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Eshonai awoke to the sound of trumpets. Trumpets, and footsteps. Eyes bleary, she rose while humming to the Rhythm of Anxiety. Judging by the dim light filtering into her makeshift chamber, it was early. Instinctively she clenched her left hand, red energy crackling along her knuckles. She was becoming more accustomed to that reaction every day, and less inclined to summon her Blade whenever she was in danger. Maybe she was just getting used to this new form, but the scream buried deep inside her had another thought on the matter. Questions ran through Eshonai’s head at the pace of a Highstorm. Who blew those horns, and who was running the tunnels? Was it possible that the Alethi had finally found them, and were now attacking with hopes of finishing them off? It was futile, of course. The Alethi may have won the battle in Narak, but they were too late to stop the Everstorm, which meant they already lost the war. Still… she was not quite ready to die. Not yet. Both pieces of her agreed that she had so much left to live for. When she heard the trumpeting again, this time she understood. “General!” a familiar voice yelled from outside her chamber. That was Melu, one of the few survivors from the first legion of warriors that took stormform. Exiting her small, square room, Eshonai turned to face the approaching soldier. It was hard to tell before, but she could now hear the rhythm she was attuned to. Excitement. Cycling through the new Rhythms, Eshonai found Craving. “You look eager. What do the scouts report?” “Alethi, sir. No more than thirty, alone in Narak, fighting a Greatshell.” “What?” Eshonai laughed to the Rhythm of Derision. “Are they mad?” “Not quite. Sir, they’re glowing.” A second later she was sprinting. Eshonai knew these tunnels better than anyone. In those weeks before the battle, she had spent countless hours carving them herself. Confident of her newfound strength or not, she was a General long before she was gifted this form of power, which meant she knew better than to not have a contingency plan. It was inevitable that the Alethi would find Narak. The city was ancient, and not easily disguised. But a system of tunnels and caverns hidden in the chasms, with doors of stone carved to seal out the brunt of the storm and drains to take care of the rest? Even if they knew what to look for, it would take the Alethi a long time to find it, and by then, the listeners would be long gone. More waking soldiers joined Eshonai and Melu as they ran. They didn’t need an explanation to know when to follow. After all, they had heard the Chasmfiend too. Its cries of fury and pain. Eventually the tunnel widened and began sloping upwards. This incline was natural, unlike the perfectly flat walkways she had made. Ahead of her, the sun was dawning, a horizon free of clouds burning as deep a red as her own eyes. Bursting into the light with a legion of listeners trailing in her wake, Eshonai stepped towards the ledge and looked. Narak was far, but not so far that she could not see the figure of a man standing just above it. Even at this distance, she could see the faint wisps of light smoking off his skin. Through her eyes it glowed like fire. She knew that man and what he could do. Besides Blackthorn and his brother, he was the most dangerous man she had ever known. And today, she thought, humming to the Rhythm of Determination, I will kill him and anyone who stands in my way. “Gather everyone!” Eshonai commanded. “We attack at once!” With a wide grin, Kaladin watched as the battle unfolded below. Though he could not hear the words the Initiates shared before they charged, he could tell who were the leaders and who were content to follow. Ranatar, the man he had pushed off the ledge himself, was one of the former. He didn’t look it, but that man had experience leading troops. The Shin man, Sareth, had the potential in him too, though his was a different sort of guidance, more like Dalinar’s than his own. “This isn’t right,” Syl told herself, her voice not much louder than a whisper. A warm breeze flowed through her, her hair and dress stirring as it passed by. The Initiates were winning. Kaladin knew they would, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t putting their lives at risk. It wasn’t an easy decision, especially for him, but he saw what the Everstorm was capable of and knew that these men and women needed to develop faster than he had, and that meant pushing them to the extreme. Please, no one die, he shuddered within, though his body may as well have been soulcast into steel for all