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  1. 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.
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  2. 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.
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  3. 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.
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  4. I sent my husband roses. He likes them.
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  5. It's funny. because of them, i have to redistribute all the roles. So now Alv and mage aren't coinshots. ah well. =P
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  6. 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.
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  7. 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.
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  8. Adolin's Law: As an online discussion about Stormlight Archive grows longer, the probability of Adolin's character arc being disputed approaches 1.
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  9. We were all thinking it anyway
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  10. 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:
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  11. My Valentine spent a whole minute sniffing the ground in hopes of finding a stray French fry.
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  12. 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.
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  13. Today I was given a heart. It was delicious
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  14. 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...
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  15. I can cut down a tree just by looking at it. It's true! I saw it with my own eyes.
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  16. Reminds me of this video:
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  17. 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.
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  18. Scratch that, now I'm a human Terminator. you have no idea how long i've been waiting to post that
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  19. How about people who deliberatly try to talk to you when you're reading something?
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  20. Sanderson Quantum Linguistics is basically a fancy name for what Ruin can do - given text can be everything until you look and read it.
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  21. 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.
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  22. *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?
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  23. 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*
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  24. Mrw people lynch you even after Mage just keeps saying that he is basically agreeing with what I say.
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  25. @A Budgie XD That's amazing! I made a couple more non-Sanderson ones.
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  26. Vin, the mighty Mistborn potato. (did that work?)
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  27. 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.
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  28. 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).
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  29. 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.
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  30. 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.
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  31. I see your Inquisitato and raise you Potatodin!
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  32. 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.
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  33. I wondered who was in charge of TLR's hemalurgy department. And then it hit me.
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  34. 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...
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  35. So, we were talking, and I mentioned Mistborn, and he just started rapid-firing questions and making theories. He's looking at everything and trying to make sense of it all, and I can only imagine what sort of theories he's going to come up with once he's properly acquainted to the Cosmere. I happened to mention how you'd love him over here, and he suggested screenshotting the conversation to show you. So, here's the conversation, for those curious: So, he's only barely into Mistborn one, and he's already making wild predictions, guessing stuff (I'm certain he'll figure out what's going on with Spook on the third book almost immediately), and trying to figure out exactly how the magic works. I honestly can't wait for him to catch up so we can begin to theorize properly.
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  36. During the end of WoR, a medical professional in Dalinar's army inspects Dalinar's newest shoulder wound. The doctor is horrified to see that the skin is mostly scar. Dalinar seems to have suffered an incongruently large number of wounds to his shoulder (and likely other body parts). The doctor says that Dalinar shouldn't be able to fight at all considering the previous trauma that the shoulder has suffered. Danilar should never have recovered full from his previous wounds. Dalinar jokes off the remark, but the doctor insists that the human body can't function normally after receiving wounds like his.... “Storms” the surgeon said, “Highprince, you’re all scars under here. How many time have you been wounded in the shoulder” “Can’t Remember” “How can you still use your arm?” “Training and practice” “that’s not how it works…” she whispered eyes wider “I mean… Storms…” --- Do we think Dalinar has previously drawn in stormlight? Has he been a base-level Radiant for a lot longer than we thought? Dalinar took multiple arrows to the shoulder in his newly released flashback chapters. It seems as if Dalinar never stopped being the Blackthorn due to injury, though? The Blackthorn doesn't sound like a great candidate for a Nahel-bond so it doesn't make a lot of sense to say he was healing with Stormlight? Perhaps Shardeplate has regenerative qualities? Perhaps the gems can slowly leach into the body? Shardplate is so rare that perhaps medics haven't had the opportunity to study its effects on healing. Another option is that The Thrill might grant impressive regenerative properties (we know that it can energize and invigorate), but you'd think the medic would be aware of such a phenomena associated with The Thrill. Perhaps Daninar's Thrill was something so beastly that he was able to tap into Odium's investiture? My other thought is that perhaps his body was healed by The Nightwatcher. This seems unlikely since Dalinar has sustained multiple wounds to his body over the course of decades. It seems unlikely that Dalinar visited the Nightwatcher so early in his life (though we can't be sure just yet). What do you guys think? How has Dalinar managed to heal from the wounds he sustained in his youth?
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  37. On the other hand, some people can use that to stealthily downvote some old posts of people they don't like.
