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Koldun

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About Koldun

  • Birthday 05/26/2001

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  1. When he saw it, he recognized it, so he knows about it, it seems.
  2. I got that card signed when I met Brandon. It was awesome.
  3. Yeah. Like with White Sand, it would be more canon Cosmere, but in a different media format.
  4. Here's the place to put your ideas for possible games based on both the Cosmere and Brandon's other works. I'll start off, with an idea for a Mistborn Era 2 type game in which you play as Wax, in an open world action/detective game, where part of the time you track down clues to solve crimes in Elendel, and the other leaping around the city using your powers, chasing after the perpetrators. Sort of an Arkham type game, with a much bigger focus on story and mystery solving, rather than beat me up action.
  5. I'm currently reading The Blade Itself and loving it.
  6. Chapter 4 How I came to be the Cross Guardian is a special tale, one I’ll leave to a reflection of this old man I see in the mirror. By the by, what I just told you, with my sister and brother in law, did not happen the next day after their first appearance in this account, it was later that day. We’ll get to the real big bump in the road soon, next chapter in fact. For now, let’s get back to the old man and his version of my own life story. “Why, the Cross Guardian was a right mad fella. He was as angry as the best of them, and then some. The fury he held in his pinky outweighed everything held in someone who faced off against the License Dispensers. They say he held every type of magic because he was the first to Enrage, and he was so angry at so many things, he became a Mage of many things. To become a plain old mage you have to get really angry, but to become like the Guardian and get a second kind of magic, you have to get even angrier than that. To get a third, fourth, twentieth, well, it’s like I said. You have to be right mad. Some say he got so mad because he was the one who led to Detour being, well, a detour. A place everyone takes the long way around. Some say that he was the one who set off the series of Enragings that led to that once state now being a crossed out part of the map. These same folk say that he feels mighty guilty because of it, and that guilt became an anger of its own, an anger he takes out by protecting the people of the Roadlands from danger, to make up for the lives lost in the Detour incident. There are a select few who think he’s an insane murderous sociopath Pleasanter, who was so happy at having a hand in killing so many that he got a plethora of powers. They say he protects people only because he doesn’t want them dying a swift death, he wants them to slowly die from hunger, thirst or the uncaring elements. I personally don’t know what to think, just that if he ever becomes an Ever Raging, we’re screwed.” An Ever Raging, ah yes, I’ll tell you about that before I address the part about the chances of it ever happening to me. Ever Raging is what happens to someone who stops being able to suppress their generation of anger, and seeing as more anger equals more Rage, they begin spouting magic out the wazoo. Sometimes, it leads to a lot of fire. The primary exhibit being the forests, and the fact that as I’m writing this, they’re still on fire, and you may have noticed that their current state was mentioned earlier. That was six months ago. And the fires have been going on even longer than that. A ticked off forest ranger on fire lookout duty can lead to, well, him doing his job very, very badly. Soon enough, he reached the point of no return, an Ever Raging, and the fires haven’t stopped since. We call him Ranger Bernie now. Some say they sometimes see a shadow in the flames, a tall gangly figure that stands completely still, except for the swaying of its arms. I’m pretty sure they just saw a tree. So yeah, Ever Ragings are bad, especially if you have control over something dangerous. Me? Well, I don’t really see the chances of ever getting to the point of an Ever Raging, especially in my current state. As I finish foreshadowing, let’s get back to the story of my pursuers. You’ve been waiting for that bump in the road for too long. As the car drove along the cracked, broken road, it unsurprisingly hit a rather big bump. Of course, this bump wasn’t there before, and it had only appeared once they drove over a certain patch of ground. One could say that a part of it jutted up, but, they would be more accurate in saying it slid up, as the movement seemed to be natural for the stone. Ignoring the fact that stone doesn’t move, it was rather graceful in the way it smashed against the underside of their vehicle, throwing it onto its side. Something that shouldn’t surprise you by now is the fact that Alex and my sister wouldn’t take this lying on the side, so when their attacker, a tall figure that had hidden behind a car husk, strode out, he found himself with a big chunk of road in his gut. Having kicked open the door, Alex clambered out, pulling Pristine out of the car with him, and proceeded to go over to the man now pinned below a piece of rock, groaning at the pain. Extending his hand, he felt the anger at having been attacked flow out of him and into the rock, which began to unravel, becoming a mass of snaking stones. Each piece wrapped