Writing Explorations: Week 89, Hunters

The Mood is Write

Original poster
Invitation Status
Looking for partners
Posting Speed
Multiple posts per day, 1-3 posts per day, One post per day, Multiple posts per week, 1-3 posts per week, One post per week
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Preferred Character Gender
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female, No Preferences
I'm open to a wide range of genres. Obscenely wide. It's harder for me to list all I do like than all I don't like. My absolute favorite is mixed and multiverse, but I'm not limited to those.

• Mixed Genre
• Multiverse
• High Fantasy
• Hard Fantasy
• Low Fantasy
• OP Fantasy
• Science Fantasy
• Modern Fantasy
• Soft Scifi
• Science Fantasy
• Low Scifi
• OP Science Fantasy
• Modern Realistic (Strict)
• Modern Realistic (Loose)
• Urban Fantasy
• Alternate History (Fantasy Preference)
• Post-Apocalyptic Mixed
• Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy
• Post-Apocalyptic Scifi
• Post-Apocalyptic Modern
• Dystopia
• Displacement
• Military
• Dying Earth
• Supernatural
• Drama
• Mystery
• Horror
• Religious
• Crime/Detective
• Parody
• Comedy
• Tragedy
• Romance (Must Include Others)
• Erotic (Must Include Others)
My Writing Explorations series of exercises are a chance for users to explore new concepts and practice the art of raising two fingers to Writer's Block while screaming obscenities to fickle muses: to rebel against the idea that a person requires a mythical force inside them to make new and amazing things.

No. Listen well, users: there is no being inside you waiting to be let out. You are the writer, and in this exercise, you are given a place to push not only against Writer's Block, but also against the forces of stagnation. Feel trapped in your genre? Explore a new one! Stuck with a singular archetype? Do something else! In this thread, you will not be critiqued unless you request it. Should you wish it, I will happily offer my thoughts on how it might be improved, but I will not comb looking for fixes: this isn't the place: this place is for safely trying new things and indulging a love of writing.

Shake the bars of your cell block and roar, writers!

[fieldbox=How do I take part?]You can write to one or more (or none) of the prompts, the theme in the thread title, the bonuses—hell, you can even cast aside all of what I offer if you get a different idea.

The whole point is "get writing!"[/fieldbox]

  1. "Loving any of us is a death sentence, isn't it?"
  2. "We are not gonna die. You know why? Because we are so very pretty."
  3. A hundred black hoods, painted with the blood of lambs and embroidered with the hair of children, turned in unison toward the sound of the whoopee cushion.

Bonus Rounds:
  • Write in a random genre.
  • "Bro, your sister's hot."
    "That's my grandmother."
  • "Here, hold my dignity. I've got some sketchy shit to do."

Dahrinn (Groucho)

The Wizard
Invitation Status
, , ,
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
Primarily Prefer Male
Fantasy, Sci fi, anything in which the world itelf is extremely interesting.
In the once-abandoned underground fortress of Daal-Khazgun, deep within the Mountains of Dead Titans, an immense cult of Dragon Worshipers has congregated, hoping to utilize a necromantic ritual to raise up a Titan eons after it's death, for it is said that the great and terrible Ancient Dragons first rose forth from the Titans' corpses. Only one force stands against them. The Legion of the Griffin, lead by the half-elf Asmund. Though they are strong warriors, and well equipped, they cannot hope to stand against the sheer fanaticism and unholy sorceries of the cult in open combat. As such, the only other possibility is a mass ambush, a single decisive attack from which to shatter the enemy force. The plan itself simple, but the execution won't be. Plant their greatest warriors among the leaders of the cult, and assassinate the chain of command when the main force attacks... Carrying out this plan is a band of five warriors of different walks of life, whom fate has cursed with misfortune during the early stages. Now they have to find a way to fix the dire situation, or risk a massacre.

In a dark room dimly lit by the soft torchlight shining in through iron bars, two warriors sit, deprived of their weapons and restrained by ropes. To pass the time, they make idle chatter. One of them, a Lukamoryean Bogatyr, speaks;

"When we get out of here, you will receive ass-kicking of thorough and merciless variety, you stupid animal."
He said it with the same amount of passion one would give to an idle remark about the weather.

The difficulty of the plan was hinged on that there was no fully developed idea of how they were going to get in. When it came time to take the mission, they had to improvise. The architect of the plan was Secundus, known to be a loose cannon but a magnificent tactician. Only those who have worked with him seen his true nature, and that nature was true audacity. He retorted enthusiastically at this comment from the much larger and imposing Ivan.

"Come now! It wasn't my fault this time! This time... it was your hot sister's fault!"
Secundus spoke with a tone that could be read as either thick sarcasm or a frustrated ego. Perhaps both at the same time somehow, or perhaps simply whichever upset Ivan more.

"For last time! She is grandmother! And she is Witch!"

