HappyBridgeleader

The following is a fan fiction about some members of the seventeenth shard that I made up: Wan ShaiLu from The Emperor's Soul and a Terriswoman I named Kuthyl. It is set in T'Telir on Nalthis. They were finally going to catch Hoid. Shai’s heart was beating so fast with excitement and anxiousness that she thought it would explode. It had been so long since she had set out to find him on her home world of Sel, and she had only grown to hate him more and more as the years passed. She had learned that he was much more than a simple thief. Apparently, her desire to find him and her skill as a Forger had attracted the attention of the 17th Shard. They also desperately wanted to find Hoid and they wanted her to join their ranks, so she did. Thus, she found herself with powerful allies, like Kuthyl. Over the years, Shai had gotten to know Kuthyl pretty well: she was an elderly woman and very tall for her age, or any age for that matter. She was also smarter than any person had a right to be; she could learn languages even faster than Shai in her scholar form, and she was always giving her little pieces of knowledge and advice. Most of these she knew already, but sometimes they could be quite profound. There was one thing about Kuthyl that slightly worried Shai in regard to their current mission: she was a tenderhearted pacifist. Considering the fact that Shai knew herself to be somewhat tenderhearted, they were not the best team for a killing mission. However, this was Hoid they were going after, and they would both do just about anything to get to him. “I really wish there was a better way to do this,” whispered Kuthyl. She was crouched in the empty alleyway behind Shai. The darkness protected them from the watchful eyes of the guards patrolling the top of the wall that surrounded the court of the gods. Shai didn’t respond. She was using a new form that she had made for situations like this. She had constructed a new Essence Mark that revised her history so that she grew up and trained with a family of assassins. In assassin form, she did not like to talk, much like Shaizan, her warrior form. Besides, both of them knew that this was the only way available to them. The only people who could enter the court of the gods through the front gate were priests and important people, and it was impossible to disguise themselves as one of these without Breaths. Thus, they had to go over the wall, and that meant killing a couple of guards. She unpacked her bow and arrows which she had constructed with wood from the local jungle and her survivalist Essence Mark, and slowly approached the wall, staying in the shadows. “The key to sneaking is to not make any sudden movements,” whispered Kuthyl as Shai left her behind. It was another useless piece of advice. In her assassin form, there were very few people who could sneak better than her. Shai nocked an arrow and shot one of the guards in the neck. Before his partner was able to respond, another arrow had taken him out. They were now racing against the clock: the guard changeover would happen in three hours, and they would notice these two missing guards. She quickly unwrapped her grappling hook and threw it over the wall and then climbed to the top. She gave the signal, telling Kuthyl that it was alright for her to climb the rope now, but she didn’t go to the rope. Kuthyl got to the base of the wall, and then all of her muscles grew to impressive proportions in less than a second. She jumped and flew all the way to the top of the wall, and then landed on top as light as a feather. It was ironic to see such a bulky body move with the grace of a lightweight dancer. “We must hurry,” Kuthyl said, “even the best plans can go wrong. It is usually a good practice to assume that something will go wrong, like an early guard changeover.” Again, Shai did not respond. She did not expect this to take three hours. She quickly lowered the grappling hook down the other side of the wall and rappelled to the ground. Then, Kuthyl leapt down to the bottom with the grappling hook in her hand, she landed just as lightly as before, but her muscles had returned to their normal sizes. Their target was in a building that was just visible in the distance ahead of them. It had taken a long time for them to discover that Hoid was there. First, they were lucky enough to find an informant who knew Hoid from his description. The informant told them that Hoid was a master storyteller that spent much of his time in the court of the gods. From there, Shai and Kuthyl had spent many weeks entering the court of gods in the daytime as petitioners. They went to each god to