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  38. At this point I have something to contribute- get a tin pin, stick it in a spider, and what do you get? Spider sense.
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  39. Hmm. Weird. I've been under the impression that the material didn't matter though the Coppermind says otherwise. Do we have an official source though that says it has to be non-organic or are we just assuming that it is because that's what Shashara and Vasher used? If the latter, I'm not seeing a reason why you can't use organic materials. Also, I'm not getting why you're calling Kalad's Phantoms a cheat. He just made lifeless out of bones and encased them in stone to be more durable.
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  40. Day 12: Perchance to Dream Jack was having a horrible dream- if you could call it a dream. It seemed a bit too vivid for that. It felt more like it was a recollection from another time, where events similar to those taking place in Tyrian Falls… had happened? Were going to happen? In the end, it didn’t matter. They were similar enough in structure that he saw how it would all play out. He saw how the paranoia and the fear slowly sank their teeth into the villagers. He saw how it turn friend against friend and elevated petty differences into justifications for death. He saw as supplies were destroyed and reserves ruined, which made the villagers all the more frantic and fanatic in their search to purge the evil out from amongst them. If it wasn’t so horrifying, he could almost respect the way these forces of destruction systematically encouraged the people to do their work for them. And in his sleeping state, the recent events in Tyrian Falls mixed with those recollections and he dreamt about the gruesome deaths that had just recently happened in new and mortifying ways. Jack tossed and turned throughout the night. He wanted to wake up; to let this nightmare end. But he was not immune to the effects of what was happening in Tyrian Falls and his body was just too exhausted. Then he dreamt of a figure creeping into his room, cloaked in darkness and comfortable in the shadows. The figure stealthily made their way across the room; avoiding any of the squeaking boards that could have given them away. When they reached his bed, they pulled out a wicked looking dagger. When they raised it above their head, it glinted in the moonlight and it looked stained with the blood of those it had already killed. Now this dream felt incredibly weird to Jack. This didn’t feel like a recreation from an earlier time and it seemed embedded in his current reality. Some part of Jack’s instincts kicked in and he snapped awake. He awoke to the exact same scene he had just been dreaming about! And the dagger was already plunging towards his chest. Suddenly, before he could do so much as breath in to scream, he was yanked to the right with such force that he felt as if he had been slammed into by a Koloss’s fist. The dagger stabbed down and sank almost to the hilt into the bed where Jack had laid just a second before. The force was so strong, it carried him across the room and crashing out through the window; glass ripping at him as he barrelled through. Finally, he rolled to a stop in one of the huge piles of ash that hadn’t been cleaned up in the town recently. As Jack lay there, panting and trying to calm down, he could only think of one thought: Thank the gods I got a room on the first floor! Night 12 has ended and Day 12 begins! You have 48 hours. A Joe in the Bush was attacked, but they survived! Good luck! Player List
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  41. Sorry for being unclear, I meant that the black sphere is a gem, just one that has been cut in the shape of a sphere. I'm not sure what a flawless gem emails in terms of being perfectly efficient at trapping light but I thought if you have the technology to do so perfectly, cutting a gem into a perfect sphere may perfectly trap the light. In other words it's not a glass sphere with a gem inside, it's a spherical gem. But that may be wrong from a physics perspective, it was just a thought.
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  42. Cog, your Sandermemes are a blessing and a curse.
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  43. Credit for this meme idea goes to @bleeder. Possible minor spoilers for... the Cosmere in general, I guess? I also have two more Joseph Ducreux memes with Sanderson quotes.
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  44. Good to see the memes coming through the 17th shard machine how about another (Notice: We interrupt Brandon Meme's to bring you an advertisement!)
