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  1. 57 points
    There is one thing to clear up first. 1. There is a misconception that heralds know when another herald dies. This is true for a "true" death, but in the prelude to the Way of Kings, Kelek does not know which of the heralds have died in the final battle. Instead, he goes to meet at a predetermined meeting place. Jezrian tells him who had survived, and Kelek had no idea that Taln didn't make it. As well, Kelek realizes the others must be alive because he notices their blades are stuck in the ground and that those blades would have disappeared on their own. If another herald died, the remaining heralds on Roshar would not know (at least for some time). ---- Weird Questions: 1) What broke Taln? He is crazy and insensate for 4000 years and then one day he says "No thank you". Many of us can't figure out what could have broke Taln. 2) Why was the Davar family so connected to secret societies despite being a Vaden house of little note? They have connections to the Ghostbloods and the Ghostbloods have handed them a confirmed soulcaster AND possibly a Seon box. Why? 3) Why did the cryptic go to Shallan as a child? Lift was chosen due to her strange connection to Cultivation, but why Shallan? And why twice? Connected to that, why is an dark influence attacking the Davar family? Why is Heleran given a shardblade and brought into the skybreakers? 4) Why was Shallan's mother so quick to try and kill "one of them". 5) What is Shallan's last secret. There is still something horrible in Shallan's past, and this has something to do with a Seon box and whatever Radiant was created to protect Shallan from. What is worse than killing testament? ---- It All Put Together - A Timeline 1) Chararach settled in the Davar estate in rural Jah Kaved. Chanarach is involved in several of the secret societies of Roshar just like most of the other heralds we have seen. Chanarach eventually has a daughter and names that daughter after her friend Shalash (Shallan says she was named after Shalash). Chanarach commands a fair bit of influence and even has a Seon to communicate off world. It is unclear who knows who Chanarach is, but as she did settle in a rural area it is likely Chana's identity is not common knowledge even within secret societies (similar to Restares and Amaram). 2) Chanarach learns of the theory that a return of surgebinders will bring about a desolation. Chararach is completely terrified of returning to Braize and supports the culling of nascent surgebinding. 3) The Cryptics find out that one of the heralds has children or they discover a weird child who stands-out and is similar to the child of a Returned. The Cryptics send a delegation to investigate (WOB confirms heralds can have children though maybe it is difficult). At the same time, an unmade is drawn to the family. Testament begins to bond Shallan similar to what happened with Lift. Shallan eventually discovers what her mother is by playing with a Seon box at the Davar estate. The unmade's influence increases in an attempt to get the Herald to go insane and potentially get herself killed by Lin Devar or Shallan. 4) Shallan is discovered to be a surge binder by her mother. Her mother, fearing a return to Braize, refers to Shallan as "one of them". Note that Chanarach does not seem surprised that surgebinders are real. Chanarach has an absolute PTSD breakdown and attacks her daughter. Lin, who likely knew, steps in and Shallan is able to kill her mother in self defence. 5) Shallan realized what she has done and perhaps even realized that she has sent her mother back to damnation. She pretends that her mother's soul is trapped in the box so she does not have to remember that her mother has been sent to hell. Shallan goes to Testament and breaks her bond. It is possible Testament told her more here as well. Shallan then begins to repress everything since Shallan has, in her mind, done the most evil act in history. "The world ended, and Shallan was to blame. - Words of Radiance, Chapter 10. Mentioned by @honorblades 6) Lin Devar begins to be corrupted even more by the influence of the unmade after its attention has been withdrawn from Chanarach. Lin also wrestles with killing a herald-wife to save his daughter. He beings to protect Shallan at all costs. Davar family hell ensues. The ghostbloods continue to cultivate the family. The Ghostbloods may not believe a herald could be killed by Lin or may not know she was a Herald. The Cryptics stay with Shallan as they don't blame her for what happened. They are still curious about what Shallan is and are researching what happens to a bonded-deadeye to its original radiant. 7) Chanarach returns to Braize. The other heralds do not know that that has happened as they cannot detect the pain-bond while on Roshar. 8) Chanarach is eventually found on Braize. Chanarach decides to immediately give up and return to Roshar (or something else Odium promises). 9) Shallan, with no bond, goes to Middlefest. Wit's magic or memory allow him to detect that there is something very strange about Shallan. Wit somehow knows what Shallan fights "is not truly natural" and encourages her to make a path for the light. It is unclear what Wit saw, but he knew more than the fact she was a surgebinder (even though she's actually a deadeye-binder at the time). 10) Taln returns to Roshar completely insane and without breaking. What happens to Chanarach is unknown. All assume Taln broke. 11) Radiant is created from memories of Shallan's mother. Radiant dresses in the same blue and red warrior outfit as the Herald Chanarach in artworks. Radiant is Shallan's repressed memories of who her mother was. 12) Shallan is forced to confront what happened with Testament, and Radiant begins to see that she must help Shallan deal with her final truth. Shallan knows she killed a herald and that she sent her mother to damnation - possibly ending the world and starting the final desolation. --- -- Here is a description of Radiant: “She [Radiant] had chosen to wear her vakama; the traditional Vaden’s warrior clothing. It was similar to the Alethi takama but the skirt was pleeted instead of straight. She wore a loose matching coat with a tight vest and shirt beneath. The bright clothing features vibrant blues embroidered over reds with gold woven between and it had trim on the skirt” Here is Chanarach:
  2. 33 points
    I know this has been discussed before, but I had some fun doing a goofy data viz project poking fun at the number of times characters "raise an eyebrow" at each other in the original trilogy. After collecting some basic eyebrow interaction data, I made some plots analyzing: The most frequent eyebrow Raisers vs Raisees Changes in eyebrow raising frequency over time The social network among characters as defined by their eyebrow exchanges I wrote up some analysis claiming that characters' eyebrow behaviors mark key moments of personal growth in their character arcs and dumped a set of interactive visualizations for all 3 books here. I thought this forum might get a kick out of it Here are some viz previews: (Nodes are sized proportionally to the total number of eyebrow interactions in which that character was involved; Arrows are sized proportionally to the number of directed eyebrow raises from the source to the target)
  3. 28 points
    The second fifty, you guys are going to have to give me stupid amounts of rep for me to do this again. I feel more tired every time. anyway if you find a repost tell me, I'll replace it @AonEne @The Awakened Salad @DramaQueen @BreezeCauthon @I Am A Fish ... there where other people, No spoilers Elantris Mistborn Era 1 minor SH Mistborn Era 2 SA Cosmere
  4. 25 points
    IT are the Investiture Technicians, of course.
