Write an opening that would stop you buying a book

Swank said:
In brief, the tale of Arbiqut, king of the South Quelimn (and Lower Pasqualiqum (conquered in the second century after the great Cleansing of Quelm), begins, as so many tales of great heroes, in a stumbledown tavern, this one known as the Exchecker's Mourn, which, despite the shoddy exterior and cholera outbreaks, was not just known widely for its brave warrior patrons and sumptuous Sunday brunches, but for momentous moments in the lives of great horseman, when said king, after long journey by horseback, burst in upon the Exchecker, surprising the drunks and barman both, not the least of which was Aeruonoa, dowager scribe, who promptly fell off his stool (not for the first time), to demand the use of the loo in advance of his meeting with Pleequor, Duke of North Quolemun and Tantalizer of Taqo, to negotiate the release of Quoniq, master armorer of Qoq, from the dark and frivolous prison known as Iquor (or Quorg amongst the Fallen), where he had languished since the year of the Quonq's revolt, to accompany him on a quest for no less than the right of Niqualm, long the goal of the seat of South Quelimn, against the raging hordes of Illiquoon, who, after an age of relative peace, had erupted once again into a fury of glutinous cider thievery, and the retribution that he, in his heart of hearts, knew must come to pass.
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This reads like the introduction to Sir Walter Scott's Dragonlance Chronicles fanfic....
 
"The following is a true story.

It comes from a time long before you or any of your friends were even born. From a time of spaceships and magic. A time when life in these hills was a lot more difficult than it is now.

And only you and me will ever know the truth of what happened.

Before we begin I need you to make sure you have boots and warm clothes We need to travel to the Blue mountain to see what remains of my ship. It's a long walk, far from where modern living will take you, and you're going to be cold."​

Those were more or less the exact words Zolderbon said to me last week. The thing is, he's a liar. And a thief. I knew it wasn't his spaceship the moment I climbed onboard. But by then it was too late.

'There's no such place as Earth, so tell me where you're from again?' The question was direct. And pointless. I'd already told them, and they heard it. They were trying to intimidate me.

Zolderbon was long gone. Now it was just me, a spaceship, a cargo of alien creatures and five Intergalactic Customs Officials. They seemed certain I could tell them what I was doing -I'd no idea, and no choice but to lie.
 
What would you do if I said I belonged to a secret sect of necromorphic protomancers? Well, it certainly isn’t true, but I rest my case. No, no, don’t worry, I wouldn’t have believed that you believed me.

Yet, what if I told you they were out there? I’m talking some bogus, or am I really? Let’s just say, this book goes on like this for it’s length of 283 pages. Although, page numbers may vary depending on printing. This is a book about them. Everything the skeptics tell you isn’t true, I can tell you it really is. So let’s talk about demon acolytes from space!

They rampaged on my world, pillaged my village and killed my family. I was left for dead with nothing but my blood to drink from. When I woke up they were gone, leaving ruin in their path. They proceeded to the next town. I don’t know what became of the others, but I needed to escape. I needed to escape my planet, because it wasn’t safe.

So I came to Earth from agjunlokk q’uk’rtka. I don’t speak your language, I don’t speak any language at all. I communicate through blood rhythms, I can read your pulse. And I need your help. You are the only person who can save me, save us, and liberate our planet. Your pulse is abnormal, is necromorphic. You are one of us, krewling.
 
She was doing some light cleaning around the house when there was a knock at the front door.
“Can I help you?” She asked.
“Placid Lung Entry Art Storage Engineering. We received a call about your gargoyle.”
“Yes! Please come in.” She said opening the door for the serviceman and lead him to the waiting room.
“I am having problems with the Helium Envelope Lifting Platform.” She stated. “Would you like some tea?”
“Yes please. And that is a common issue with that unit too.” The serviceman answered.
She brought him the cup of tea with a goldfish swimming in it.
“What is this?”
“Oh, it’s just a little thing us members of the Meaningful Exchange committee do.” She said, “Would you like some sugar with it?”
“No thanks. But if you have some soy sauce?”
 
THX1138 said:
“Placid Lung Entry Art Storage Engineering. We received a call about your gargoyle.”
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Brilliant, that's the hook right there -stick that on the cover and there's not a creature alive that wouldn't want to find out more;)
 
Zthl activated his paradimetric particlizer. A paradimetric particlizer is no mean item in an LOB enforcer's inventory. Using subatomic structural particle acceleration technology, it could generate a sufficiently focussed beam coherence wavelength to desaggregate even the most immaculately structured lattice-enhanced protective coating. Using defocussing scrambler pulsed countermeasures against it was useless: the oscillating pulses were insufficient to neutralise the wavelength coherency of the particlizer, resulting in at least 57% of its original energy still reaching its target. There was of course the option of using a field protection energy destabilizer but that was premium tech and few possessed it.
 
PROLOGUE:
They were out of time, and the demon horde was upon them. "I'm going in!" cried Azak, the cocky, impetuous lancer of the team. "No, you fool! Wait!" cried Bemjanin, the cautious yet courageous leader. "I'm going in too, but more sneakily," said Lupine the devious Halfling rogue. At the rear, Rheumon the cleric continued to bide his time in an ominous manner, while Elvira the girl simpered coyly. How had things come to this pass?
 
X'lthxcp raised his webby appendage, signaling to Rqrqrq and his band of u'iueaea waiting astride their scaly ththes in the undergrowth of the forest to hold their attack until the High Primate Hfk had completed the ritual to summon Gvc'zxvz, the Primordial God of the Planet @&%.
 