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  45. 1 like
  46. So, I got tired of waiting for the Future Mistborn Trilogy, so I decided to write it on my own. Also, Robots. Have fun! Mechborn: The Final Frontier Kelwin Atheme felt the shift as the USS Weathering dropped out of FTL. The scientist swore that there was nothing to feel, but all Allomancers swore they could sense something. The Allomancy Drive that propelled the heavy cruiser was a miracle of modern science, and one that Kelwin had absolutely no understanding of. He knew that it worked by allowing a ship to move along lines traced between stars, like the canals between cities in the Age of ash. However, the lines between stars were a natural phenomena, and impossible to reshape. They were certainly convenient, though. “Attention all crew.” Captain Erikeller said, his voice echoing from the ship’s PA system. “We have arrived in the Survivor’s Hope system. ETA three days to arrival at Kelsierport. All crew, be on your guard. Captain out.” Kelwin sighed, then turned back to his Cuirassier. There were a dozen ‘ports’ named after the Lord of the Mists throughout the Frontier, none of them much more than small towns. Few of them even boasted space stations, let alone enough traffic to be consider ports. The major population center on this planet was large than most, a few million people, but still small by core world standards. As Kelwin looked up at his Cuirassier, it took his breath away, as always. Six yards tall, the humanoid war machine was painted in an white-and-silver color scheme. It was impossible to hide something the size of Cuirassier from the Mk. 1 eyeball under most circumstances, so the Scadrial Republic Special Forces didn’t even try. Instead, they colored their machines so that squad members could easily identify one another. Several panels on Kelwin’s Cuirassier, a Mk. 7 Ascendant Warrior were open, exposing the inner workings of the machine. Wires, bundles of synthetic muscle, servomotors, I-field generators, Allomantic amplifiers, and all the other components needed to operate the mighty engine of war were exposed to plain sight. Kelwin knelt down next to a leg panel and held up a OmniTesTer. A member of Special Forces, particularly MistOpps, would have mechanics for this, but it was a poor warrior who left the care of his gear to another man. There was too much Cuirassier for him to check it all, but he could spot check, and make small mods. “Hey, that are you doing, Kelwin?” Kelvin turned. It was Rayid, another member of his MistOpps squad. While Kelwin was tall and lithe, Rayid was short and compact. Rayid’s hair was brown to Kelwin’s black, and the jovial expression and laugh lines on his face were almost exactly opposite the serious cast of Kelwin’s features. “Just doing some last minute tune-ups.” Kelwin said. “I figured I could get some more yield out of the legs if I improved the synchronization between the servos and the muscles.” “Whatever works for you.” Rayid said. “Me? I’d spend the time in the simulators.” “Fair enough.” Kelwin said. “I can’t believe they deployed us for this, though. I mean, aren’t Cults generally something that local governments can put down?” “Not when they infiltrate the local government and subvert a large portion of the PDF.” Kelwin said. “That’s when you send in MistOpps.” Rayid shook his head. “But how did that happen at all? I mean, it just seems so...” “We aren’t the Final Empire.” Kelwin said, not looking up from his work. “Outside the Core Worlds, we leave the colonies well enough alone. Otherwise, the sort of people who sign up to from colonies would rebel. This is the drawback, but I think its the only way the system holds together without stagnating.” “Seems kinda stupid if you ask me.” Rayid said. Kelwin put down his tool turned to face Rayid, giving him a blank state. “Seriously, how are you still part of MistOpps? I thought you had to be at least somewhat smart to be in here.” “They just want me for my allomancy.” Rayid said. “As long as you know that.” “Anyway, the briefing is in like five minutes. The Major told me to come get you.” Rayid said. The Major, Athren Marell, was the commander of the MistOpps squad. His rank was really only Captain, but he received a temporary promotion to Major while shipboard. He was a hard man, but a good commander for the six-man MistOpps squad. Kelwin put dropped his tool and closed the hatch on his Cuirassier. “Let’s go.” [x] The four men and one woman of the MistOpps squad sat at a long table, facing ‘Major’ Athren, who stood in front of a holoboard, which displayed the layout of the major city of Kelsierport. “Alright, men, I won’t lie. We’ve got a tough mission ahead of us. A large portion of the Planetary Defense Force has defected to this cult. They’ve got at least a hundred tanks, and at least as many Cuirassiers. The legislature doesn’t want the collateral damage that the regular army tends to cause, so they sent us in.” “What’s our objective?” Theria asked. The sole woman in the MistOpps squad, she was exactly as lethal as she looked. She was short, but the legends said the ascendant warrior was also vertically challenged. She had brown hair, dark eyes, and