the movement he made. And to think it was Shallan who bonded the Cryptic, rather than he. Where was that woman now, anyway? Forcing her out of his mind, Kaladin took note of those who were brave enough to attack the Chasmfiend directly. Araon and Arionium, Hithon and Teresh. Fifth, too, and Balthazar as well. They weren’t a very well coordinated team, but the Stormlight made up for their inefficiencies. So long as Shinon kept firing his arrows and Kintas kept playing at medic, it was just a matter of time until they won. This trial was little more than a battle of attrition, after all. Kaladin knew better than anyone what Stormlight could do. So long as they had it, they could keep fighting. But he also knew how they would feel when it was all gone. Deflated, like an empty wineskin, and so painfully sluggish that it’d take all their willpower to move. Worse than any hangover, waking up the next day would be a trial all its own. Sadly not every Initiate would get that lesson. Many of them hesitated or refused to fight outright. Dalinar had told him not to expect everyone to become warriors, and Shallan had quoted enough passages of that book to make him understand that not every Order was comprised of warriors, but still. It seemed so odd to him how anyone with powers like his could be a coward. Whenever he breathed in, he felt an urge to move, to fight. Was it possible that Stormlight affected people differently? Maybe that was a question worth asking. Now that he thought about it, that brooding man Jonly didn’t even glow when he fell, nor did he when he rose from the tiny crater created by his descent. Looking at him, the man was strong. Determined, too, by the cold fire of his eyes and the set of his jaw. So why did he linger on the sidelines now, doing nothing? Kaladin would have to talk to him after this, he decided. Ralaani, the girl who figured she’d be more helpful drawing the battle than participating in it, suddenly gasped at his side. Instead of looking at her, his eyes darted to the Chasmfiend, praying that someone hadn’t just been killed. “What happened?” he asked, expecting to see a man cut in two, or a pile of blood and gore. “Baltahzar just jumped in the Chasmfiend’s mouth!” she said then began sketching madly, presumably to capture the scene. Fool man, Kaladin thought. Not of Balthazar, but himself. Sure, Balths was a fool, too, but this trial was his idea alone, and no one else could be blamed for what happened during it. Kaladin only hoped the Initiate’s death was quick, unable to imagine how terrifying being digested alive would be. After being dazed by a rockfall and having a few of its claws cut off, the Chasmfiend didn’t look like it had much fight in it left. There were a few more close calls, as even Kaladin could only dodge so many furious swipes at once, but it looked like no one else would die today, and for that he was thankful. At least until the Chasmfiend began to collapse, with that young boy Rea weaving underneath the creature’s legs, as if playing some kind of game. A cloud of dust whooshed away from its body, obscuring the forms of its challengers. Had Rea made it out? Kaladin couldn’t tell, but he certainly hoped. Nearing death, the Chasmfiend flailed wildly, nearly knocking Fifth and Sareth off its head. Miraculously, the pair had managed to regain their footing and continue towards its head, quarterstaves in hand, looking like they aimed to finish it off, once and for all. What happened next, no one could have predicted. The Chasmfiend rolled. Even from this far, he could see the violet globs of fear manifest around them. They were trapped on all sides by the creature’s spines, rapidly lurching towards the earth. Towards Kintas and Uther, and someone else whom Kaladin didn’t recognize, lying down and covered in dust. It was done. In its death throes, the Chasmfiend had flipped on top of his foes. There was room enough for them to squeeze, but the spikes were so many, what were the chances that not a single Initiate had been pinned, or worse? Spren like arrowheads steamed off the Chasmfiend’s body, dissipating as they drifted towards the sky. It’s mouth lolled open and began spewing blood and gore. Even a few rocks, and what must have been Balthazar’s sword. All four of his Squires were there now. They had begun running when they saw what was happening, but were too far to interfere. Kaladin breathed in a wealth of Stormlight, and they began to glow. Skar, Drehy, Teft and Leyten reached the corpse at once, each wrapping their arms around one of the Chasmfiend’s spines, and began lifting with all of their might. Slowly