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TL;DR- I think Kelsier is a Spren, in a Nahel bond, and IS his eye spike (summoned as a spike a'la a shardblade). With that in mind, the metal of his spike would be a god metal, either Lerasium or more likely an Alloy of Lerasium and Atium either Harmonium or a different alloy of different percentages of the two. Let me defend that a bit. First, most everyone agrees that what Kelsier is/was at the end of SH, a bodyless cognitive shadow, is categorically the same type of being as a spren. We have WoBs that support this and taking it further we have WoBs that state he could enter a Nahel bond as well. So its not a totally crazy idea. Next I want to talk about who he might be bonded with. Spook. In SH we see the Connection between Kelsier and Spook. If they solidified this connection and progressed in that connection, I imagine it would be considered a Nahel bond and if it got to a certain strength I don't see why it wouldn't have similar capabilities to a radian bond in the form of summoning. Now this would also imply that Spook is still alive. Enter the Spook is 16 (from tSA) theory. This would give that theory the motivation for why he would be skipping forward in time and keeping himself alive. To keep Kelsier alive until another solution is found to keep him physical. Overall, I think this theory could explain why Kels body is the way it is along with the problems he's having, I don't think its any more crazy then saying that he's pined to a body using a regular spike in a totally unique way, and I think it plays well with other fan favorite theories such as he has a Kandra body and 16 is Spook. Do I think its true? Na probably not, but I think it sounds cool and makes sense. I'd love to hear thoughts both for and against. (This is my first post on here, please let me know if I've done anything wrong. Very excited to join this part of the community)

There will be spoilers. You have been warned, also sorry if my typing is weird my hands are shaking and I can't think straight In TLM Wax splits Harmonium, probably due to the fact that Sazed isn't stable and Ruin and Preservation aren't really one Shard. How many other ways can you make solid Investature. 1. Manifesting Splinters, ex: Spren, seons 2. Perpendicularity Harmonium somewhere in the South 3. A Shard directly granting it, I think Raysium is an example? (If enough people sing the Song of Prayer can you solidify the Voidlight Any others? WOBs perhaps?

I'm not saying Kaladin's a more interesting character. I'm saying, just as people, Kaladin is better than Kelsier. 1. Selfless... or not? Kaladin is far more selfless than Kelsier. In Rhythm of War, he gives up the possibility of peace to save his friend. He is very willing to give up his own well-being for others. But it seems like everything Kelsier does is to be THE AWESOMEST and to be seen as THE AWESOMEST. Which is a very different motivation. 2. Intentionally Starting Followings Kelsier made a kandra imitate him to intentionally start a cult/religion. All Kaladin had to do was be his awesome self-- and boom! Shash brands painted on foreheads galore! He wasn't even trying to start a cult. Which isn't the same thing, I know. But Bridge Four sorta worship him a little, which he did not intend. So Kelsier worked to make people worship him, where as Kaladin just did his thing and oops, he (kind of) started a cult. 3. Grudges Well, in the first couple books, Kaladin hates lighteyes. All. Of. Them. Well, in all of Kelsier's books, he. Hates. Nobles. He will kill nobles just for existing. And even when Kaladin was at the worst of hating lighteyes, he didn't indiscriminately murder them. And he slowly learns to get over his grudge. I see that most nobles were actually evil in Mistborn, whereas not as much so in Stormlight. But still, Kelsier takes his hate to a disturbing level. And he basically refuses to see that any nobles could be good. Whereas by Words of Radiance, Kaladin is willing to see that lighteyes(Shallan, Dalinar) can be good people. Even when Kelsier saves Elend's life, he does it because of Vin, not because he thinks Elend is a worthwhile person. Whereas Kaladin uses what he thinks are his last breaths to try and protect a lighteyes(in WoR). Honorary Mention: 4. The Ghostbloods??? Okay, this one is less supported and less reasoned out. <---(is that a thing people say?) But I don't know, the Ghostbloods seem pretty shady. And... yeah. Kelsier... is...(beware, weird Cosmerian spoilers follow...) Thaidakar! Leader of the Ghostbloods! And if that's not fishy, I don't know what is. Disclaimer: I have not read Mistborn Era 2.(haha almost spelled Era as Ear) But yeah! Feel free to argue discuss to your heart's content! I will see if anyone changes my mind...(do I know what that emoji means exactly...? not really. oh well.)

