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I found several cool birds today with a couple of friends. =D (And got some photos too!) We saw @Kestrel's namesake nomming on some sort of smallish animal while sitting on a power line. (Fear not; the photos aren't graphic. Unfortunately, they're not high quality either. I had the settings on my camera all wrong.) We found lots of ducks and geese, plus a few seagulls on a pond. Here's a faraway shot I took of a crowd of them: There were also a few of these American Coots on the pond. This guy was really friendly, like he wanted us to throw him some bread. Those are all my reasonably okay photos from today, but the coolest birds were ones I wasn't able to photograph: a Ring-necked Pheasant, a pair of ravens, and a Merlin! Pheasant (photo from Audubon.org): Ravens (photo from the Encyclopaedia Britannica): Merlin (photo from Pinterest):

Night 7: Properly Useless As the rest of the villagers tried to put out the fire before it spread any further, Joe was just trying to stay out of everyone’s way. Which means he was always in the way. He tried getting as far away as possible and wound up standing in front of the well. When he tried to hide out on a side street, it was the one people were using to haul in ash to dampen the fire. When he gave up on trying to get out of the way and help, he grabbed the wrong cask and wound up dumping more alcohol on the fire; making it worse. Villagers started grumbling the second they saw him and he heard some people ask whether or not he was doing it all on purpose. Finally, despite Joe’s best (or worst, depending on how you looked at it) efforts, they finally got the fire out. The woodworking shop was utterly destroyed, but the Letter Sixteen at least still stood; though it was missing an entire wall now. The villagers were actually fairly lucky that the fire hadn’t spread any further. “I was just trying to help!” Joe said to no one, as he trudged through streets. “Squeak!” “Ah, hello again, Rat. Come to make fun of me too?” “Squeak.” “I tried to help! I really did! How was I supposed to know that Grumbles had been removing all the alcohol so it wouldn’t catch on fire? And who stacks them right next to the water casks?” “Squeak.” Joe stopped and turned to stare at Rat. “What do you mean the water casks were on the other side of the street? They were right next to each other!” “Squeak.” “Well then I must’ve gotten turned around or something,” Joe said. Then he flopped to the ground with a sigh, sitting in the middle of the street. “Maybe they’re right, Rat. Maybe I am just useless. I mean, even my ash taco business is drying up and everyone loves those! The town is in shambles, the Koloss are still on their way, and people are dying left and right. And I haven’t been able to do a thing about it.” “Squeak!” Joe smiled a little at that. “Now I know you’re just trying to make me feel better.” Just then, a group of villagers rounded the corner. They looked like they were search for someone and they weren’t happy about it. “There he is!” Shouted one of them. So Joe stood. He had a pretty good idea what this was about. As they approached, some of them drew swords and knives. “Why’d you do it, Joe? Why’d you try to sabotage us? That seems exactly like something one of those filthy spiked people would do.” Joe just shrugged and smiled sadly. “Don’t suppose you’d believe me if I said said it was an accident and I’m sorry?” But the look on their faces said it all for them and it was clearly a no. Joe sighed again. “Fine then. Do what you have to do.” And he stood with his arms wide. He didn’t even cry out when they stabbed in the stomach multiple times and then left him for dead in the street…. . . . “Squeak!” What an odd noise to hear in heaven, Joe thought. “Squeak!” Slowly, Joe fought his way back to consciousness. There was a horrible pain in his stomach, but somehow, he was still alive. With a groan, he turned his head to the side and opened his eyes. It was night now, but there in front of his face stood Rat and he realized that this must not be heaven after all. “Well will you look at that, Rat.” Joe murmerred weakly. “Seems I can’t even die properly.” Day 6 is over! Night 7 begins. You have 24 hours. Hemalurgic Headshot was lynched, but survived! PMs are still not open. Votes: Hemalurgic Headshot (4)- Assassin in Burgundy, Elenion, Wilson, Jondesu Assassin in Burgundy (3)- Arinian, Arraenae, Araris Jondesu (2)- Joe in the Bush, Conquestor Herowannabe (1)- Sart Drake (1)- Wyrmhero No Votes (15)- Elbereth, Wonko, Orlok, Gamma Fiend, Bugsy, Drake, Stink, Droughtbringer, Hemalurgic Headshot, Magestar, Silverblade, Herowannabe, I am Stick, Manukos, Seonid Player List

Worked up the courage to ask my school's SBO Vice President to Prom! No official answer back yet, but I got a text from her that heavily implies that she's saying yes!!