but surely the monster was lifted, revealing pools of blood and the soldiers underneath. Uther was crawling on his face, dragging Hithon behind him. The blind man had been knocked unconscious, but fortunately he was still breathing. Kintas, who somehow seemed shorter than before, stood up unscathed, eyes locked on Sareth whose gut had been ran through with a spine and was now dangling from it, grabbing at the point and pulling himself towards it, like sliding meat off a kebab. Fifth was nowhere to be seen. Glancing over his shoulder at the Initiates who remained atop the Oathgate with him, Kaladin barked at them to jump now, or else be exiled for refusing to follow orders. Hess shrugged without a word and, reluctantly, Veriq approached the ledge. He didn’t have time to wait. Riding on the wind, Kaladin soared. More and more every day, what he did felt less like falling and more like flying. Before he knew it, he was there beside his Squires, helping them hold the corpse up before they lost all their strength. Behind him, a few lingering Initiates ran to their fellow’s aid. Shinon helped Uther to his feet, then slung Hithon over his shoulder. Petrik, his arm still limp, let Sareth lean on his other shoulder and, along with Kintas, led him out into the open air. Once free, the Initiates fell to the ground, exhausted. Some of them even had the audacity to laugh at what just happened. The rest just watched them as if they were crazy, their faces apprehensive. Kaladin let go of his spine and spun on them, his Squires letting theirs down slowly. “What about Fifth?” he yelled, voice echoing loudly in the city within the chasm. “Rea?” he added, remembering the little boy. “Here,” a man coughed, rounding the other side of the Chasmfiend. It was Fifth, and in his arms, he cradled the child Initiate. Kaladin breathed a sigh of relief. Only Balthazar had died, then. A terrible loss, still, but better than it could have been. “Uh, Kal?” Teft said, voice laced with concern. “What is it, Teft?” Kaladin asked as he turned. “The Chasmfiend…” It was moving. “Syl!” Kaladin shouted, brandishing his hand. Drawn from her reverie, she zipped to his arm as a ribbon of light, spinning round it until she reached his palm and formed into a glistening spear. No one else would die today. Their trial was done, and Kaladin would finish this once and for. The Chasmfiends mandibles twitched and Kaladin prepared to lunge. Then, with a wet slosh, Balthazar slid out of its mouth, covered in blood and slime, but smiling still. In his hands he held a massive gemheart. Ashetvl was no longer alone. It’ll be okay, the voice told her. It was beautiful and comforting like her mother’s. All night it had assured her that the worst was over, that she was going to be fine. At first she thought the Highstorm had driven her insane, but then she saw the spren - not completely, but it was hiding there, in the corner of her eye - and she understood that she really was a Radiant. Or at the very least was on her way to becoming one. Only the spren was wrong. Nothing would be okay. The worst had not yet come. She was not going to be fine. “You know why I’m here, don’t you?” a different voice said from the darkness beyond her cell. “To let me free?” Ashetvl said, not hopeful, but with a sneer. It might be too dark to see, but she could feel the tension in the air. It reminded her of that final minute before yesterday’s Highstorm. “In a sense,” the voice said. Metal scraped as a sword was drawn from a scabbard. “Any last words?” “None for you,” Ashetvl answered. Not with a whimper, but a bang. It was strange how ready she was for this. How cold she felt inside, and yet how hot were words felt as they passed her lips. She had spent so much of her life crying, she decided she would greet death differently. “Very well then,” the voice replied with a hint of morning. “Let justice be done.” Arionium sat away from the other Initiates, alone and uninterested in having a conversation. His stomach grumbled, but he didn’t feel like eating. Balthazar was boasting, again, a pair of gloryspren circling his head like a halo. Arionium knew the man had an ego before, but after ripping that beast’s heart free and presenting it to Kaladin like a prize, he had gotten even worse. Honestly, he just wanted to return to his bed, but that Dullbrain Kaladin had insisted they remain here for lunch, only a few dozen meters away from that monster’s stinking corpse. One of his men, that giant who had woken him by banging on a cookpot the day before, had emerged from one of the ancient buildings with the very same cookpot, though this