this is another theory that I have had for a while but haven't done anything with. I think that in the pits of Hathsin the voice telling Kelsier to survive is actually him being granted a Dawnshard by preservation. my main reason for this is that he describes it as a command in an extremely similar way to when Rysn gets her Dawnshard. another reason I have for this is that preservation says that he was the one telling Kelsier to survive in the pits but the thing is that it is an important aspect of preservation that he cannot speak into the mind of people, only read them. however, the biggest reason I have for this is that throughout era 1 it is a very important thing that Leras couldn't ruin, even to preserve, we know that this isn't an aspect of the power because vin can still do it when she has the shard. what I'm saying is that the reason for Leras being unable to cause harm, even having his hand being forced when he stabs Elend, is that he held a Dawnshard, which prevents him from causing harm. Also who better to hold the Dawnshard of survival than the shard of preservation. now a larger part of my theory is why preservation would give a Dawnshard to Kelsier, I think that the reason for this is that in Leras's grand plan which we hear fuzz speak of in secret history is actually to form harmony and that in order to do that he needed to have Kelsier kill the lord ruler and so needed to give him motivation by saving him from death at Rashek's command, thus allowing the events of the rest of the series to take place, eventually resulting in Sazed becoming harmony. now you may ask if this was preservations plan all along, than why was Fuzz horrified when he found out that Kelsier had caused the lord rulers death. the answer to this is simple in that we hear Fuzz say that he doesn't remember the plan and know that he has progressively lost his mind. I'd like to know what holes you guys can see in this theory.

Ok, so this has been bugging me: does holding all 16 shards necessarily mean you become Adonalsium? Because in Sazed/Harmony’s case, his Intents work against each other, making him unable to act. If all 16 intents are present, wouldn’t you just be frozen and unable to act? Could a solution to this be a Bondsmith? If Dalinar gained enough power, I bet he could bind the shards together into Adonalsium if Intent becomes a problem.

okay so this might be a bit crazy but I think Sazed is going to resurrect vin (or try to) so I was reading row when I noticed in Saze's letter that he says that he needs something or someone that embodies both ruin and preservation to represent him the he says "a sword, say that can both protect and kill" I thought this could represent Nightblood but I remember in the well of ascension that Vin considered herself as a knife that can both protect and kill so what if Saze is referring to an adult vin being sent to Roshar since vin was seventeen in the well of ascension.

You can use Hemalurgy to transfer Allomantic and Feruchemichal powers. Could you also use this to transfer certain aspects of surgebinding? If so, what kind of spikes would you use? Would you use gemstones? If you know of any threads that can answer these questions, please tell me. Feel free to tear my theory apart, I am kind of new at this.

More than ten years after the Wax and Wayne books, Waxillium finds he is not impressed by Modern art. (Canon compliant up to the end of Bands of Mourning and Secret History. AU*). For @Kingsdaughter613; whom requested that I post it here. It is little changed from the original, so all...issues are still there, etc. A/N: With apologies to Duchamp... 000 Wax had agreed to go to the exhibition because he had nothing better to do, and well, Steris had insisted. Rotting at home like a piece of old-furniture under a white sheet was not the way he wanted to spend retirement. Admit it, he thought, examining the gallery of truly...strange...’art’, Steris’ arm wrapped around his; they shuffled throughout the exhibition, abut slowly and stiffly, you’re bored, Wax...and curious. It was like a new mystery, waiting for him to solve it. Rumors abounded at parties and other functions he still found himself attending, the nobility and wealthy whispered about the frightening, sometimes ‘horrifying’ art. They said painters had gone wild. That they used bright colors, strange shapes, and lines of all kinds. Creating ‘abstract’ art (whatever the hell that meant, exactly) of every kind: from ‘landscapes’ to ‘portraits’ to ‘sculptures’. Worse still, were the found objects, things taken from everyday life and then chosen by artists as art. The whole upper-crust of Elendel was in a panic about an art gallery...At first, however, Wax didn’t give a dam-n. He didn’t even like art. Then MeLaan had flung a newspaper in his face (more or less) that morning.