Here's just a quick sketch of Rea I was working on while writing his intro

--------------------- Anglesey, Wales --------------------- The bar was simple, but pretty, a small construction on a lonely beach in the middle of nowhere. How it got power, Jason had no idea, he simply knew that it was the best bar for miles. It was the only bar for miles. “A martini, stirred, not shaken.” “Coming right up, Mr Bored.” The bartender set to work making up the cocktail and Jason looked out over the beach. The stars were out and the sky was cloudless, and only the dim lights from the open ended bar challenged their brilliant shining. The waves, the tide. The noise soothed him. It was perfect. There were people talking around the bar, of course, but it was quiet at this time of night, at this time of the year. “Your drink, sir.” “Thank you.” “Will you pay with cash or by card, sir.” “Card.” Jason handed the card over to the man and then looked back over the vast sea. Somewhere over there was Ireland. A beautiful place. So close and yet in human terms, so far away. He heard a beeping noise from behind the counter. Then again. He turned around to see the bartender looking somewhat confused. “The card seems to be invalid, sir.” “That doesn’t make sense, I used it just a few minutes ago.” “It reads as invalid. I’m afraid we can’t accept it as payment.” Jason put his drink down. “Can you put it on a tab. I’m going to go and see if I can get some cash from where I’m staying.” “Of course, Mr Bored.” Jason trudged up the beach sand, the moonlight guiding him up to the small patch that had been cleared from the nearby forest, where several small lodges had been set up, in a sort of community. At least one of the residents stayed there permanently, though Jason himself only dropped in from time to time. He walked up to his and opened it with his key, then pushed the door ajar, entering and then closing it behind him. He turned the light switch on to find a gun pointed at his forehead. “MI9 handles agent retirement perfectly well. You know exactly how it is done. And this is not that.” “I… I can explain!” “No, no you can’t. You deserted. That is unacceptable.” The agent pulled the trigger. Everything went black. Jason woke up with a start. His eyes hurt. He couldn’t remember anything. There was someone leaning over above him, grinning madly. “Welcome to Dublin!” ------------------------------------- MI9 Headquarters, Liverpool ------------------------------------- Ryth’s head hurt. Ryth’s back hurt. Ryth’s sides hurt, feet hurt, legs hurt. Ryth’s everything hurt. “Who are you working with?” someone shouted at them. Ryth could feel her breath against their neck. Ryth opened their eyes. They had no idea who it was. “W-what?” “Who. Are. You. Working. With. We know you’re the vole, Ryth. If you tell us who sent you then we can be more lenient with you.” Ryth? The vole? Preposterous! “Me? What are you talking about?” Ryth had been working to find the voles, those filthy double agents, and they were most certainly not one themself. “You’re the vole, Ryth. We have at least 2 other agents providing evidence that you were sharing classified information.” “I did no such thing.” “Ryth, there’s no point in arguing it.” “It’s Agent Ryth to you.” “You lost the right to that title the moment you betrayed us. Now tell us what you know or we will be forced to take much more drastic action.” “What can I tell you?! I don’t know anything!” The woman punched Ryth. “I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING.” Ryth shouted out. “Very well then.” The woman punched Ryth again. And then again. By the time the pain had numbed, Ryth had forgotten who they even were. ---------------------------- Secret Meeting Room ---------------------------- “And with those two agents dealt with, we can move to the most interesting part of this meeting. Upon searching Ex-Agent Jason Bored’s belongings, we found a collection of files - information that he’d been stealing from MI9’s records. There were also some contacts written down, and looking over his phone and email records, we found that he’d been sharing that information with some of his higher ups. I had some of the people in my department track the contacts we found, and they led us to an organisation known as Aries. With a little digging, we found that they were owned by the same person who owns Tybalt, who we’re calling Gemini-Aries. This organisation, Aries, was also linked to an attack on a civilian building somewhere to the west the other day, where Agent Time was known to be using as a residence. I believe that they’re preparing to make a full on attack on MI9, if not the entire world This is very dangerous.” “Thank you, John,” N replied. The data analyst had gone well beyond the minimum, as per usual. “See what else you can find. Otherwise, I believe that’s all for today. I believe it’s a given that you should contact the other intelligence agencies now,” she said, directing her voice towards the European Division head. “Understood, ma’am.” “We’ll reconvene tomorrow to discuss what further action should be taken. It seems, unfortunately, that our agents are dropping like flies.” Everyone stood up, but as N went to leave, she heard someone clear their throat behind her. She turned around to see the head for Human Resources trying to get her attention. “Is there anything I can help you with, Anne?” “It’s about the new interns you got us, I think your sister and one of her friends?” she mumbled back. “That’s right. Have they been acting up?” “One might say that… They’ve decided that they’ve formed their own department. Your sister claimed she had clearance from you so I let her go ahead with it, but I wanted to check with you.” “Department? What department?” “WWMNBQ Department, ma’am.” “W-wanna BBQ department, what?” “That’s how they pronounce it, ma’am.” “Do you know what it means?” “They’ve conveniently abstained from actually telling anyone.” “How pleasant of them. What are they actually doing?” “The other reason I didn’t bring this up earlier. They seem to know about the voles. Not only that, they seem to be actively trying to find them. They’re coordinating large groups of agents in order to get the agents to find the voles.” “They’re what. Is it working?” “They’re the ones who found out Agent Bored, ma’am.” “They did what?” “They claimed to have known from the beginning, only telling us now.” “That’s… interesting. Grill them for more information. See if you can get anything out of them.” “Affirmative, ma’am. Oh, and one other thing.” “Your sister seems to have some bizarre idea of being a sheep. I’m not… I’m not sure where she got it from. N looked at her blankly. “And the other one, her friend, refuses to be referred to as anything other than ‘Mi9’, no pronouns or anything. It’s very confusing, ma’am.” “I… I’ll talk to her about that if I get the chance.” “Thank you, ma’am.” “You’re free to go.” “Have a good day, ma’am.” The head walked off. N turned towards the door. She stopped, then shook her head and walked off. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- <transmission begins> [Music plays] Mi9 greets you, agents, and brings you the missives of the day! Also, suspiciously sly sheep sneakily spy and slip into secret communications. (That’s a code, in case you didn’t notice.) Be suspicious of random sheep who ninja conversations. Be very suspicious. Fact. Sheep are known to be sly and sneaky. And suspicious. A documentary was made about that once. It’s called Zootopia, I believe. Don’t trust random sheep. Really. In other news, sniper rifles have all been issued cutting-edge shear bullets. This is not related in anyway to Mi9’s suspicions. But keep these bullets at the ready. And in case this message gets hacked, no, I am not referring to the illustrious ‘N’ or anyone related to her. Nope. Completely different ninja Sheep. Yes. Mi9 is prepared to disavow anything said in this announcement. Anyway, the missives. Right. [Message 1 plays] *static* “Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!” He took his vorpal sword in hand; Long time the manxome foe he sought— So rested he by the Tumtum tree And stood awhile in thought. And, as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came! One, two! One, two! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back! *static* [message ends] Okay, so which smartmouth decided this was a good idea? Mi9 hopes this agent was in their right mind when they sent this...Perhaps we should consider some...cognitive recalibration. While Mi9 appreciates the valiant efforts to educate their fellow agents on good literature, unless this missive was meant to be some code, heads are going to roll… Mi9 hopes the agent appreciates what Mi9 did there. *resumes professional tone [Message 2] Everyone needs to post missive, to be held accountable. Curently, I can claim I'm Young Bard, and say something that seems like what Bard would say to implicate him. Bard would deny it and then there's no way to prove who actually said it, except by getting everyone to come forward and say which missive they posted. But since only three people posted anything last cycle, the person pretending to be Young Bard can easily say they didn't send one in. I am Bush. Connected to Drake and mage. Originally drake and drought, but C targeted me for unknown reasons. [Message ends] [Message 3 Begins] Des here. Sorry for not touching base earlier. Not much to say on my end. I've voted for Agent Bond at the behest of Agent Time. I don't trust Justin, if I'm completely honest, but he's speaking enough sense that I'm willing to give his lead a shot. Opinion might change depending on the results of today. At this point I’m basically suspicious of everybody, but I’m relatively certain that “Buckbeak” is on the Agency’s side, based off of his previous missive. Happy hunting [Message 3 Ends] [Message 4 begins] Justin again. Had a missive finished, then plans changed. I'm voting Mage for meta reasons mostly. If he's a Double Agent, I think Joe is basically cleared. I've got a weird read on Aman, but he's apparently helping me lynch Mage, so depending on how that turns out, that should affect that read a bit. I'm a Contacts. Ecth was a Spy Contacts, and so am I. That's for anyone who wants to guess role distribution. I think it means the Double Agents have got a C role. [Message 4 ends] [Message 5 begins] Slight suspicion on Seonid for dodging saying anything of value in PM- possibly avoiding Elim avoiding inactivity filter? I voted on SB today because I knew that 2 others were also voting on him, and I didn't want the result changed. Please, please everyone stay active/ become active - 3 missives/ 3 votes is terrible, even for Cycle 1. Buckbeak [Message 5 ends] On that note, Mi9 is noticing a disconcertingly low amount of missives. If more missives are not sent in by the next cycle, Mi9 shall assume that the comlinks of said agents have been compromised, which is why no missives are being sent. Standard protocol would be to self-destruct said comlinks and send new ones! Do not worry, comlink self-destruction isn’t fatal (usually). Send more missives! Don’t trust ninja sheep. <transmission ends> ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Silverblade5 has been lynched! They were a Spy "C". Mi9 has fired DroughtBringer for poor performance! They were a Double Agent "C". Vote Tally: Silverblade5 (2): The Young Bard, A Joe in the Bush Magestar (2): The Mighty Lopen, Amanuensis DroughtBringer (1): I_am_a_stick I_am_a_stick (1): Magestar Silverblade was selected over Magestar for the lynch randomly by RNG. Cycle 3 has now begun! You have 24 hours! Have fun! Player List:

So I've been mulling this theory over for a few days now and decided to post it to get some feedback. After rereading BoM, I think I've talked myself into Leras and Ati being gay lovers on Yolen (and pre-contract breaking on Scadrial). I first thought of the idea when the Allik mentioned that that Southern Scadrians believed that Ruin and Preservation were married. Now that in an of itself doesn't say much; they could very easily be just plain wrong. However, the more spitballing I did, the more it made sense: · Despite going against both of their Shardic intents, Leras and Ati created life out of nothing, literally combining pieces of themselves to create a new human. They are the only ones to create their planet wholesale. Doesn’t this fit with the idea of a gay couple, who could never have biological children of their own, finally being given the ability to create life themselves, literally mixing parts across all three realms of each person? It also appears as if Leras still cares about Ati, despite the war between them. Leras frequently appears at Ruin's prison, and not merely to speak to Kelsier. The first time he comes, he doesn't even acknowledge Kelsier, just stares into the Well and paces back and forth. Indeed, Leras describes his betrayal of Ruin as death; I always assumed that referred to how he knew he was weaker than Ruin now (and it could still mean that to an extent) but it could also refer to the literal betrayal of the person you love the most, a death of the soul, so to speak. Finally, and probably weakest, we have only seen three planets with multiple Shards: Scadrial, Roshar, and Sel. On Roshar, we have a confirmation of the two shards being lovers. On Sel, it's more tenuous but I believe they were lovers as well. IIRC, there was a recent WoB where he said that Odium splintered D+D early because he was more worried about them than all but Ambition. Why would he be most worried about two people with opposite Shards; we saw how that would play out with L+A. He could have simply left them alone and they would have inevitably attacked each other eventually. There had to be something that united them enough to make him think they wouldn't attack each other: love. Also, when asked about the relationship between Aona and Skai in February of last year, he gave a RAFO as opposed to a denial. So we have three dishardic planets, one of which is confirmed to have lovers, one of which it makes sense that the two were lovers, and Scadrial, where the two people literally created life by mixing their essences, their cosmeric DNA, so to speak. · What if Leras and Ati were married in their Yolen days and wanted to stay together after the Shattering? They created a home and children and lived well together for awhile. However, the Shards began to change them drastically and separate them. As Hoid says, “Ati was once a kind and generous man.” Ati descended into Ruin until Leras felt he had to betray his lover in order to protect their children. That leads us to the Well and Rashek and Vin releasing him, etc. etc.

No, that's exactly how I thought of it. Well explained. Plus, by now all those who aren't hardcore nerds have already fled.