time it was filled with fresh stew. It really did smell good and the others seemed to be enjoying it, but Arionium wasn’t in the mood for building camaraderie, whatever the damnation that was. Dullbrain had used the word in another one of his speeches. He also talked about the importance of following tradition, and how the best of friendship’s could only be forged on the field of battle. Arionium saw his words for what they were, though. Useless blathering. He chuckled to himself, thinking it fitting that a Windrunner would have so much air filling their head. Silence. Why was everyone suddenly quiet? “What’s so funny?” someone asked. Arionium didn’t try to memorize the other Initiate’s names, let alone their voices. Ignoring the question deliberately, he turned away. “Hey, I’m talking to you!” the man yelled. Arionium’s only response was him cracking his neck. Behind him, a few of the Initiates rose loudly. Before he knew it, he was surrounded by a handful of them. Not that he even made an effort to acknowledge them. “Why are you being so reclusive?” someone else asked, this one's voice softer than the other’s. He wasn’t challenging him, but his tone was probing. Arionium hated people who didn’t know how to mind their own business. Arionium turned the soulstamp for his sword over in his hand. In the fight it had been crushed slightly, and with a tiny blade, he was trying to fix the mold. He was quite fond of that blade, and would hate losing it. “I don’t like this, Shinon. How can we be expected to trust someone who never talks to us?” One of the other men grunted at that. “Do you think… I mean, I’m no murderer. But if I was one and didn’t want anyone to know, I’d probably keep my mouth shut, to make sure I don’t say anything suspicious.” “Now that you mention it, Naihar, something does seem off about this guy. Before I thought it was just because he’s a foreigner, but… maybe you’re right. What should we do? Arionium’s hand slipped, the scalpel cutting the the tip of his thumb. Without thinking, he tapped one of his golden rings and wiped the blood on his cheek, the wound underneath freshly knit. “Did you see that?” “He didn’t even breathe.” “What the storms is he?” “Arionium,” barked one of the men, prompting him to look up, surprised he knew his name. “Earlier I saw you with a sword. Where is it?” Shrugging, he went back to his work. “Now that you mentioned it Jonly, he didn’t have a sword when he jumped off the Oathgate. But when he landed, there was suddenly one in his hand. Could it have been…?” “A Shardblade!” three of them gasped at once. Beyond the men, the group of less violent Initiates sat up abruptly. “It was you, wasn’t it? You killed Lomot! But why?” This time Arionium couldn’t keep his mouth shut. It was one thing to talk about him behind his back, another two feet in front of him, but to accuse him of murder? Where he came from, those were fighting words. “I didn’t kill the man,” he answered, rising. “Now step off.” “What’s the problem here?” Dullbrain yelled, drawn to them by all the commotion. “We’ve figured it out, sir. This man’s the one who killed Lomot.” The men parted ways, letting Kaladin through. He wasn’t smiling now, but Arionium could still picture his ugly mug grinning. It made him mad. “I didn’t kill him,” he growled. “He’s lying, sir! Ask him about his Blade!” “Blade?” Kaladin asked, then surveyed the man’s equipment. Everything the man owned was laid out on a sheet before him, and the closest thing he had to a sword was the dagger that he stamped. “Where is it?” “That’s exactly it, sir! Arionium never carries a sword, but when we were fighting, he had one! There’s only one logical explanation!” Kaladin considered the words. The way the Radiant looked at him made Arionium want to beat in his face. “Skar! Leyten!” Kaladin yelled. A moment later, two of his Squires were by his side. “I’m going to need you two to escort Arionium to Urithiru. Dalinar needs to have a word with him.” Unhesitant, the Squires reached for him. “Leave off!” Arionium recoiled from their touch with a shout. “I’m not going anywhere!” “You don’t have a choice, Initiate,” Kaladin said, flexing his hand by his side. “Stand down and follow my orders. You will return to Urithiru and speak with Dalinar at once.” “No!” Arionium yelled in defiance. “I ain’t the one who killed Lomot!” More of the Initiates were watching now. Between the bodies of the Squires, Arionium could see that little boy peeking his head, trying to see what was happening. In the blink of an eye, one of the Squires got behind Arionium, the other blocking his vision in front. He felt a