  5. 23 points
    It’s a working theory, could make back 5 super awesome
  6. 22 points
    Back in Tremredare, the precinct had a saying. Watch gets called out for anything—a stabbing, a brawl, the sort of drek that ends up with someone iced and floating facedown in the canal in the morning, the sarge always asks: “Did you check the intimates?” Get your mind out of the gutter. Thing is, when it comes to murder most foul, there’s only so many possibilities: the wife who’s had enough, the controlling husband, the possessive ex, the violent brother, the angry sister, the debt-ridden friend, the disgruntled business associate, the former colleague with a grudge… And so the circle expands, layer by layer. But you always check the intimates, first. It’s those closest to us that we don’t see the most clearly. Who have the power to hurt us the most. We trust them. And so we let them in. We tell them our deepest secrets, our darkest fears. We laugh with them, work with them, drink with them. We stay in the same building, rub shoulders every dawn and dusk. It’s surprising, what the intimates know about a person. A good investigator always hits the street and starts listening first, rather than talking. You can learn a lot about the vic that way. Who they were, what the people closest to them thought. Maybe you can’t ever really know a person, but their intimates are your window into their life, their character. We see but through this window darkly. Still, it’s better than dead nothing. Investigation’s gotta start somewhere. The intimates. We let our guard down around them. That’s why betrayal always cuts deepest, doesn’t it? In the end, it's not strangers who cause so much suffering. It's those close to us. It began, as these things often did, with a knock on the door, at dawn. No rest for the wicked, as the saying went. It was far too early, and the dawn light that poured in through the cracks in the shutters was a thin, bleak grey. The candle sputtered and flickered, throwing shadows over the confines of the office and its single occupant. Blinking blearily, Kast stared at the case file he was trying to close and wondered if it was worth the effort of getting up and answering it. A dark case, that one. He hated working missing persons cases, but they’d flipped for it, and Wyl had won, and that meant his business partner was up at the arse-crack of dawn looking into a cheating case to do with five ducks, and Kast was in the office, wondering if he felt like answering the door today. Somedays, it felt like it wasn’t worth the effort. Missing persons cases. They got under your skin. Her name was Lu. Rumours that she was somehow connected to Cat Lekal, but Kast didn’t believe them for a second. You didn’t come all the way to the remote reaches of the Western Dominance to hide from the games the nobles played. Better places to hide elsewhere in the Final Empire, with the sorts of luxuries the nobles seemed accustomed to. The brother was the one who’d reported her missing. He’d come all the way from Gamsbrook to speak with them. Wyl hadn’t liked it. “Long way to walk, just to talk to us,” he’d said, lighting up his pipe. Busying himself with the familiar motions of flint and herbs. “You blame him?” Kast raised an eyebrow. “Desperation drives people to do stupid things. You know this.” “Bah,” said Wyl, eloquently. And then, “There’s stupid, and there’s no damnfool reason.” He saw the resemblance, in the sketch they’d been given. Kast thought it’d been seared into his memory, by now. The wary way Lu glanced out at you from the sketch. There was that tentativeness, the hesitancy. You saw it too, in the way the brother had perched at the edge of his seat. Hadn’t felt at ease around them. Maybe that should’ve been the first sign. Told you so, Wyl had scribbled on the back of a receipt from the grocer's and stuffed into the case file. Kast marked it as SOLVED, even though they weren’t going to see a single clip for it. They shouldn’t have taken the case, he thought. But missing persons cases. They spoke to you. He didn’t think it right, that people could go missing, could wander off the face of the world and drop off into vast emptiness with not a soul to worry or care about them. Call him sentimental, he supposed. He didn’t think that anyone should be lost, just like that. Someone had to go looking. Knock on the dark spaces of the world. Sometimes these spaces gave up, surrendered the people they’d eaten. Sometimes the darkness was hungry. Sometimes it felt like they were just trying to stop the tide with a shovel. There was an ocean out there, enough to drown in. Kast’d been to Lansing once, a very long time ago. He’d seen the ocean, and wondered at what lay there, beyond such immensity. Sometimes, the darkness was just what lurked in the recesses of the human heart. He’d gone out to the woods, and dug, where the marker was, and he’d found her, and part of Kast wished he hadn’t, wished she’d remained lost, because there was a certain finality to finding a body, or bones. And although there was agony to never knowing, you could often console yourself, that they were alive, somehow. People vanished for reasons of their own, all the time. People vanished everyday on the streets of Tremredare and they’d solved only a tiny fraction of these and they gnawed on your conscience, both the dead and the lost. No matter how hardened you were, how bitter, how much drek you saw on the streets of Tremredare, you never quite let go of that hope. Kast’d seen street-crusted veterans head outside for a smoke and then quietly fall apart in solitude when hours turned into days, and then that lost child turned up murdered. But he’d found her bones, and he’d done the dirty work, the work a good investigator was supposed to do. He’d hit Gamsbrook, and knocked on doors and listened. And he’d done some careful surveillance of his own. Long nights. He wasn’t getting any younger. It’d been a dispute over money. The brother was deep in debt, and trying to shake off suspicions that he’d killed her. He buried her out there, deep in the woods, but then he’d been seen, and then they’d gotten him to talk. You did what you had to. There were always ways. The intimates, Kast thought. You always had to talk to the intimates. And sometimes...Sometimes, it was those closest to you that held the knife. People always thought about danger as coming from without. But the most terrible sins were not committed by strangers but by one who wore the face of a loved one. Not for the first time in the past decade, Kast Speirs wondered wearily how he had come—not so much come, as fallen, he supposed—from the Tremredare City Watch to running a small investigation business in the arse-end of the Western Dominance. The knocking on the door grew brisk, a staccato series of sharp knocks. Right. There was no point in putting it off, any longer. “Coming!” Kast growled. He shut the case file, and reached out for his cane. There was the familiar pain, grinding in his knee and hip like shards of smashed glass as he got up, but at least the cane took the worst of it. It was looking to be one of those days again. He measured the paces to the shutters in familiar stabs of pain as his body kept the score. They’d set the office up on the second floor, and not for the first time, Kast questioned the wisdom of that decision. But he’d been younger, then. And his leg hadn’t been that bad. “What is it?” Kast snarled, cracking open the shutters. He blinked owlishly in the morning light. He recognised Douza, the blacksmith’s boy. Far as Kast heard, Douza wasn’t keen on the