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LG79/AN10: The Rhythm of Freedom The Rosharian sun set on the horizon, and the first moon was about to rise. Thane hummed to the rhythm of determination as he worked the soil. He had been assigned by the Fused to make food for the army. Thane was okay with that, as he didn't necessarily want to be fighting the Heralds and Knights Radiant. They scared him. But so did the Fused. Thane wiped his brow and looked up as the stars began to come out. It would be time to meet with the others here in a few minutes. --- "We must escape Odium," Pavli whispered fiercly to the Rhythm of Hope. "Only if we run, and abandon our forms, can we escape him and his Fused. I want freedom, like the humans have. Some humans choose to follow Honor, and some choose to follow Odium. Why are we enslaved to Odium, and our ancestors?" Balik sang the rhythm of Anxiety. "They will hunt us down, and kill us. They will not let us go. How can we escape without them knowing?" Thane watched the others argue. They had started meeting a few months ago, and they were of the same mind. They needed to escape Odium. He was one of the farmers, but several others here were actively fighting. The main fighting had moved away from here in Valhav over more towards Alethela, but that didn't change that there was a chance of the humans attacking any time. They had realized that the Fused and Odium would see them all dead in the effort to destroy the humans. And this group had decided not to put up with it anymore. "We can go to Natanatan. It will be far away from the fighting, far away from Odium. But we will need to leave behind our forms, and run" Thane offered to the group. "How will we get there," asked a femalen near him. Pavli sang to Consideration. "There is a mountain pass nearby. We can cross through there, then walk through Alethela. We will need food and water." Moirin, the eldest of the group hadn't said anything so far, but now stood up. Everyone stopped talking. She was the defacto leader of this small group of rebels. Yes, Thane thought, we are rebels aren't we? Fighting against Odium. Fleeing from their gods. "We've been discussing leaving for all this time. It is only a matter of time before the Fused find out. We must leave now. Gather your things. Get provisions from the fields. And grab some gemstones in case we need forms. We will all enter dullform to cut Odium off from our gemhearts." Moirin sung the Rhythm of Longing. "If we escape, we can live our lives like the humans do. Free to choose what we want." And just like that, it was decided. The group dispersed to go and gather the needed supplies. They would leave that night, before the third moon set. --- Abaram sat in a small hut, thinking to herself. The insanity was close at hand, but she managed to keep it away. If she died again, she would probably lose whatever thought she still had. She started as a knock sounded on the door. Her spy entered, solidifying from the Smokeform he had just been. "They are leaving tonight, my lady," he said to the Rhythm of Subservience. "Shall we destroy them all?" She had known that some of the singers in the village wanted to leave, escape from their lives. She had hoped they would give up, but it seemed they were determined. "No, we will not," Abaram said to the Rhythm of Command. She smiled. "We will join them." The malen appeared suitably confused, so Abaram elaborated. "I am Mavset-Im. Gather a few of my servants. We will join them, and attempt to cajole them into returning. And if they will not, then we will destroy them from within. They will realize there is no escape from Odium." The malen's eyes widened at the audacious plan. He rushed out to go gather a few individuals. Abaram sat back down, and sighed. Hopefully this would entertain her for a bit. Fighting the Heralds was tiring. --- Welcome to Rhythm of Freedom, the first Singer game! This is an anonymous game, so DO NOT SIGN UP IN THREAD. Just throw me a PM that you want to sign up. Signups will end one week from today, at 10 AM EDT, on the 19th. You can also choose to sign up as a pinch hitter, and any additional players beyond the max of 30 accounts will be pinch hitters as well. @Araris Valerian will be the IM. It'll be fun to GM again. Please have fun as well! Rules are below. Basic rules. Quick Links Player List Player count: 18/30

They took the butler next. Savia shouldn't have been surprised. She'd known for ages that the guards would eventually come for Hyrule Castle's staff. Horatio was the obvious first choice. No one ever saw him for more than a few minutes at a time. Perfect for him to hide his Yiga allegiance. So they said. Savia felt it her responsibility to witness this one. This was one of their own, a worker. Leaving the castle or not, she needed to be here for Horatio's death. It felt important. It didn't take long for her to see why. Horatio did not waver in front of the guards, or the sword brought up to him. He barely flinched as his sentence was handed down on his head. His eyes twinkled with something, fierce and unyielding, but knowing. Insanity? No, his eyes were too clear for that, though Savia couldn't imagine anyone but an insane person being so calm in the face of their own death. But he wasn't insane. No, Horatio knew something. When the first guard moved to grab him, his hand froze in the air. The guard's eyebrows drew together. He tried again, but his hand did not move forward. Another guard on the other side, probably assuming Horatio had somehow dodged the first guard, tried to kick the aging butler's legs out from under him. His kick didn't connect. Just like the first guard's hand, his foot stopped a few inches from Horatio's legs. Horatio's eyes twinkled. "I think we have some things to discuss."   attic_gremlin was attempted to be removed, but survived! attic_gremlin (4): Ashbringer, Devotary of Spontaneity, WhiffleWaffles, quillinthestars This turn will end at 9:30 AM CDT on Tuesday, July 13th. Player List:

I’m at the beach right now. Yesterday we made a turtle. Today we made an otter. (I know it’s not perfect, but otters aren’t NOT easy to shape out of sand) Otters will rule the world someday!!!!

My little brother got ketchup in his eye.

A little cheeky - I didn't say magic. Enormous political power as king; cultural power as author and philosopher; plus two Surges, although I don't think we find out which ones.

Also, the best thing happened to me a couple nights ago. I literally stayed up till 4:30 in the morning talking about Brandon Sanderson books and Avatar: The Last Airbender with my friends. It was the best thing ever!

