Hey, I'm planning to submit my fiction officially, but I just wanted to get some opinions. This is the opening of my short story, the actual action and meat of it yet to happen, but I fealt I needed some exposistion, though with the 1000 word limitation imposed, I'm trying to keep that to a minimum, while still allowing for a feel of the characters, as well as their chemistry and motivations.
Now for the literary jargon; It still reads a bit choppy in places, and I attribute that to tense changes, though I can't exactly put my finger on them. Also, im not 100% with the pacing, things may be a bit more wordy then I would like, which could also attribute to the "chop". As far as character introduction goes, I'm having a spot of trouble managing two hero origins in a touch-and-go fashion while retaining the flow of the piece, ect ect.
Don't lay into me for gramtical errors or spelling problems, havent proofed it for those yet Here it is, as yet untitled:
Etherstorm sat legs hanging over the head of a sprouting gargoyle, thirty stories above the city floor, the pale moonlight casting a cold blue hue on his already blue skin, his costume stained and his hair matted with his own blood, glistening black in the night. Wrapping the wound on his left bicep in a bandage, which he had pulled from one of his many belt-pouches (spandex, he had long ago decided, lacked sufficent pocket space for his line of work), he winced, only for a moment, as he synched it tight with his teeth, biting off the excess slack, spitting it down to the city floor. He sighed, heavily, as he watched the white of the bandage turn red, then black, as it was easily bled through. Bloody Tsoo, was all he could think, as flexed his battered arm, trying to get a feel for it's condition. Satisfied that he had at least stemmed the blood flow, he turned to his opposite shoulder, where a shuriken had managed to implant itself. Bloody Tsoo, he thought again, as he took the thing in his teeth and tugged it out, barbed edges making him cry out, dropping it from his mouth to clank loudly on the stone ledge, taking enough blood with it to sit in a little crimson puddle, like some sort of macabre artpiece. His costume was in tatters, torn in a myriad of places, his left sleve completely gone, and the repairs would not come cheap, he lamented. Bloody Tsoo...
Behind him, a window long ago painted shut cracked and whined as it was forced open. Etherstorm began to move, to ready himself, rising quickly despite the protest offered by his aching body, when he heard the grating of metal armor on the stone windowsil. He let go an audible sigh as he flopped back down to his perch, smiling despite himself, never looking back, knowing who approached. "Well! Could ye have picked a harder winder fer me ta get to? Many a security guard wanted to know why I was headin fer a janitor's closet. And what were with that winder anyway? Damned thing seemed broke, had to lift hard to open it! Ye'd like ta think that at least in the handyman's room things would be in proper workin order!" Herzad Stonegut, Etherstorm's unlikely companion and ally, bellowed in his deep, surly voice. Etherstorm could only shake his head in disbelief.
"Well?" Herzad demanded, taking a brief peek over the ledge as he hauled his muscled frame through the window, his brow furrowing a moment, assesing what threat a fall from this hight might prove. Etherstorm, knowing his friend all too well, calmly replied "You'd likely do more damage to the concrete, then the concrete to you, Stonebutt." Herzad had come to the same conclusion.
"Stonegut! Herzad Stonegut, boy!" the little hero retorted. Etherstorm only smiled, knowing full well the reaction the nickname "Stonebutt" would provoke. Herzad crashed down on the ledge next to him, armored rear clanking noisily, little legs kicking absently at the drop below. Smiling, Etherstorm took in his companion. Herzad was tiny, only four feet tall, though easily as broad, and while Etherstorm was by no means large, standing only five feet himself, he did tower over his friend, which he took some pleasure in. Herzad Stonegut was a dwarf, ripped from his own plane of existance and dropped into Paragon City's. What had moved him so, be it fate or an embittered mage, Etherstorm was not sure, but he was indeed glad to have the little ball of armored and bearded sniew by his side.
Etherstorm himself had come to Paragon via similar avenues, inter-planar travel, though he had done so of his own volition, his people answering a distress call recieved during the Ritki war by sending their finest warrior, General Rhazad Ehvnourm, who took the name Etherstorm upon arriving in Paragon City, the city of heros. Herzad, ever the stoic, declared daily that that the only reason he stuck around was in hopes the that Etherstorm, with his people's innate ability to manipulate the ether itself (hence the "super" name Etherstorm had taken upoin arriving), could open a gateway and send Herzad home, though Etherstorm knew Herzad to be more attached to both himself and the people of Paragon City then he would ever admit.
"Well?" the dwarf repeated. "Did the battle go well enough then?"
Etherstorm looked to his destroyed costume, as if in reply, back to the dwarf, and stated dryly, "Oh yes, quite well. Why, the dozen or so ninja attempting to loot the place barely noticed me. Their swords, however, did. And where were you?" Noticing the new horn affixed to Herzad's helmet, which had been broken off in a feirce battle several days ago with the Circle of Thorns, Herzad's most hated enemies. "Why", Etherstorm began, "thats a nice new horn, you have yourself, Stonebutt. Visiting Serge at Icon, were you? Wasn't it you who said 'Serge?! To much a womanly man fer him to be gettin me buisness!'?" he finished in his best Herzad impression.