trade. One of the worst-kept secrets in Fallion’s Tears, as it were. Worse secrets lurked in this village. “You’re wanted!” Douza called up, cupping his hands about his mouth. “What for?” Kast snapped back. “Another murder! By the tanner’s!” “Get Wyl!” What was the point of having a business partner if he couldn’t get on his feet and read the crime scene every once in a while? Part of Kast regretted the thought: it was best to get as many eyes on the scene as possible. Likely as not, they’d pick up on something each other missed. That was how they worked. Why they went into business together, among many other things. Secrets. You couldn’t get anywhere in this village without stumbling into one. It was Kast’s job to know things, and to ferret out things people’d rather he didn’t, after all. “Mayor says to get you too!” Douza shouted up. “And Wyl says to tell you to get!” Kast sighed. So that was how it was going to be. Wyl wasn’t the sort to send out a whistle for a lark. Never had been. And damnit, Kast trusted his judgement. “Tell them I’m coming.” Flakes of ash fell from the iron-grey sky. They dusted everything in a thin coat, even as the cold wind dashed them into broad glass windows and shutters. The low buildings of the village bunched together, as if hunkering down against the assault from the windward slopes of the mountains. The last of the night mists wreathed both land and mountains, but had begun to thin, and to dissipate with the light. The red sun bathed the mountain slopes in a ruddy glow, like freshly-fallen embers. Kast wanted to stop, to take in the view, but there was no time for it. Fallion’s Tears was quiet in the early morning light, and for a while, Kast allowed himself to believe he was the only one soldiering on, cane pressing into gravel and dirt. A wisp of smoke curled upwards from the tavern, while the blacksmith’s forge had gone cold. The metallurgist’s shop was shuttered, and even the customary line at the grocer’s or baker’s was missing. Slivers of pain stabbed into him with each step. It was getting worse. He resigned himself to another visit to the apothecary. Eventually. After he closed the other five cases waiting for him, back in that study. And after getting the milk. And he had to go out and walk the ground, get a feel for what happened with the Leas Fel case. The mountains rose up, an intimidating and jagged wall, wherever you looked. Nestled on the slopes, you could make out the ashmount Morag as well, on a clear day, the sort where the air was crisp and the sky the hue of pale fire. Fallion’s Tears was the sort of place where nothing happened. It hadn’t seemed a bad place to settle down in, and even though there were days the work ran thin, Kast rather thought he preferred that to drowning in the stabbing, assault, robbery, and rioting cases that seemed rife in Tremredare. He liked the quiet, and felt the stillness soothe the restless part of him that never stopped looking for the next threat. Fallion’s Tears was the sort of place you came to forget what life made you and to bury your wounds and ghosts. He limped on. The question of where everyone was soon became clear. A throng of villagers gathered around the tanner’s, on the outskirts of the village. Gawkers, no doubt. Drawn by curiosity, because it sure as hell wasn’t the stench of the drying hides. He worked his way through the crowd, step by painful step. “Took you long enough,” Wyl said. He was studying the corpse. Kast took a quick glance around. There was no real watch in Fallion’s Tears, just a band of volunteers who more or less overlapped with what the village called a militia. These were currently holding the crowd back, which Kast was at least grateful for. The last thing they needed was the scene to be contaminated. “Sorry, got held up. You know what precinct traffic’s like at this time of the night.” The doctor was nowhere in sight, which Kast supposed could mean anything. No sign of Mayor Wilson either, which didn’t seem right, given Douza had come in a hurry to get him. “Right, wisearse,” Wyl’s sidelong glance was both mildly amused and judgemental. “What do you make of this?” “You didn’t get Douza to pull me all the way here for any old murder,” Kast muttered resentfully, but he was already here, and so he grudgingly worked the scene. Vic was Bartholomew—he recognised the build and the wild beard, and suppressed the immediate flicker of empathy. That came later. Blood pooled on the dirt, sticky, but some of it drying. Dead for a while then, best as Kast could make out. If Wyl wanted a time of death, he was better off waiting for the doctor. The thing that struck Kast though was how horrific it was. Blood everywhere, some of it plastered on the sides of the tanner’s shed, and daubed everywhere, in the dirt, on the wooden walls of the shed, and even the shutters: KILL YOU ALL EVERYONE GONNA DIE An indecipherable mess of sticky blood, and then: WHEN THE KOLOSS COME “Koloss?” Kast murmured, trying to keep his voice calm and even. “Not without the Lord Ruler’s say-so, surely.” “Been rumours,” Wyl said. “Haven’t you been listening? That traveller who came through the other week. Mists-addled, they say. Raving about a wild band of koloss.” “You don’t put much stock in it, either.” “Suppose I don’t,” Wyl said. He stuck his pipe in his mouth and kindled a flame. He took a long drag from it, exhaling pungent smoke. “Well, what else’ve you got?” Kast turned back to his examination of the scene. “More staged than the Leas Fel one.” Leas Fel—they’d assumed it was a stabbing but it hadn’t felt right, and then now another one on top of that. Fallion’s Tears wasn’t a large village. Most of those here knew each other all their lives and it had taken years for them to accept the duo from Tremredare among their number. Sometimes, Kast wondered if they’d really made it at all. “You don’t say,” Wyl cocked an eyebrow at him. “Any more words of wisdom, then?” Anger flared. Probably didn’t help that his leg still hated him. “Why don’t you stop the damned fishing expedition and just tell me why the hell you had me brought here,” Kast said, trying to get ahold of his temper. “There’s ‘don’t contaminate the investigator’ and there’s being bloody cryptic for no bloody good reason.” “It’s a murder,” Wyl said. “Obviously. Within a week of the last one. Almost never happens here. That’s almost immediately cause for concern.” “Yeah.” “And the daubings. Meant to terrify, as you rightly noticed. It’s staged, almost ritualistic.” Kast folded his arms across his chest and leaned on the cane. “Still not getting to the point,” he said, shortly. “Indulge me,” Wyl said, “For a few moments more. Look at the body.” Kast breathed in deep and reigned in his temper. He looked at Bartholomew’s corpse. Reluctantly, he knelt, gripping the cane, and fighting against the screams of pain from his bad leg. He saw signs of a struggle: the broken fingers, and bruising. Staining on Bartholomew’s hands made it difficult to tell if it was blood under his nails or just pigment. “Same MO,” Kast said, eventually. “Chest wound, with significant blood loss at the scene. Staged, but Bartholomew actually died here.” He frowned. There was the gleam of something metallic, glinting a sullen ochre in the morning light. He reached out and moved the body enough to dislodge it, and his heart nearly stopped. It was a sharp, gleaming metallic object, about half as thick as Bartholomew’s wrists, tapering to a lethal point. It was a spike, the sort you saw in Steel Inquisitors. Unmistakeable. A spike. A fecking, Lord Ruler-cursed spike. Kast had never wanted