see if they could find Hoid in their retinue. Shai had to use all of her different identities except for the one that would make her forget Forging. Kuthyl had been able to go in several different times because she changed her age. Finally, two days ago, Shai had seen him among the retinue of Stillmark. Luckily, he did not recognize her in her beggar form. “Okay, let me sneak up to the building, and I’ll give you signal as soon as the coast is clear.” Kuthyl swept her eyes over the court and responded, “Don’t worry about it. The nearest people in the court right now are a couple of priests just beyond Weatherlove’s place over there.” “How can you see that far?” asked Shai. Her silent nature was overcome with incredulity. Kuthyl simply tapped her finger on one of her earrings. “It’s just another advantage of being a Feruchemist. Let’s go.” When they got to Stillmark’s household they found it guarded by three guards. They were ready for this. Kuthyl ran to the side of the house and leapt onto the roof. The guards did not see her because she ran so fast that she was just a blur, nor did they hear her land on the roof because she had landed too lightly. Shai approached the guards at a slow, sneaking pace and when she was within range she took out her bow and arrows again. The first guard died with an arrow in the neck and the other two guards died simultaneously a second later. When Kuthyl saw the first guard die, she leapt off of the roof and somehow increased her weight without becoming bulky like before. She crashed into the second guard and crushed the life out of him just as the second arrow took the third guard. The plan was going perfectly so far. When they got into the house they decided to stick to the hallways at first. Unfortunately, this is where the servants went on their nightly routines. Shai and Kuthyl ran into one of these servants at the far end of a hallway after a couple of minutes of exploration. The servant stared in shock for a moment and then turned and started to run in the other direction. There was a blur of motion and a gust of wind and then Kuthyl appeared right beside the man. The man let out a loud yelp of shock just before Kuthyl bulked up and punched his face in. That yelp had to have been heard by someone. The plan was no longer going so perfectly. Then there was a loud call of alarm from behind her. She turned to see a guardsman who had come to check out the noise. She drew a dagger and threw it at the man, killing him. “We need to get out of here,” she called to Kuthyl as she started to run in the direction where the guard had fallen. Kuthyl followed behind. When she got to the guard’s fallen body she took out her warrior Essence Mark and stamped herself with it. She was now Shaizan, a warrior trained by the Teullu. She picked up the guardsman’s sword and readied herself to fight her way out. It was a good thing she had, because the guards started to pour in from both ends of the hallway. There were a lot more than she would have expected to be in a single god’s house. Shaizan busied herself with the guards in front of her, parrying and striking expertly. Meanwhile, Kuthyl increased her muscles to incredible sizes and charged straight into the group coming from the other direction. She bowled them all off of their feet and took a couple of hits from swords and spears, but those cuts quickly healed up. As she turned around to finish off the men she had knocked down, a man appeared behind her that didn’t look like a guard. He wore the colorful, elegant clothes of a T’Telir nobleman, and had a long rope in each hand. He whipped one of these ropes at Kuthyl’s feet and it wrapped itself around them, causing her to fall over. She immediately shrunk her muscles back to normal size to get out of the bonds, but the ropes tightened as her muscles decreased. Then one of guardsmen got up and knocked her out with the butt of his spear. After that, Shaizan was easily overpowered from two sides and tied up with the other rope. They were taken to an underground dungeon and left in a cell with their hands tied up to brackets on the ceiling. Kuthyl woke up a few minutes later and looked around to get her bearings. “Well, when you are captured it is usually best to escape as early as possible, because you only get weaker the longer you spend in captivity. Do you have any plans for escape, Shai?” “Not with my hands tied like this,” responded Shai, “do you?” “Yes I do. Fortunately, they don’t know anything about Feruchemy so they didn’t take my metalminds. But it’ll take me a little while before I can do anything. Hopefully they’ll be leaving us alone for a while now.”