"I can't really tell the difference, and so it makes no difference!"
As Secundus spoke, Ivan closed his eyes and elaborated on his previous statement.

"Thorough. And. Merciless."

Though it was true that the first bump in the plan occurred when Tanya was forced to reveal herself (in a terrifying display of dark magic no less) it was likely that the long stack of problematic dominoes Secundus had set in the process of trying to disguise their way in would have fallen upon them in only a matter of time. It could also be said it was still the fault of Secundus for choosing an unstable sociopath as the team's token mage in the first place.

Down the hall, two cloaked figures made their way swiftly through the darkness, their footfalls leaving no sound upon the weathered cobblestones. They wore the black robes of the decadent cult, which were all too suitable for concealing secret weapons. Upon passing the cell in which Secundus and Ivan were held, one outstretched a hand, clinking on the iron bars and loosing a small object stored from within the sleeve. Secundus eyed it and grinned, wiggling his foot out of his boot to pick the metal sphere with his toes before slipping his foot back in.

"You see that Ivan? Just like I said. I'm too pretty to die here."

Ivan made a vocalization resembling a hybrid between a groan and a snarl, it seems the Atlantean had some sort of plot after all, and it was unlikely Ivan was going to be let in on it... as was usually the case.

"Oh I'm sorry, we're too pretty to die here, big guy."

The cloaked figures pass. As do the minutes, and eventually the hours, and soon, the days. The central members of the cult prepare to perform the ritual, bolstered by the gift of a Witch to act as an additional sacrifice. As she attempted to stop their endeavor, she shall be slain alongside the two other intruders. As Secundus and Ivan are lead slowly to the ritual hall where they will meet their doom, Secundus begins making a point to stamp his foot on the ground. When the toes of his boots begin to warm up, he halts his efforts. To pass the time, he makes idle chatter with Ivan.

"Hey Ivan, remember when we first..."


"You're telling me to shut up?"
Secundus spoke as if he were deeply offended.

A cultist chimed in as she swung a wooden club directly into Secundus's kneecap, sending him momentarily to the floor;
"I agree! Shut up, you stupid animal!"

By the Gods, it was Eydis, who happened to be no less than the Lady to whom Ivan swore an oath of protection, back when she had tricked him into thinking she was a noble. It was his love for her that brought him to this chaotic band of outcasts, and the love of his grandmother that kept him here. It seemed now that love was fated to be a death sentence. He couldn't say if he still loved Eydis, not after tricking him and using him, but alas, he had made an oath, and would ensure her safety no matter the cost. As per the status quo, up until this point he had not known Eydis was part of the plan, but she certainly made an entrance, with Secundus only now managing to pick himself back up. Ivan's rare chuckle echoed, but halted the moment they came to the ritual hall. The club-bearing "cultist" gave Ivan a tap on the shoulder, and he felt his binds loosen just enough.

They were set upon altars, with sharp ritual blades laying across their chests. Tanya, was struggling to avoid going berserk as a circle of salt kept her from unleashing any magic. Secundus felt the temperature in his boot increase... it would go off at any moment. Ivan could loose himself from these bonds at choice, but that would be suicide without a big distraction. Eydis walked slowly past the salt circle, and Tanya's eyes started glowing red the moment Eydis dragged her foot along to break it. The gathered cultists began to take their seats for the beginning ceremony. Eydis stood next to the iron cage holding the civilian prisoners they have gathered thus far. The last of the warriors, Asmund himself, had taken the guise of a lower ranking cultist, and found himself last in line to take his seat, as was advised by Secundus himself. As the speech began, he thought fearfully to himself how they were going to get out of his alive, if this was going to be the last stand of his Legion, of everything he had ever worked for. His stomach sank, and as he took his seat, the final piece of the plan was revealed. The activation of a small device fashioned from one of the fruits of animal sacrifice, a spare organ nobody would have missed, Secundus's own invention.

"Hey Ivan."
"Hold my Dignity. I did something ridiculous."
"...What did..."

Asmund took his seat, and it happened.

A hundred black hoods, painted with the blood of lambs and embroidered with the hair of children, turned in unison at the sound of the "Whoopee Cushion" emanating from underneath Asmund's cloaked arse, the noise only amplified by the immensity of the great stone hall they were held in. It was the sound of true audacity. And in that instant of distraction the final stage of the plan had been set in motion.

Secundus kicked his now smoking shoe off toward the cultists, the alchemical device within seconds from detonation.

Ivan broke free of his bonds and armed himself with the sacrificial blades.
Wreathed in fire, Tatiana bared gleaming iron teeth in a vicious smile as she stepped through the broken barrier.
Eydis freed the prisoners with a key she had procured, and armed them with stolen knives.
Asmund watched in terror and admiration as the chaos unfolded before him.
Outside, the Legion began their assault.

