From my short fiction:
No one ever really got to know a rashak, and Cela had never made an attempt. [Regenerated, published in Quantum Muse]
Sir Peregrin was always good-humored, and even dour mornings with grudging dawns made him cheery. It was very trying. [Everafter Acres, published in Luna Station Quarterly]
They rode light, for these had long been times of peace, yet still they rode armed from old habit, in steel-studded leather many times mended, battered greaves over scuffed boots, vambraces scored from years of sword-blows. [The Kind Gods, published in Bewildering Stories]
He was a troublesome fool, whose unbridled tongue and vicious tricks went unchecked because they amused the King. [Last Laughter, published in Silver Blade Fantasy Quarterly]
The first sentence of my epic fantasy The Ryel Saga:
Markul the Best and Highest rose in sharptoothed towers eternally enmeshed in mist, a bristling walled island of black and green and gray that surged up from the flat sweep of the Aqqar Plain as if the continual damps had spawned it overnight.
CK
(My short stories are free on Smashwords, btw.)