Kammosjuttu
Well-known Member
Okay, I haven't written anything in a looong while, so I just scribbled up something as practice and dumped it in here in hopes of getting constructive critic and opinions about my writing style plus how good my English is (so all grammar mistakes can be pointed out to me, also!). Of course, all kinds of comments are welcome!
And the plural in the thread name is a hint to you guys; if you'd like, I can write more. You can freely suggest me ideas.
DmC – Whip Up Whippersnapper
A pair of attentive eyes glanced around a corner, registering quite a lifeless street with only a few pedestrians sluggishly going somewhere. The place was dull, as if drained from all colors, pushing an oppressively gray atmosphere around one’s self. Unsatisfied, the boy looking at the street pulled back behind the corner. “She’s not here yet… why does she make me wait so long, even though she herself wanted to meet me here?”
He sighed and leaned against the tile wall behind him, theatrically flailing his hands around. “This after what she said to me… ‘Dante, you’re always late, always getting in trouble… yadda yadda’… darn hypocrite, you’re late yourself.”
Even if Dante was complaining, he wasn’t fully behind his words. He was irritated, yes, but not actually angry, since the little voice in his head kept telling him that if the girl was late, there had to be a good reason for it. As selfish as he was, he wasn’t heartless.
“Whew, boy, am I getting bored. Besides, lingering on an open street like this might draw unwanted ---“, in the middle of Dante’s sentence, a strange surge flooded over the street, like a paintbrush gliding over every inch of the environment, leaving the trail behind it colorful as a rainbow, and as deadly as the most crooked imagination.
“--- attention”, Dante finished what he had started to say, knowing exactly what was going on. The demonic world had pulled him in, like so many times before. He was in between, he was in Limbo.
“Alright. The stage is set”, Dante scoffed. “Where are the actors? I truly hope they will be more skilled than the last ones. If you try to act with me, you better be as good as me.”
As if answering to Dante’s invitation, the surface of the street began bubbling suspiciously like thick concoction in a witch’s kettle, spitting up mechanical puppets with legs so skinny it was a wonder they could get a good bearing when standing. Craning their necks they started to approach Dante in a wobbly manner, their hands in the shapes of different melee weapons raised threateningly towards their prey.
Dante’s mouth pressed into a thin line and he reached for his sword on his back. It was time to pummel down some smallfry; these marionettes weren’t impending danger in Dante’s book, they were straightforward and brainless type of creatures, in other words, a yummy little snack for Dante’s hungry blade. Giving a side-way look to his opponents, Dante let something that resembled a small grin set on his lips for a moment before he launched at the pack of enemies. Now his face serious in concentration, Dante hopped around in an acrobatic way, his sword swinging and stabbing around in precise and swift movements that clearly showed that the hand wielding the weapon was experienced, even if some roughness could be detected. The marionettes were silent, unable to mutter even the smallest grunt of pain, when Dante’s quick strikes landed on them, only the crackle and clattering of body parts ripping off in bigger or smaller chunks accompanied the whizzing noise the blade made while cutting through the air.
Even in the midst of a large group of puppets which repeatedly got more backup in the form of new creatures popping up from the ground, Dante operated in a confident manner as if he had the upper-hand – which indeed was the case. In full spirits, not weighted down by wounds or fatigue, Dante was in a ship-shape to take on petty monsters like these just as if it was nothing. Happily his sword ate away at the enemies to its heart’s content as Dante twisted it around, even the wielder himself enjoying over the feeling of being invincible. It was a lie to think that he wasn’t able to get hurt, but nevertheless Dante liked to dwell in it more often than not. There was something soothing in it, like in the gentle hugs that his mother had presented him back in the years.
With a rattle, the last one of the marionettes fell down under Dante’s force. No more of them was spurting out from the paving, and after a quick glance all around him, Dante put his sword, now covered in black blood spilled by the enemies, back to rest in between his shoulderblades. The world spreading out in front of him was still as colorful as a flower garden, so it meant he was still trapped inside Limbo.