itself around a part of the bandit, until he was up to his neck in a layer of stone serpents. A clench of the fist turned them back to simple stone, leaving the man ensnared. Having sufficiently bound his captive, Alex stepped aside to allow his wife to interrogate him, who looked quite angry at having to deal with an attempt on her life. She focused on her object, now lying sideways in the car, and allowed it to be free of the lifelessness she had inflicted upon it, feeling it come to life and fly into her palm. The traffic light now in her hand, she pointed it towards the man who had ambushed them, “Please explain to us what just happened.” The man chuckled, despite being trapped in a stone cocoon, and said, “Minding my own business till you two just showed up and captured me. That’s not really nice of you, is it?” Pristine made her mouth a line and matter of factly said, “Wrong answer.” The red portion of the traffic light began to crackle, sparks running along the surface, until they leaped from the lamp and began to arc through the air, joining together into a single bolt, where they then hit the man straight on the forehead. The crackling energy seemed to pass straight through the skin, where it would then burrow into his brain. This was most definitely uncomfortable, but the man simply let out a small groan and said, “That’s all?” Pristine shook her head, “No. Let me give you a small lesson, bandit. You know stop sign mages? Know how they can command other things to stop by channeling their rage through the sign? Well, we Lighters, as it turns out, can do the same thing with traffic lights. Traffic lights are signs too, in their own way, so I can use that bit of traffic light energy I sent into your cranium to do, well, this.” She closed her eyes, and allowed the bit of red light in the man’s head to do its job, command things to stop, on his vocal cords. The man tried to make a witty comeback, but found he couldn’t make a single sound, “If you’re going to not talk, I’m going to make you stop talking altogether. Now, maybe you just need to talk a bit slower, catch your breath, to be able to get across why exactly you tried to kill my husband and I.” She tapped the top of the traffic light staff, and the yellow light flashed, and as she shifted her focus to that light, the red light vanished from the man’s head. Before he could begin talking, or more likely, swearing, a yellow blob split away from the lamp, and floated through the air, where it then passed through him, and enveloped his voice box. As he began to speak, he found his words stretched out comically, like a ghost moaning about the sorrows that led it to being a ghost, “Alriiiiiiight, allllrrrrriiight, IIII goooot iiit, pleaaase, leeeet meee taaaaaaaaaalllk nooormaaaal again. I’ll taaaalk, proooomiiiise.” Pristine looked around impatiently, muttered out “Fine,” and tapped the light again, switching it to green, which caused a spray of green dust to shoot out from the light and melt away the yellow blob in the man’s throat. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll talk. Just let me talk normal, okay?” Alex finally spoke up, “Do so, and we will.” The man nodded, “Alright. I’m a Roadie, I was hired by the local gang in this area to, well, kill, anyone driving your model of car.” “Why?” “Because, and that’s what they told to me, not what I think, ‘Those damnation Carltists are a nuisance to our line of work.” I personally have no problems with you guys, worship whoever you want.” Alex looked confused, and asked, “Carltists? Who are those?” Pristine simply sighed, “Remember I told you that Pleasanters were insane to be living in a place this dangerous.””Yeah,” Alex replied. Pristine looked exasperated when she answered, “Imagine the level of insanity of someone who thinks this place is a holy ground.” The sound of engines began to come from the distance, and Pristine turned to the man, “Let me guess, they gave you a specific time they’d be coming by.” The Roadie mercenary nodded, “Yeah, only it seems I showed up too early.” The three of them turned to see a row of cars coming down the road, with the one at the front having a man standing on the top, arms outstretched, singing a hymn about the glory of cars, with Pristine turning to Alex, “Well, this guy just made riding the next part of our journey with several Carltists our only option, who are likely to spend the entire time preaching the virtues of their Lord Savior, Carl, king of cars.” It would more than a little effort for Alex to successfully hold back Pristine before she took a traffic light to the man’s head.
  7. It is indeed America. Magic manifests anywhere where your emotions reach a strong enough point, but as the roads are a sort of rage magnet, that's where it happens more often than not. The Roadlands are not the source of the magic, they're merely the stretches of road and highway across America that have been cordoned off. The powers you get depend on what led you to feel such strong emotions in the first place, with there being some leniency based on the thoughts going through your head at the moment. More often than not, it's angry people fantasizing about destroying cars and their anger reaching such a point that their fantasies come true. The magic manifested, at least at first, in what is now the Roadlands, leading to a lot of magical anomalies and destruction, such as the potholes. This will be addressed more later on.