(1) He muttered something about being ‘too old for whatever crap she had found,’ She’d responded with a candid reply about her age, which didn’t count, after all, she was an immortal, but Wax hadn’t gotten a word in edge-wise before she pointedly strutted out of the room to talk with Wayne. Wayne had never moved out of Ladrian manor, and when Wayne had married MeLaan...they’d just acquired a new house ‘guest’. Leaning back into his plush chair, Wax had taken a sip of whiskey from the glass the kandra had brought him behind Steris’ back; (his wife insisted that one of the causes of his...health issues...was whiskey, he doubted it, though, chasing after criminals had done hell to the knees and back). Wax glanced down at the newspaper...and stared, blankly at it. There was a photograph of a...urinal on the front-page? He fished for the reading glasses Wayne had given him(2) on the end-table. After sliding them on, Wax squinted. Indeed, an urinal. Wax’s eye twitched. It hadn’t done that in nearly a decade...but... ”Dam-n.” That episode had brought them here, to this gallery, surrounded by the strangest rust he had ever seen. Each piece had a plaque, some plaques described the art, others said nothing at all related, and Steris insisted that they stop at each, dam-n piece. To gawk, to stare, to admire it, he guessed, Wax didn’t know what nobles even did at art exhibitions. Except maybe wish they had stayed home instead. His feet hurt, his knees ached, and he rubbed the small of his back to alleviate its pain. He wasn’t even that old yet, but dam-n he sometimes felt like a man in his nineties, not fifties. ”And this,” his beautiful wife said, dragging him over to a sculpture that looked like a giant railroad spike hammered into a wooden stole, “Is a piece by Kay, he is a wonderful artist, renowned for his ‘readymades’...” ”Kay?” He frowned. That named sounded...strangely familiar. He couldn’t place it. Maybe he had read it in the newspaper...or heard it on the radio. Wax wasn’t sure what to make of this Spiking thin air, either, except that he doubted some random... Wax bowed his head then whispered in her ear, “It looks like hemalurgy...or a mockery of it...” Spikes in dead wood couldn’t bestow powers or attributes to that object. Even if it was charged, it was losing whatever Investiture it had, its powers slowly slithering back to Harmony. Still...he lifted a hand to his chin in thought. ”He’s an artist,” she rebuked; then tugged on his arm, trying to urge him to move on. Wax hadn’t expected her to be so...excited about this. Yet, Steris’ subtle smile hadn’t left her face since they had arrived, almost an hour ago. “That doesn’t mean he couldn’t also be a...” “Waxillium,” from her tone of voice he knew he was in trouble, “you will not...” Despite her warning, Wax burned steel (which MeLaan had slipped into his whiskey), checking the spike. It was...heavily Invested metal, he couldn’t Push it. Iron, probably. Too heavily Invested to be a spike, considering that the show had been going on for a few weeks. Probably a metalmind. Huh. Kay had an interesting sense of humor, it seemed. If I didn’t know better... “Is there any more work by him?” Her brow furled slightly as she considered his words. “Yes...” “It’s probably innocent...” Steris sighed. “I couldn’t Push it,” he whispered. This made her eyes widen, he noted a little fire in their blue depths. Excitement. Wax nodded. “Does Kay have any more sculptures at this exhibition?” “There are some others pieces of work, yes,” Steris said, leading him away, “if it gets too dangerous...” “I’m sure it will not,” he answered, “I’m retired.” She flattened her lips for a moment. “It’s not like...” “You brought your ironminds?” He nodded. Of course he had. He didn’t feel comfortable walking around at his actual weight. He hadn’t done so in years; even months into his retirement, Wax hadn’t let go of vital, old habits. “And?” “Two.” She glanced at the two holstered guns, their tips sticking out under his coat, then at the third one on his leg, and up at the fourth one, too, which was in a holster on his left arm. It was a small, experiment weapon Ranette had given him a few months back. Ranette, like both MeLaan and Wayne, insisted his retirement was fake. “Four.” “I couldn’t...” “Learn the meaning of retirement in only three months, therefore, I must act like it’s a clever jest pulled on me by my wife...,” she said, he smiled, “try not to make a scene here, it’s an art gallery.” “That’s art?” Wax pointed at a strange painting, two light blue gears on a green background. It looked more like a diagram for a weird machine than it did a any art he had ever seen. A cruel mockery of it, considering that the artist had labeled one gear ‘woman’ and the other ‘man’. “It’s a Spool.” “Is that what it’s called?” “Spool’s the artist,” she answered, taking his hand then slowly leading him away. Soon, they entered another room. From the plaques, he