Writing Explorations: Week 91, Mail

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. The main character is a mailman of some stripe.
  2. The success or failure of a world-ending plot hangs on a delivery, but nobody realizes it.
  3. Postal workers carry weapons.

Bonus Rounds:
  • Write in a random genre.
  • Name your postal carrier 'Oswald' or some variation thereof.
  • Add tropes to ALL THE THINGS!
  • Sympathy
Reactions: Draugvan

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.
The world shook. The ground heaved. The clouds burst. Explosions rang heavy and terrible as bolts of incandescent plasma sliced through the air around him. He ran, swiftly, frantically, flying on his feet over rubble and ruin as alien armies clashed with weapons he had never dreamed may one day exist. In his arms, he clutched an object he had thus far come to know as "The Package" a small cylinder of gleaming red metal marked with violet neon letters in a language he could likely never interpret. To his left were the Kyrioth, humanoid enough in shape but weaing full suits of sleek and fantastic armor which glittered and beautifully refracted the bright blue light of their energy weapons. They were not hostile, but cared not for his pressence in the crossfire, and would shed no tears upon his demise. To the right were the Tharg, large and beastly creatures of vaguely crablike body structure, boasting long arms with fearsome zygodactyl talons, who carried their weapons upon their bodies in great suits of powered armor, which gave their warriors courage enough to often charge across the no-man's-land to face the Kyrioth hand to claw, who fought them off with an array of diverse glowing blades, each seemingly unique to the soldier. The Tharg knew little of The Package beyond it's technological superiority to anything they possessed, and each that gazed upon him courageously pursued him until either slain by the Kyrioth or overtaken by better judgement. Behind him... he glanced back... behind him were monsters... hell-beasts... things that made his heart race just to look at, single-mindedly pursuing The Package and ripping both sides to shreds like bloody tinfoil to get just to him. He couldn't afford to stop, he couldn't afford to slow down. Hos shoddy laser pistol was no use here. One mistake meant two things; a horrible death and the damnation of his home planet alongsude countless others.

He sprinted with all his might, bounding like a hunted deer across the war-torn ground as the ship of a fourth faction descended guns-blazing, the Tharg eager to engage while the Kyrioth fired upon it with a certain amount of hesitation. Their weapons were useless, the energy shields had only a single weak point, a gap across an opening hatch that was his destination.

Suddenly, there was a scraping noise from behind, a shadow fell over him and he found himself flying through the air before being slammed hard into the ground by something of immense strength and unrelenting fury. Dazed, he felt a peculiar pressure jabbing into the soft flesh of his calf until something tore away all at once in a wave of white-hot agony just below his knee. He crawled inched forward, belly on the ground as the beast, gnawing his other leg, began to drag him back to the rest of the charging horde as, a mere hundred feet in front of him, the many guns of the vessel before him swivelled all at once in his direction, unleashing a barage of shrieking red orbs that struck the monsters and held them back. He felt the grip on his body loosen and glanced to the creature that maimed him, it's head caved in and the soft tissue boiling as it reeled back, twitching, thoroughly slain. The smell was atrocious and the dripping blood stung noticeably even through the pain of his broken body, which was blissfully fading through the rush of adrenaline. He gripped The Package and crawled forward as red light flashed over him, the howling beasts now flanking him with the ship's armaments barely holding them back. If he could only reach the ship... if he could only deliver this damned tube...

Ninety feet. The pain was gone.
Eighty feet. An explosion deafened him.
Seventy feet. His arms grew weak.
Sixty feet. His vision blurred.
Fifty feet. He was terribly tired.
Forty feet. A figure left the ship.
Thirty five feet. She ran up to him.
Thirty five feet... She took the package.
Thirty... five... feet... she ran back with it...
...Forty feet... the ship... was ascending...
Sixty feet.
One hundred feet.
One thousand feet.
  • Nice Execution!
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Invitation Status
, ,
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 world had fallen apart the day the last star fell and the five world nations sent their weapons of mass destruction in a single deafening shot. still, even with the collective madness of those handful of leaders pockets of humanity managed to successfully hide themselves safely from the devastation. Sending and receiving messages however had become a dangerous and difficult proposition. So those willing to traverse the dangers of the open outlands of the surface world were indeed heroes to the masses.

Oswald Hammershuld was among those brave few and among them one of the most revered. He'd been the one to carry the letters of peace from one outpost to another, which had allowed for much needed trade and cooperation to return. he'd also carried news of the successful settlement topside that was growing fresh produce for trade that had restored the hope of many thousands. Today he held in his hands a box, not a large one, just a plain box with no markings of note at all. He accepted it and was given the destination, or to be precise, destinations. he wrote the details into his journal and took the package to his transport.

The first of the six destinations was a larger top side location. They were to open the box, remove what was labeled for them and then he was to continue on to the next location. Such a thing had never been asked of a carrier before, but he figured a message was a message and a package was a package. He followed directives and this was no exception.

This was a treacherous journey to the topside settlement, and he'd have to run fast and hard to get there. There were mutated creatures topside that were sensitive to vibration. they would fix on it and travel at speeds incredible to believe until they found the source. Luckily his transport was fast and so when the gate lifted he hit the accelerator and never let it up.

The first settlement took their package and he continued on his way. It took a total of five days to make all the deliveries. he returned to the sender and gave them his report. What he had not known was that the boxes contained a vaccine that was treating an outbreak of radiation sickness that was spreading throughout the remaining settlement cities through the food growing at the topside community.

He frowned, "What outbreak?" and even as he spoke he began to feel hot, and blisters began to form on his hands and face.

"This one," the doctor said as he looked at the carrier.

Oswald Hammershuld did not survive, even with treatment. The sickness had too long to destroy his body from within but a statue was erected in his hor in every city where he delivered the life saving vaccine.
  • Nice Execution!
Reactions: The Mood is Write