The following is a fan fiction I wrote about how Zahel became known as a swordmaster. It is set in Alethkar before the death of King Gavilar. This story is probably more wrong than my other one, according to cosmere theory, but at least I spelled the title correctly. Vasher wanted to tell Dalinar that he was a stupid, stubborn drunkard that was too concerned with his own reputation. The man was brother to the king and he should be more concerned with helping him in the impossible task of uniting Alethkar, rather than trying to compete for glory as a great warrior, the Blackthorn. Yet Vasher found himself sitting on a stool across from Dalinar, in a private room of the Kholin palace, listening to his concerns about his reputation. It was one of his duties as a house ardent. “Even you have to admit the child isn’t anything like my other son, nor even like any other lighteyed child I have ever met,” said Dalinar. Vasher suppressed a disgruntled grumble and replied, “Sometimes you just have to accept the fact that your cloak is the wrong color and wear it anyways.” “What?” Dalinar looked very confused. I have to stop using analogies like that, Vasher thought. “What I meant is that maybe Renarin isn’t Called to be a warrior like you and Adolin. There are many other noble Callings, I think, and he still has a while before he has to pick one. So just be patient and don’t drive him too hard in one direction.” “You are the worst ardent I have ever met Zahel. Sometimes I wonder if you even know what Vorinism is about.” “Yes, a lot of people say that about me,” replied Vasher, “so the question is, why did you send for me?” Dalinar picked up the Shardblade that had been resting on the ground beside him; it was from the King’s collection, meaning anyone could use it with permission. “You were once a warrior, and you seem to have quite the knowledge about many different kinds of swords,” he nodded pointedly to Nightblood, the black sheathed sword that rested by Vasher’s own chair (it had taken a lot of effort to get the head ardents to allow him to keep it), “and I can trust you to keep this matter and the conversation to yourself, being my ardent. My problem is this: I’ve been trying to get Renarin to hold it and feel its power, so that he’ll be inspired to work harder in his training, but he’s afraid of it. He says that it hurts his ears to touch it. Have you ever heard anything like this before? Is this Blade defective?” He handed the Blade to Vasher, who took it and started to study its surface. “Just think about it for a little while and we can talk again after my duel. I’m sure you can return the Blade yourself.” After Dalinar left, Nightblood’s voice spoke up in his head, I think she used to be like me, but it’s like she’s dead now. You mean this Blade? asked Vasher. How do you know it’s a she? Can’t you feel her? She’s not completely dead. Do you think you can wake her up with a Breath? It would be like having my own sister. That might be pretty cool You know we have to return it eventually. Yet, I could ask it about how it was made, that could be interesting, I guess that would be worth one Breath. He grabbed a ruby sphere from a bracket on the wall, and with it one hand and the Shardblade in the other, he said “My breath become yours”. The red light coming from the sphere became duller, and he felt a Breath escape him. Suddenly, a new feminine voice spoke up inside his head. What? Where am I? Who are you? Where is my master? What happened? Nightblood responded through Vasher, your old master is probably dead. This is my master. He just awakened you with a Breath. Get Away! Get away from that whoever you are, that blade is evil. Hey, I’m not-, Nightblood was interrupted by Vasher, that is Nightblood. I practically made him. He has been commanded to destroy evil. He will do me no harm. What he meant was that a long time ago, your master broke his oath with you and- Hey, that man looks like a Returned, interrupted Nightblood. What? Vasher looked up at a group of armed men walking through the hallway just past the doorway. There were five of them. Four of them had on leather armor and held various weapons; Vasher knew by instinct that the fifth man was the one Nightblood had mentioned: he wore a black and silver uniform and had a strange crescent moon shaped scar on his face. They look evil, we should destroy them, said Nightblood. They look like they are going to hurt people who can’t protect themselves, said the Shardblade, you should kill them so they can’t do it. I’m beginning to like this Shardblade better than you already Nightblood, Vasher thought as he stood up and strode off toward the group, a sword in each hand. A quick look proved that there was no one else around. “Hey,” he called to them, “what is your business here?” The group stopped and turned around. The man with the scar on his face said “we have come for the life of Renarin Kholin. He is wanted for reasons that I don’t have to explain to you, ardent.” “I’m sorry but I don’t believe you, and my friends here don’t either.” Vasher tossed Nightblood onto the ground before the five men. As usual, it started a bloodbath as one of the men took the blade and started to kill his friends with it. However, it didn’t end up with everyone dead as usual. The scar-faced man summoned a Shardblade and killed the man with Nightblood in his hand, just as he finished off the third warrior. He was now the last man alive out of the five. He turned and charged at Vasher, wielding his Shardblade with expert skill. Fortunately, Vasher was able to parry, using his borrowed Shardblade with equal skill. However, the fight ended abruptly after a couple of minutes when the scar-faced man touched his