  8. Huh. Unfortunately, I haven't read about your magic system. Sorry.
  9. There are Mages for any kind of strong emotion, Ragers are just the most common in the Roadlands.
  10. Chapter 3 My sister and brother in law had been searching for me for several months, guided only by second hand reports of my activities, which at times was peppered with speculation of my true identity. Some said I was but a shadow of the old world, helping out the helpless normals from the villainous mages, while others stuck to the “me being a priest explanation.” I personally prefer the, “me being a Roadkiller, slowly making the denizens of the Roadlands trust it while it infects everyone it saves, as it wishes to keep the population of Mages stable.” That last one almost ended up getting me killed by a mob, but luckily, I’d hung onto some of the Rage I got from the first Mage I siphoned. Lately, my seekers found that a lot of reports seemed to indicate me heading into the northern territories of the Central Roadlands, near the Frozen Land of Nice Folk, which they suspected was my destination. So, that’s where they were headed, travelling through Plainway, the stretch of road that passes through the expansive plains region of the Roadlands. It would be some time before they’d reach the border, so they decided to turn on the one thing that kept them somewhat sane on this long, tiresome trip to find their relative. The radio, more specifically, the station designated DOD, known as Dion’s Own Devices to those who despise acronyms, something that was true for my two hunters, a station run by a single Mage, a Radioman, whose name was, obviously, Dion. He hosted a radio show out of his car, using his power over radios to transmit his voice across the entire radio network, creating his very own station, one located where there was once a mere cloud of static. It was rather easy to find, as it was the only non-government owned radio station on the air and the only other thing on the radio was ironically, the Department of Defence’s constant broadcasted warnings for non-Mages to stay out of the Roadlands. The seekers of the Cross Guardian had been listening to him when they came across one of the Farm Towns. The place’s largest building was a barn, found close to the second largest, the house that had once belonged to the town’s first mayor. All of the usual animal homes could be found, along with rows and rows of shacks hastily assembled from whatever material one could find just lying on the Roadlands. Most of them were made from car parts, obviously, while others used signs and cement barriers in their architecture. Others went back to the classic method and made simple lean-tos out of whatever wood they could find. The forests weren’t really convenient places to go to for wood anymore, what with the constant fires and all. The woman and the driver hear the sound of an approaching tractor, a loud, blaring sort of sound, and turned to see the person nearing them. His demeanor could be easily described as the direct opposite of a tractor’s noise, and this was proven through his quiet, but clear voice, “A greetings to you two.” The driver rolled down the window and extended a hand to shake, which the driver accepted as he drove up near to them. “Welcome to Mestry Farms, population of 124 normals, one mage, and two visitors. Unless of course, you’re here to stay, which would raise our population to...?” The woman finished his thought, “Three mages, but we’re not here to stay. On the topic of visitors, any other mages come through here?” The man raised his eyebrows at the first part, and took a little while to answer the second, “Well, some, but most only came to talk to our mage. He’s a Chassier.” He looked proud at the last part, and raised a hand, “Of course, if you wish to do the same, you’re already done. I’m Mikes by the way.” They gave him their names, Pristina and Alex, and he nodded in recognition, “Wait, any relations to the other Doherty that passed through. Tom?” This of course, led to wide eyes and gasps, “He used his actual name? Not that stupid nickname he’s picked up?” She narrowed her eyes at the last part as if to say, “Don’t ask about the nickname.” “Well yes, nice fellow. It was nice to meet a fellow Chassier for once. He’s skilled, too. Helped work out one of the problems I had with one of my projects. The guy had a right angry face while he did it, too. Didn’t really make me comfortable, but the mug got the job done.” Alex chuckled at the last part of that, “What? You’re a Rager too, aren’t you? You are a Mage after all.” Mikes cocked his head a bit to the side, “Nope. I’m a Pleasanter.” This phrase led to my sister