tug on his arms behind his back, and then they went cold. No matter how hard he struggled, he couldn’t remove his arms from where they were bent, as if they had somehow been bound together. They began dragging him away. “Listen!” he began. “I have done many bad things that I don't consider criminal, and I’ve lied to many people many times but all that means nothing…” All my life I thought that I was a selfish person who loves only myself. I was wrong, but I understand now, even if it is too late. “Only crime I will admit is this one! It was so long ago, now, but it’s the only one that matters! “Her name was Leiren, and yes, I killed her. At first I thought I did it to save my brother. Yes, he loved her, and she loved him. She nearly convinced him to break the First Deal. I don’t expect you to know what that is, but understand that it’s as good as treason. She had to die. “But that was the lie I told myself. Truth be told, that was only an excuse, and it took countless years for me to realize it. “Now I understand I killed her out of selfishness. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever met, and I was jealous she didn’t feel the same as me. In my heart, I believed that my brother didn’t deserve her. And if I couldn’t have her, then no one should. As simple as that.” He was so far away now. Could they even hear him? “I have killed before! But I did not kill that man! Trust me! Believe me!” Why wouldn’t they believe? “Who’s there?” Renarin shouted, leaping at the sudden crash. “Don’t worry, Brightlord!” yelled Skar. The young Kholin could now hear a few grunts and the sounds of struggling. A moment later Skar and Leyten, along with an Initiate whom they clearly bound and gagged with Stormlight, descended into the circular chamber. “Mind helping us get to Urithiru? Captain’s orders.” Swallowing hard, Renarin beckoned for Glys in that strange, wordless way he always had. The spren didn’t like becoming a Blade, but he had no qualms about acting the Key. “This isn’t right, Kaladin,” Syl said, quivering in the sudden gust of wind. “You don’t think I made the right decision?” he asked, feeling the urge to walk somewhere more private. Teft and Drehy were his Squires, however, and should be allowed to hear what she had to say. A drop of rain hit his brow and without thinking, Kaladin wiped it away. “Not that,” Syl dismissed thoughtlessly, and for the first time, Kaladin really felt her fear. Glancing at her, he found her watching the sky. When had it got so gray, anyway? A flash of red lightning, followed by the immediate pounding of thunder. That could only mean one thing. “Voidbringers!” one of the Initiates shouted. There were dozens of them - no, hundreds - standing upon the ledges of the plateaus above, looking down. Many of them were chanting, though some were gathering energy in their hands, preparing to cast their fury down upon them. Among them, a single Voidbringer wearing Shardplate raised a Blade above her head and screamed. By the tens, they dove off their perches, landing in the massive chasm no further than a thousand meters away. There was no way the Initiates were ready for this. Exhausted from their battle with the Chasmfiend and at least half of their infused spheres drained, their only hope would be to flee to the Oathgate and escape. “Initiates, behind me!” he commanded, surprised how quickly many of them obeyed. “Rock, take them to the Spire and up to the Oathgate,” he yelled, referring to a massive, needle-like structure they discovered while scouting, containing nothing more than a ring of stairs that would take them to the plateaus above. “Teft, Drehy! Protect their rear and their flanks! Try to prevent as many of the Parshendi from reaching them as you can!” he looked at them both in the eyes, satisfied by their solemn nods. “And Initiates… watch each other’s backs. There’s no guarantee that the scouts will report this in time to do us any good, so don’t hope for reinforcements. Just get to the Oathgate as fast as you can. I’ll meet you there.” “Meet us there, sir?” Drehy asked. Without answering, Kaladin charged forward, towards the line of Parshendi forming ahead. Several pulses of red lightning shot forth from them, some arcing to the ground, others hurtling towards him. Blessed Syl manifested as a silvery shield, then, the azure glyph of the Windrunners emblazoned on her front, crimson bolts of energy glancing off her and hitting the ground. Please, no one die, Kaladin prayed for the second time that day. If his foolish trial cost those people their lives, he was certain he could not survive the guilt. Not this time.

