TwiLyghtSansSparkles

If Different Authors Wrote the Stormlight Archive

88 posts in this topic

Edgar Allen Poe:

Once there was a bunch of people living on Roshar. Then they all died of tuberculosis.

Quoth the skyeel, "Nevermore."
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Dr. Seuss

 

One spren, two spren,

Lie spren, truth spren.

Are the blue spren truly glue spren?

This one makes a skyeel fly,

That one shows up when you die.

Oh what a lot of spren I spy!

 

You have light in your spheres, You have shards in your hand,

You have surges to help you to fly and to land!

So where will you go?  Somewhere high? Somewhere low?

To the great Reshi Isles, or somewhere with snow?

Perhaps you will dine on some Horneater Stew,

Delivered directly through Urithiru.

Or maybe the Shin will sell you a chicken

(eating it helps Thaylen eyebrows to thicken).

There’s so many places and people and spren,

It’s easy to wonder just where your path ends.

But please, don’t forget, it’s the way that you walk

that matters much more than the place that you stop.

Yes, the road that you take, whether straight, curved, or bendy

always matters the most—just ask the Parshendi.

 

I just saw this for the first time today.  This is the greatest post the 17th Shard has ever seen (not including posts by Brandon and Peter).

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Because it's my pet genre, let's have Stormlight Archives, Regency Romance edition!

 

 

 

"That ship, you may have noticed, had two very fine cabins that I hired out for us at no small expense," said Countess Jasnah, with a sigh of dignified resignation.  "It is rather a shame that I cannot say likewise for the quality of these...lodgings.  And it seems my cousin dearest shan't be gracing us with his presence and has engaged a proxy to escort us to the Court."

 

Shallan hadn't thought the journey tedious - not at all:  it was one thousand nautical miles from Kharbranth to the great port of Varikev in Roionshire, most of it spent splendidly barefoot and scandalously clad only in her chemise and petticoats.  The days on the road since had been less pleasant, of course: fifty miles a day by carriage, a night spent in a common coaching house, fifty miles the next.  It was only a wonder that the constant rhythmic rattle and clop of the horses hadn't been drummed permanently into her head.

 

But now they had arrived at the very last coaching house, curiously named "The Black Thorn Inn".  The idea of her marrying still seemed strange to Shallan, though it hadn't necessarily been one she was dreading.  Day by day the journey had shortened ahead of her, and though she was glad of it, she had mused on what few joys she had left.  Kholinar Court, the hereditary seat of the Kholin dukes, was the destination - the terminal, one could say, and Shallan was briefly solemn as she was reminded that it could very well be place where her body was interred.  It was not her home; it could never be - it was not a place where friends awaited her arrival with fond welcome.

 

Shallan and Countess Jasnah stood under the shaded eaves of the inn, porters scurrying around them to pile up their numerous steamer trunks, travel valises and awkwardly shaped hatboxes.  As they watched, a cloud of dust slowly drifted over the horizon to soften the sharp blue of the sky with a fringe of golden mist.  A line of carts - that was it - clattering down the road, gaily painted in Kholin blue, preceded by a carriage with the Duke's arms in white upon the doors. 

 

"Hallo!" cried the man sitting on the high driver's seat next to the coachman.  He was a lanky man whose long legs bumped up against the coachman's on the narrow shelf of a seat.  With unexpected grace, he swung himself to the ground, and Shallan noticed that his shoulder-length hair had not been tied into a tail as current fashion dictated.   He had on a plain gentleman's suit - no sign of ducal livery - the wool worn shiny on knees and elbows. "There you are.  We must make haste-"

 

"If it pleases you...sir," said Countess Jasnah, rather coldly.  "Might I have the pleasure of an introduction?  Cousin Adolin promised a trusted proxy to receive us, but I am afraid I do not recognise you."

 

She did not hold out her hand for a kiss.  He did not bow.

 

"Doctor Kaladin," said he, pulling a leather wallet from the inside of his coat.  "The Duke's personal physician.  My letter of introduction, addendum by the Prince Dalinar and reference from the Duke's brother the Marquess of Kholinshire." 

 

He held it out to Countess Jasnah, who stared at it for a second, then took it stiffly.

 

"You must be the girl, then.  A Scot," Doctor Kaladin said, as he turned to Shallan, looking her up and down, then added, "though I can hardly imagine that you would be any more of a nuisance than the Duke's, ah, previous matches." 

 

Shallan felt unpleasant emotions rise up in her throat; she was scarcely aware of what exactly they were, though she was certain they were neither becoming nor ladylike.  She did know, however, that impertinence answered by impudence was fair and just, and that Jasnah was out of earshot directing the porters to load the carts with their luggage. 

 

 

 

 

THE END.

now you remember how much you hated when a PoV chapter ends and a Lift interlude starts.

Edited by sheep
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Sheep, that was amazing! I very much want to read more of the Regency Archives. Thank you for thoroughly convincing me this genre port is necessary. I eagerly await the next installment. (I presume you are doing this as a serial publication, of which this entry was only the first taste?)

@vineyarddawg- thank you for the compliment, and I'm glad you like it. (FYI I am planning to expand it and make an illustrated copy to give Brandon when SA3 comes out.) But I feel compelled to say that you may be suffering from a severe tendency toward hyperbole.

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THE END.

now you remember how much you hated when a PoV chapter ends and a Lift interlude starts.