turning to her husband and saying, “Well then. My brother helped out an insane person. Huh. Not surprising, actually.” The man, now known to be a Pleasanter, scratched his head, “Well that’s not too nice of an opinion to have on Plesanters, ma’am.” “I think it’s safe to call someone who’s generally pleased with life in the Roadlands insane. There are literal demons here, Mikes. What’s there to be pleased with?” “Lots of things, actually, miss Doherty. My wife is mayor of the town and isn’t considered to be a risk based on her being born to mages and thus “likely to Enrage at any minute”, my children are free to be with whomever they want to, mage or normal or whatever else, and there are no breeding programs or controlled rations here, just crops. Life’s good, and it got so good that while I was fixing up my little house, I got my powers. Need a fix-up, clean-up, nice-up?” Alex grunted out a simple, “How much?” something he got used to saying when getting offers for services from Mages. “Whatever you can spare and come out ok. Your friend did me a solid with his assistance, course that was a few months ago, but still, a good deed is a good deed.” Alex thought on this for a bit, and asked the friendly Pleasanter a question, “Which house is yours?” Mikes pointed to a small, ramshackle hut near the barn and gave a simple, “That one,” in response. Extending his hand behind himself, the driver grabbed his object, which had previously only been vaguely described. You’re in luck though, since I’m going to describe it now. It was a metal rod, like the ones used to hold up signs, only it was obviously only half of one, with a big chunk of rock on the end. Well, really concrete. An old faded yellow streak donned the top of the makeshift staff. The driver, making sure not to dent anything, carefully pointed the staff concrete-end first out of the window and towards Mikes’ pitifully small home, and suddenly, the bits of asphalt, cement and concrete that had been piled to make the walls melded together into an actual wall, which then began to extend, fusing with the other pieces as it grew to encompass the other bits. Where there was something that was too fragile to support the wall, the rock covered over it, making it a stable support. The places that had been built well were incorporated into the design, and soon enough, Mikes owned something more resembling a brick and mortar house, only cement and magic may have been a better term for it. Mikes was obviously exhilarated, as was shown by his wide smile and hopping from foot to foot. He turned to the car, a focused expression now on his face, and looked to Alex, “What do you guys want? Quick! I want to break in my new home.” Alex chuckled, “It won’t break, sadly. I made it too strong for that. But we want our car to be as strong as you can make it. We’re heading towards the Lands of Peace and Health.” “Ah, then you’ll need to have a nice, tough chassis. I can handle it.” He shook his fingers, as if to warm them up, then smiled, and a smile, so wide it seemed the corners of his mouth would begin to split the skin of his face, and laid his hands on the car. Suddenly, every scratch, every bit of dirt, vanished, and if one looked close, one would see that the metal was now just plain better. It was as if the chassis was being taught what true resilience was, and was taking those lessons to heart. The chassis did not become thicker, heavier, or meaner looking, but it did take on a certain gleam. By the time he was finished, Mikes smile had become less so a grin and more a content expression. He sighed, looked back to his renovated house, and his insanely happy demeanor began to return. “Man, that’s going to be a great help with future jobs, thanks.” With that, he turned his tractor around, waved a good bye, and drove back. Alex gave a small smile, closed the window, and drove out of the town, looking back on what he had helped improve, if only a bit. Pristine looked only forward.
  11. First, you must find a narrative. Then, you must infiltrate it. Then find another narrative, and do the same. Then, let the fans spot you in both places, and post about it on internet forums. Then, allow an entire sub-fandom to form based around the idea that you exist in multiple narratives and that travel between them is possible. That is the first step.
  12. I did make an alternate start to the first chapter, which I posted in its thread. But I will of course go through all of my chapters and edit them. Thanks for the feedback!
  13. Alright, thank for the compliment. As for chapter one, what do you think can be improved with it? I want the entire novel to be good, not just every second chapter.