to see anything like that in his life again. He knew then, why Wyl had insisted. Of the two of them, he was the one who had the dubious benefit of experience in this instance. Memories Kast would rather remain buried. It was the past, and it was dead now. Why not let it stay dead? But the present wouldn’t let them, Kast thought sourly. And there was the matter of what the present owed the past. And Wilson—as Mayor, her instinct would be to preserve calm. The whispers had already started, infesting the village of Fallion’s Tears with fear. Exactly as the perpetrators had planned. “I think,” he said, almost-conversationally, “This must be the worst thing you’ve ever had me take a look at, partner.” KILL YOU ALL. EVERYONE GONNA DIE. WHEN THE KOLOSS COME. Wyl smirked, and the corners of his tired eyes thawed, just a little. “You’re welcome. I still owed you one for that outhouse. Spent hours digging through drek just to find the missing lockbox. You’re a real arse when you want to be.” “Sure,” said Kast, absently. He stared again at the blood-encrusted spike. Bartholomew had died for this. Kast knew he kept a vial of bronze locked in his drawer at all times. What did the killers want with a Seeker? And why had the spike been left behind? There were so many questions, and the trick (always the trick) was to find the answers before the killer—or killers—escalated again. But as the sun rose over the village of Fallion’s Tears, and the new day was birthed in bloody light, Kast thought he heard only the harsh caw of distant crows. LG74: You Want It Darker (aka a homage to Meta's game and tradition) “If you are the dealer, I’m out of the game [...] If thine is the glory then, Mine must be the shame You want it darker We kill the flame.” —’You Want It Darker’, Leonard Cohen Tucked away in a desolate corner of the Western Dominance, as far as the crow flies from Tremredare in the West, House Heron’s traditional seat of power, the quiet village of Fallion’s Tears has recently been shocked by a series of gruesome murders. Mayor Wilson has appealed for calm, even as outlandish rumours abound of a warband of koloss heading in the direction of Fallion’s Tears. Nothing ever happens in Fallion’s Tears, they say. Pity everything started happening all at once. First those awful murders, and then all that talk of koloss. But who among you could’ve committed such a terrible act? You’ve known each other most your lives—haven’t you? What buried ghosts from your past will emerge in the ashen light of the red sun? There’s always another secret. And everyone has a past, or so they say. When will yours catch up with you? General Rules: Factions: Roles: Cosmetic Roles: I wish to acknowledge some friends and colleagues who helped me with the rules of this game. Credit for the original ruleset goes, as always, to @Metacognition, as this is based off LG1 and the three successive AGs. The Committee offered helpful suggestions that tamed the thicket of decisions. I am especially grateful to @Wyrmhero, @Claincy, and @Mailliw73 for providing invaluable comments that helped eliminate mistakes and improve the game in numerous places. I am grateful for their generosity. If any mistakes remain, the reader may look these esteemed professors up and ask them why they did not correct them. Sign-ups are open now and will close on Friday, 26th February 2021, at 2300hrs SGT (GMT +8). [Quick Links to Go Here Later]
  7. 22 points
    Da da da dat da, dat da da da da ya da
  8. 21 points
    TL;DR: Siah Aimians were Honorspren that came over to the physical realm like Ishar is trying to do. That's why they are all blue and that's why Aimia was where all the ancient Fabrial's, spren turned into objects came from in the Silver Kingdoms. Axies can change his skin at will is the physical realm, this is a remnant of Spren like Syl changing her appearance in the physical realm. Axies is documenting every possible spren in the physical realm, building a family tree of sorts. Axies has been alive for a loooooong time, spren live theoretically forever. Ishar is trying to convert or "translate" Spren cognitive realm humanoid bodies into physical realm bodies. It's not going well. The Radiant spren type that lasts the longest in the physical realm are the Honorspren. Ishar is insane, but he is not ignorant. He thinks this can be done and he's had some success with Honorspren. I was chatting with @HoidvsVoid about the origins of all the different varieties of humanoids. Some were native like the Singers others came from Ashyn others came from other systems in the cosmere (Iriali) and others are a result of interbreeding between these humanoids. The Siah Aimians (the blue guys like Axies) we don't know a lot about. The Dysian Aimians (Seepless) came from somewhere else, but we don't know much about the blue ones. The two types are both called Aimians because they lived in the same place, but they have little in common. Then I saw a picture of Axies. It's fan art, but it jogged something in me. In my head Axies was a darker blue, but that's just in my head. This color is what I would call Syl Blue or Honorspren blue. https://coppermind.net/wiki/Siah_Aimian Axies fan art vs official Dragonsteel Syl artwork hidden for size: What do we know about Aimian's? Well they were masters of ancient Fabrials, which we learned in RoW are spren transformed into physical realm objects. They were fabrial central of the Silver Kingdoms, in other words they were the "Spren turn into something in the physical realm other than a blade" central. What else do we know about Siah Aimians? Axies can change his skin at will to jot things down. We see Syl constantly change her physical realm appearance in the books. What if this is a remnant of that ability? They can't fully change shape, but they can change things within that shape at will. Axies himself has dedicated his life to seeing every spren in the physical realm and documenting them. Building a family tree kind of. Regardless, this reinforces the Siah Aimian - Spren connection. Axies has been alive a looooooooong time. Spren don't have a natural lifespan, although we do know they can be killed under certain circumstances. Axies wasn't wearing any clothes in his interlude. He comments that this happens a lot, he gets robbed or otherwise loses all his possessions. It's funny, but it could also link back to how spren don't have clothes in the cognitive or physical realm they just change part of their body to look like clothes. Wearing clothes doesn't come naturally to a spren, you'd think Axies would adjust after thousands of years, but maybe it feels unnatural to him. EDIT: Credit to @some punny username on Discord. Axies shadow casts the wrong way which we know is a thing that being's close to Shadesmar do.
  9. 21 points
    He learned his passion from the good old fashioned School of Loverbois
  10. 21 points
    I was just thinking... The number of things that rep can mean. "I find this amusing." "I feel sympathy for you." "This was a beautiful piece of (art, writing, etc.)" "You made me feel [this emotion]" "Thank you!" "You put a lot of effort into this." "I'm bored and decided to give rep to random people." "I feel obligated to upvote this." "This has a lot of upvotes, so I might as well do it too." "You have very few upvotes and so I'm giving you sympathy rep." "Somebody told me to rep you."
  11. 21 points
  12. 19 points
    More OB meme but Sja-Anat is all:
  13. 18 points
    Rhythm of War in a Nutshell:
  14. 18 points
  15. 18 points
    He’ll find someone to accept his rose someday! Happy Valentine’s Day!