“Okay… now I have to figure a way out”, Dante tapped his chin with a forefinger, but then the motion was abruptly stopped in the middle. To his utter surprise, the very ground under his feet began to shake violently, soon after starting to fall apart. The force like an earthquake made it hard to stay standing, let alone move freely, but Dante knew he had to maintain the control or else he’d be doomed. With the sheer will and great effort, Dante launched himself up from the street just before the stones under him collapsed, and reached above him, able to grab a handful of the flag fabric hanging down from a pole that stuck out from the side of a building. The flimsy flag wouldn’t be able to support Dante long; it was already making the tearing noise, so Dante hastily pulled himself upwards along it, placing his hands hurriedly around the pole where the fabric was attached to. When Dante sensed in his palms a vibration from the flag pole, he understood that next it would try to shake him off; without wasting time, Dante kicked himself in a swinging motion, then flung himself through the air, aiming for the safety ladder crawling alongside the building wall. To his relief, Dante succeeded at grabbing a hold of the ladder that was more rusty than trusty, and climb up with it as quickly as he could while the rumbling of the ground mixed with the creaking the metal made under his weight. It was frustrating when the city started to attack on him; Dante could kick some monster-ass, no problem, but it was a bit hazy to him how exactly fight against a whole environment capable of squishing him into a wet spot on the ground the minute he stopped running around like crazy. There weren’t vital points which to hit in a stone like there was in organic or robotic essences; if he tried to assail such a mountain he would only get a dulled sword and recoiled bullets in return. As much as he hated it, he just had to leg it till the town gave up on the chase.
To Dante’s great dismay, the ladder behind him started to twist menacingly, wrapping up like a roll of parchment in a growing pace. “****…! Always with the close calls…”, Dante grumbled under his breath, and after the few last meters left of the climb, he rolled himself over the edge of the building to stand on top of the roof. He knew already that now the roof, too, would start to distort; it was as if wherever he stepped on, the exact spot would start to destroy itself as a response to his presence. It was wearisome and upsetting to be enclosed in a situation like this with only two choices; run till your lungs explode or wait the walls of stone to hammer you into mince.
Feeling grumpy, Dante sped along the rooftop, shoe soles almost hitting up sparkles. The whole building under Dante’s feet shook, desperately trying to stop the boy galloping through its grasps time after time, no matter how much structure it broke down and how many obstacles it grew up in front of him. Dante reached the edge of the rooftop, and without a second thought he launched himself into a daring leap through the air, using the speed he had gathered while dashing forward, to make it to the other building’s rooftop. It was difficult to maneuver one’s way up here, but the same situation, if not even worse, would be met on the ground level; the streets, rumbling and breaking, gave no chance to find one’s footing.
And the plural in the thread name is a hint to you guys; if you'd like, I can write more. You can freely suggest me ideas.
DmC – Whip Up Whippersnapper
A pair of attentive eyes glanced around a corner, registering quite a lifeless street with only a few pedestrians sluggishly going somewhere. The place was dull, as if drained from all colors, pushing an oppressively gray atmosphere around one’s self. Unsatisfied, the boy looking at the street pulled back behind the corner. “She’s not here yet… why does she make me wait so long, even though she herself wanted to meet me here?”
He sighed and leaned against the tile wall behind him, theatrically flailing his hands around. “This after what she said to me… ‘Dante, you’re always late, always getting in trouble… yadda yadda’… darn hypocrite, you’re late yourself.”
Even if Dante was complaining, he wasn’t fully behind his words. He was irritated, yes, but not actually angry, since the little voice in his head kept telling him that if the girl was late, there had to be a good reason for it. As selfish as he was, he wasn’t heartless.
“Whew, boy, am I getting bored. Besides, lingering on an open street like this might draw unwanted ---“, in the middle of Dante’s sentence, a strange surge flooded over the street, like a paintbrush gliding over every inch of the environment, leaving the trail behind it colorful as a rainbow, and as deadly as the most crooked imagination.
“--- attention”, Dante finished what he had started to say, knowing exactly what was going on. The demonic world had pulled him in, like so many times before. He was in between, he was in Limbo.
“Alright. The stage is set”, Dante scoffed. “Where are the actors? I truly hope they will be more skilled than the last ones. If you try to act with me, you better be as good as me.”
As if answering to Dante’s invitation, the surface of the street began bubbling suspiciously like thick concoction in a witch’s kettle, spitting up mechanical puppets with legs so skinny it was a wonder they could get a good bearing when standing. Craning their necks they started to approach Dante in a wobbly manner, their hands in the shapes of different melee weapons raised threateningly towards their prey.