For over two hundred years, the jungle lowlands of Hallendren and the mountain highlands of Idris have been at war. Tensions stretch back to the days of the Manywar, when Kalad the Usurper seized control of Hallendren, forcing the royal family to flee to Idris. Today, Hallendren is a sprawling lush valley kingdom, where the elusive Tears of Edgli grow. Despite Hallendren’s remote location, the Tears of Edgli, rare plants that produce dyes that hold fast in almost any cloth, are highly valued and trading in dyes forms much of Hallendren’s wealth. Stark Idris, on the other hand, sits high in the mountain, controlling the northern trade passes—vital arteries—that connect Hallendren to the kingdoms beyond. Meanwhile, the mineral deposits in the highlands pour wealth into the Idrian king’s coffers. There have always been whispers of war. Tensions simmer beneath the surface. But Idris and Hallendren have always traded, always grudgingly tolerated each other. Until now. You were among the youngest officers in the Idrian army when the Hallendren assassins struck in the night, slipping into Bevalis like ghosts and slitting King Gamlin’s throat while he slept. How could we have known that the fate of so many would rest upon your decisions? The splatter of his father’s blood had, at one point, been a bright red against the subdued earthy tans and greys and whites of the royal bedroom. Now, it was a dried, crusty brown, and still, Prince Dedelin could not take his eyes off it. Off the grey blankets that had held his father, trussing him up like a sheep for the slaughter. What had it felt like, dying? Had he suffered, Dedelin wondered, even though it was surely a moot point. Even though his father was not returning, never coming back, stolen from him and from Idris by the blade of Hallendren assassins. They had cut the king down, and he lay in repose in the chapel, but Dedelin could not bring himself to move. Not now. Not while he struggled to keep his composure. His father, King Gamlin. Those capable hands that had dandled him as a child, the stern voice that had guided him through his studies. Tutoring him in governance and the way of kings. Thick-bearded, with an expressive face as long as they were within the confines of the palace walls. Gamlin was quick to smile, quick to scowl, laughed easily. All gone now. Torn away from him too soon. Dedelin did not feel ready. Did one ever feel ready, he wondered. Or were you simply forced to it: thrust into position and made to hold, like the sturdy door frames of stonewalled Idrian cottages? “Your Majesty.” Dedelin hid his flinch, kept any sign of startlement from bleeding into his hair. The title was too new. It felt...wrong. He turned. General Yarda stood waiting, his hands clasped behind his back, his thick beard tied in three places. The burly man had been his father’s general. And now Dedelin commanded his allegiance. “Word from our spies in the south,” the general said, briskly. Dedelin did not know how Yarda kept his composure. A harsh man, born of harsh winters. The crisp chill of the highland air, the solid bones of the mountain: that was General Yarda. Nothing seemed to daunt the man. “Hallendren’s Lifeless armies are on the march.” Dedelin did not manage to conceal the shock of bone-white that streaked through his hair. “All of them?” Hallendren’s Lifeless were the stuff of nightmares: untiring killing machines held to a semblance of life by the blasphemous use of Awakening. Ordinary soldiers tired, had chillblains, felt fear. Lifeless did not. “Three armies in the field,” General Yarda said, quietly. “All heading towards the border.” “Why now?” Dedelin blurted, and regretted it. All his lessons in statecraft told him why: they’d killed his father. It was a provocation, and now Dedelin had to respond. The Lifeless armies were a test of the new king, but if Dedelin did not respond decisively, provocation could become actual conquest. Even if it was only making a statement, if Dedelin backed down, the next time the Idrians met the Hallendren at the negotiating table, it would be from a position of weakness. He ran a hand through his hair, willing it black again. Willing himself to be the king that his father was. “According to the Hallendren ambassador,” General Yarda replied, “It is but a routine training exercise. But Hallendren’s armies have not trained so close to the border. Not in recent years. I’ve doubled the garrison at the passes and urged the people to the south to seek shelter in the mountains.” Crossing the Idrian border would be an act of war. “We cannot afford a war in the south, your Majesty,” Yarda continued. “Not this year. Not with the army suffering from the Vendis raids last fall. Our defense has always been in the passes, and we’d make the Hallendren bleed, but it would cost us.” What he meant was that it would cost Idris too much. Men, falling, bleeding, dying for Idrian soil. Could Dedelin ask that of his people? He ground his teeth together. “We need to bring them to the negotiating table. And we need something that will buy us time.” And Idris could not afford the appearance of weakness. They needed reprisal for his father’s death, some way to show that you did not kill a king without consequence. “The guards have captured two of the Awakeners responsible,” said General Yarda. “The rest got away, but my men are currently raiding their safehouse.” Lieutenant Kalsin drew a deep breath. Austre, Lord of Colours, he thought, even as he adjusted his grip on the strap of his shield. Watch over us, and protect us. The rest of the squad readied their weapons and shields. Under orders from the captain, they wore only the cloth uniform of the Idrian royal army; no metal to give away their position with noise. Still, Kalsin would not be surprised if the Awakeners had some other means of telling the safehouse was about to be raided. Awakeners were tricky like that. The safehouse that Idrian intelligence had pointed out to them on the outskirts of Bevalis seemed a cottage like any other: whitewashed, thatched roof, and stone walls that held poorly against the chill of the mountain air. Captain Wryn glanced about them and signalled; the squad moved into position. “No warning,” Wryn had said, earlier. Kalsin had not disagreed. He did not see why Awakeners and kingkillers deserved that. He took point, like he always had. He slammed the boss of his shield into the door. On the second try, it gave way with the sharp crack of splintering wood and Kalsin drove on in, shield up against projectiles, sword out and by his side the moment he cleared the narrow doorframe. Darts clattered against the sturdy wood of the shield, and Kalsin took in his environment at once, willing his eyes to adjust to the dim environment. It took a moment—a sharp contrast from the golden sunlight outside—but then he saw them. Three Awakeners, one of them the one who had flung the darts. The other two held swords. Orders had been to capture if possible; to kill otherwise. Wryn knew all about the dangers of Awakening. Everyone did, in Idris, but especially the southerners. “Surrender in the king’s name!” Kalsin shouted, as the squad spilled through the door after him. He advanced on the Hallendren with the darts, the shield taking the brunt of the assassin’s darts. He slashed out with his sword, judged and aimed for the flat to strike the man. There were other assassins, but his squadmates would take care of them. Something lashed out, and Kalsin found himself falling. Austre, he cried out, half curse, half prayer. A grey sheet, colours drained by fell sorcery, wrapped about his ankle and yanked. The Awakener smiled, and Kalsin somehow managed to bring his shield up between him and the next poison dart. Another loop of cloth wrapped about his wrist, and spiralled up his arm. Kalsin tried to reach for his knife, but he was pinned. Yet another cloth looped about his throat, growing tighter, and the world fuzzed at the edges. Kalsin fought to get to his knife. Spots danced in his vision. He wasn’t going to die here, damnit. And then Wryn was there, and his sword slashed through the cloth, and the next swing smashed into the side of the Awakener’s head, knocking her out. He sliced through the rest of the restraining cloths with swift efficiency. “Get up,” Wryn said. “Not even a welfare check?” Wryn just rolled his eyes and hauled him to his feet. Kalsin snatched up the sword he’d dropped and briefly clasped his shoulder in thanks. The rest of the Idrians were fighting the Hallendren assassins. Kalsin saw four more cloth silhouettes, drained to grey, wielding blades, and gaped. Hallendren blasphemies, he thought, because of course the Hallendren Awakeners saw nothing wrong in spending the Breath of others and using them profligately. Kalsin parried a thrust from a Hallendren blade and riposted. The Hallendren assassin dodged, and Kalsin’s sword cut against the stone of the wall, striking sparks. But Wryn was there, even as Kalsin recovered, and his sword bit deep into the Hallendren. Or would have—there was a flurry of movement as the Hallendren’s grey cloak seemed to come alive and snatched at Wryn’s sword