  16. 18 points
  17. 18 points
  18. 18 points
  19. 17 points
    Day 0 - Interlude: Prelude for the Straying Stars “Well, some nights I wish that this all would end ‘Cause I could use some friends for a change [...] But I still wake up, I still see your ghost Oh Lord, I’m still not sure what I stand for, oh.” —’Some Nights’, Fun Fallion’s Tears turned on Kast. Perhaps he should have seen it coming. After all, he seemed to know something about the spikes. And one of them had read a novel where one of the detectives was the murderer, and if evil lurked beneath the tired and worn faces of the private investigators, it was surely the surly and bitter Kast Spiers, rather than the charismatic Wyl Sharpe… “Right,” said Wurum. “I’m going to have to stop you right there.” Khas sighed. “Are you storming serious?” he wanted to know. “You wanted a story. I was, mind, under absolutely no obligation to entertain you, but I obliged out of the goodness of my heart—” Wurum held up one finger. “It’s a bad story,” he said, bluntly. And then he held up a second. “I’m not interested in entertaining your martyr complex again.” “It’s my story,” Khas replied. “You asked for a story. You didn’t specify exactly what kind of story you wanted. I wanted something a little dark, a tale of murders in a rural Scadrian village. You said that was fine with you, and now you’ve got exactly what you asked for. I can’t see what reason you could possibly have to object to this.” Wurum stared judgementally at Khas from across the battered table. “I can see every possible reason to object to this. I’ve sampled a broad selection of Alethi literature, and I don’t think I’ve heard anything as appallingly bad before. The private investigators are obviously a thinly-veiled attempt at self-insertion, a hallmark of bad writing if I’ve ever heard one.” Khas dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “Ah yes, your heretical reading pursuits. You ever get worried you’d be strung up if someone caught you actually reading?” Wurum raised an eyebrow. “If anyone ever finds me reading in the safehouse, I’ll have bigger problems than whether reading is the proper pursuit for an Alethi male. In other words, no.” “You’ve got a point there,” Khas admitted. “Don’t I always?” “But,” Khas continued, “What I was really saying was that your pursuit of trashy detective novellas, a couple of adventure books, that forty-book Saucerworld series, and garnishing that selection with a half-hearted read of the Way of Kings is pretty damned heretical, if you ask me.” “No one asked for your opinion.” Khas grinned. “I know. I offer it freely regardless. It’s part of my charm.” “It’s...something,” Wurum said. He sighed and pushed half-heartedly at the assortment of papers on the table. “You still haven’t learned to clean up properly.” Khas shrugged. “I have a lot of side projects,” he said, unrepentant. “I’m currently working on a short paper for submission to Silverlight. Applying Menzi’s ethical framework to the practical problems of working as a Ghostblood operative—” Wurum stared at him, aghast. “You can’t possibly publish that!” he hissed. “Your superior will—” “Gotcha,” Khas smirked. “Had you going there for a bit, didn’t I? No, I understand opsec. Probably a little better than you, even, what with that one time you revealed yourself in a Scadrian village on the first night.” Wurum sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. “Fine. Get back to your story.” The villagers of Fallion’s Tears turned among themselves. The killer—or killers, as it were—clearly lurked among them, but who could it be? Dr. Aliker turned on Lasalen, the alchemist who had procured far too many ducks than was reasonable for a sane person. After all, what manner of reasonable person would wrangle so many ducks? Clearly, only such a depraved individual would be capable of the horrific murders of Leas Fel and Bartholomew. Meanwhile, Lasalen had quickly stepped up to accuse Dr. Aliker in return. Where had he gotten his medical credentials? Why would a doctor even retire to Fallion’s Tears, if not to hide some dark secrets—perhaps even to practice murder? The cobbler, Marll joined in. According to him, Dr. Aliker was suspicious for jumping so swiftly to accuse Lasalen. Perhaps Dr. Aliker knew more than he was letting on? It was at that point that calamity struck. A seemingly ordinary villager who went by the peculiar name of Obliteration decided for reasons unfathomable to all that evil lurked in the heart of the surly and bitter Kast Speirs. Probably read too many detective novels, like the trashy Scadrian murder-at-a-mansion paperback, Death Comes At The End where the narrator was the killer after all. Of course, his partner, Wyl Sharpe, might have been considered guilty, but Wyl was charismatic, and suspicion seemed to slide off him like water off a duck— “It takes skill,” Wurum interjected. “Well, that and a basic understanding of human psychology.” Khas let out an irritated sigh. “I thought you had decided to let me tell my story?” he asked, pointedly. “I’m regretting it.” “Not as much as I’m regretting letting you in,” said Khas. “You barge into my safehouse, demand to be entertained, and tell me you left your last posting because you were bored—” “Ah, and your story is most certainly not sufficiently entertaining. Check and mate.” Khas’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “I could tell you that a Shardblade duel broke out,” he said, ominously. “That Kast summoned a Shardblade and fought his way free of the gathered mob, just like in those trashy Blanch novels you used to follow.” “A Shardblade? In a Scadrian murder tale? I think you’re godmodding here. That’s way too overpowered.” “You like Shardblade duels, as I recall. Eighty Splendid Suns was full of them.” “Yes, and it isn’t exactly what I’d consider a prime example of Selish literature,” Wurum retorted. “Your point, being?” Khas heaved a long-suffering sigh. “After imposing yourself on me, and demanding a story, the very least you could do is to hear me out.” “Very well,” Wurum conceded. “Carry on with your tale, then.” Once Obliteration had decided that Kast must be the murderer who was merely pretending to investigate the killings, other voices soon joined in. The storyteller, Variel, recalled that he’d seen Kast at the scene of the crime a few days ago. The fact that Kast was supposed to be investigating Leas Fel’s death seemed to have conveniently eluded him. Perhaps because they’d gone entirely quackers, Lasalen joined in, insisting that if they rid themselves of Kast, there would be no investigation and therefore no more murders. One had to believe Lasalen had a weak grasp of the concept of causation— “What are you storming doing?” Khas snapped. Wurum had been peeling an orange, but at that point, he’d simply lobbed it straight at Khas. Fortunately, Khas’s reflexes saved him, as he snatched it out of the air before impact. “Common decency,” Wurum said, with a shrug. “That pun was awful. Did you know that in Natanatan of old, they used to lob rotten fruit at performers who were doing a seriously sloppy job? No? Well, consider that your free fact of the day.” “You make worse ones,” Khas sneered. “I’m confiscating your orange.” “But what will I throw at you then, if not an orange?” “You’ll figure something out, I’m sure,” Khas said, with a long-suffering sigh. He set down the orange, and Wurum promptly snagged it, even as Khas rescued