Hey, I'm planning to submit my fiction officially, but I just wanted to get some opinions. This is the opening of my short story, the actual action and meat of it yet to happen, but I fealt I needed some exposistion, though with the 1000 word limitation imposed, I'm trying to keep that to a minimum, while still allowing for a feel of the characters, as well as their chemistry and motivations.
Here it is, as yet untitled:
Now for the literary jargon; It still reads a bit choppy in places, and I attribute that to tense changes, though I can't exactly put my finger on them. Also, im not 100% with the pacing, things may be a bit more wordy then I would like, which could also attribute to the "chop". As far as character introduction goes, I'm having a spot of trouble managing two hero origins in a touch-and-go fashion while retaining the flow of the piece, ect ect.
Don't lay into me for gramtical errors or spelling problems, havent proofed it for those yet
Etherstorm sat legs hanging over the head of a sprouting gargoyle, thirty stories above the city floor, the pale moonlight casting a cold blue hue on his already blue skin, his costume stained and his hair matted with his own blood, glistening black in the night. Wrapping the wound on his left bicep in a bandage, which he had pulled from one of his many belt-pouches (spandex, he had long ago decided, lacked sufficent pocket space for his line of work), he winced, only for a moment, as he synched it tight with his teeth, biting off the excess slack, spitting it down to the city floor. He sighed, heavily, as he watched the white of the bandage turn red, then black, as it was easily bled through. Bloody Tsoo, was all he could think, as flexed his battered arm, trying to get a feel for it's condition. Satisfied that he had at least stemmed the blood flow, he turned to his opposite shoulder, where a shuriken had managed to implant itself. Bloody Tsoo, he thought again, as he took the thing in his teeth and tugged it out, barbed edges making him cry out, dropping it from his mouth to clank loudly on the stone ledge, taking enough blood with it to sit in a little crimson puddle, like some sort of macabre artpiece. His costume was in tatters, torn in a myriad of places, his left sleve completely gone, and the repairs would not come cheap, he lamented. Bloody Tsoo...
Behind him, a window long ago painted shut cracked and whined as it was forced open. Etherstorm began to move, to ready himself, rising quickly despite the protest offered by his aching body, when he heard the grating of metal armor on the stone windowsil. He let go an audible sigh as he flopped back down to his perch, smiling despite himself, never looking back, knowing who approached. "Well! Could ye have picked a harder winder fer me ta get to? Many a security guard wanted to know why I was headin fer a janitor's closet. And what were with that winder anyway? Damned thing seemed broke, had to lift hard to open it! Ye'd like ta think that at least in the handyman's room things would be in proper workin order!" Herzad Stonegut, Etherstorm's unlikely companion and ally, bellowed in his deep, surly voice. Etherstorm could only shake his head in disbelief.
"Well?" Herzad demanded, taking a brief peek over the ledge as he hauled his muscled frame through the window, his brow furrowing a moment, assesing what threat a fall from this hight might prove. Etherstorm, knowing his friend all too well, calmly replied "You'd likely do more damage to the concrete, then the concrete to you, Stonebutt." Herzad had come to the same conclusion.
"Stonegut! Herzad Stonegut, boy!" the little hero retorted. Etherstorm only smiled, knowing full well the reaction the nickname "Stonebutt" would provoke. Herzad crashed down on the ledge next to him, armored rear clanking noisily, little legs kicking absently at the drop below. Smiling, Etherstorm took in his companion. Herzad was tiny, only four feet tall, though easily as broad, and while Etherstorm was by no means large, standing only five feet himself, he did tower over his friend, which he took some pleasure in. Herzad Stonegut was a dwarf, ripped from his own plane of existance and dropped into Paragon City's. What had moved him so, be it fate or an embittered mage, Etherstorm was not sure, but he was indeed glad to have the little ball of armored and bearded sniew by his side.
Etherstorm himself had come to Paragon via similar avenues, inter-planar travel, though he had done so of his own volition, his people answering a distress call recieved during the Ritki war by sending their finest warrior, General Rhazad Ehvnourm, who took the name Etherstorm upon arriving in Paragon City, the city of heros. Herzad, ever the stoic, declared daily that that the only reason he stuck around was in hopes the that Etherstorm, with his people's innate ability to manipulate the ether itself (hence the "super" name Etherstorm had taken upoin arriving), could open a gateway and send Herzad home, though Etherstorm knew Herzad to be more attached to both himself and the people of Paragon City then he would ever admit.
"Well?" the dwarf repeated. "Did the battle go well enough then?"
Etherstorm looked to his destroyed costume, as if in reply, back to the dwarf, and stated dryly, "Oh yes, quite well. Why, the dozen or so ninja attempting to loot the place barely noticed me. Their swords, however, did. And where were you?" Noticing the new horn affixed to Herzad's helmet, which had been broken off in a feirce battle several days ago with the Circle of Thorns, Herzad's most hated enemies. "Why", Etherstorm began, "thats a nice new horn, you have yourself, Stonebutt. Visiting Serge at Icon, were you? Wasn't it you who said 'Serge?! To much a womanly man fer him to be gettin me buisness!'?" he finished in his best Herzad impression.