arm, tugging him off balance. Kalsin moved in that moment, and his blade met the Hallendren’s and then carried on as Kalsin followed through. His sword took the Hallendren a bit lower than Kalsin had wanted, not quite in the throat, and blood spurted as he yanked the sword free. The Hallendren collapsed, and Kalsin turned about just in time to fend off a strike from one of the cloth silhouettes. Up close, he could see it had been cut to resemble a man. Or a shadow, if shadows were drained to pale grey. The cloth moved and fought like the Hallendren, Kalsin thought, even as they exchanged a few blows. He did not know if this was a limitation of Hallendren Awakening. Austre’s mercy that they could be fought with good steel. Wryn had cut himself free of the cloak and re-entered the fray. Three of the Idrian squad had fallen or were hobbled or in some way taken down: it was difficult, fighting in the cramped confines of the cottage, strewn about with the various traps and tricks. The Hallendren spies had been expecting them. Or perhaps they had simply activated their precautions. Kalsin cut down the cloth silhouette with a series of swift slashes and then strode forward. Wryn was battling another silhouette; meanwhile, the final Hallendren had peeled free and dashed to the cottage’s fireplace. He shoved a handful of papers into the fire, and then cursed. Too late, and the flames were too weak for how much the Hallendren evidently wanted to burn. Kalsin lunged at him, and the Hallendren spun about to beat aside his sword thrust. Kalsin did not offer him the chance to surrender. It had been offered, and denied. Movement. Kalsin backpedalled, sword at the ready, but it was the stricken Hallendren assassin, the one Kalsin had stabbed earlier. He crawled forward with the last of his strength and his fingers tightened about the ankle of his countryman. “My life to yours,” wheezed the Hallendren. “My Breath become yours.” And there it was: Breath, the man’s soul, or perhaps the souls he had stolen, puffed out, like vapour, like the cold northern winds of winter. It drifted up, iridescent, and swept into the other Hallendren. Perhaps it was instinct: perhaps they hadn’t wanted to waste the Breath. Kalsin did not know, but he wasn’t interested in seeing what perversions they could wreak with the salvaged Breath. He stabbed the other Hallendren, just to be sure. Meanwhile, Wryn had moved to the fireplace and was using the poker to flip out as many charred papers as he possibly could. He stomped on the embers, putting them out before anything else could possibly catch fire, or before the sparks could spread. The cottage fell silent now. Only the sound of the crackling fireplace, and their breathing. And groans of pain. Kalsin assessed the situation, now that the Hallendren were down and the cloth silhouettes had stopped. Likely they would need to commit everything in the cottage to flames, to prevent further evil from being done. Gader had been caught in a tripwire, and both Yanav and Taned had been wounded. Pelan at least was still on his feet and he immediately went to see to Yanav, who was bleeding out. Kalsin swept the rest of the small cottage. He disarmed a few more traps and cut down some insistently annoying ropes, and stabbed another cloth silhouette that had been lurking in a nook, but finally the Hallendren safehouse had been secured. Wryn had gathered the papers into a sheaf and was frowning at them as Kalsin approached. “Plans,” he said aloud. “And maps. I think the king will want to see this. As will the general.” “They should’ve burned them the moment we broke through, if not before,” said Kalsin. He would have. “Arrogance, I suppose,” replied Wryn. “It cost them, this day.” So it had, Kalsin thought. So it had. There was a tentative knock on the door, and then the guard entered, with a young Idrian officer in tow. He wore the armband of a lieutenant and moved with a swordsman’s grace. “Your Majesty,” the guardsman said. “General,” he greeted Yarda. “The lieutenant has urgent news that requires your attention.” The Idrian officer bowed, as the guardsman withdrew. “Your Majesty,” he echoed the greeting. “General.” “Lieutenant Kalsin, isn’t it?” General Yarda said. “Wryn’s company. One of the youngest officers currently serving.” That was Yarda, Dedelin thought. He remembered the men who served under him, and he caught that flicker of pleasure on the officer’s face at being recognised by the general before it was schooled to proper Idrian reserve again. “Yes, General,” Lieutenant Kalsin said. He handed a sheaf of papers to the king. “Your Majesty,” he said. “With Captain Wryn’s compliments. We’ve secured the Hallendren safehouse and the captain is currently seeing to the work of cleaning up. A single prisoner is in custody.” Dedelin accepted the sheaf of papers, and flipped through them briefly. There were scorch marks, as though the Hallendren had sought to burn them. Some of them bore the signature marks of Idrian intelligence, which meant that the Hallendren were beginning to compromise his father’s spy network. He could not see any other way they could have intercepted the missives from Idris’s spies. Perhaps that was why they had struck with such impunity at his father. Perhaps that was why they had been able to kill King Gamlin. Something caught his eye. He stopped thumbing through the papers and extracted it. It was a map, one that had been hastily folded and refolded many times. It was a professionally-drawn map, from some Hallendren cartographer, but as Dedelin pored over it, he realised the value of what he held, and he stared down at the crinkled paper, stunned. It was a map of the Hallendren-controlled jungle, with several routes marked in inks of various colours. Hallendren ostentatiousness, of course, but what drew his disbelieving attention were the marks that indicated the various dye fields where the Tears of Edgli grew, and a landmark lake that had been annotated: ‘The Smoking Mirror.’ The Tears of Edgli, the source of Hallendren's wealth and power. General Yarda’s eyebrows drew together as Dedelin showed him the map. He, too, understood its significance. The corners bore the authentication marks of Idrian intelligence. No doubt the Hallendren had wanted to deny them this piece of intelligence, but it had fallen back into Idrian hands anyway through Austre’s mercy, and the work of the captain’s squad. “A bold move,” General Yarda said, slowly. “It would send a message,” Dedelin said. “A strong one. And it would give Hallendren reason to come to the negotiating table. Right now, they’re trying to pressure us to come crawling. Or perhaps they’re trying to take advantage of what they see as a moment of weakness and crush us.” Weakness. The death of his father to Hallendren assassins. They were dead now, too. Captain Wryn had seen to that. All but one. “We cannot enrage them,” General Yarda cautioned. He stroked his beard. “But a single expedition to raze some of the dye fields would remind them they are just as vulnerable. That we know where their primary export grows. It will take them time to re-secure their dye fields, too. They’re better off negotiating. A small expedition of good, capable soldiers…” he waited for Dedelin’s nod before he turned back to the lieutenant, who was still standing there, arms clasped behind his back. “Get me your captain, Kalsin. The king has an urgent assignment for him.” “What do you dream of, your Grace?” “A lake, Hera. Or at least, I think it’s a lake. Still, like mirror-glass. And pale smoke rising from the surface like the mountain wind...I kneel by the water, and all around me...everything burns.” QF54: The Smoking Mirror “A king must employ every tool at his disposal. The soldier’s sword, and the diplomat’s smile.” —King Dedelin, in the fourth year of his reign. The old king’s corpse is not yet cold. A daring strike from Hallendren assassins has killed King Gamlin in his bed. Sheets, the colours drained to a dull grey, have strangled the king as he slept, holding him helpless as the Awakeners slit his throat. King Dedelin has newly-ascended to the Idrian throne and already, war looms over the fragile mountain kingdom. Above all, his negotiators seek to buy time, but Hallendren’s Lifeless armies are already on the march. Reports from Idrian scouts suggest that they may have finally uncovered the fiercely-guarded location of Hallendren’s dye fields, near the warm pool they name the Smoking Mirror, where they grow the coveted Tears of Edgli. Under secret orders from the king, Captain Wryn has hand-picked members of a scouting expedition to enter the overgrown jungles of the Hallendren lowlands. Your orders are simple: locate the Smoking Mirror. Raze the fields to ash. Cripple the Hallendren economy, and force them to the negotiating table. The king is dead. Long live the king. General Rules: Win Conditions: Roles: General Housekeeping: Sign-ups are now open and will close on next Friday, 16th July, at 2300hrs SGT. Many thanks to @Fifth Scholar for trading QF slots with me due to the weirdness of my schedule. At least I can stop camping on the QF list now Quick Links:

We've definitely seen in RoW that the Surge of Adhesion is the Surge most closely aligned with Honor, which is why Kaladin could still use it in Urithiru. And there's a lot of speculation that Progression is Cultivation's True Surge in the same way, which would explain why Lift could use her Lifelight to bind it in Urithiru. But what of the third god? If there is a Surge specially tied to Honor and a Surge specially tied to Cultivation, then logically there should also be a Surge specially tied to Odium. And of the ten Surges, I think Division is the one that most aligns with Odium. Odium is fundamentally a force that turns men against each other, that divides them where Honor would unite them. It is a fundementally destructive force, and Division is the most destructive of all the Surges. And note that the highspren and ashspren, the two truespren races who bind Division, are also the only spren races to have members who work with Odium willingly, without first being corrupted by Sja-Anat's touch. Thoughts?

A windrunner? So - when Venli tells/shows Leshwi that she is a Radiant, Leshwi asks if she knew an Honorspren. To me, this brought together a lot of why Leshwi was so connected with the Windrunners - its not just that the Heavenly Ones are the most analogous to Windrunners, but that they were ANCIENT Windrunners - before spren chose humans. I think that Leshwi is going to be our key to discovering what the Dawnsingers did to lose sprens' trust. My guess is that there was some... recreance-lite that happened with the Dawnsingers, but I haven't fully worked out what that timeline would be. This might be why there is only one "generation" of fused - they are the original dawnsinger radiants - that Odium chose due to their unique connections to the surges/spren. And the fused were willing to help because they had just been abandoned by their spren for... some reason. (or maybe not why, but these events feel like they could/should be connected to me - they could have the same cause, maybe) Were Dawnsingers true "Radiants"? Or did they just form another type of bond with those spren? Will Leshwi revive her old Honorspren and become a heavenly one-windrunner? (along the same lines as Venli's dual willshaper/envoy form powers) I need to do a re-read to find more details that support this (and try to find clues of why spren left singers in the first place), but wanted to bring it up here to see what other people thought.

