a halfling, or as some called him, a hobbit, he had drummed his little fingers on the table, while the others had given him stern glances knowing that to take their eyes off of him would amount to trouble beyond its worth.  

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Author guidance for This story

This is a fantasy story. As I've noticed, I get easily bored by reading fantasy, and just as bored by writing it.

So, instead I've decided just to keep it farcical, ridiclous and fun. That doesn't mean that it can't be a story, every story needs a plotline to follow, even if it's just a reason to keep being goofy.

Feel free to throw in the narrator's voice, if you feel that the readers have some guidance to be taken from any of this, beyond the moral lesson this story teaches.

Also, and lastly, if you want to add, my preference is that once a branch has been added, not to go off on another one from an earlier chapter, but rather to choose from the last three, so once it's been published, the first part is linear, with only the last authour's three options at the end...oh, when I say published, I mean NYT Bestseller published.

updated Feb 5 '11 by smac972