I'm probably oversimplifying some pretty complex issues here, and retreading some old ground. But, as I understand it, all end-positive magic systems in the Cosmere are basically this thing: It's called the Fun Factory(tm). You put your Play-Doh(tm) underneath the red flap, then you push the flap down. The pressure forces the Play-Doh through a hole, extruding it into a funny shape. The blob of Play-Doh that goes into it? That's your investiture source. Preservation. Stormlight. The Dor. It's raw Shardic power. Formless and without specific function. The Fun Factory is you. The Allomancer, or Surgebinder, or Elantrian. You draw that raw, amorphous power into your body, and you turn it into something direct and specific. A force of repulsion against metal. 'Awesomeness' that reduces friction. A light source, or a deadly fireball. But what's that blue thing? That's the hole that your Play-Doh is extruded through. And you can swap it out for a different one. This is the piece that determines what shape your Play-Doh takes. In allomancy, this would be your metal. Each metal produces a different effect, channeling your Preservation-power into a different magical ability. In AonDor, it's the Aons themselves. Which Aon you draw determines the magic. It's the same in Forgery, Dakhor, and ChayShan. All across Sel, it's the shape you make that determines your magical action. On Nalthis, it's about the command. Every awakened object does something different, because each is given a different command. Metals. Shapes/forms. Commands. This blue thing... is the focus. So really, I think this is the definition of focus: It's the element of a magic system that determines the magical effect, or the precise action of investiture. It's the category whose internal variation corresponds to the versatility of the magic system as a whole. (Here's the WoB that backs this up: http://www.theoryland.com/intvsresults.php?kw=allomancy+aon) Which brings us, inevitably, to the question of Roshar. A common theory (endorsed by the Coppermind) is that gemstones are Roshar's focus, because Surgebinders and fabrials both rely on gemstones. But my definition disagrees. Kaladin can draw stormlight from any gemstone (or from a non-gem source), and his powers always remain the same. Whether he uses emerald broams or diamond chips, flying is still flying. Lift, notably, doesn't need gems at all. To find the focus, look for what distinguishes one type of magic from another. What distinguishes an Adhesion-binder from a Transformation-binder? I think there's only one logical answer. It's the spren. Each surgebinder-type bonds with a different spren. Sure, some spren offer overlapping surges, but the basic fact remains: the magic you can do is determined by the spren you bond. The metal you burn. The Aon you draw. The command you give. And fabrials? Fabrials use specific gemstones because specific gemstones trap specific spren. The real exception to this is the Honorblades, which provide surgebinder-bonds, but are not spren. Or are they? They look and behave exactly like ordinary shardblades. Bonding, summoning, cutting. They're not self-aware, like spren are, but they're clearly the same type of entity: splinters. Objects made of investiture. Honor's investiture, which seems to be inherently bond-forming, whether it's sentient or not. So the focus isn't spren, exactly. It's bond-forming splinters -- a category which consists almost entirely of spren, but also includes the Honorblades. This opens up some interesting speculations of Voidbinding. Is it done by bonding different spren, i.e. Voidspren? Or is it like on Scadrial, where different magic systems use the same foci? Maybe Voidbinding is just surgebinding, but with a different power source. Maybe Kaladin could intake the 'voidlight' from the mysterious black sphere, and access a new power-set.

Who's this Adam Smith guy everyone is talking about? It was I who invented Capitalism, and named it after myself. Danger may be my middle name, but Capital is my last. Cassius Danger Capital, that's my name. Hence why I called it Capitalism, with a capital C. But hold on for a second: you knew about Capitalism! I'm famous! Drinks for everyone, on me! @Drake Marshall Before we get any further, I want to make it clear that I know about Adam Smith and the true origins of capitalism. It's Cassius who doesn't.

So I got a bit of inspiration to start writing last night, just a few paragraphs, and I thought I'd post here for some feedback on the general concept and hopefully entertain ya'll for a couple minutes. Spoiler'd for size.

How does a Windrunner punish misbehaving squires? 40 Lashes! I'm a terrible person, aren't I?

what if they constantly bickered (partly because of clashing ideologies) and neither would admit their feelings for each other but they still liked doing things with each other. Then the rest of the original vessels began referring to them as married jokingly and somehow the southern scadrians heard about that (maybe from Hoid), turning that into religion. Have I mentioned that my life will be complete only when I read dragonsteel?

And if you must, steer clear of Terry.

A Cup With No Bottom: by ME An empty heart, do you fill it with tears?+ Do you fill it with sand - the passing of the years? Joy, Sadness, Anger, Love, and Fear- All pretty words that mean nothing here. If there were sages who said what seemed true, They'd say the only way to fill it was to fill it with you. But how on earth can I fill it with me, If all earth gave me was the hollow of a tree?