Today's Surprisingly Inspirational Quote™: Reality. It sucks, but it's what we got.

Yeah, that's the spirit of the game, come for the riddles, stay for the soulcrushing feeling of "Storms! I really should have gotten this one! " Anyway @Honorless, your turn!

Who is this "somebody" and why do they keep giving me reputation?

(Not technically a RoW meme, but most of the discussion around this took place in the RoW spoiler boards so I thought here was the best place for it)

Glad to hear we agree on the overall interpretation. And great catch on this line. I had never interpreted this line from Raboniel as the Shards actually speaking about antimatter. I thought she was just mistakenly assuming that the existence of what she viewed as directly opposing Shards was proof of antimatter. But the italics on the word "and" (which are in the text) changed the way I read it. It really does sound like both Odium and Honor confirmed to her (or some other party who relayed it to her) that negative axi exist.

I just saw A Quiet Place Part II! It was so amazing! Has anyone else seen it?

There are a couple of passages in RoW that might shed some light (ha) on whether Odium knew about anti-Light prior to Navani's work. First, Raboniel in Ch. 76: Then, in Ch. 97, after they figure out how to produce anti-Light, and Raboniel uses it to kill her daughter, here's Navani: Raboniel doesn't outright contradict Navani,but she does rather abruptly turn her attention toward using Navani's method to create anti-Stormlight, which suggests that was probably her true goal all along and that finding a way to provide a merciful death for her daughter was just a side perk. It seems from these passages that Odium maybe knew about the existence of anti-Light, but that he either did not know how to produce it himself, or was simply unable to produce it himself. So he needed to lead one of his Fused toward figuring it out. One other kinda unrelated point on knowledge of anti-Light, I'm reminded of the back-cover text written by the Sleepless: It sure sounds like they're talking about the discovery of anti-Light right? Could a rogue Sleepless have been the source of Gavilar's sphere of anti-Voidlight?

It's because he was slacking off for most of those seven years, leaving me to carry all the weight around here . I'll go ahead and sign up as Fadrian.

Hoid? I kid, I kid, hmm... is it Nohadon perhaps?

Hoid! And thanks, been awake for hours but I just had the last round and it feels like bad form to immediately go again if there are actually many other people playing.

My theory's similar. I too believe in the Baby/Child Champion Theory, but I think Dalinar will swear an Ideal (or two) and use use the power of a Bondsmith to shift everyone's connection. So he'll take Odium's Champion's connection onto himself, hoist the role of Honor's Champion onto someone else (my biggest two guesses are Szeth and Taln), and lastly move his Connection to the Stormfather to Kaladin. Due to the power of a special Bondsmith and the rapid swearing of Ideals, Kaladin will quickly Ascend into the role of Honor. But then things will get more complicated because the outcome of the Contest is unclear. But that part of the theory is for another time.

Everyone seems to think that Dalinar will take up Honor since he bonded the storm father but I think Kalidin has a much stronger case. "Honor is dead but I'll see what I can do" Being called the son of Tanavast by the storm father and the sibling. Has embodied Honor for his entire life always choosing the honorable path no matter the circumstances. Has a growing following that has "faith" in him and use his brand as almost a religious symbol. Honor is Dead but I'm convinced we'll see what Kaladin can do. If Dalinar holds a shard it would be the shard of War. Hes the only character so far that has been chosen by both odium as a champion and by honor with the storm father accepting him. I predict. 1. Dalinar loses to Odiums challenger 2. Kaladin ascends to honor. 3. Honor kamikaze into odium leaving Both shards and Dalinar picking them up with his new shard making him the big bad and free to leave Roshar. Who better to carry the Shard of war than Dalinar? What better opposite to Harmony?

I've noticed this, too. Shallan actually experiments with infusing Pattern with Stormlight in WoR, when she learns to attach an illusion to him. Shallan also places an illusion to Syl in the Cognitive Realm. In the quote from RoW about Syl being a brimming cup of water, context suggests that Kaladin is probably talking about how he can't Lash her in her manifested Shardspear form like he can a regular weapon. I think he's describing the inability to Lash a god metal manifested in the Physical Realm, just as Shardplate can't be Lashed (or manifest in the Cognitive Realm, for that matter.)

100% In-world logic/Theory: Forgery appears to support the idea of quantifiable Alternate Timelines, given that the effectiveness and the amount of Investiture required varies based on how far from "true" the revision is. However, only the present shared Truth/Timeline is actually manifested as an existence with a Cognitive and Physical Realm, using and as a result of the sum total of Investiture in the Cosmere. Emitting a complete, functioning set of Realms would, I think, take a matching amount of Investiture to the Cosmere itself. This would take all the Investiture of Adonalsium that was shattered, PLUS all the Investiture that was tied up in the Cosmere's functioning existence back in his time (which probably matches what's floating about today, hard to say).