pants and he found himself stuck to the ceiling with Stormlight leaking from the pants. “I don’t know who you are, but thank you for the cool new sword. I must be going now.” The scar-faced man stooped to pick up Nightblood and then dashed off down the hallway towards the living chambers. I can’t let him get to Renarin, thought Vasher, but I don’t know what to do. He examined his pants with the Stormlight leaking out of them, and an idea came to him. He put a hand on his pants and commanded “Let go of things”. The red light in the hallway, which came from some ruby spheres placed in brackets along the hallway, became much duller, and some of his breath left him. His pants straightened and made themselves loose, so that his legs slipped through them and he fell onto the floor. His pants were still stuck to the ceiling by the Stormlight. He could hear the screams and calls of alarm as people witnessed the unknown Shardblade-wielding assailant dash through the halls. He focused on his life sense to tell him where the killer was. He could sense the servants milling around in hysteria, the guards running in groups down various hallways, and—there! The scar-faced man was in a hallway directly above him, running back in his direction. Okay friend, Vasher said to the Shardblade in his hand, I’m going to throw you, and I want you to maintain your form, all the way through the ceiling. I really shouldn’t listen to you, because you’re not my master, but I guess you are trying to protect people. I’ll do as you say this once, just let me chance my shape. The Shardblade shifted, so that the crossguard disappeared and the sides became narrower at the tip and broader at the base, like a viciously long spearhead. Just as the scar-faced man was approaching the point just above him, Vasher threw the Shardblade at the ceiling. It went all the way through. Vasher sensed the man stop, he was not dead, but had probably been injured. He stayed there for a while as a large guard group approached him, and then suddenly whipped down the rest of the hallway with incredible speed. Vasher could no longer sense him with his life sense. Vasher dashed up to the hallway where the scar-faced man had been. There was a group of guards by the spot where he had thrown the Shardblade and another group looking out a window at the far end of the hallway. Dalinar was with them. He approached Vasher with the Shardblade in his hand; it had gone back to its previous shape. “Zahel, did you throw this through the floor?” Dalinar asked. “My men here said that there was a man running through the hallway with a Shardblade in one hand and your black sword in his other hand. They said this Shardblade came through the floor and struck his leg. Unfortunately, the man flew out that window before we could get to him though.” “Maybe,” replied Vasher. “That is the most incredible feat I have ever seen done with a Shardblade before. Were you a swordmaster before you became an ardent?” “Maybe” “Huh. A swordmaster ardent who takes his pants off in the middle of a battle,” Dalinar looked pointedly at Vasher’s bare legs, “you are an interesting person Zahel. I want you to take over Adolin’s sword training from now on. Also, I’ll talk to the head ardents about letting you keep this sword, since you lost your other one.”

The following is a fan fiction I wrote about some the known members of the 17th Shard: Galladon and Captain Demoux. It occurs somewhere in Roshar after their meeting with Ishikk in Way of Kings. I don't know much about the 17th shard or the cosmere theories, but I don't think I made any blaring mistakes. "I'm kind of glad that this entire land will get obliterated like he said," said Temoo in the usual grim tone that seemed to be his normal speaking voice, "these people deserve it. Understand?" His bowl of soup sat cooling on the table in front of him. He had meticulously stirred through it with his knife to observe its contents and had apparently disapproved of them. Captain Demoux did not recognize any of the ingredients in the soup, but his soldier's training kicked in and he ate anyways. As a soldier, you needed to keep yourself fueled at all times, no matter how bad the food tasted. "If it were up to you Temoo," Demoux replied, "every land we visited would get obliterated." He did not know if Temoo was this man's real name, nor did he know where he came from. In fact, of the few members of the secretive seventeenth shard he had met so far, there was not a single person whose identity he could be sure of. But, he did know two things about Temoo that the man could not conceal: the man was a cynic and he had a secret power that involved drawing symbols in the air. Those symbols were the means by which they could travel between worlds. He knew far less about the other man on the mission with them, Vao, who was currently in a different part of town picking up some supplies. Sometimes Temoo's pessimism could make him quite angry, mainly because it was one of the main things that Kelsier had fought against when he was alive. Kelsier always had a smile and an optimistic attitude, even when the rebel army that he had been building for months was nearly destroyed in a day. However, Demoux was the leader in this mission, and he would not let the attitudes of his subordinates get the better of him. "Okay friend, maybe I do have a strong bias about what makes a good land good, but you have to admit that this place is just pitiful. Understand?" Temoo made a wide gesture at the bar they were sitting in. It was true; the place fit Temoo's description. Everything was carved out of grey stone, from the tables to the chairs. Even the mugs were of a greyish color. The other patrons sat at tables