Well, I officially started my business today. Avalon Woodcraft, LLC- specializing in custom cabinets and fine woodworking. Bought myself a CNC router and everything. Just thought I'd share. And now I'm going to bed. I'm beat.

I have digital valentines for all of you! There's no way to label them so you can just . . . mentally claim one for yourself. I guess. This has been valentines. Thank you.

Perfect State cover

I sent my husband roses. He likes them.

It's funny. because of them, i have to redistribute all the roles. So now Alv and mage aren't coinshots. ah well. =P

The notion that because I'm a white, straight, christian male, I belong to an oppressive patriarchy who seek to do nothing but assert his dominance on the poor minorities.

Talking about valentines, I feel you all would appreciate this... (by the way, yesterday was the fourteenth for us) So, one of the boys in our group and is single decided to show off this fact with his waterbottle. What was his bottle, you may ask? An empty bottle of extra virgin olive oil.

Adolin's Law: As an online discussion about Stormlight Archive grows longer, the probability of Adolin's character arc being disputed approaches 1.

We were all thinking it anyway

Cycle 1: The Curious case of Temaun Renaud The skaa are weak, and weakness doesn’t deserve food or life. “No. Everyone deserves food and Life.” Everyone? Why do they deserve it? “Emperor Elend ordered me to watch after the Skaa while he was away.” And are not his orders best kept by keeping his citizens strong? You are strong, you seized power, your armies and loyal citizens are strong. “I can, hmm. . . We do need to cut down on food consumption.” And if you try to ration food, people will grow hungry, and weak. Best to cut the weak out now. “Indeed.” “Sire?” King Penrod of Luthadel jerked up from his musings, snapping to attention as one of the guards hesitantly called out to him. “What Regiie?” “Er, you’ve been muttering to yourself ever since the Emperor’s men arrived an hour ago. You’re expected to make a speech to the populace soon. Are you alright?” Of course you are. King Penrod smiled with all the royalty he could. “Of course Regiie. I’ll be out in a moment.” The spike in his chest had never felt so comfortable. The citizens of Luthadel gathered in families, and shops, and labor unions and parties. All sorts of groups commingled in the square before Keep venture, awaiting the news of relief sent by the Emperor and the Heir. Temaun Renaud waited with them, but he already knew the news. There would be no food coming. The shortages would continue. The death would continue. The beautiful destruction of the world would continue. Life was so much simpler, since the coming of his God. Before, he had spent endless days trying to find the most efficient solutions for the housing and feeding problems of the city. He had been one of Penrod’s closest advisors. And then the Inquisitor had come, and God had come, and everything was easy. He no longer needed to search for the most efficient solution, God told him the most elegant solution. The words to say, the prices to pay, the foundations to lay. Cutting away the chaff. The crowd begin to quiet as the upper balcony doors were flung open. Two royal guards walked onto the balcony in sync, taking positions on either end. Between them walked the Stately king Penrod, still rubbing his chest. He was rubbing the same place Temaun was rubbing right now actually. Could the King hear God? “Noble citizens of Elendel!” The king’s voice resonated across the entire square, quelling the last pockets of conversation. “Your emperor has received our pleas for more food, and sent his reply. There will not be more food being shipped. There will not be relief.” There was a stunned silence throughout the square. Temaun didn’t care. God was with him. The people around him though, began to yell. King Penrod raised his hands, gesturing for silence. Noble soothers sprang into action, dampening the incipient riot before it could even began forming. “That is not to say there will be less food. For, as the Survivor taught, we must be strong to survive. We have no room for weakness. For the next hundred days, until we have more food, we will be executing 100 people each day. These hundred people will be chosen by you, the people. Their food will be distributed amongst the rest of the people, those who survived.” There was a different kind of silence following this announcement. A mixture of horrified, shocked, and eager. Temaun grinned. “Well this will be fun then. A bloodbath.” He watched as the king turned, and left the balcony. The two guards following behind him. The crowd began to murmur about the news. Well, said God, That was stupid of you to say outloud. Temaun blinked, then looked around. Four different citizens were staring at him open mouthed. One of them glanced around, then smiled. “So, we have to choose who to execute then? How many people heard Temaun here just say that bathing in blood is fun?” More of the crowd was taking notice. Several people around Temaun looked horrified at him. “I say we execute Temaun before he kills the lot of us!” Another woman called out. “He’d want to do the same to us!” “Listen, people, we can’t just kill him, we have to take care of each other!” “You heard the king. We have to kill 100 people a day. If not Temaun, then who? Are you willing to volunteer?” “I, uh, that is to say, uh. . . Let’s kill Temaun!” Temaun had heard enough, pivoting about he tried to run, but was met by a crush of bodies. There were too many people focused on him now. They grabbed his arms as he desperately tried to force his way through. They threw him to the ground, and begin to throw down anything they could find at him. Rocks, shoes, bricks. Disappointing. I could have used you for— A chunk of stone his his chest, right where the spike was. It drove the cursed thing deeper into him. He felt it stab into his heart, and he screamed as God’s presence fled. Amanuensis was Lynched! He was a Spiked! Votes: Amanuensis(3): Elbereth, Wilson, Mailliw Remember! Only Tineye’s can start PM’s! Player List:

My Valentine spent a whole minute sniffing the ground in hopes of finding a stray French fry.