When Nicki walked back in through the door, she did it much more cautiously. She didn’t want to step on Rin’s body again. She walked over to the shelf. Hundreds of vials filled the shelves, each containing metal suspended in a little bit of alcohol. Nicki grabbed as many vials as she could hold and then began downing them. Steel, iron, zinc, copper, brass, tin -- she couldn’t tell which was which, and she didn’t care. She could burn all of the toxins out of her system with pewter. Another metal reserve opened up in Nicki. The booklet had been right! She took a deep breath and flared her new metal as hard as she could. The world distorted around Nicki. She winced and closed her eyes. When she looked up, someone was staring at her, and someone was staring at her. She was a woman whose threats of violence barely covered her insecurity. A scar ran down her face, from the bridge of her nose to her cheek. Her father had died the day he had been taken, but she still acted as if the abomination she’d seen at public executions was him. She had no concept of subtlety or persuasion. She burned her pewter even when she didn’t need to, leading to a sort of addiction. This woman lived a lonely life, with only her and the fading memory of her father. She was a woman who lacked the strength to do what needed to be done. Her hands were soft, and though she still practiced defending herself, her body was weak. When her father had been taken, she had stayed to run her House. Even though her father was still alive, she acted as if the Inquisitor flying around Luthadel was a stranger. By necessity, she had learned to cheat and lie and steal and backstab, but she never was the one to deal the final blow. She burned pewter only when necessary, to lend an extra bit of grace, or to stop a fall, or survive an assassination attempt from her enemies. This woman had long stopped caring for her family. Somehow, she was both at the same time. But the other one was weak, a fool. Nicki glared at herself and clenched her fists. By the Lord Ruler, she sickened herself. Meanwhile, she relaxed at the show of aggression and smiled lazily. Nicki punched her other self in the face. She screamed and flew backwards, into a wall. Immediately, she burned pewter and got up. She punched again, but blocked the blow. Really, was violence the best that she could do? Nicki couldn’t see how she had survived at if violence was her solution to everything. No matter how many bones she broke and people she killed, her father was gone. Nothing would bring him back. Denial wouldn’t solve anything. Nicki kicked at her head. Contemptuously, she caught her foot and pulled up, bringing herself to the ground. How had she forgotten that lesson? Her father had told her to never give a skilled enemy an opportunity to catch her legs. She pinned her other self to the ground and began pummelling her head. Nicki have to give herself credit -- she was better than the Erikell assassin. Still, a Noblewoman never went unprepared. She brought her hands to her face to block the blows, but some still landed anyways. Pewter dulled the pain. The vision ended as abruptly as it started. Her other self faded. Gasping, Nicki collapsed onto the floor. By the Lord Ruler, what --- how -- what metal was that? She didn’t remember all of the allomantic metals, just the useful ones. She stood up and walked away from the shelf of vials. Whatever metal that had been, she had no interest in burning it again.

Day 7: Pulses Arinian was not asleep. He didn’t sleep most nights. Especially not since the meeting with his brother. This debt he owed had become deadly serious. ….Not that it wasn’t before…. It was still a life debt after all. But after that, it consumed him. He searched every nook and cranny in the town. He then searched them twice. Nothing. These people I hunt, they are good, he thought as he made his rounds for another sleepless night. It was his third and the wear of them was beginning to take its toll on him. He wouldn’t give up, though. He trudged down yet another dark alley, the same as all the others in Tyrian Falls: cobblestone-paved, dark buildings leaning against each other like they were whispering about the people passing beneath their shuttered windows, grime and filth coating everything. No sound or sight of anyone else anywhere. His bronze was on a continuous low burn, now. He wasn’t sure the last time he’d turned it off. He couldn’t sense everything, but… enough. Enough, perhaps, even to. tell him when someone was Spiked. He wasn’t sure. It was a new theory, and he hadn’t been able to test it yet. But he had hopes, and he hadn’t been wrong yet. He frowned. He sensed pulses, now, behind him. They were… odd. He paused in the alley and focused on that sense, quietly drawing his sword. He hadn’t known what Spiked pulses would really feel like, but these were unlike anything he’d sensed before, certainly. He waited until he heard a light footfall behind him, then spun, driving the figure behind him backwards with the point of his sword. They scrambled away, Arinian giving chase, but at the mouth of the alley they turned back and clashed their sword with his. It was Arinian’s turn to be driven back, now. This Spiked was good. Their sword gleamed dully in the starlight. Arinian couldn’t see anything else about them, only a shadow against the blacker night. Arinian nearly fell against the wall, but no. He would not let this murderer get away again. This was why he’d been patrolling, wasn’t it? He wanted a chance to find a spiked? Well. Now he had that chance. He fought back, giving himself enough space to maneuver properly again. He wasn’t winning, still, but he had hope. Perhaps the clashing would be heard by someone in one of the buildings that comprised the alley. Perhaps someone would come to help. The fight wore on. Both Arinian and his opponent were tiring now. The question was merely who would falter first. Arinian never got the chance to find out. The villagers sitting and listening within the walls didn’t dare stir at the noise, but someone else heard and came. Arinian didn’t notice until a dagger took him in the back. Night 7 has ended and Day 7 begins! You have 48 hours. Arinian was attacked! They were a Village Seeker. Good Luck! Player List

John Marshall was lying in the back of an old pickup truck. Waiting for the right time to strike. The night vision optics on his AS50 rifle allowed him to see the countryside in perfect clarity. One pull of the trigger would send propel a large explosive round into the target of his choosing. Sometimes the only way to resolve a situation was to take a life. Scanning his surroundings, he settled his scope on... Sheep. A flock of sheep. Dastardly little creatures... John had good intel from the higher-ups of Mi9 itself that these sheep posed a threat to the agency. They hadn't really said which sheep, but John thought these ones looked suspiciously sneaky. He scanned through the flock. Now... Which one of you is the leader... The infamous ninja sheep... AHA! Gotcha. John's crosshairs settled on a largish specimen with a bell round its neck. "Target sighted," he whispered into his headset. "John, what the hell are you talking about?" a voice responded. Oh, right. This was supposed to just be a recon trip. Still, this is the ninja sheep itself. There is no time to lose. The longer I stay here, the longer I risk getting caught. I passed a "no trespassing" sign a little while back, and I'm not eager to meet whoever owns these suspicious animals. John pulled the trigger. A fifty caliber wool-piercing sniper round tore into the poor bellwether, who instantly crumpled. A crack like thunder pierced the night. Baahs of terror followed as the other sheep tried to flee. Mission accomplished. I taught those sheep a lesson they won't soon forget, and now they don't have a leader. John climbed into the front seat of the pickup truck and sped away, just as he saw a farmer running outside and yelling about his dead sheep. John hoped Mi9 would be happy. Several days later, an unusual headline hit the news. Experts and police alike baffled by what seems to have been a sniper assaulting a random flock of sheep. News agencies continually speculated about who could be responsible for such a well-funded assault on, well, sheep.

There's a country song getting a good deal of airplay called "Somewhere on a Beach." The chorus includes this line: HOW DARE YOU LACK-OF-BODY SHAME YOUR NON-CORPOREAL EX GIRLFRIEND! ….. I think I'm listening to too much Night Vale.