War is coming. Cedric held his sword high, sharp and pointy. Sparkling like gold in the midnight sun. He was ready because he practiced alot. An orc army marching. There armour sparkling like gold in the midnight sun. The wizard on the hill will stroke his beard and savior the taste of glorious battle on his tongue. Turning the midnight sun to blood.
 
The blacksmith leaned over his anvil holding his hammer to his head.

“Why did I not acquire that Elven steel when I had a chance?” He cried. “Now what ever will I used to forge my finest blade with?”

He through his hammer against the wall just missing the chickens gathered nearby, when he had an idea.

Sparks and feathers flew as he hammered and folded the steel. The smell of roasted chicken filled the air. When he was done, he held the finest chicken feathered Damascus steel sword there ever was.

Holding it before himself he stated. “There is no-one but my own self that has the skill to weld such a fine weapon as this! And with this enchanted sword I shall make the finest elixir of chicken in all the land! And I shall serve it from my fine traveling cart.” He said looking at the run-down Gypsy wagon with its rats and cats, fleas and ticks.

Taking a grand stance, he continued. “And if anyone dares to challenge me, I shall smite them with this mighty sword of poultrytude! For I shall call thee, Schmaltz!”

Not one, but two chickens clucked with indifference.
 
As the rain pelted down, I turned my burly frame as I stood, noticing that the street was empty, there were no people as it seemed that everyone had disappeared, people had been disappearing for ages infact.
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sule said:
John Caliber--six-foot-two, shaved head, bristly brown mustache, tan skin, thick corded muscles, 3.62 GPA during his only two years of college at Southern Colorado Technical University--walked slowly towards the sky blue 2012 Toyota Corolla idling in the parking lot of the only Walmart in Chevrettell, Colorado (population: 1567, part of Wayneside County, high school mascot: the Eagles), his thick, buckskin boots squelching in the scattered rain puddles that dotted the cracked asphalt. It was just as the anonymous voice--husky, mysterious, threatening--had promised when they'd called him on his Samsung Galaxy 4 at 3:07 that afternoon (Mountain Daylight Time) and told him that Elijah Buckington, the irresponsible 27 year-old heir to Buckington Sports Suppliers (Wayneside County's main wholesale store for hunting, fishing, and other various sports equipment), had been abducted by aliens from the planet Forsicca Prime.
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That is so on-the-nose that it goes 'round the back of being trite and becomes voicey. Bravo! More!
 
The HSS Imperius circled over a burnt-out husk of a world. Captain Alman gazed at the viewscreen with a sober, shocked demeanor. "I did this. Thirteen billion people dead, on my command. I should quit the Navy."

"Hush now," said Ensign Carrefours, pulling his head onto her tightly uniformed bosom. "There, there. You had to do it. Things would be so much worse now if they'd been allowed to go on acting uppity. You're a good man."

"You know, Carrefours, you're absolutely right!" Just like that, Alman pulled himself together. "I'll keep my command, and we'll bally well do it to the green-fellas too! Be in my bunk at 1800 hours. I rather feel like celebrating."
 
Firstly a ten one to ten page prologue where we learn that many years ago some bloke(s) did something to some other blokes(s)/Woman/women that resulted in the conception/birth/death of the old ways/King(s)/Queen(s). This/These world/galaxy/Universe changing event(s) are so important to the understanding of the plot that the reader must waste his time learning them, because (or so s/he thinks) knowing them will give vital pre-knowledge in the pages to come.

This is then followed by the first chapter (as normal) which goes something like :-

It was 5:00 am. Bill had done an all nighter at the local fast food/diner/bank/gas station and the dog was whining to be fed....

And we subsequently learn there is no need to know anything of the prologue - yay even unto the end of the book or if we are lucky chapter 20 or so when the fact that "Grungdeon the First" - (he of the prologue or some other joker mentioned therein) left a fantastic treasure/sword/mace/spell/burger sauce recipe that will be the saving of the planet when our hero "Bill" uses it to vanquish the demons of hell/King of Bergomacdee/Knights of the back of beyond.

Where-upon the book is shredded and thrown from the bedroom window to join the rest of the dross in the back yard upon which I've wasted my hard earned money - working down at the local gas station.
 
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TheEndIsNigh said:
Firstly a ten one to ten page prologue where we learn that many years ago some bloke(s) did something to some other blokes(s)/Woman/women that resulted in the conception/birth/death of the old ways/King(s)/Queen(s). This/These world/galaxy/Universe changing event(s) are so important to the understanding of the plot that the reader must waste his time learning them, because (or so s/he thinks) knowing them will give vital pre-knowledge in the pages to come.

This is then followed by the first chapter (as normal) which goes something like :-

It was 5:00 am. Bill had done an all nighter at the local fast food/diner/bank/gas station and the dog was whining to be fed....

And we subsequently learn there is no need to know anything of the prologue - yay even unto the end of the book or if we are lucky chapter 20 or so when the fact that "Grungdeon the First" - (he of the prologue or some other joker mentioned therein) left a fantastic treasure/sword/mace/spell/burger sauce recipe that will be the saving of the planet when our hero "Bill" uses it to vanquish the demons of hell/King of Bergomacdee/Knights of the back of beyond.

Where-upon the book is shredded and thrown from the bedroom window to join the rest of the dross in the back yard upon which I've wasted my hard earned money - working down at the local gas station.
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That line from Chapter 1 is EXACTLY how all Mundane Heroes of Comsic Quests are introduced. Clearly it's a type of book you write if you're really irritated by your dog.
 
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