his papers and shuffled them hurriedly into a stack before harm could come to them. “For the last time, Wurum. Listen to the damned story or get out of my safehouse.” “Fine. When you put it that way…” “I most certainly do. Are you going to behave yourself?” “Under objection and under duress, certainly.” “Well, then.” Nevertheless, others joined in. Roko the Basilisk, who was gazing at a photograph. No, Wurum, don’t you bloody dare. Something about the photograph told Roko that Kast was most likely the villain blighting the benighted village of Fallion’s Tears. Illwei though, hesitated. Was there something suspicious about Obliteration’s insistence that Kast was evil? (The answer, obviously, was yes.) A random bystander joined in, and voiced suspicion of Obliteration. Who would even bear such a name? Clearly, no one with good intentions. Niru, the village’s resident ash watcher took his eyes off Bartholomew’s ashes and the most suspicious ‘Derrick’ who very certainly did not have literal skeletons in his closet to mention half-heartedly that he had no idea what was going on but probably Variel the Storyteller was suspicious. No one had the faintest idea why. As Kast tried to interject and bring some semblance of order and common sense to the mess, Wyl simply stood there and whistled. It was as though he had not a care in the world, especially for the welfare of his business partner— “What is it now,” Khas sighed. “I didn’t say anything,” said Wurum, serenely. “You were thinking it. I know you were. Out with it.” “What if I don’t want to say what I’m thinking anymore? I’m a sensitive person, and you’ve been silencing me so strenuously.” “You expect me to take that seriously?” “Yes?” It was Khas who cracked first. It usually was. “Fine,” he sighed. “I’m sorry for shushing you so aggressively. Please share with the class, Wurum. What exactly is on your mind?” “Have you tried seeing anyone for that PTSD of yours?” Khas blinked. “I have talked with El a couple of times, but I think I’m making good progress?” “I mean, it’s obvious to me that you’re still holding on to a great deal of repressed trauma from those riots on Kholinar, Khas. I don’t think that’s very healthy, frankly.” “It is not trauma, it’s a healthy distrust of you and your motives!” Wurum clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “Exactly. Since when have I had anything except your best interests at heart?” “Pretty sure shooting me with an arrow from a storming Grandbow doesn’t count,” Khas snapped. “Nor does stabbing me five times and leaving me for dead.” “Ah, but I’m on your side now, and you’re not dead, so clearly it worked out for the better. Aren’t you happy? Didn’t I promote your best interests after all?” “God, I hate you.” “The retort of a man who knows he can’t argue with logic,” said Wurum. The last straw was when Tesse Mourn, resident metallurgist, voiced her suspicions of Kast. He’d come to her store to purchase metals a few times, after all, and something about that was innately suspicious. The villagers advanced on Kast, and he most certainly did not pull out a Shardblade. He attempted to defend himself, of course. He wasn’t reckless, and he wasn’t out of his mind. But his reasoned words fell on deaf ears. There was a powerful undercurrent of fear running through Fallion’s Tears, and now that they had determined that Kast was guilty, the villagers could not be dissuaded. He fought back. But he was getting long in the tooth, and his leg had never recovered from that night on duty in Tremredare. And Wyl did not lift a hand to help him, merely watched as they beat his erstwhile partner to death with his own walking cane. “That’s how it ends?” Wurum demanded, incredulously. Khas nodded. “That’s how it ends,” he confirmed. “God, I take it back. This isn’t a bad story, it’s outright awful. Worse than the one with the falling rocks where everyone dies. There’s no sense of plot, nothing. The villagers turn on Kast, he dies, and everything ends. Fade to black. You could’ve just told me that in a single line and saved us all the effort.” “That’s how life is sometimes, isn’t it?” Khas retorted. “Sometimes we make the wrong decision, and everything ends. We trust someone we shouldn’t have, eat the wrong orange—” Wurum’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at the orange he was pulling apart. “Yesterday, one of the recruits made a bad call and was killed by an incipient Skybreaker. Panicked, of course. But these things happen.” “Are you appealing to a tragedy in the organisation to justify your appalling storytelling skills?” “No, I’m saying that you wanted a story, and sometimes, stories are just unsatisfying. That’s just how life is. Art reflects life, and all that. In real life, sometimes the private investigator dies rather than finding out the villain. Sometimes, the innocent are killed, or arrested. Sometimes, the emperor dies of fever rather than conquers the known world, or a famous general is thrown from his Ryshadium and cracks his skull and dies and a kingdom is saved, all entirely by the caprice of chance.” “Don’t you bring your philosophy into this.” “Well, you came to me and asked for a story. If you didn’t want one that was even a little philosophical, maybe you found the wrong man.” “You know, you’ve been insufferable ever since you earned that degree at Silverlight.” “It’s called lifelong learning, Wurum. As I recall, you’re a proponent of it yourself.” “Bah,” scoffed Wurum. “You have far too much time on your hands.” “The privileges of seniority,” said Khas. “As you yourself undoubtedly are aware. So come on then. Show me how it’s done, Master Storyteller. You never did tell me about what happened on Notemos all those years ago. As I recall, we lost an entire cell in practically a week.” Wurum’s eyes narrowed. “Notemos? That entire affair? How did you come to hear of it? You were away on Silverlight finishing up your second degree, as I recall." Khas tapped the side of his nose with a finger. “Sources, old friend. I have my sources. Spill it.” Wurum stretched out his legs and reached for a carafe of water. “Very well then…” he said. “So, our story begins this way: Footsteps on the dusty floor alerted Wurum to the presence of someone else within the room…” Books (1): Danex Danex (1): Maili Experience (1): Experience Kas (5): Order, Striker, Books, Gears, Quinn Order (2): Illwei, Randby Striker (1): Ventyl Kast was a Veteran Private Investigator in Khas's story! Unfortunately, neither the Village nor the Spiked have won this game. The only winner has turned out to be Wurum Heron/Wyrmhero, for offering Khas a thorough tongue-lashing for telling a bad story! And for letting me drag him repeatedly in/into the write-up >> Thanks for playing LG74! You guys have been astonishingly energetic and fun players, and I hope to GM you all sometime again. I'll post GM thoughts on the game format sometime soon, after I finish drowning my sorrows over failing as a GM again with some alcohol.... #MR7 #neverforget #neverforgive #atonement [Lolnope get ready, don't forget your dirty secrets/skeletons, sign-ups close as announced at 2300hrs GMT+8 on Friday, and I aim to get the game up and running an hour after. See you then!]
  20. 16 points
    Someone upvoted this recently, which reminded me of it (had completely forgot this thread). And, after RoW, I am kind of proud that I randomly guessed this one year ahead. Taravangian = Odium? - Stormlight Archive - 17th Shard, the Official Brandon Sanderson Fansite