Teresh (Drake), that thing about calling out our bluffs would be a lot more dramatic had you waited a few more hours to say that. We're being chased by storming Voidbringers! At least wait for us to get somewhere clear before lobbing around accusations, yeah? Rollover is at midnight for me. Now, I don't know about you, but I try to go to sleep by 10:45 PM. Then I also have school. I got up at 6:40 AM today and had fifteen minutes to read through Aman's writeup while eating breakfast. School starts at 7:30 for me. I cannot use the phone in first period unless I want it taken away from me. It's not even my phone, so if I have to go to the office to pick it up after confiscation, bad things will happen. After that class, I have another one with intermittent, unpredictable computer use. Sometimes I can check SE, and sometimes I can't. It depends on what I'm supposed to be doing. Then I have a 15 minute recess where I can choose to check SE. I say "choose" because I don't always want to spend my 15 minute break on SE and SE alone. Sometimes I buy food. Sometimes I get outside and socialize. If I choose to check SE, I can either use a school laptop, if it's available, or a phone, if it's available. The laptop is connected to very poor internet. The phone is a pain to type on. Then there's a class with more frequent computer access, and afterwards I have lunch. Again, for lunch, I can choose to check SE. I can also choose to eat and socialize. Sometimes I don't have a phone to check SE with. At the time you made that post, I effectively had 15 minutes total (maybe less) to check SE. I spent a lot of that time reading Aman's writeup. Would you like it if 15 minutes after rollover, someone said that you were being suspiciously silent? I have a life outside of SE, and sometimes I haven't posted anything 10 or 11 hours after rollover. That doesn't mean that I've pulled an all-nighter, skipped school, and was in front of a computer the entire 10 or 11 hours between rollover and now. Please try to consider the schedule of players before calling them out for supposedly being silent. I spent a lot of time typing that up. Now the teachers want me off of this laptop. I will respond to what you said. I just can't do it right this very moment.

Today I was given a heart. It was delicious

Looks less like a Sanderson, and more like generic pulp sci fi...'a huge robot has landed in [probably some American state], and is threatening to kill everyone/unless a deadly virus/destroy the city/make bad puns unless the inhabitants do something!' Also Ah, Brightness Shallan, what a lovely dress you are wearing...very flattering...really brings out your eyes...you look positively radient...

I can cut down a tree just by looking at it. It's true! I saw it with my own eyes.

Reminds me of this video:

So I saw that Josh Groban did a song for the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack. My initial thought of "Oh, that's nice" gave way to wondering which artists would be exactly wrong to write a song for that movie. Immediately, I thought of My Chemical Romance*. But then I thought about it for half a second more. And I realized that MCR would be exactly wrong to do a single song for the soundtrack….because if anything, they should do the entire soundtrack. Think about it: Their best work delves into the darker sides of the human experience and human nature. Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge is all about anger toward an unjust world. The Black Parade is about fear of death and the pain of remorse. Although the more unsavory subtexts of the tale are glossed over in Disney and Disneyfied retellings to make it palatable for children, if Belle's anger toward the Beast for terrorizing her father and upending her life, and the Beast's pain and self-loathing were explored in full, that could make for an excellent adult-oriented reimagining of the story. Imagine it: not a sweet fairy tale, but a sad, dark, ultimately hopeful story of two broken people coming together and making each other better and more decent. Now imagine it set to an intense prog rock score, complete with Gerard Way belting out lyrics about the beast in the mirror. I know. I want it too. *Yes, I know MCR broke up four years ago. Let me have my dreams.

Scratch that, now I'm a human Terminator. you have no idea how long i've been waiting to post that

How about people who deliberatly try to talk to you when you're reading something?

Sanderson Quantum Linguistics is basically a fancy name for what Ruin can do - given text can be everything until you look and read it.

You're out on the floor, helping a patron with the printer. Two of your coworkers are at the desk. They aren't busy. They are ready and willing to offer assistance. While you're with the first patron, a second appears. They have walked past your two coworkers to ask you and only you for help with the copier. So you help this person. A third approaches, and a fourth, and a fifth. The desk has afforded your coworkers a cloak of invisibility, making you the only librarian patrons can see. Apparently. Even when approaching the desk would be quicker and easier, the patrons have chosen you, and only you, to answer questions they could easily answer themselves if they simply read the directions you posted. The more patrons you help, the more patrons decide you are their champion. This is your life now. You are now trapped in Dumb Question Purgatory.

*Surfaces from the depths of forgotten seas* Hello again guys, it's been awhile. Between recording music, travelling abroad, applying to become a firefighter, and trying to kill myself through sheer amount of classes at college, I had all but abandoned hope of ever being able to post again. But the storyteller that I enveloped in an act of dark science cannot let a story go unfinished, so I have returned to try and contribute once more, if you'll let me. As far as the Dalles goes, it seems like the whole Quicksilver situation hasn't progressed since the last Edgerunner post. Is there anything else I should be aware of while writing the next Quicksilver scene?