And so, with the Legion of the Griffin's victory over the Draconic cultists at the battle of Daal-Khazgun, they had proved their worth to the world, and made another brave step toward Asmund's noble dream, that one day the adventurers and heroes of the world would gather in a single army, an organized force of righteousness, to find and strike down evil wherever it grows. The eyes of Kings and Emperors now turn on them, and they enjoy the rewards of victory for a few short months as an influx of recruits bolster their numbers. Hearing of his exploits, countless factions attempt to recruit the infamous Secundus to their cause (mostly anonymously) and yet he turns down any incentive imaginable, claiming of course to be above such things. For to bow to the whims of Kings and Emperors would be to abandon his nature, and that nature was true audacity.

"Hey Ivan, remember when we first met and I told you I could rout a small army with a goat bladder?"

Ivan made a vocalization resembling a hybrid between a groan and a snarl.


Accidental Pyromaniac
Posting Speed
Multiple posts per day, 1-3 posts per day, One post per day, 1-3 posts per week, One post per week
Online Availability
Most of the time MST
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
Primarily Prefer Female
Mideval Fantasy (LOW fantasy), SciFi, Modern/Superhero, Dystopian
"Loving any of us- loving me- it's a death sentence, isn't it?" Alex chuckled bitterly. Darkly. A single bloodshot green eye, decorated by dark bags and stress lines, stared down at the gray sweater he had balled up in his hand. "First Eric, then Jason....and Lu's....she's gone." The man bit back his next words, unable to even form them for a moment, before he continued. "Nicole got shot today...it's bad. She's too old to be out there. You and I both know that. Evan.... He wanted to say goodbye to you, but you...you're here. He just wanted his grandpa with him."

The silence from the bed next to him was overwhelmingly depressing. Alex finally tore his gaze from the fabric in his hand to trace the older male's wrinkled face. "You're going to be leaving too, aren't you?" He whispered to the man. Barry was asleep again, his breathing shallow. Blood stained the bandages that wrapped his scarred body from head to toe, but the heart monitor beeped quietly on.

"I...I know you and I don't get along sometimes," Alex started, after taking a deep breath. "I know you probably can't hear me. I just...I need someone with me, Barry." His voice cracked and tears threatened to spill. "I need your help. I can't do this on my own. I don't want to be the only one left when all this is over. I've watched everyone go. My wife...now my last kid. Now my father in law? Come on, you can't do this to me." He sounded almost hopeful again. Almost.

Silence. Just shallow breaths and quiet beeps. Then, for a moment, nothing, before the machines droned out their morose announcement.

The wail was only interrupted by the sound of a sobbing, broken man, crumbling in a chair in the last intact bunker left on earth.


Invitation Status
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Posting Speed
1-3 posts per day
Online Availability
After lunch (noon - 2:00), and evenings after 8:30
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
Primarily Prefer Female
Romance, Fantasy, Tudor, Historical, Magical
The band of rebels squatted behind the sparse cover provided by a thinning bush. They watched the cloaked group circled around an old mosaic in the middle of the forest. The fact that it existed was strange but even moreso was the group gathered around it. A soft and steadily rising chant began to make it's way to the rebel's ears.

"What are they doing?" Jock asked as he peeked through the leaves.

"Beats hell out of me, but it can't be good," replied Harm off handedly as he began pulling things from his backpack. he handed a camera to Jock and winked, "Hold this will you."

"What is it?"

"It's my dignity," he said rolling his eyes, "It's a camera idiot. Hit the record button so I can be immortalized forever. I have some sketchy shit to do.: His gaze moved to the five others and he grinned, "You all know what to do right?"

The five nodded in unison. "Good...time for the said shit to hit whatever it hits." He moved to the opposite side of the circle as their chant grew louder and louder and he actually HEARD the words of it. For the love of God, they were insane! He stood and pressed his hands together letting the odd sound interrupt their ritual. A hundred black hoods, painted with the blood of lambs and embroidered with the hair of children, turned in unison toward the sound of the whoopee cushion. Suddenly this didn't seem like as good an idea as it had, especially since they were chanting for someone to provide a sacrifice.

They as a group now saw him as the answer to that satanical chant and they rushed toward him. He took off running back towards the trap they'd laid for them hoping he was faster than those giving chase. "I'm not being paid enough for this DAMN IT!!" He ran like his pants were on fire, "JOCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" he called and glancing over saw the man dutifully recording the whole thing and not attempting to save his stupid ass. Luckily the other 5 were on the job and once the cultists were in the trap they triggered it and they fell into the deep pit as a group. He fell to the ground gasping for air and shaking with fear or relief it was hard to tell which.

Jock moved over to him, still recording. "can I stop recording now?"''

"You are messed up Jock! You do realize that right?"

Jock just shrugged, "I'm just following orders Harm...YOU are the messed up one."