I suspect Adam Smith was a deist, which meant he probably still believed he'd earned it all himself, even though he believed in the existence of a God... And plenty of more formal religions including one that I suspect survivorism was inspired by do not teach that rich people are rich because God favors them. On the other hand, the Survivor was a renowned thief, which implies a belief in the redistribution of wealth. Although on the other hand the Lord Ruler didn't exactly support a free market so maybe the Survivor's thievery was in support of capitalism. The survivor is capitalist confirmed.

Although I strongly believe in atheist capitalism, I guess being a theistic capitalist wouldn't be that bad. After all, all that would mean would be that I was blessed. I just prefer to think that I've earned it all myself.

Have one on the opposite end of the spectrum

Songwriters who try too hard to be deep.

...Alright. I won't push for your lynch, as long as nothing super incriminating pops up. EDIT: @Drake Marshall Oh ok. Sorry, I'm a bit colorblind.

For most students, exams aren't usually enough to cause serious trauma (and the other symptoms associated with PTSD). However, as someone who's mother has PTSD (not war related), it's really nice to raise awareness - PTSD is common in soldiers because of the amount of stress they are under. It is not, however, unique to soldiers. Far from it.

We don't know. The visible universe, the region of space and time that we can see, is indeed spherical. Light has had 14 billion years to reach us, so the very farthest edges of the region were 14 billion light-years away when they emitted the light we see today. Since then, the expansion of the universe has pushed those regions to a distance of about 46 billion light-years. So the current visible universe is a sphere 93 billion light-years across, with Earth at the center. We don't know if this is the actual center of the universe (It's probably not) and we don't know what, if anything exists beyond this limit. Maybe it's a sphere, maybe it's a tetrahedron, or maybe its a doughnut. Each of those scenarios works with the math. We don't know what the actual shape is simply because the universe isn't old enough for the information to reach us, and it probably never will. This is a badge I wear with pride.

Agent Desmond Isaac King, A.K.A. Silvertongue, reviewed his latest message from headquarters with a equal mixture of interest and confusion. This wouldn't be his first time hunting ninjas, of course. He had just spent a couple years in Japan, and during his exploits there, he often crossed paths with a clan or two. But considering he was now in California on an agency sanctioned R&R, it seemed an odd request. Then again, he had once heard of a rather infamous ninja in the area, one who sources claim has never been seen in person. If not for her activity on various forums across the internet, in which she bragged about the insane heists and incredible assassinations she's pulled off, people would think a ghost was responsible for the spree of crimes she's committed. Last he remembered, she went by the name of some kind of elvish poem dedicated to some goddess of the stars in the life's work of Tolkien. The series was well loved, especially after the movies were released, which were filmed in New Zealand. Like many ozzy's, Desmond wasn't very fond of kiwis, but he did have to admit, their country was rather beautiful. Tangent aside, Des couldn't help but wonder if this was all some kind of joke. The sender did ask him to eat the message, after all. He knew the phone they issued him was a BlackBerry, but they couldn't expect him to actually eat it, could they? Unless it was a test of loyalty, but why would they bother? They all knew about the condition that made it impossible for him to lie. Hell, it was the primary reason they hired him to begin with! The only logical explanation was that someone else had sent the message. This phone was heavily encrypted and connected only to another device just like it, which belonged to his boss, who went by the alias Sheep. He wasn't a jokester himself, though he did hang around a man who rarely did anything but mock people. What was his place in the Agency, anyway? Aside from his codename, Doc12, Des suddenly realized he knew nothing about the man. That was dangerous. But of course, at his rank it wasn't his place to ask. What could he do? The way he saw it, he only had three options. Follow one order and hope the other was a joke, follow both and deal with the stomach ache that would surely come after, or follow neither and continue lounging on the beach with a martini in hand. Torn, Desmond sipped his drink and continued to stare off to where the sky met the sea upon the horizon. There was no time limit to this mission, it seemed, so if he took a little time off, he supposed no one would care too much...

Or, like myself, as the War Doctor from the 50th Anniversary special. From what I read, it sounds like he had had some health problems recently (though they had been optimistic about things in October), so... I don't know what to add. Sympathies to his family, obviously.

Indeed. To visualize this, I think of the relationship between space and time is like a circle in the coordinate plane centered on the origin with a radius of c, where the x-axis is velocity and the y-axis is time. When you have absolutely 0 velocity through space (x), you would have the greatest speed through time (y) at exactly c. When you add a little velocity through space, you shift your point to the right along the circle, but in doing so you move slightly away from maximum speed through time. The more towards velocity through space you go, the more you affect your speed through time, until when your velocity through space becomes infinitely close to c, your speed through time becomes infinitely close to 0. Hope that helps, but it might just come out mumbo-jumbo-y. It's hard to explain, but it makes sense to me.

And after a longer than anticipated hiatus from the forum, I'm back

Trellsier?

When someone mistakes my being polite/kind/helpful with flirting.

Why is Rosharan cooking so salty? Sodium reigns.

Hello! I got inspired by Mistborn jokes. I believe that half of this jokes will be very very very bad puns. But anyway, post them here, please. How do you call a razor that you share with your friend? Shareblade Well that was bad enough.

And that's how Marasi gets to join the Mistborn space opera.