high cheekbones, but her features came together to give her a predatory beauty. Kelwin was terrified of her. “We need to move in an eliminate the upper leadership of the cult, and destroy as much of there military equipment and war making ability as possible. Fairly straightforward, if challenging. However, there is another item to consider.” Athren tapped the holoboard, and it shifted to show an image of a gunmetal grey briefcase. “Recovering this is our second objective. I’m told that none of the weapons we’ve been issued can scratch the thing, so destroying it apparently isn’t a concern. However, we are to secure it at all reasonable costs if we have the opportunity, even if it means letting some of the cult leaders get away. Am I understood?” “Yes sir!” The MistOpps squad coursed. “Now, I assume you’ve all heard this, but since some of you have no brains to listen, I’ll go over it one more time. We will be approaching via orbital insertion, and landing just outside the city. From there, we will make our way in while the ship supplies us with air cover. Fourtanly, loyalist maintenance personable sabotaged upwards of ninety percent of the enemy air assets, so there is no real concern that they’ll be able to deny us air superiority. From there, we proceed to this compound in a park in the center of the city, where we eliminate the enemy leadership. After the cult refuses to surrender, the regular army comes in and mops them up. Are there any questions?” No one said anything. “Good. Now get to the simulators. There’s nothing like last minute preparation to get you ready for a combat drop. [x] Kelwin looked up at his Cuirassier. He was already wearing his pilot suit, complete with neural interface needles and Allomantic amplifiers, not to mention other... sundry... systems. Putting it on was an interesting experience, but one that all MistOpps soldiers learned to tolerate early in their training. By the time he turned twelve, Kelwin wore it like a second skin. He had swallowed metals until a lesser man would have felt sick, enough for hours of combat. “Looks like its you and me, girl.” He said, laying a hand on the machine’s lower leg armor. “Let’s go kick some chull.” He began to climb up into to the entry point on the Cuirassier. It was mounted behind the cockpit, with a single plate which swung upwards, allowing the control chair to slide out. The cockpit was already open, with the chair out. As Kelwin sat down, he tried really hard not to think about how crazy the action he was about to take was. He was going to drop several hundred miles from a warship, into the teeth of enemy anti-air defenses, with his only real defense against attacks being the hundreds of decoys and thousands of ECM ghosts dropped with the six man squad. Kelwin settled into his seat, and as his suit began to interface with the systems of the machine, the seat slid into the cockpit of the Cuirassier, the hatch closing behind him. He was plunged into darkness for a moment, which was quickly dispelled as the controls and panoramic monitors lit up, showing a dull grey. He took a deep breath as he tapped into the squad communication network. No one said anything for a few minutes. Kelwin took a brief moment to mutter a short prayer to the Survivor. I'm asking You Survivor, Kelwin began, to give me what You have left. Give me those things which others never ask of You. I don't ask You for rest, or tranquility. Not that of the spirit, the body, or the mind. I don't ask You for wealth, or success, or even health. All those things are asked of You so much, Lord of the Mists, that you can't have any left to give. Kelwin smiled. Give me instead Lord what You have left. Give me what others don't want. I want uncertainty and doubt. I want torment and battle. And I ask that You give them to me now and forever Lord, so I can be sure to always have them, because I won't always have the strength to ask again. Kelwin took a deep breath. But give me also the courage, the energy, and the spirit to face them. I ask You these things Lord, because I can't ask them of myself. Just as Kelwin finished, Athren began to speak over the intercom. “We’re coming up on the drop point in thirty seconds. I won’t count down, because none of you are newbies, but its almost time. Remember the plan, stick together, and watch your backs. Sliver be with you.” The Captain of the squad was a Sliverist. It was a bit odd, but worshipers of the Sliver of Infinity made up a sizeable portion of the population, though not nearly as large a percentage as Survivorists, and also made up a disproportionate portion of the military. Kelwin had no problem with them, despite the long history of rivalry between Survivorists and Sliverists. As Kelwin’s mental countdown reached five, the ship began to shudder. It was deploying decoys. This continued for endless seconds, then the Captain's voice came over the intercom. “Centerline tube, automatic fire!” Kelwin felt himself slide downward, then he was slammed against his restraints as his tube shot out of the belly of the USS Weathering and into space. He struck atmosphere almost immediately, his pod rocking as it peeled apart in the air, slowing him down as it slough off