saw that all these pieces were works by Kay. Like the Spiking thin air, most were everyday objects, or slightly modified things. One sculpture was a chair laid on its side. Another was a tall, slender box of glass filled with random pieces of metal: nails, screws, and other things situated to make plain of metallic pieces. A few abstract paintings hung on the wall. In the center of all this ‘art’ stood the urinal, on a thick, wooden pole, like it was some kind of strange... Is it supposed to be a spear? He chewed his inner cheek. “If you burn steel,” said someone behind them, “you’ll see what’s actually there.” Wax glanced over his shoulder, then, turned around slowly. That had to be the artist. Wax had read in that earlier article that Kay was a tall, blond haired man whom often wore well-tailored suits. Kay did not dress the part of the typical, poor artist. He wore his hair long, bangs falling past his right eye, which, Wax noted, was covered by a thick, black patch. Kay’s one good eye was lined, hazel; all things considered, he looked like one of Wayne’s fictional pirates in a nice suit. Wax didn’t like him. The paper said he was twenty-nine, he looked more like fifty. Either time had lied to Kay, or he had lied to them. “Come again?” Kay grinned. “Burn steel.” Wax did as asked, curiosity pecking at the back of his brain. The grin on Kay’s face grew larger, a little wild, a little feral. That caused Wax to frown...he looked back at the glass box, not sure... Wax blinked, then stared. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now that he burned steel, he saw...that some of the pieces of metal in the glass box were noticeably more faint than others. They formed a picture, one that only a person who could burn iron or steel could see, and only if they were looking for it. It was supposed to look like any other piece of...chaotic anti-art in the gallery. Ironically meaningless, mocking the upper class that expected art to appeal to their aesthetic tastes... But, this...was beautiful. The portrait of a woman, her hair blowing in the wind. A portrait only people like him could see. It must have meant that Kay could burn iron or steel, too. And...Wax realized he knew that woman...it... He swiveled around, then glared at Kay. You’re getting slow in your old age, Wax, he told himself. In the old days, he would’ve known when he saw the blond hair and the ill-fitting, thick eye-patch. “You’re him.” “He doesn’t like this idea,” replied Kay, crossing his arms, “but as I have assured him, no one would think to look for it.” Wax heard something that may have amounted to a sigh... It did not sound like Steris, who had tensed beside him. Only a few others were in this part of the exhibition, and none were close enough for Wax to have heard the their conversation. He’d left his earring in. The others in the room looked blurry, they were in a speed-bubble. Wax reached for one of his guns. “Please,” Kay said, still wearing that obnoxious smile, “we’re in an art gallery.” His hand remained on its handle. Yes, he knew it was useless, but cosmere be damned, he wouldn’t... “You won’t kill me with that.” Kay-no, Kelsier-Pushed, gently, on the weapon. “It’s not worth shooting the whole gallery up for this, is it?” Wax nodded, hand dropping to his side. A part of Wax doubted he could draw and fire fast enough to do any damage anyway. “You inspired the whole countryside to near rebellion.”(3) “I gave them hope.” At these words, Steris squeezed Wax’s hand. “And the Set-” “Kid, why in hell would I want Scandrial’s destruction?” The grin melted off his face. His gaze hardened. “We want to protect this world, not destroy it.” Wax did not answer. He...Harmony had not given him all the facts, and Wax hadn’t asked, presuming god wouldn’t give him those kinds of answers. Wax had jumped to conclusions, ran with (the little) evidence he and Marasi had... “Then why?” “It’s a gift,” he said, not answering the question Wax wanted, but Wax was not completely sure what question to ask, either. Are you still friends? Wax asked. Harmony did not respond. That sent a chill up his spine. “Harmony and I do not always agree on how things should be done,” he said. Steris grew pale, her hand, cold. Wax studied his wife, she hadn’t spoken once in the whole exchange, but her eyes had grown wide and she trembled in both shock and fear. It wasn’t everyday that one meant their god in an art gallery. “He doesn’t always like the actions I take, and I can’t say I like his choices either, but neither of us wanted the Set to succeed.” “And you left it to us,” Wax said, “you let...” “I did help...” But how, Wax knew, Kelsier would not tell. No, Kelsier wasn’t the kind of person who would reveal such relevant secrets. Why would he tell them this? “Where I could...it’s not about my ability to survive, to overcome...” “But ours...” Kelsier smiled at Steris’ words, unlike before, it touched his eye. Wax hadn’t heard that the Survivor was known for being sincere. “But you’re going to buy this piece.” “What.” “Or appear to,” he said, gesturing to the slender, glass case filled with metal, “it’s a gift...an apology, in a way.” “That doesn’t make sense.” “Fullborn need not make sense,” he said. Wax felt a headache starting at his temples. “Bend-alloy’s running out, dropping in three...two...” “We’ll make sure to send one of our servants to retrieve it soon,” Steris said, “it is a wonderful piece, I am a great admirer of yours.” He was amazed she could say that with such a plain look on her face. “Thank you,” Kelsier replied, taking her hand, he placed something in the pocket of her coat as he kissed the tips of her fingers. A part of Wax wanted to punch that obnoxious bastard for that gesture. “My lady?” “Steris Ladrian.” After a few more pleasantries, they left the gallery in a rush, Steris nearly dragging him away. Her eyes never met his until they reached their car and slipped into the back seat. Wax still hated motored vehicles, but no one in their class traveled in horse-drawn carriages anymore. If I hate cars so much, Wax thought, distracted momentarily, what do four-hundred year old men think of these things? Even when they settled into their seats and Steris glared at him until he buckled his seat belt, his wife did not speak. Instead, she stared out the window, watching the city pass them by as their driver, Hoid, took them home. “Steris?” he asked, breaking the awkward silence that had filled the cab. The driver had shut the small plastic window between him and the cab to give them some privacy, though he could probably here their conversation despite that. “He was not what I expected,” she said at long last. “Harmony is not what I expected,” he answered, placing an arm around her shoulder and bringing her to rest her head against his chest, “not even now, but the first time we spoke I was being shot at.” She giggled, though he could hear the faint echo of tears in her voice, “He’s hard...cold why did he insist on us having it?” Minutes passed. Quiet, uncertain minutes in which he gathered his thoughts. “Wax?” “What did he place in your pocket?” She blinked, then checked the pocket of her coat. Steris took out a small coin attached to a ribbon, bearing the engraving of Sovereign's face; it was a metalmind like the Southerners used. Bastard. “It’s a portrait that can only be seen when one burns iron or steel,” he answered. “Fascinating,” she replied, “it’s a con, isn’t it?” This suggestion left Wax bewildered. Just...like the rest of the art. But Kelsier was a con man, the Historica said, of course it was just another con. “We can see the portrait,” she said, “but most of our guests will see it as just a strange and frivolous piece of modern art without meaning or importance. The elderly, eccentric couple who...” Wax touched her tear-stained cheek. Gently, she placed her hand over his, meeting his steady gaze at last. “It might be better that way...” She cocked an eyebrow. “It’s of Lessie.” His sweet wife squeezed his hand, she did not speak, and neither did he. He was not certain what to say, sometimes...words could do little to speak truths. Some days, Harmony said, I think, he may be my friend, Waxillium. Others, I am certain we are enemies. More and more often, however, I am simply unsure. But he cares for this world, its people...he does love it... Though he does not understand what that means. 000 Three days later, Kay the artist was declared dead by authorities. If Kelsier were to ask Marsh, it was a little too dramatic, but he liked the idea that most of Kay’s art had gone up in smoke. It seemed a fitting fate for art that was supposed to be anarchic by nature, and Kay had burned up with it, a victim of a terrible accident although the authorities never found the body. Kelsier had simply left the burning building joining the crowd, slipping past all the chaos in the streets. No one else had been there, he’d made sure of it. Sazed would probably give him an earful anyways; after all, he had destroyed the work of others as well as his own, and destroyed a building, too. He stored Connection in a metalmind, using it to give him some peace, though Sazed would speak to him about this happenstance eventually. Or, he thought, sitting on one of the highest ledges on top of one of Elendel’s newest skyscrapers, he may send Marsh. What a joy that would be. Another lecture... He loved his brother, but Marsh could be a serious pain in the as-s at times. Sazed had yet to do so. Instead, he perched alone, looking out over Elendel as night fell over the city. The stars above, the Red Ripe too, filling him with worry, and the mist below, covering street and building alike. It was a thick mist tonight, nearly as thick as the nights in Luthadel. A few strands reached the