Dante’s mouth pressed into a thin line and he reached for his sword on his back. It was time to pummel down some smallfry; these marionettes weren’t impending danger in Dante’s book, they were straightforward and brainless type of creatures, in other words, a yummy little snack for Dante’s hungry blade. Giving a side-way look to his opponents, Dante let something that resembled a small grin set on his lips for a moment before he launched at the pack of enemies. Now his face serious in concentration, Dante hopped around in an acrobatic way, his sword swinging and stabbing around in precise and swift movements that clearly showed that the hand wielding the weapon was experienced, even if some roughness could be detected. The marionettes were silent, unable to mutter even the smallest grunt of pain, when Dante’s quick strikes landed on them, only the crackle and clattering of body parts ripping off in bigger or smaller chunks accompanied the whizzing noise the blade made while cutting through the air.
Even in the midst of a large group of puppets which repeatedly got more backup in the form of new creatures popping up from the ground, Dante operated in a confident manner as if he had the upper-hand – which indeed was the case. In full spirits, not weighted down by wounds or fatigue, Dante was in a ship-shape to take on petty monsters like these just as if it was nothing. Happily his sword ate away at the enemies to its heart’s content as Dante twisted it around, even the wielder himself enjoying over the feeling of being invincible. It was a lie to think that he wasn’t able to get hurt, but nevertheless Dante liked to dwell in it more often than not. There was something soothing in it, like in the gentle hugs that his mother had presented him back in the years.
With a rattle, the last one of the marionettes fell down under Dante’s force. No more of them was spurting out from the paving, and after a quick glance all around him, Dante put his sword, now covered in black blood spilled by the enemies, back to rest in between his shoulderblades. The world spreading out in front of him was still as colorful as a flower garden, so it meant he was still trapped inside Limbo.
“Okay… now I have to figure a way out”, Dante tapped his chin with a forefinger, but then the motion was abruptly stopped in the middle. To his utter surprise, the very ground under his feet began to shake violently, soon after starting to fall apart. The force like an earthquake made it hard to stay standing, let alone move freely, but Dante knew he had to maintain the control or else he’d be doomed. With the sheer will and great effort, Dante launched himself up from the street just before the stones under him collapsed, and reached above him, able to grab a handful of the flag fabric hanging down from a pole that stuck out from the side of a building. The flimsy flag wouldn’t be able to support Dante long; it was already making the tearing noise, so Dante hastily pulled himself upwards along it, placing his hands hurriedly around the pole where the fabric was attached to. When Dante sensed in his palms a vibration from the flag pole, he understood that next it would try to shake him off; without wasting time, Dante kicked himself in a swinging motion, then flung himself through the air, aiming for the safety ladder crawling alongside the building wall. To his relief, Dante succeeded at grabbing a hold of the ladder that was more rusty than trusty, and climb up with it as quickly as he could while the rumbling of the ground mixed with the creaking the metal made under his weight. It was frustrating when the city started to attack on him; Dante could kick some monster-ass, no problem, but it was a bit hazy to him how exactly fight against a whole environment capable of squishing him into a wet spot on the ground the minute he stopped running around like crazy. There weren’t vital points which to hit in a stone like there was in organic or robotic essences; if he tried to assail such a mountain he would only get a dulled sword and recoiled bullets in return. As much as he hated it, he just had to leg it till the town gave up on the chase.
To Dante’s great dismay, the ladder behind him started to twist menacingly, wrapping up like a roll of parchment in a growing pace. “****…! Always with the close calls…”, Dante grumbled under his breath, and after the few last meters left of the climb, he rolled himself over the edge of the building to stand on top of the roof. He knew already that now the roof, too, would start to distort; it was as if wherever he stepped on, the exact spot would start to destroy itself as a response to his presence. It was wearisome and upsetting to be enclosed in a situation like this with only two choices; run till your lungs explode or wait the walls of stone to hammer you into mince.
Feeling grumpy, Dante sped along the rooftop, shoe soles almost hitting up sparkles. The whole building under Dante’s feet shook, desperately trying to stop the boy galloping through its grasps time after time, no matter how much structure it broke down and how many obstacles it grew up in front of him. Dante reached the edge of the rooftop, and without a second thought he launched himself into a daring leap through the air, using the speed he had gathered while dashing forward, to make it to the other building’s rooftop. It was difficult to maneuver one’s way up here, but the same situation, if not even worse, would be met on the ground level; the streets, rumbling and breaking, gave no chance to find one’s footing.
continue your writing buddy!