burning-hot strips of thermal cermaic. One of the things that helps a drop pilot to live long enough to draw a pension is that the skins peeling off his capsule not only slow him down, they also fill the sky over the target area with so much junk that radar picks up reflections from dozens of targets from each man in the drop, any one of which could be a man, or a bomb, or anything. It's enough to give a ballistic computer a nervous breakdown - and does. To add to the fun your ship lays a series of dummy eggs in the seconds immediately before and after your drop, not to mention a few in the middle, some of which will fall faster because they don't slough. The get under you, explode, throw out chaff, even operate as transponders, rocket sideways, and do other things to add to the confusion of your reception committee on the ground. As Kelwin shot downward, he resisted the urge to burn copper. It would cause him to disappear from enemy radar detectors, but would no nothing to hide his thermal signature. If the enemy had Infrared systems looking upwards as well as radar, it would be as good as giving them a neon sign saying ‘SMOKER INCOMING’. That, in turn, would make him a primary target, and get him shot out of the sky. Kelwin watched his display as, one by one, decoys dropped off his screen. You could tell the difference between a hit on a decoy egg and an ECM ghost by looking at what happened next. A hit on a decoy would throw off a cloud of chaff; when ghosts were hit, they simply vanished. The shaking intensified as Kelwin hit the lower atmosphere. Some of the bombs dropped with the MistOpps squad were hitting the ground, destroying enemy anti-air guns with lethal accuracy. Missiles rocketed down from the Weathering, smashing into major enemy radar installations and blowing back to the World of Ash. As Kelwin reached the troposphere, his pod opened, releasing his Cuirassier into the atmosphere. He squinted for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness on his panoramic displays, which showed the battle raging in the surrounding skies in brilliant augmented HD. His Cuirassier dropped, the path of his squadmates traced on his monitor. The mission called for them to be scattered over a one-hundred-square-mile area on the edge of the city, meaning that the MistOpps squad would be scattered over at least four hundred square miles, ranging from the city center to the suburbs. This was Kelwin’s third mission, and that was how the first two hand gone. If one listened to the veterans in the squad, that was how every mission went. Kelwin had no reason to disbelieve them. As Kelwin reached a mile above the surface, he burned copper and opened his parachute. Immediately, he blinked off of enemy radar. He fired his thrusters, pushing himself to the sided, just in case some sharp-eyed enemy radar operator noticed one of the thousands of radar contacts falling to their planet disappear, and decided to throw a missile at where it had been. Anti-grav would have been better than a parachute, but would have given off emanations that the enemy could have detected. Therefore, MistOpps went old-fashioned. At a hundred feet up, Kelwin detached from his parachute and burned steel. Immediately, the location and rough size of sources of metal on the ground appeared his mind. He pushed on one of the sources of metal, slowing the fall of his massive Cuirassier. Gently, Kelwin touched down. He looked around, the cranial sensor cluster that made up the ‘head’ of his Cuirassier swiveling in accordance with his wishes. That was the power of the Neural Interface Control. Kelwin had landed on a suburban street on the edge of the city. One of the nearby buildings was partially crushed from being used as an anchor for his Allomancy, and several plumes of smoke rose in the distance from bombs dropped by the Weathering. After a brief pause, Kelwin drew his weapon from his back-lock. It was a 1.75 inch autocannon, firing mass-reactive explosive slugs at a high velocity and rate of fire. The autocannon was a powerful weapon, made even more devastating when enhanced with Allomancy. Once it became clear that there were no enemies presently in the area, Kelwin pushed against a large source of metal in the ground, probably a water main or power line, and sent his Cuirassier surging into the sky. He used his Allomancy and thrusters to maneuver in midair, intentional setting a course that would be difficult to manually target. His thrusters fired metallic plasma, like some energy weapons, allowing him to use steel to enhance their thrust. Kelwin covered several hundred feet on his first jump. As he lept through the neighborhood, he searched for transistor beacons that would give him the location of his squadmates. Radio communications were no good in the area of a coppercloud, so Cuirassier squads communicated with each other via ultrasound pulses and laser comms. Of course, ultrasound had a short range, and you needed to see someone to use laser comms, so coded beacons were left by MistOpps soldiers to allow their squadmates to find each other. Kelwin had just spotted a beacon broadcasting Rayid’s code when the fist tank shell split the air next to