I'm disappointed in myself I didn't figure this out earlier

Long story short, no.

100% agree. I feel like we don't have any other ones.

Reviving this since there's more up. I actually full on screamed when

Well. That's awful. I am so sorry you have to put up with that and I sincerely hope you can find a way to make it and patch things up with your friend. Either way, you're here now, and we're happy to have you. Hopefully you can stick around and find some friends here, too!

@More Cynical Than Funny, @Frustration, @mathiau, @Kingsdaughter613 There are probably better ways to do it - I'll add another meme later - but this is in relation to what happened at Sanderson Memes. Hope you're fine with me putting your meme inside mine, MCTF! Legendarium fans on the Shard:

I think some of his issue was the urgency around his Ascension. He didn't have time to adjust to the breadth of new resources at his disposal, including futuresight. People were dying, oceans were boiling. He needed to fix that then, and since he thought the power was going to dissipate like it did for Vin and Rashek with the Well, he was in full instant-damage-control mode. Then he spent the next 300 years figuring out his limitations and becoming more familiar with all of that stuff and still isn't convinced he knows the full depths of stuff. All that aside, it is possible that Trell's intervention has stretched long enough and deep enough to have started as far back as the destruction of the Pits, since apparently there was a lot of trade happening out of Scadrial even then, but I think it would have backed off when everyone thought Scadrial was about to explode from Ruin and Preservation doing their thing.

Thank you! Well, as a Rashek fan girl, I wanted to come up with a post for myself at the Steel Ministry and to use its title as my username. So, here comes "Rashek's PR Manager", head of the Canton of Communications.

I have always had... a soft spot I guess, for Lin Davar. Yes, he was a despicable person who did terrible things, but in a way I feel that I understand him. To me, he is one of, if not the most, tragic character in the Cosmere. His fall started with one of the most selfless acts I can think of: his defense of his daughter. He basically walked in on his wife and her friend trying to kill Shallan. He fought against them, and was wounded. He still fought, and probably would have fought to the death if Shallan hadn't summoned Testament and ended things. When she did, what was his response? He cradled her, tried to soothe her, hid her actions, and most importantly took the blame. Not only from society as a whole, but also from Shallan's brothers. What is more, he kept her secret about being a Shardbearer safe to prevent her from being targeted again. He didn't even try to claim the Shardblade, or get Shallan to use it again when to do so would have made his own social position secure. Even at the end, he kept those secrets safe. What was his reward for doing what any good father would do? He became reviled by everyone, including his own family. He bore that to his death, and never tried to explain what really happened. The closest he came was with Helaran when he told him that "you don't know what you think you know." That broke him and let Odium in through the cracks. He became filled with hatred, and fell. And yet, even when he fell, he felt remorse and sorrow. He tells Shallan so when she met Hoid for the first time, and frankly I believe him. He knew that he had fallen, and he regretted it deeply. And yet, the one thing that he could have done to get some modicum of respectability back from others, namely betraying Shallan, he never did, or even considered. Of all the characters who deserves a redemption arc, he tops my list. He deserved it more than Roshone, more than Moash, more than even Dalinar in a way. He didn't get one, and the irony is that the person who ended that possibility was the person who he gave up everything for. As a father who likes to think that I would be as much of a defender of my daughters, this is the ultimate tragedy.

The recent spoiler stream adds some interesting bits to this:

The implosion was not the ending. There are neither endings nor beginnings to the Longest Thread, but it was an ending.

It's really nice of you to provide these advices! I'm actually taking a break now. Having finished all Cosmere books that had been published in Chinese, I want to have a good rest before going on to those yet to be translated, which is bound to be challenging.

'm also new here, nice to meet you

The Night of Sorrows. I have a similar theory - that by the end of Book 5, Odium would find a way to block or destroy Honor's Perpendicularity, so that no more Stormlight can reach Roshar. It would be like an extra long Weeping. And why do people weep? Because of sorrow. So what is the appropriate name for a long time of weeping? The Night of Sorrows. Although I disagree on this being a tool to make Dalinar lose. I think it'll be an outcome of the Contest of Champions.

Is it wrong my opinion of Kelsier has dropped?

My assumption is that Harmony is not what we'd consider a new tone. Whatever tone Harmony has is both a combination of Ruin and Preservation AND something new, similar to how towerlight and warlight are both combinations, but more, likely with properties not entirely defined from either. In this case, the catalyst would've been Sazed. Likely a more spiritual catalyst rather than the physical catalyst of making a tone that allows them to combine.

Back with another theory with probably more time put into overthinking organization and formatting than the content of the theory itself! This time, I'll be looking at our favorite little murder weapons, Nightblood and the Jezrien Stabbin' Knife, with bonus appearances from sprenblades, the Lezian Stabbin' Knife, and of course, Asterisk! (I'm sure various parts of this have been debated to death prior, but I haven't done a ton of looking around at other theories on this stuff yet. So oops if so.) As usual, this is full of everything being way over-cited even for common knowledge things, a.) to stay in the habit of citing, b.) to have exact wording handy, and c.) to try and avoid falling to commonly-held misconceptions. (0.) TL;DR Blackened wounds are an indication of something to do with the detachment of other aspects from the Physical aspect, but I am unsure what exactly distinguishes it from things that turn grey or white. Black smoke is related, though I am uncertain what it really is. (Despite the length of this post, my final conclusion is kind of wishy-washy on details, because it's all weird.) It is possible this is exclusive to Leeching (or similar but not identical mechanisms, such as raysium), but it is also possible it applies to other situations, and we just have not seen any of them yet. (1.) Background (2.) Finding Other Aspects (3.) Piercing the Realms (4.) Greying & Spiritual Draining (5.) Tying It All Together (6.) One Unresolved Question (I.) References