  14. Chapter 2 You might be wondering why I speak in both the present tense and past tense. That is for a simple reason. Currently, I’m reliving the events that both they and I went through, in an attempt to feel nostalgic. Some of you, the ones less wise in the ways of Rage magic, may be wondering how I’m doing this. Simply told, I’m driving, and looking through a mirror. If that sounds boring, you’ll be glad to know it’s a magic mirror. Well, not actually. It’s a mirror, and I’m using it magically. An old friend of mine wrote a thing called the History of Rage. I included an excerpt about both potholes and how the powers came about in the last chapter. Oh yeah, I’m writing a book too. He inspired me, I guess. He gave me express permission to use these excerpts, as long as I mention him by name. So I will. Later on in the book, of course, as I have a memoir/story/recollection of my legendary exploits to write. I should, of course. Speak of my powers. To do that, you’ll need to understand something. Here’s my friend No-Name Unknowny, to explain it. Powers are, and always have been, based on the situation that brought them into being. As rage is a core aspect of getting your powers, many times, the things that led one to such a rage are the same things one obtains mastery over with their powers. Such as the aforementioned pothole, with its Enraging of the subject giving the subject the ability to manipulate it, and in their case, being able to transform them into a portal to a dimension of predatory intelligent slime, the rage was what brought the power on, and the power is based on what led to the rage. This leads to people who get cut off on a highway to wish that a piece of road would detach from the ground and smash the driver who slighted them, and if they’re enraged enough, more often than not, that’s what happens. People who are greatly annoyed at traffic lights usually get the ability to manipulate the light they emit, those wish to take a tire iron to the headlights of an annoying driver may gain enhanced strength that allows them to completely obliterate the car of the person they’re not particularly pleased with, and, in a very famous case, someone who needed gas and was almost run over while waving a sign that said, “Need fuel,” by an obnoxious driver who swerved off the road into them, was able to not only transfer the gas from their car to his own from a distance, but they were also able to drain the driver, who, as it turned out, was a Mage, of his power, taking it for his own. That man, who I’ve come to befriend, is the infamous Road Mage, who... And the rest is my life story summarized in a few criminally short sentences, which I will tell you myself, in a much longer, rambling format. Yes, indeed, I once ran out of gas on the road. I wasn’t a Mage at the time, so I was driving at my car’s top speed, as at the time, I was a cowardly weakling normal human, who was scared of the Roadlands so much that he spent all of his fuel and had to hold up a marker scrawled sign on the side of the road, and was then almost run over by some moron who pretended to turn onto the road to help me, then drove at full speed towards me. I barely leaped out of the way, smashing my head on the dirt, and I looked up to see him flipping me off. Well, it’s safe to say that made me angry, and the next thing I knew, I felt as if my insides were on fire, and I swear I saw smoke coming out my mouth as I exhaled. I remember raising my hand, focusing on where I thought his fuel tank was, and I remember moving it, transferring it to my tank. His car came to a full stop, obviously, and next thing I knew, he was running at me, holding a STOP sign. He probably got his powers while getting a ticket for running one of those. I remember him raising it to me, and next thing I knew, my heart stopped beating. I was dying, which while a terrifying experience, did nothing to quell my rage. Honestly speaking, I’ve had anger issues my whole life, and while I’d been working on them, this was too much. This made me furious, even more furious than during my Enraging, and that was something that hardly ever happened to nice, normal Mages. This was how I realized that I was far from nice, and even further from normal. I remember my blood boiling, not moving as it was supposed to, and I remember seeing the Rage within me, a roaring blue flame. And then, I saw his. It was a bright red flowing flame, and it was cascading in a stream towards the stop sign, where it was then focused through it on my heart. It was right there, his Rage, flowing into my heart. So, I did what I’m sure no one had done before. I siphoned it, just like with the fuel. I remember seeing that red energy flowing with my own and I remember willing it to let go of my heart, and then, I felt it beat again. I remember reaching out a hand, and the stop sign falling into my hand. And I remember bashing it, repeatedly, into the man, until he, like the sign, asked me to stop. I may have cracked a few ribs, but he’d heal. I, fortunately for him, chose not to stop his cells from multiplying. That, right there, is the rather violent story of how I became the first Mage to have two powers. Later on, I’d be the first to have three, then four, then five. Soon enough, I’d have them all. But those are boring stories. What’s interesting is what I did after I got them. I became a hero. Well, no. First I crashed a bunch of cars. Then...I just lived in my car. I only really became the hero after everything else seemed too boring for comparison. I kind of just, came across some bandits, beat them up a bit, stole their stuff, and then kept doing that to other bandits. Apparently, assault and battery plus robbery is alright when you do it to people who do the same on a daily basis. Especially if you do it while they’re in the middle of doing the deed to some poor schmuck who had the misfortune of having to travel, and was too timid to become a Mage. I guess that’s why I took on the name Cross Guardian, which, by the way, is in no way supposed to be religious. I just found a good pun that included a synonym for being angry and started calling myself that. So I’m not actually a vigilante priest who wants to clean up the Roadlands and preaches about the mighty Lord above whenever he fights bandits. And I don’t fight with a cross! I swear, you try to make a sword out windshield wipers and you’re branded for life...And on that topic, where did the whole, all who he defeats have bible verses placed on them with a hot branding iron come from? Where did that even come from? I mean, it’s not like....oh. The fuel can smiley face incident. Hm. Well then, let’s continue on with the story. That chapter ending went on for way too long.
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