I have a non verbal learning disability which, for me, presents a lot like aspergers (which presents differently than many other ASDs). Steris' experiences felt very similar to my own. I also have no problem expressing emotion. I have also learned to do things (such as making eye contact) by rote. Actually, many people with Aspergers are very self aware and find it easy to express their thoughts and feelings. The problem is doing so in an appropriate manner and setting. The other problem is trying to make sense of people who don't say what they are feeling, but couch it in social mores and cues which is where the difficulty lies. (This is one of the reasons Aspergers being put on the ASD list is still being argued. DSM 6 may switch it up again.) I don't know who you know with Mental illness or disability, but the ones I have worked run through a rather extensive spectrum. Some are self conscious, some are not. People with Down's Syndrome tend not to be self centered. One of the nicest people in my school had terrible Cerebral Palsy. Just as people without Mental illnesses or disabilities can be selfish, so can those with. FYI, I'm training to be a therapist, and have worked about 150 hours in different psychiatric settings. I've seen a lot of different people with different types of mental difficulties and they were each unique and different.

My superpowers are: The ability to have near-perfect empathy, Instantly create and simulate the personality of fictional characters inside my head at will, The ability to have conversations with people who aren't me inside my head(not living people, but the fictional ones previously mentioned), The amazing ability to not be in a mental hospital for the afore-mentioned conversations, and finally: the ability to make leaps in judgment that normal human beings would never, ordinarily, make until they were much, much older. (Example, if desired. Emojis represent the emotions felt at the time. This is a real example; this actually happened.)

This feels very plausible. I imagine becoming shardholders was the tragic end to an epic romance -- with the 'kind and generous' Ati agreeing to undertake the burden of Ruin, a dangerous and destructive shard, only so long as his true love, Leras, takes Ruin's opposite, to keep him in check. They sacrifice their love to keep Ruin from rampaging across the cosmere.

*Shallan eats chouta honour rock while Kaladin stares in disgust* Kaladin: Is that really what you kaladinner? Shallan: It is and it was and it shallan there's nothing you can do about it. Why gancho let me do what I want? It’s not going to harmony body. Don’t go to baddalinar false premise. Kaladin: When did you join the cult of chouta people anyway? Shallan: When I tasted it! It’s delicious. I’m proud to be a member of a cult of chouta, if it exists. How about you just try some of this chouta, you’ll probably like it. Kaladin: No! It’s filled with preservatives, sodium, and other terrible things that will ruin your health! I will navanibble any chouta. I prefer the cultirational people. *Dalinar walks up, eating chouta. He sits down to watch. * *Shallan waits until Kaladin’s not looking, then throws some chouta at his face, and some gets in his mouth. He immediately spits it out, then glares at Shallan* Kaladin: This means war. Dalinar: You want to start another war? You’re meant to be an honourable windrenarin yet you don’t have the maturity to accept other people’s diet choices. *Kaladin glares at Dalinar* Shallan: Kaladin, wait, don’t get angry. I actually hate chouta. I only eat chouta to get your attention. *Dalinar chokes on his chouta* *Kaladin goes pale and falls upwards, then sideways. Within seconds he becomes a speck above the horizon* Dalinar: …are you serious? *Shallan snorts* Shallan: No. That was a custormlighto make him go away. *Dalinar’s eyes narrow* Dalinar: I hope you’re happy. You’re gonna make thiskybreaker leg flying too fast over a cliff or something. *Shallan shrugs* Shallan: I think I deserve a pattern the back. *Shallan resumes eating her chouta. Dalinar sighs, then eats some more of his chouta. * Dalinar: I gotta say though, this chouta is deliceshonai can’t stop eating it.

This sounds almost sounds like Leras and Ati broke up because Leras wanted kids

I actually managed to do a full day's work today Also, yesterday (well, it's past midnight so take the day measurements with a grain of salt) I ran a skype session for the PBP mistborn adventure game crew I've been running for years and it went pretty well

On yet another reread I looked at Amaram's precise words regarding his identifying his assassin as a Ghostblood, and it seems it was definitely more assumption than recognition: "... why Thaidakar would risk this? But who else would it be? The Ghostbloods grow more bold..." (Emphasis added). So even if this was Heleran, there is at least no strong reason to assume he was a Ghostblood and not a Skybreaker. Hope this helps :-P

Had this same thing pop into my head a few days ago. It doesnt really account for emotion or nature spren so i qrote it off, but i think the theory does have merit. Another thought i had that i liked more was that becoming a radiant requires a similar connection to what the Heralds have, and that upon death they become a cognitive shadow and are imprisoned on Braize to be tortured. We know that there are cognitive shadows on Braize, but no humans, and this explaination is one im proud of.

Actually, I felt that it was more of a way of setting the stakes and challenges. If you know your enemies can survive or be brought back from even something like that, then it makes everything more desperate for the heroes. Jasnah's was about setting up how hard it would be to kill a Radiant, as well as sending Shallan out on her own, but Szeth's was about making killing their enemies seem even harder to achieve (while also offering Szeth a potential redemption arc, though I'm not a big fan of that idea).

Uh-oh - Kaladin's aid of Adolin in the dueling arena is still under review and the victory might be overturned. It seems that because of his known history of bitterness and defiance toward the Vorin caste system, technically he was a self-declared nahn-combatant at the time.