  21. 16 points
  22. 16 points
  23. 16 points
  24. 16 points
    I... Am whole now No spoilers Mistborn SA
  25. 15 points
    Ladies and gentlemen – this is it. This is the final post that we’ll have in this thread for the next… three years? Ah, Idos Domi! What a long time to wait! Kelek’s breath! Well, either way, you know the old saying – something about the journey being the good part? Like, it comes before the place you get to? Ah I forget it. Either way. Here’s Mrs. Goatbringer’s final thoughts on Rhythm of War! -- ME: *reading along normally* “Which master-” TAY: Witch master? COOL! What an awesome title! Like the Witcher, but the WITCH-MASTER! ME: No… like, ‘which master do you serve’? There are many potential masters, so which one? TAY: Oh. *Pauses* TAY: I like mine better. -- *Navani thinking to herself about what Jasnah would do if she was trapped in a horrible situation* TAY: What would Jasnah do? Navani, you spent the last three books complaining about your daughter and now you’ve got some respect for her? -- TAY: What if singers are tone deaf? ME: You know… I have absolutely no idea. -- *After Navani shows Raboniel how to make anti-Voidlight and she then uses it to make anti-Stormlight, lying to Navani* TAY: Make this meme: -- *The High Judge and Restares is revealed to be Kelek* TAY: Kelek! He will teach us bronze! I’ve been waiting for him! -- TAY: Oooh, Shallan’s got a magic axe. ME: It’s a dagger. Were you even listening? *pause* TAY: Maybe not. -- TAY: So she kills Restares, then Lightweaves the trial in Adolin’s favour? She’s getting all she wants in one fell swoop! *pause* TAY: Heh. Swoop. Because Mraize has chickens. -- *Talking about the Contest of Champions* TAY: Oh man, is this going to be like Bridgerton? With its duels and sexy, sexy testosterone? -- TAY: I think Navani and Raboniel are sapiosexual for each other. Calling it. Leave your war criminal husband, Navani! -- *no prompting* TAY: Kaladin is just too good for Dalinar. -- ME: You know that people are kind of disappointed that you don’t use the nicknames for the characters anymore? TAY: It will make them feel better that it took me four separate thousand-page books to get these names right. -- TAY: Wait, why aren’t we making these nerds pay to listen to my reactions? This should be a Patreon. Or an OnlyFans. ME: “OnlySafehands”. TAY: And I have a nice one too. -- *Raboniel describing Braize* ME: “the place is barren, devoid of life. Merely a dark sky, endless windswept crags, and a broken landscape. And a lot of souls. A lot of not particularly sane souls.” TAY: Oof, Raboniel. Why are you describing my personality? -- TAY: Navani listening to Raboniel is me watching Janelle Monae. She’s getting feelings she didn’t know she had. -- Simply noting here that Tay correctly guessed that Maya would absolve Adolin at his trial. -- TAY: So what did shart do? ME: Wait – what? TAY: Sha-art? Shnart? ME: … Sja-anat? TAY: Yeah, her. Shart. ME: Good god. -- TAY: Bow chicka-wow-wow! Roland bout to git invested with a tower! ME: Who? TAY: Roland. The listener who is Kaladin’s friend. ME: Rlain. It’s Rlain. -- TAY: *censored* you, Lirin, you *censored* piece of *censored*. -- *Quoting Venli* ME: “I’m a selfish, impotent, sorry excuse for a listener.” TAY: Hard agree. -- *You know what part* TAY: *whispers* I hate Moash. I hate him so much. -- TAY: *singing* This is where therapy would have helped you, Kaladin! -- *Kaladin has armour now* TAY: Wait, what!? ME: Kaladin just said his fourth ideal… it’s kind of the main climax of the book. TAY: Yeah no, I was building up to it but then there was a funny Tik Tok and I had to watch it. How did it happen? -- TAY: Kaladin’s like *makes ‘driving fast’ noises* on his way to becoming a radiant. He gives himself such flack but he’s done good quickly. -- TAY: What the actual *censored* is a sky burial? Do they just drop kick them into the air? -- *scene with Dalinar and Ishar* TAY: I hear you’re in need of a gonnegtion. Heh. Meyer Wolfsheim. He was the original Bondsmith. -- *Tay is a little incensed that the Windspren just become Kaladin’s armour* TAY: Honk honk honk! You can become a shield for Kaladin now! -- TAY: I am very upset about this whole “Navani being a Bondsmith” thing. -- *Moash in the room with Navani* TAY: Navani, murder this *censored*. -- ME: "Journey before destination, you bastard." TAY: Okay, that was pretty hardcore. -- *reading some part* ME: “I can barely make sense of what you said.” TAY: Me, reading this book. -- TAY: Hah! Man, I am here for a sword-ninny spin-off! *pauses* ME: Are you really? Because if you are, I have some great news for you. -- *End of the book* TAY: And we are no closer to Dalinar winning back Tayla’s affection. -- *Biggest revelation Tay has had about Stormlight* TAY: Wait – crem isn’t poop? From cremlings? ME: What? No, crem is like, liquid rock that is dumped by the Highstorms. You thought it was… poo? TAY: … yes? ME: For four books. TAY: In my defence, crem is said a lot and in most of those contexts, it could be referring to poop. The crem is poop from cremlings and they’re like pidgeons so they poop a lot! ME: *stares into the camera* TAY: Why did you like ‘crem before cremlings’ then? If it’s not like ‘poop before poopers’? -- *Kaladin’s healed scars* TAY: Hah. Slaveboi got botox and a retinol peel. -- Tayla’s big desire for book five: Adolin gets treated with some damn respect from Dalinar for once, and he awakens Maya and bonds her. -- And there you have it, cremlings! (her catchphrase takes on a whole new meaning now, doesn’t it?) We have come to the end of the extant Stormlight Archive books! As hinted earlier in this post, Tay might have a listen to Warbreaker at some point, but we’re not going to jump in now. Most of our reading happens at bedtime, so she wants to listen to something that she’s not necessarily going to lose sleep over if she sleeps through it (did I pick a bad expression there?) So, we’re reading The Wheel of Time, the book series that actually caused us to first meet – but that’s a story for another time and another message board. Maybe we’ll see you for some novellas, maybe not, but either way, we’ll see ya in 2023 for book five. And remember: Crem before cremlings. -- BONUS: *Tay reading this thread* TAY: Haha! Man, I’m hilarious!
  26. 15 points
    HAPPY VALENTINES DAY! I claim you all as my platonic Valentines, so there. I love you all dearly and if mailing things wasn't expensive, I'd mail you all treats. Except for Truth who I'm claiming as my non-platonic Valentine - every day is a Happy Day with you. I love you. *groups hugs everyone except the people who don't like hugs* You're not alone, this day or any other! Ene is here to be a friend if you need one! I love you all!
  27. 15 points
    Harmony can't find Invention again after initial contact, implying they are not on a planet. Perhaps on a spaceship flotilla or one giant spaceship. A society with no planet would necessitate a lot of invention and creative use of resources, satisfying the Shard intent. Everyday living under Invention's influence is like this:
  28. 15 points
    I don't usually post a status update to tell everyone that I'm gonna be off for the rest of the night, but I've had a really rough day today and I'd just like to thank y'all for being you. Thanks so much, everyone. Have a bunch of heart emojis. I must sleep now.