with grim expressions that fit the grey atmosphere. The only color in the place came from the sphere lanterns behind the main bar; they gave off dull reddish light that also seemed very gloomy. "The land that I came from was once very similar to this," replied Demoux. "We were once oppressed by a tyrant emperor who enslaved most of us and created large ashmounts everywhere that spewed ash onto the land constantly. However, we killed him and eventually fixed the land so that everything was colorful and full of life. These people are oppressed, but by their own tradition. They can't simply kill someone and-" He was interrupted by a loud crash as the door to the bar burst open and five men aggressively walked in. They had the look of warriors; four of them had leather armor and various weapons. The fifth man made a sight that immediately made Demoux forget about the gloominess of this land. He was armored in majestic crimson and gold armor from head to foot, and there were no gaps, just smaller interlocking plates. This man spoke to the bartender from behind his greathelm, ornamented with spheres on the outside that gave a bright golden glow, "Where are those foreigners I asked you to tell me about?' "Th-there," the nervous bartender was pointing straight towards them. "Idos Domi!" exclaimed Temoo, "they're after us!". He immediately drew one of his magic symbols in the air. It grew brighter and brighter until it exploded outward towards the soldiers. The four in standard leather armor were thrown across the room and hit the wall with such force that they were probably dead. The man in the majestic armor took a step back to steady himself, but was otherwise unaffected. Temoo swore again as the man in armor laughed and brought his hand to the side as if grabbing an invisible pole. "Let me take care of this one," said Demoux as he grabbed his knife from the table. He also drank a vial of atium. He had been given many of those in the black space between worlds, they seemed to have a lot there. He burned the atium and world became alive with shadowy specters resembling people and moving objects, showing him where everything would be a few seconds in the future. He started to approach the man in armor. Suddenly, the man's specter thrust at him with the hand that he had been holding out. A shadowy sword appeared in that hand which pierced his heart. What the-? Demoux thought. But he took a step back anyways to clear the blade. Sure enough, the man made the same motion with his hand and a real sword appeared out of nowhere. The blade misted on the sides and was unusually long and bright looking. The end was just an inch from his chest; it was a good thing that he had stepped back. The man grunted in surprise, but stepped forward and continued his attack with barely a moment of hesitation. Demoux saw the next swing long before it actually came and easily dodge it, the blade passing within inches of him. The man then took the sword in two hands and aimed a powerful downward swing at him. Demoux used the time bought by this costly swing to spin around to the man's back. There's not even a weak spot in the back. I guess I'll have to go for the eyeslit, he thought. The man's spectral image swung around and slashed at him, so he ducked before the real sword came around in the exact same motion, passing over his head with an inch to spare. Demoux jumped up and tried to thrust his knife into the eyeslit, but the man tilted his head back and avoided the knife. Demoux made another dodge and another thrust for the eyeslit but was again unsuccessful. I can dodge quickly, but my attacks are not helped by the atium at all. He is too good to let me stab him through the eyeslit. I need a better weapon. Knowing his opponent's next swing, Demoux took a step back and actually turned his back to the man in armor. He was looking at the four dead men on the other side of the room for a reliable weapon. The man swore as his blade passed by Demoux's back. "Fight me you cremling coward," he yelled as he tried to thrust at Demoux's back. Demoux simply rolled and ran over to where the other four soldiers had fallen. He picked up a heavy metal mallet and slammed it into the man's back with all his strength after dodging and spinning around another attack. The mallet barely affected the armor at all, but he thought there was a slight crack. From there on the battle consisted of Demoux dodging and spinning around to the man's back where he would slam in the mallet. The other bar patrons had mostly fled by now, but there were a couple gawking in open amazement. The man swore often, but did not change his tactics, he did not know what to do with an atium misting. There really wasn't a whole lot he could do. After about twenty hard swings of the mallet and downing two more vials of atium as his level got low (all while dodging the strange sword), a hole finally appeared in the armor on the man's back. Demoux grabbed his knife and then stabbed the man in the back through the hole. The man gasped and fell forward. He dropped the strange sword and it disappeared. Demoux quickly rolled him over onto his back, dodged a slow punch, and then stabbed him through the eyeslit with a powerful thrust. The man died and his sword appeared at his side. "Way to not show off your powers, friend" said Temoo from the back corner. "You're the one who made a magic symbol in the air that killed four men" said Demoux, through gasps. The fight had left him quite out of breath. "Oh well, I guess we're both in the wrong here then. Are you going to take that armor and sword? I'm pretty sure those are some of the legendary shards of this land." "Yeah, I guess they could be pretty useful," replied Demoux.