You know your a sanderfan when you're doing a read of The Magician's Nephew (chronicles of Narnia) and you read about the forest... well um *spoilers* ... and your only thought is SHARDPOOLS! Literally.... *spoilers*

Mrw people lynch you even after Mage just keeps saying that he is basically agreeing with what I say.

@A Budgie XD That's amazing! I made a couple more non-Sanderson ones.

Vin, the mighty Mistborn potato. (did that work?)

I think it's important to keep in mind that Taravangian went to the Nightwatcher after Gavilar's death. I dont recall hearing that Taravangian had his own plans at all before then. I always thought that he was working toward the same purposes as Gavilar - and by extension Amaram. Heck he may even have been in the Sons of Honor. Consider the following: King T is happily draining people of blood to help Gavilar and the Sons get an idea of what they had to do. Gavilar is the main figure the Sons are gathering behind, but then he gets himself dead. King T then visits the Nightwatcher (I would presume because he didn't have confidence that the Sons of Honor could fully carry out the good work without Gavilar). So he went and asked for the capacity to save the world or whatever, and sometime after (I don't know... Days? Months? Years?) he had that one day of beatific scribbling. I suspect his divergence from Amaram and the Sons of Honor really started to pick up from there. (but it might have already begun before that during the Gavilar days or in the fallout after Gavilar's death). I mean, that's all just speculation, and please let me know if my timelines are messed up, but it makes sense to me if Amaram and Taravangian were working together until Taravangian began doubting, and then received a different plan.

Another possibility is Rashadium Horses. They do seem to bond with their Rider. Perhaps they allow an individual to absorb a small amount of investiture (enough to heal the body a bit but not enough to completely override the expectation of scars).

I saw the ISS! I don't remember if I've mentioned it before or not, but I signed up to get text alerts from NASA every time the International Space Station passes overhead (link here, if anyone's interested). This is only the second time I've seen it, even with billions of alerts: usually it flies over ridiculously early in the morning, or it's cloudy, or I forget. It's so cool, though, to see that bright, speeding little dot and realize that it's a spaceship with actual people living on it orbiting the Earth right now.

I have once linked Adolin's character to the Prince Charming trope: dashingly handsome, blond headed, blue eyed, mighty warrior in standing proud in a shinning armor, yielding a magic sword mounted on his pristine white stallion. There is a lot of imagery involved in drafting Adolin's character and I for one do believe it was done on purpose. Not at first as Brandon Now, the horse is dead. I see it as a symbol. The white stallion is such an iconic item killing it appears to me as clear foreshadowing for Adolin to lose his former status. It is the disbanding of the trope: what happens when Prince Charming is made irrelevant in a world where he does not fit? I personally find this potential story so interesting it overshadows all others.

I see your Inquisitato and raise you Potatodin!

I don't think Brandon's a secret Sharder. He's too busy with his writing. My theory: GRRM and Pat Rothfuss are secret Sharders. They're always hanging out here, making bad puns and theorizing about Trell. Which, we can all agree, is the best possible use of their time. Bad puns are certainly more important than finishing my novel.

I wondered who was in charge of TLR's hemalurgy department. And then it hit me.

I once asked about the wording in this line, and here is the answer I got from Peter: The answer is almost one year old, and I hope it still works...

If he does, I'm pretty sure the answer would be 'Adonalsium, and by the way He's dead'. I'm also sure that Brandon would RAFO any question along those lines and tell us we're just gonna have to wait for Dragonsteel. Or possibly, Hoid is truly in on the secret, that all the Cosmere is just words on a page (like he says his own existence began, in The Way of Kings) and he's trying to spread the knowledge of this in a very subtle way by encouraging belief in the God Beyond whose holy name is Brandon Sanderson. xD

You've been busy.

A very obscure 17th Shard / Edgedancer in-meme. Props if you get this one. Also the above meme is ironic because Anakin failed right after saying that.

Buying a new Sanderson book like:

stick : i am a stick

Had an epiphany today: If you need an explanation... Ketek on the Coppermind / Definition of chiasmus / Definition of palindrome

Why did Karl Marx dislike tea? Because all proper tea was theft!