him. Immediately, Kelwin burned Iron and Pulled himself toward the ground, avoiding the next shell. His Cuirassier landed in a crouch, autocannon ready. Kelwin burned tin, and the clattering of the treads of the enemy tank became clearly audible to him. There were two of them, a few hundred feet to the west. Taking off at a run, Kelwin moved in the direction of the enemy tanks. He was outwitted at least ten to one, but two last-gen tanks were no match for an Ascendant Warrior piloted by a Mistborn. Instead of rounding the corner to meet the tanks, he launched himself into the air, flying over the two houses separating him from the enemy tanks. He leveled his autocannon as he fell, and fired a burst at the first tank, burning steel and Pushing on the rounds as they left his weapon. The shells sparked off the top of the tank, tearing gouges in its armor. It didn’t have an external I-field; meaning that the shells were able to impact it directly. Kelwin landed on the top of the tank, his Cuirassier mourning the turret like a surfboard, and burned Bendalloy. As the world around the eighteen yard diameter bubble slowed to a crawl, Kelwin emptied his magazine into the barrel of the tank’s cannon, then stowed his autocannon and drew his blade, three yards of ultradense, superhard, invested metal. He activated the power field surrounding the blade, a mechanical Automatic device that disrupted material around the balade. He stabbed downward into the turret, sparks flying as his blade ground into the armor of the tank. A tank shell struck the edge of the time bubble and exploded. It had too much mass-energy to pass through without triggering its detonation mechanism. Solid slugs were better for penetrating time bubbles. Smoke rose from the breach in the tank’s armor as Kelwin withdrew his sword, then jumped off the tank and fired a projectile from his right-shoulder Pile Driver into the side of the tank. The Pile Driver was an Allomaticlly enhanced hypervelocity short-range slug thrower mounted on the shoulder of MistOpps Cuirassiers. It fired a spike a high velocities, capable of penetrating take armor with a direct hit. However, given its bizarre ballistics, it was effective at about the same range as Kelwin’s sword. Dropping his time bubble, Kelwin sprinted away from from the stricken tank. Secondary weapons fire from the second tank sparked against his I-field, and he retaliated with a missile from his left-shoulder ordnance pod. As the warhead blasted into the armor of the tank, silencing the machine gun, Kelwin sprang into the air and swung his sword, slicing through the barrel of the main cannon of the tank. He Pushed the severed barrel to the side and jumped, thrusters flaring, clearing the main turret the tank. Kelwin landed on the rear side of the vehicle, sword out, and was cutting at its weak rear armor before the vehicle could even begin to turn around. He cut several gashes in the armor, then fired his Pile Driver into one of them. Jumping away as the tank exploded, Kelwin resumed his search for beacons. The enemy would register the loss of their tanks soon, and send reinforcements. He needed to get clear before that happened. CODEX: Cuirassier: A humanoid war machine, it can be linked into the spinal cord of an Allomancer to benefit from their Allomancy as if it were there own body. It was first developed and deployed in the late stages of the Succession Wars, as the numerically inferior but Allomanctically superior Republican forces desperately sought an advantage over their Collectivist opponents. The Cuirassier gave the Allomancer Special Forces a decisive advantage, leading to a series of decisive victories, contributing to the survival of the Union. Given the nature of the I-Field offsetting its disadvantage in armor, it became popular among both the regular army and Special Forces. Allomancy Drive: A system using both mechanical Allomancy and feruchemy to allow faster-than-light travel. Details are classified. I-field: Investiture Field: This system exists in two flavors, fitting giving its mechanical Allomantic origins. External fields function like the ‘Force Fields’ of science fiction, deflecting projectiles and energy blasts away from the protected object. However, high mass and low velocity objects are unaffected. Internal fields increase the structural integrity of a material, causing it to survive attacks it otherwise couldn’t. Internal Fields are generally stronger than external fields, and protect from all attacks, but lack the regenerative properties of external fields, given that some damage is usually sustained by the protected material. I-fields are easier to generate with an Allomancer connected to the generating system, but the details of this are classified.
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  47. General Robert E. Lee was definitely a feruchemist. He primarily used 3 metalminds: Chromium, Zinc, and Electrum. Unfortunately (no pun intended), he emptied his Chromium stores in the early morning hours of July 1, 1863. Joan of Arc was clearly a rioter. Finally, I'm fairly certain that the man we knew by the name of "Benjamin Franklin" was actually Hoid.
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