It began, as all of my problems do, with a woman. It was twenty past five, and I was doing some filing in the back office when there was a knock on the door. Of course it'd wait until I was about to go home. No rest for the wicked, right? I waited a few minutes to see if my partner would get it, before remembering that he was finishing up another case out of the office. I put the files I was looking through on the cabinet and went to open the door. The woman flinched a little when she saw me. I guess I know I have that effect on people, but it still hurts to see it. She was a mousey little thing, looked a little nervous in general. I invited her in as I scrambled to think of where I'd seen her before; the village is small, and everybody knew everybody, to some extent. I'd seen her at something official, always hanging back out of the way. Not important, but important in a way. She introduced herself, and I remembered who she was. Mayor's wife. Well, ex-mayor now, these last few weeks. Widowed so young with a baby on the way. It truly was a tragedy, but the whole world seemed tragic these days. They'd got his killer, strung 'em up a week ago, so at least there was some sense of justice. But I wondered, did that matter to her? It wouldn't make a difference to her kid whether the killer was caught or not. They'd have to grow up without their father either way. “What can I do for you?” I asked, shaking my head of these thoughts and pulling the chair back for her to sit down, and then sitting down in my own chair behind the desk. “How can our agency be of assistance?” She told a dark story, of one of the guardsmen on the walls that had been murdered earlier this day. I didn't see the relevance at first, but as she started to break up and cry, unable to finish a sentence, the pieces all fell into place. Same way the love of her life had been killed. But his killer'd been caught, so that meant there was some kind of criminal group going around. The elders of the village apparently thought it was a smuggling ring. Those idiots wouldn't know the first thing about how to do my job. Sure, I hadn't been a guardsman in Luthadel for several years now, but I could still smell a rat. You get a feel for these things. To me it looked like something much bigger. Those fools couldn't see that the deaths were connected. They thought small, while I was more concerned with the bigger picture here. We're a small town, there's not many murders going on here. Two in a month though? They had to be connected. But if they were, that meant something huge was building up. You don't whack the mayor like that and then do it to a guard just to be able to hock your stuff on the black market. With the mayor dead, the village elders would run around unable to mount any sort of plan, leaving us vulnerable. The guard's death would let them come and go from the village easier. So the question was, what was their plan? I didn't like this one bit. I reassured her that we would look into it. I didn't bring up our fees or anything; with the world how it was these days, and her being like this, it seemed like a pretty pointless thing to do. Cruel, even. I like to think of myself as a good man, when I'm in a good mood at least. I opened the door for her as she left, listening to her trying to hold back tears. Lord Ruler, I hate this job sometimes. But I wouldn't, couldn't, do anything else either. I couldn't look at myself in the mirror if I just let this go. We had to do right by those who had died, and bring this group of murderers to justice. It was important, not just for closure, but for the safety of the people of this village. Justice was not only about punishing the perps, but preventing it from happening again. It might seem strange, considering I'm not one of the guard or militia, but I wouldn't do this job if I didn't care. Old habits, maybe. You could even call me an naive idealist if you like, with this idea of any sort of 'justice' in the world – Hell, I'd even agree with you there – but, I guess it matters to me. Sometimes it's tough, but I'm still here. I returned to my desk and sat down. I leaned back in my chair and pulled out my pouch of dried, crushed leaves. Herbs gown from the isles in the south. Expensive, but every time I took a sniff of the stuff it reminded me why I bought them. I took a pipe out and reached into the pouch for a pinch of the stuff. I frowned as I felt almost nothing left. I'd only bought the stuff a few days ago, and merchants were few and far between in this Lord Ruler-forsaken town. Still, I struck a spark with some flint, sat back and took a drag on the sweet-smelling herbs. After a while, I decided it'd be best to get out there and have a look. It might be late, but I was used to working the late-shift. Not like anyone ever asked me if I wanted to go home and kip when they brought their problems to me. I finished my break and emptied the ashes into a clay pot. Then, I got up and went to the door. I took my coat and hat from the rack, and picked up my dueling cane. I patted myself down to check I had no metal on me before I left. You could never be too careful these days. So, dreading the long night ahead and wishing for a stiff drink to see me through it, I went to snoop around the murdered corpse. It was pretty obvious where it was, 'cause there was already a crowd of gawkers there for the free show. I don't know if the guard was married, but his family wouldn't appreciate their neighbours using him like this. But that wasn't my problem. When I got eventually squeezed my way through the crowd, and convinced the other guards to let me take a look, I found my partner was already on the scene. Funny guy. We met several years ago and tried to kill each other. Now we're firm friends. Go figure. “Poor bastard,” I shook my head as I examined the body. Now, I had no medical training, but I'd guess from the hole in his throat and the bloody knife next to him that he died from a knife in the throat. At least he won't have hung around long after that. Not really quick, but could be worse. Not that it would be any consolation to the guy. I looked up to my partner. He was worried, he saw the writing on the wall just as much as I did. Neither of us liked what it said. But then, weren't we all worried these days? When the world starts to end, you get a bit like that. Stuff starts unravelling at the seams, stuff like people. But thoughts like that didn't help us solve this case. I took my pipe out. If anything called for something to settle my nerves, it was this. I filled it up again while I asked my partner to bring me up to speed. As I light up and listened, I sighed a little. It was going to be a long night. Signing up as Wyl Sharpe, who will be taking the Cosmetic Role of Guardsman, despite not having been an actual guard for many years.

serious answer: someone like dalinar would fit pretty well. anyway, with the millions of people across the planet, finding one that fits is not really a problem. No idea if an animal could take a shard, but i doubt they are sentient enough. My money is on "no, a shard an only be taken by a sapient being". No idea if something in between, like a rishadium horse, would fit. non-serious answer: the dominator in a master/slave sadomasochistic relationship

Maybe the Stick isn't actually a stick? Plot Twist: It's a worldhopper disguising itself as a stick, which is why it so emphatically repeated "I Am A Stick"… it needed to maintain it's cover. "Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain." jW

I have the first half of that, but not the second. jW

What did Fleet say to the Highstorm? Want to Rayse? How ow do you cook chouta? Braize it.

I have the magical power of getting hurt by anything and everything. Objects around me seem to obey Murphy's law when it involves harming me in minor ways. In the last year I have been stung by wasps, bees, and jellyfish, bit by cats, dogs, and raccons, gotten minor burns and sprains on every limb, broken my glasses twice, and been hit in the face by flying objects at least 60 times. Activities I've injured myself doing this year: Walking Sitting Eating Basketball Baseball Football Four Square Wall Ball Hand Ball Jumping Starting a fire Sawing a tree branch Shoveling dirt Reading Playing video games Petting a cat Swimming Sleeping Writing And the list goes on and on . . . Miraculously, I haven't been hurt badly enough to go to the Hospital or ER in 7 years.