  29. 14 points
    It's not surprising, given the geology of Roshar, but man do Rosharans like them a boulder metaphor. Here's a rundown, sorted by character. Dalinar: highprince of boulders; basically everyone, himself included, thinks of him as a boulder; though only Sadeas is foolish enough to think he can take the boulder on OB 3 (Dalinar flashback): He hit the spearman like a boulder rolling through a grove of saplings, his sword tossing blood into the air. A good fight was about momentum. Don't stop. Don't think. Drive forward and convince your enemies they're as good as dead already. RoW 57 (Eshonai flashback): He turned, moving with the momentum of a shifting boulder, and walked toward his stormwagon. TWoK 69 (Sadeas talking to Dalinar): If it means anything, I'm fond of you. I really am. But you are a boulder in my path, and a force working - without realizing it - to destroy Gavilar's kingdom. When the chance came along, I took it. WoR 38 (Shallan): Dalinar stood up. He moved like a rolling boulder. Inevitable, implacable WoR 50 (Adolin): Dalinar was a rock, a boulder too big for even storms to move. He seemed so sure. It was something to cling to Dalinar's burdens: the boulder carries boulders TWoK 15 (Nohadon parable about helping carry a large stone): If a king is seen to assume the burden of the poorest men, perhaps there will be those who will help him with his own load, so invisible, yet so daunting TWoK 18 (responding to Elhokar asking why the Parshendi offed Gavilar): That question has churned in my head, over and over, like a boulder tumbling down a hill. WoR 85 (Dalinar realizing Szeth would have wrecked him if he hadn't been too drunk the night Gavilar died): I couldn't have saved him. It brought peace, and Dalinar finally set down that boulder, the one he'd been carrying for over six years. OB 4 (Navani, after Dalinar claims he won't carry the failure to prevent the Everstorm as a burden): I don't believe you, Dalinar Kholin. I can read the tightness of your muscles, the set of your jaw. I know that you, while being crushed beneath a boulder, would insist that you've got it under control and ask to see field reports from your men. OB 65 (Cultivation's prunings have an expiration date): Storms. He remembered. It came crashing down on him, the weight of a thousand boulders. He remembered what had happened to Evi. Navani: a boulder love story OB 1 (Dalinar): Navani Kholin was not some timid, perfect idea - she was a sour storm of a woman, set in her ways, stubborn as a boulder rolling down a mountain and increasingly impatient with the things she considered foolish. He loved her the most for that. Jasnah: fights like a boulder; but Navani - ever the pragmatist - just walks around OB 104 (Navani): Navani would talk to Renarin and encourage him to go out more with the men. There was no arguing with Jasnah, any more than there was arguing with a boulder. You just stepped to the side and went around RoW 64 (Jasnah): Her vision was clear enough to see the horror of the nearby singers as they witnessed a burning Shardbearer explode from the fires, as if from the center of Damnation itself. That fear stunned them as she hit their line like a boulder, working death upon their collapsing ranks. Kaladin: waah! I have no choice but to be the hero everyone thinks I am TWoK 9: Kaladin charged the chasm, not even flinching as men were slaughtered around him. It wasn't bravery that drove him; it wasn't even a wish that those arrows would take him and end it all. He ran. That was what he did. Like a boulder rolled down a hill, or like rain fell from the sky. They didn't have a choice. Neither did he. He wasn't a man; he was a thing, and things just did what they did. RoW 43: They were going to take Teft. Kaladin pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway, feeling the inevitable shift of a boulder perched on the top of a slope. Just. Beginning. To tip. Venli: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ RoW 77 (Venli flashback): But what could she do? She'd started this boulder rolling down the cliff. If she tried to stop it now, she'd be crushed. So she continued doing as he said. Even if, without him in her gemheart, she felt old and dull. Taln: obviously TWoK Epilogue: All was chaos and confusion as the gate boomed yet a third time, powerful, shaking, vibrating as if hit with a boulder. And then a bright, silvery blade rammed between the massive doors, slicing upward, cutting the bar that held them closed. A Shardblade. WoR 63 (Shallan): The man did not move. He did not look up, did not shift. He was life a boulder that had rolled to a stop here. And finally ... Hoid: Did someone say boulder? Let me share this thematically-relevant metaphor about boulders (OB 68) There are those who, when the boulder of time rolls toward them, stand up in front of it and hold out their hands. All their lives they've been told how great they are. They assume the world will bend to their whims as their nurse did when fetching them a fresh cup of milk. Those men end up squished. Other men stand to the side when the boulder of time passes, but are quick to say, "See what I did! I made the boulder roll there. Don't make me do it again!" These men end up getting everyone else squished. (Shallan asks whether there is a third type): There is, but they are oh so rare. These knew they can't stop the boulder. So they walk beside it, study it, and bide their time. Then they shove it - ever so slightly - to create a deviation in its path. These are the man ... well, these are the men who actually change the world. And they terrify me. For men never see as far as they think they do. So, there you have it. Boulders for everyone. As a final note, searching my ebooks for the word boulder really made me appreciate the ferocity of highstorms a whole lot more. I think I had just started skimming past the descriptions of them. But holy freaking crap they are just CONSTANTLY throwing boulders around. How long until the Stormfather accidentally throws Dalinar at someone?
  30. 14 points
    Mistborn/Addams Family Okay, okay, okay Vin is Wednesday Dockson is Morticia Spook is Pugsley Kelsier is Gomez No clue on Gordon, Thing, and Cousin It.
  31. 14 points
    Coming in HOT
  32. 14 points
    500th Post!!!!
  33. 14 points
    I can only imagine the confusion of the people chasing him.
  34. 14 points
    I was eating a hamburger, and suddenly started thinking about Stormlight. It hit me that what if Taravangian picks up Odium? If Rayse dies, but Mr T takes the Shard instead, and is the villain later on. What do you guys think?
  35. 13 points
    You called, I came. Words of Radiance through to basically any Stormlight book after WoK excluding Dawnshard.
  36. 13 points
    A comment on YouTube was the inspiration for this one.
  37. 13 points
    What are you fighting for, soldier?
  38. 13 points
    One of my chickens just died. A neighborhood cat snuck into the coop and ripped its head off. I will be leaving the Shard, maybe permanently. Because of many reasons. Bye. I love y’all.
  39. 13 points
  40. 13 points
    I have a few, though I'm not sure what's unpopular and what isn't: -Shallan's 'secret.' Really, that's it? You killed your spren? After the reveals in WoR I expected something so much worse. The whole plot point with Formless and even the trial fell flat. There was a decent amount of time spent on promising looking side characters as well that ultimately went nowhere. -All of Venli. She barely did anything with or learned anything about her Radiant powers, and she was at best an unsympathetic hero. Her flashbacks were easily the most unnecessary of the four flashback viewpoints, and she is basically a bystander for all of the important plot points. I expected so much more, both from her and Willshapers in general. She could be written out of the story right now, and nothing would be lost. -Navani's 'science' - the nitty gritty details of discovering the anti-magics felt a little too hand wavy and not as clean as I'm used to from Brandon. My eyes kind of glazed over when the 'technical' details kept coming up. -A general lack of lighthearted moments - I feel the story really missed the normal doses of Rock, Lopen and (as of OB) Lift. -The part three Dalinar and Jasnah scenes - while they contained some interesting moments, it felt like filler, a plot excuse to get them away from Urithiru. I see why it was done, but I can't help but feel the story would have been so much better if the two of them were at Urithiru the whole time. -A general lack of 'high' moments: Completely personal preference here, but nothing in this book came even close to 'Honor is dead, but I'll see what I can do' or 'You cannot have my pain!' or the Tower or the fight at Thaylen City or the onset of the Everstorm/Kal's arrival.
  41. 13 points
    Mistborn era 1 and crying factor
  42. 13 points
  43. 12 points
    Wellllllll....... I just realized that today is my Shardiversiry. Or however you spell that word. And it's kind of late and I don't feel like writing out a super long thing about it. I just want to thank everyone (No, I'm not going to list a bunch of people -- I'm too scared I'll miss someone) on the Shard that have just been themselves (AMAZING!!!) and made my life so much better. I'm not sure where I would be without the shard, but I do know that it would be worse then where I am now. So, thank you all for a wonderful year, and I look forward to enjoy many more in the future!
  44. 12 points
    Era 3 (I posted this on the Discord)
  45. 12 points
  46. 12 points
    New shards taking the wheel Put your trust in a higher power
  47. 12 points
  48. 12 points
  49. 12 points
    Okay so I'm going to be travelling to college tomorrow. And that's really exciting and really scary. uhh... I guess prayers please, if you pray? Thanks!
  50. 12 points
    I created this during math class, by the way. It was more important Secret History:
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