ledge, licking his feet, attracted by his Allomancy. He smiled. Tin and Steel burned warmly in his stomach, but even that could not fully chase away the late winter chill, even in a city that rarely ever received snow. Here though, he could wrap his mistcloak around his body tightly, and watch the night pass by in peace, tapping Wakefulness to keep sleep at bay...Soon, however, he spotted a dark figure bounding up through the mists. Even after more than three-and-a-half centuries, Marsh lacked the gracefulness of a Mistborn. His spikes had granted him immense power, but his Pushes and Pulls were always a tad too strong, a bit too powerful. Whereas a Mistborn’s leaps and bounds were like a dancer flying through the mists, Marsh had as much grace as Windrunner falling with style. (4) Marsh eventually reached the ledge, although he had to Push on it to slow down his fall, denting it slightly. He landed on the skyscraper with a thud, announcing his presence, but Kelsier continued to peer down at the streets, watching the electric lights form pools of white or yellow in the mists. “Kelsier.” “Good evening, Marsh.” He raised a hand at his brother, but did not turn his head as he heard him approach. Like a fellow gargoyle, Marsh sat on the roof beside him. “Burning down art galleries?” his brother asked in that soft, gravelly voice he had managed to acquire throughout the centuries. It really had helped Marsh to make a frightening Death, all things considered. It was a nice finishing to the doom and groom vibe that his black cloak and multiple spikes helped to create. Appearance wise, he was an excellent choice for the role, personality wise, though, he still had a lot to work on. Marsh was still too kind to be Death. “Everyone was fine.” Kelsier waved a hand, trying to push back Marsh’s accusation like he might push the mist into the earth. Neither worked very well. “They found a boy’s body in the debris.” He meant his brother’s spiked eyes. “I didn’t...” “Know?” “There wasn’t anyone there,” he argued, standing, anger powering his steps as he began to pace the ledge, “I swear, I checked...” “He went in to save you,” said Marsh. He ran a hand through his now-short blond hair. It still covered most of his right eye, though he had removed the patch and stuck it in his pocket. “It...who?” “They weren’t sure.” He stopped pacing, standing at the opposite end of the ledge, glaring down the city like his...accident was its fault. “And Harmony?” He lifted his head. Marsh lips bent upwards a tad. “You know how he feels about telling us the last moments of others before they pass onto the Beyond.” Harmony believed that each person deserved privacy when they died. He’d only gotten to speak with...a few when Harmony requested it and if he was in the Cognitive Realm at the time. Most of those had been Survivorists; or their friends, like Breeze and Ham. “How old was he?” “Eighteen,” came his brother’s answer, “twenty at most. They were not sure.” Vin’s age when...His mouth grew dry. Thinking of that made him feel old, tired, but not the kind of tiredness a Feruchemist could simply store in a metalmind and be done with. No, it was the strange kind of weariness which sometimes came to those who had lived for so long... Kelsier gathered his cloak around him as though to shield him from both cold and time itself. “Dam-n.” He sighed, staring out into the mists. He hadn’t...meant it to go so far. He often did not like it when it did. He had gone too far with Spook, even with the Southerners, but he couldn’t always tell what too far looked like, when he went to the extent that he toyed with the hearts’ of people he tried to help. Preservation’s command not to do so still whispered in his Soul. It left him feeling something close to guilt, but what Marsh said next did not. “And you destroyed all that art.” “Anti-art,” he corrected, holding up a finger, “it was almost a perfect con.” Marsh frowned. His brother probably thought he should have been more somber, but, he was Kelsier, somber was boring. “Kelsier,” he said, “you destroyed a whole building...” A part of him laughed at that. Of all the things Marsh could reprimand him for, a building seemed like the least thing on that list, considering that he'd nearly brought down a whole civilization, once. Still, that had been centuries ago. They had to step much more carefully now... “They have insurance,” he answered, shrugging. “Listen, do you know how many wealthy bastards were frightened or bewildered by that crap? They tried to give meaning to shi-t.” “You made shi-t, art.” “I made them think it was art,” he said, grinning, “they bought into it, literally, it’s nearly as good as that time I tricked all those Elantrians to believe I was Ruin.” If his brother had eyes, he might have rolled them. Instead, lips flattened informing Kelsier that he had properly annoyed him. “That...” “Was brilliant.” Marsh