Okay, so here's a piece I made for a creative writing class I'm taking. I figured I might as well post it here and see what everyone thinks of it, since it's about Brother Grimm. It's about two pages long in Word, so it may take time to read campared to other posts on this forum.
SFFMW- Totally Awesome Group
Six travelers, misplaced in the universe, are working their way through the bright blues, greens, and oranges of the pixellated landscape, which watches with beady black eyes as they pass. Suddenly, the colors darken and grey; the electronic music turns minor, then dissonant, then lastly, silent; the happy white clouds bear frowns and fade into dark thunderheads.
Blacklit smoke pours from the ground somewhere in front of them, blocking their already limited two-dimensional view of the way ahead, and collects in a mass just a few pixels taller and wider than the average person. As the smoke starts to fade, they notice their visitor’s hair: short—eyebrow’s length—parted, and dark red, like thick blood. His attire, in contrast with his hair (and similarly, his eyes), is that of a member of the clergy. His most prominent feature, however—only noticeable once the smoke has cleared—is a deep aura that seems to represent the power within him that has made the scene so gloomy.
He opens his mouth, and in a low, yet dramatic voice, he recites,
“Good evening. I am Brother Grimm,
And my boss has sent me on a whim.
If you continue to roam
And you don’t head straight home,
Then your chance of survival is slim.”
Taph, a young woman, wearing a loose white robe trimmed with light red triangles, steps forward, her face stern, and flares, “And just what is that supposed to mean? Are you threatening us?”
Brother Grimm instinctively leans away from the sudden outburst, but calmly replies in his normal, slightly hypnotic voice, “No, I am not threatening you. I am warning you. You should go home before things get out of hand.”
“We are looking for our way home, actually,” says Hatche, an experienced-looking axe-fighter wearing heavy armor, as he steps forward alongside Taph, “We’re currently trying to figure out how to get back, while merely helping out people in need as we travel along.” A light breeze blows around his unkempt hair, as if to point out that he is your typical ‘unlikely hero’.
“Well, you should just skip all of that hero-ing business and get out of here soon. People have been doing fine around here without you. You are only going to get yourselves into trouble.”
This time Sabe steps forward to speak, brushing his long white hair back past the feather sticking out of his fedora, “‘Doing fine’? We just saved a town from famine. They wouldn’t have survived without our help.” The breeze blows his vermilion cape back, revealing some light chainmail, a rapier and a couple scrolls.
“They can handle it. They have before.” Brother Grimm’s tone sharpens and his brow starts to furrow.
“But this was the worst one to happen for as long as anyone can remember,” Sabe explains.
“They’re a low-class, diseased, illiterate village. How are they going to be able to compare severity of things when they can’t even keep track of them?”
“That’s why they need our help!” Rod shouts, in a surprisingly high-pitched voice, with yellow eyes intensifying as the words are said, covered partially by a pointed straw hat. A movement under the light blue robe signifies a foot moving forward.
“They would not need your help if you were not there. Your presence is what reminds them that their lives are not perfect. Your offer for help is what causes them to think of what they could be helped with. Your mere presence makes fate feel compelled to give you something to do, at the expense of those you are supposedly helping.”
“But their lives turn out better in the long run,” insists Hatche, reaching toward his sword.
“Besides, it’s not like it’s much of a burden on us. It helps to pass the time, and we always get rewarded, whether it be by the village we saved or the cave we explored,” Dagg sets his hand on Hatche’s shoulder. All the breeze serves to do for him is to move the free end of his leaf-green bandana and the one tuft of brown hair sticking out front.
“Fools! Heed my warning! You’re going to get yourselves into something you’ll never get out of if you do not head straight home!” His aura flares, looking more like a black flame than an outline. The scene darkens even more, to where it’s now hard to even distinguish outlines. The silhouette of a scythe flashes where Grimm has been standing.
The only things visible now are the glow from the palms of Rod’s gloves, now tinted orange; a small area around Taph, illuminated by her divine power; and the light glinting off of Hatche’s armor.
Knowing the importance of a healer in a group, Grimm takes a slash at Taph. She raises her arms just as the blow lands, ripping through her robe. It goes dark around her again, and Grimm hears the thud of her body on the ground.
As he heads for the next magic user in line, Rod, a dagger sticks into his side. Trying to ignore the blow, he keeps moving forward. He reaches back to take a swing at Rod, when an axe swings by his head, barely missing. Turning to look at his attacker, he sees Sabe coming at him with a rapier. He expertly counters with his scythe, aided by the darkness around him.
The air around him gets chilled, and his fingers numb. Rod shouts the last incantations, and Grimm is frozen for an instant. Now mad, a crimson blur slices in front of him, easily felling the unarmored body of the party’s last mage.
Another dagger sinks into his side, and Grimm realizes that the first one has been removed. He turns and takes out his assailant, only barely striking him.
More axe slashes fly around him, some getting too close for comfort. When he tries to aim this last blow past the armor, a magical barrier knocks his scythe out of his hands. Instead of grabbing for his weapon, which is now being guarded by Hatche, he starts preparing a curse, moving his hands around and murmuring silently. He releases the dark powers just as the axe lands on his shoulder. They look at eachother for a moment, daring the other to make the next move, when Hatche collapses.
Grimm is now aware that his darkness has vanished, and that the sky is now as bright as daylight again. “Oh well,” Grimm breathes to himself, as he summons away his blade, “there is no one around.”
At his last word, he feels a sudden pain in his back. Then another in his side. Three more in his ribs. He watches as a purple-vested man lands blow after blow on him, leaving bruises and welts all over. He swings back in retaliation, but to no avail. The world once again darkens, but not enough to stop the punches. As a last resort, he attempts to teleport away. The pain increases, and it gets harder to concentrate on his spell. His vision blurs, and as it fades, he hears the echoing laughter of Knuck, the sadistic monk…
It's hard to forge someone's signature in Times New Roman.