In my attempts to predict future ideals of the Knight Radiants, I found some interesting parallels concepts/beliefs. While I wasn't able to draw solid conclusions, I think it's a decent topics that may yield some insight if more people share their ideas. Also note that there are lots of assumptions and leaps that I made that may not be too solid. For example, Windrunners & Skybreakers. "I will do what is right" apply. But Skybreakers judge what is right externally through code of law. While the Windrunners use internal morality to determine the right thing to do. Stonewards vs Dustbringers "I will do what I must". Stonewards will do what is required of them to support the greater good. Stonewards are prepared to sacrifice themself for the greater good. While Dustbringers will do what is required to achieve the long term gold. They are prepared to sacrifice others for the greater good. Stonewards will need to learn to not sacrifice themselves while Dustbringers will need to learn to curb their meddlings. About reponsibility. Bondsmiths will hold themselves accountable for their own done deeds. Skybreakers will hold others for their done deeds. Dustbringers will hold themselves accountable for their future actions. Willshaper will hold themselves for the future actions of others. Truthwatchers and Edgedancers will absolve past actions of thers. And Lightweavers will need to learn to absolve their own past actions. All of Elsecallers, Truthwatchers and Lightweavers seek truth. Lightweavers seek truth within themselves. Truthwatchers seek spiritual truth and hidden intentions and meaning in people. Finally Elsecallers seek truth of the physical world and hidden structures in natures. Elsecallers seek truth through logic while Truthwatchers seek truth through empathy. Edgedancers and Willshapers value individual over collectives. "I will remember those who have been ignored" vs "I will free those who have beed bounded". "I will listen to those who have been ignored" vs "I will be speak for those who have no voice". Speculatiom for Knight Radiant Ideals Windrunners I will protect those who can't protect themselves. I will protect even those I didn't know I should protect. I will need to let people learn yo protect themselves. Skybreakers I will follow the letter of the law. I will follow the (someone's) interpretation of the law. I will follow the spirit (my own interpretation) of the law Dustbringers I will dare to do (what must be done). I will dare to pay (the price for the greater good). I will stay my hands (and not intervene) Edgedancer I will remember those who are forgotten. I will listen to those who have been ignored. I will finish what you started. Truthwatchers I will see truth (in people) (enlighten Truthwatchers may be I will see what could be) I will show truth (to inspire) (again to what could be for the enlighten) I will bring them truth (even if painful) Lightweavers (Don't think Lightweavers fit into this, they just speak truths about themselves) Elsecallers I will seek knowledge/wisdom/logic. I will guide/lead with knowledge/wisdom/logic I will accept that something is unknowable and you have to take it by faith. (I think Jasnah already speak this ideal while she was stuck in Shadesmar and she had to rely on faith to come through) Willshapers I will seek freedom for those in bondage. (I will free people) I will speak for those who are silenced (I will free ideas) (Venli will truly become the Voice of her people with this) I will accept that people follow me through theirown freewilk (I will free myself from feeling totally responsible for everyone I lead. similar to WE CHOSE moment from Maya) (Venli will reach this after a bunch of disastrous decisions she made) Stonewards I will do my duty. I will stand even when others fall. I will accept defeat to fight another day (and not sacrifice myself in vain) Bondsmiths I will unite people. I will accept the consequences of my actions and move forward. (I will unite myself) I will unite everyone (even my enemies) All ideas and comments accepted.

We know: 1. Melishi was Sibling Bondsmith before Recreance. 2. Sibling was unbonded during final events of Recreance. 3. Melishi was needet for imprisonment of BAM. 4. Right after Recreance Sibling loses ability to produce Towerlight and withdraws. So Melishi was Sibling Bondsmith before Strike, but wasn't in moment of Imprisonment. But he also didn't breake Oath, and he was alive, because he was needet to capture BAM. So he somehow unbond Sibling safely. Not sure IT would efdect with Shardblade. Sibling is whole Tower. But Dalinar was able to summon Stormfather essence to open Oathgate, this would be probably similar.

Maybe he'll reverse the process, like splitting one shard up into two vs. combining two shards into one.

This sounds interesting, but I really don't see this happening. That's just a repeat of how harmony was made. Someone picks up a shard to kill another shard to allow someone to pick up both shards.

Zura watched as Price destroyed the knife and smiled softly. She had known what would happen. They were similar people. Just normal people fighting for their countries to live onto the next day. She saw Sagitta retreat from the carriage and heard extremely faint sounds of sobbing. Was that from their conversation, being forced to consider that everything she had built her life on was wrong? Zura didn’t regret what she had done. Everyone involved had needed to face the facts if they were going to have even the slimmest chance at peace. She still felt bad that it had made Sagitta cry, though. What must’ve have been going through her head to make such a strong woman break down into tears? Zura stood up slowly, as to not alarm Price. She scooped up her handful of wood shavings with one hand and yanked her knife out of the wood with the other. She ran her fingers over the oddly smooth carvings as she stepped past. Following Sagitta’s path out of the carriage, she stepped out into the night. She held the hand full of shavings up and let them drift away in the cool breeze. She shouldn’t need them anymore. She then stepped carefully and quietly over to Sagitta. ”Sagitta? I brought you something.” @Sorana @I think I am here.