grunted. “Bridge Four?” he asked, “Rosharans grunt so much that grunts are now their common tongue. Considering how many languages they have, it's the only one that they all can completely comprehend.” This elicited a chuckle at least. They again sat together in companionable silence, the night quickly passing into early dawn. The first rays of sunshine covered the city, bathing the city in red light, turning the skyscrapers into dark silhouettes against the rising sun. He dimmed his tin, letting it simmer, sunrises up here were brilliant, but he only had one eye to see them with, the other couldn’t tell the difference between night or day. It had its uses, other than creating a Connection to his Physical form. With the old Inquisitor spike, he could see any trace metals in buildings, ground, or even people, and use those to Push or Pull as needed. By creating a puncture in the Spiritual then through the Cognitive and into the Physical Realm, it let his Investiture into his his old body, anew, providing a new string. Spikes pierced into the soul. There was more to it than that, but each day was a new one taken, stolen for-- “Brother,” he frowned, but looked up at Marsh as he spoke, “why did you give Waxillium that portrait?” Why does this feel like one of Saze’s inquiries? He did not ask that, Marsh should have been proud. Perhaps age had quelled his tongue a tad at long last. “It was a gift.” Marsh stared at him with those spiked eyes. Even Kelsier sometimes found them unnerving despite having one of his own. “Is it possible that I feel some guilt for all that occurred? Or...something akin to it?” “Is it that...or...?” “I just wanted to help.” He wasn’t sure if that was true, or if he had just wanted to present his ironic anti-art. Anarchy with a solution. He wasn’t a good man, after all, Vin had taught him that. He had too much ego to be truly good, no matter how hard he tried... In some ways, his Connection to others was frayed...broken. “Alright,” he said, throwing Marsh his infamous insufferable grin, “it was about style too.“ All he got in reply was yet another grunt which quickly transformed into a gravelly sigh. His brother just had to accept it was one of those days. 000 Original A/N: It’s hard writing cosmere fanfiction especially for something that hasn’t been written yet and also based on the Modern art period. I need to add more details on mechanist art, but probably later. Tumblr gets the rough draft, I’m so sorry...not really. While somethings aren’t said outright, partially because of predicting canon is hard, Marasi isn’t mentioned. Also, this supposes that Wax doesn’t meet Kelsier in the Last Metal, which makes this highly likely that it will end up as an AU. I don’t, personally, think that the Set is Kell’s organization [who knows what WoB might brew, though], I think his commented to protecting the world outweighs that likelihood. That being said, I think it might be his fault, partially, that things are the way that they are in the series. Kell is, obviously, messing around, partially because he can’t leave people alone. He’s right, he inspires people, but he plays with them too because he can’t see that other people also have feelings as well as most can [being a sociopath], though I think he’s gotten a little better at it after forming some healthier links with Preservation in Secret History. Kelsier still does not get that harassing nobles just to harass nobles isn’t nice, though. And thus...MISTBORN-STYLE DADA WAS BORN BECAUSE KELL IS ANARCHIST. 1) MeLaan has a passion for throwing news papers in people’s faces, apparently, she did this to TenSoon and now has done it to Wax too. She also will probably do it to Wayne too. 2) Imagine how that went. lol. 3) Since Alloy, lone persons have mentioned seeing Kelsier in the countryside encouraging them; in Bands of Mourning, some of the captured Set members mentioned stories of the Survivor stuffed into their head (to incite Civil War). Assuming Wax heard of the later stories from Marasi, he is drawing assumptions about Kelsier’s role/relationship with the Set (which will probably not be destroyed, I think, but will prove to be a much larger threat than we know). 4) Yes, this assumes that Kelsier has been to Roshar, and doesn’t think that Windrunning is as graceful as Allomancy. What an elitist.

Just looking for some input on a very implausible theory...if harmony were to combine the pits of hathsin with the well of ascension...(theoretically) what would the product be like? The liquid in the well of ascension makes you nearly omnipotent for a brief time...atium makes you omniscient (sort of) for a period of time...would the combination of the two be some crazy powerful middle ground?...something totally different from either?...or would they balance out to something kind of lame?...also...how would the use of duralumin impact it's use?