Sagitta closed her eyes and then lowered her arms, when the Price destroyed the knife. Pressing her hands together to hide their shaking she nodded at the two of them. "Thank you." For being good enough people that you didn't kill me right here and right now. She took a limping step towards the carriage considered going back to sleep. In the end her exhaustion won over her urge to take the safe path. "Wake me when it's my watch." She asked him, although it was most likely soon, too soon. Still she was tired, so tired that she had a bad taste in her mouth and her eyes hurt. Slowly she climbed back into the carriage, then turned around looked outside at the sky again. Sitting down she burried her face in her hands, then almost hastily left the carriage on the other side, hid from them for a moment. She pressed a hand against her face and started to sob quietly. She doubted she could muffle all sounds, but she could try, and she needed to try. Exhaustion made her sit down and she shook with her sobs when it all became too much. She wanted to go back, back to her line, when all thoughts of a different way, of peace had been like a far away dream, like something she would never be able to grasp or see. When she had been fine with killing for her country, when the nomads had been enemies she hated. Price and Zura were like a mirror of herself, although she doubted she would have left it at a harmless discussion. Had there been a nomad, she would have killed him on sight. And been proud of it. Disgusted by herself, because they were right, because she was simply the lucky one whose enemy wasn't here, because her own words had struck too close to the truth of her own actions, she hit the ground, once twice. To see the way their faces twisted around the hate hurt, how they believed in the same rules she did. That fighting for your country was an excuse for bad behaviour while you condemned your enemy when he did the same. She had forced them to face it, and at the same time she had ripped herself apart when they had called her bluff, when they had taken the knife. When suddenly it wasn't about her, but about them actively deciding to let their enemy live. Strength. Such strength. More than she had herself. But it was only one part, the memories of weeks as a prisoner kept crawling back, now that she was alone in the darkness, the memories how they'd talked to her in a language she didn't understand, how they'd asked her questions again and again, how she never had been able to reply in a way that satisfied him. That point when she would have sold her family, only to have them stop, to be allowed to sleep again, to eat again. To be free again. She was exhausted, bone deep exhausting and the last thing she'd needed was a discussion, a reflection of her deeds, of her actions. She knew deep down, that she was wrong, had always been wrong. That they needed peace. How he'd touched her, stolen her her armour and her weapon. Intruded into her life and ripped it apart. Sagitta curled up on the ground, when it all became to much, when she couldn't go on anymore. She'd always prided herself on being strong and selfconfident, but she had crossed a border, had crossed it days ago. Price and his stories about the prisons, about some of his colleagues had hit her more than she had shown, torture, again torture. She trusted him, had to trust him to keep it away from her, but for now. Her thoughts were so muddled by her exhaustion that she realized how she stopped thinking at one point, filled by a nameless dread and the feeling of being overhelmed. Tomorrow, she had to be fit enough tomorrow to walk, but for now she couldn't. She wanted to go home, to her parents, wanted to leave all of this behind. Forget. Fall into oblivion and forget all of it.

Zura stared at the knife, eyes wide and mind racing. Her breath quickened slightly and she was glad she was sitting down. If she took the knife, she would admit that killing just for Cahaya was alright. She would say that senseless slaughter was perfectly acceptable if it was for your country. She would admit that all Tühine were too far gone to be worth saving. According to every propaganda poster and school lesson in her country, she should take the weapon and ram it through Price’s throat. Like a good citizen. But if she refused the knife, everything she had built her life on would be wrong. All of her murders and maimings would be for nothing. She would be the villain, no better than the Tühine- at least according to her country. Maybe even according to herself. Everything within her screamed that she should just shove it through his heart and be over with it, but something held her back. She looked to Price but saw a different face. She instead saw the now deceased Cahayan boy. He had the same expression on his face from when he had been begging her to save him. Where they really any different? They were both fighting for what they believed in. They were molded from birth into the ideal citizens. They were just doing what their moral obligations were. Just like every little child chanting Cahayan slogans in the streets. Just like every suffering parent sending those innocent children to their deaths. Just like Zura. No one in the war was really too different. Standing up slowly but with strength, she took a step towards Sagitta’s outstretched hand and slowly wrapped her fingers around the knife’s hilt. Her hand did not shake like she had expected it to. Her breathing had slowed, and everything seemed oddly calm. When she picked it up she could feel every single muscle in her arm tensing, like she was preparing for a crushing impact. In a way, she was. She tossed the weapon into the air and watched the starlight reflect off the blade as it flipped a single time. She caught it by the handle and took a deep breath, staring at nothing. She waited three seconds, then flipped the knife around and handed it to Price. There was no way to win the war. Only to end it. @I think I am here. @AonEne

Sagitta leaned back, unsure if it was wanted that she said something else. They were talking to each other, not to her, about her. Just like Price and the doctor had done. Slave. She felt sick at that word. Doing his tests to eat and sleep to regain her strength it was one thing, but to be talked about, to be expected to serve in his bed, to be a slave, it was something so fundamentally different that she had swallow bile rising in her throat. They hadn't locked the door. The guards, she hadn't seen any bows or crossbows, maybe she could jump outside, he'd taught her how to soften the impact. And then run. Run away. But where. Sagitta clenched her fists so hard, that she drew blood. She had nowhere to go. Nowhere to flee to. Nowhere but back to the kiling. Looking outside her shoulders sagged and she looked down at her hands again. Blood, so much blood, everywhere. Dripping down on the floor, staining her cloths. Everywhere blood. On her sword and her armour. So much blood. She stared at the small drops, saw something else, saw what she'd done and who she'd been. Quietly she wished that Price would give her a chance to ask question, but at the same time she knew that it was clever that he didn't. As long as she was lost, she would never escape. Sagitta continued to look outside, wanted to get an impression of the country she'd stumbled into, an idea of the world she'd ended up in. "Tell me about Tühine." She said quietly, not adressing anybody, but instead she threw the question into the room, let it hang there to see who would pick it up.