 

This part is Golden.

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Stormlight Archives Regency Romance

PART TWO

 

 

 

 

If this stranger, this Doctor Kaladin, had been properly courteous - or even good-humoured in the least, in his manner - Shallan would have felt no inclination to respond with insolence.  But he had not the air of an elegant gentleman; that surely would have made her shy instinctively towards girlish hesitance.  Doctor Kaladin had instead a dark face with heavy brow furrowed in irritation; though he was young - not much older than her, on inspection - his face had none of the softness or gentleness of youth; his lips were set into a stern line.  This Kaladin creature spoke with the cultured tones of gentle breeding; despite this, he seemed set on being disagreeable from the start: Shallan had always thought herself sympathetic with those of lesser station, but here, she could feel nothing but antipathy.

"Aye, ye be addressing the Lady Shallan," said Shallan, exaggerating her rural accent to one fitting of the servants back home.  Her former governess, Madame Tyn, made a study of regional accents and dialects, and had taught her on the condition to never speak like that in front of distinguished company.  That would hardly apply to Kaladin.  "Pledged clanswoman and shieldbearer to The McValam."

"You don't sound like a lady," remarked Kaladin bluntly.

She gave him shallow curtsey, no more than a mere dip of the knees, and with a curt toss of her head, circled around him.

"Ye dinna look like any doctor I ken," Shallan said.  "A real surgeon would ha' better hair than yers, I reckon.  Do ye keep it for emergency bandages?"

Kaladin sputtered.  "Emergency bandages-"

"Too stringy fer tha', maybe.  Emergency sutures, more like."

Kaladin's brows gathered together, and his mouth twisted down with ire.  "You do not seem like any lady, would I not be mistaken if I judge you an opportunistic impostor who has managed to deceive herself into Lady Jasnah's good graces?  And I, Miss, am no leech-peddling barber surgeon."

"E'en tha' job's got folks looking foward to yer comin', aye," said Shallan, "I'd think ye'd be better suited fer bailiff...or hangman.  Ye would'na need a rope when yer breath would work faster."

Kaladin's face reddened pleasantly, or so Shallan thought, and his body stiffened.  He took a breath, then stepped closer to her, hands clenched in tense fists by his side.  "Look, you-," he began.

"Lady Shallan, the carriage awaits," called Countess Jasnah.  The last trunk had been loaded onto the last cart; the first had already departed and was now a merry puff of golden dust on the road ahead.  "Doctor, your credentials are in order.  My uncle the prince recommends you warmly, I am most astonished to see."

"Yes," Kaladin said, and after a pause, "thank you."  He turned finally away from Shallan, and took the offered wallet from Jasnah's hands.  He did not offer the wallet to Shallan; instead he tucked it into his coat's inner pocket.

Lady Jasnah nodded; a footman bowed as he held open the carriage door painted with the tower-and-crown in white with gold details.  The folding steps had already been pulled out.

"A Kharbranth Academy scholar, I was naturally impressed to see that," said Jasnah, holding her skirts, as she ducked into the soft curtained dimness.  "Will you be joining us for the ride to the house, Doctor?"

Doctor Kaladin's eyes flicked sideways at Shallan.  He had composed himself by now, and she observed that when he wasn't dis-tempered, he made a well-formed figure of a man - taller than most, with handsome breadth of shoulders, and graceful hands etched here and there with pale white scars over tanned fingers and knuckles.  His face, though it lacked in beauty or elegance, had its own decisive character made more distinguished by darkly perceptive eyes.

Shallan tore herself away and took the footman's guiding arm into the carriage.  She did not look back.

"I shall ride with the coachman, if it pleases you, Lady Jasnah," said Kaladin after a few moments.  "I would not want the road dust from my journey here to soil your clothes nor the upholstery - my Duke had it cleaned for your arrival.  He comes from The City to-night and expects Lady Shallan's informal presentation for this evening after supper."  

There were a few clinks and creaks as footmen found their places, and the horses shuffled impatiently in their traces, then the carriage started moving.  

Shallan twitched aside the pale blue lace curtains on the window and watched the warm green countryside trundle by, dotted and dashed with the occasional hayrick or wind-breaking treeline.   She now felt a thrill; elation gently warmed in her chest: the world suddenly seemed to blossom around her when not very long ago she had imagined that it was like a box folding inwards and unstoppably inwards.  She had dealt with that Doctor Kaladin, unpleasant as he was, with remarkable ease; no doubt this unfamiliar southern land would be filled with many such as he, but she could - yes she would - crest over such trifling difficulties and find herself comfortably settled as a lady Duchess that all of Anglethi society would look to.

 

 

 

THE END.

Now imagine a Purelake Interlude here.  I skip that one every time I re-read. 

 

 

 

Author's Notes:

The last time I wrote short stories or fanfiction was 4 or 5 years ago, so I'm a little rusty with my prose.  For stylistic influences in this work, though I'm copying the writing style of classic period romances in general (not the modern paperback bodice-rippers), I would name Charlotte Bronte as the main inspiration to fit with the thread topic.  Of course there's some Austen in there as well, mixed with more modern authors for the dialogue lines because I feel using old-style for that sounds too stiff and lacks emotional impact.

 

A few hundred years ago, barbers and surgeons were the same thing.  Physicians diagnosed illnesses, but it was barber-surgeons who did the actual surgery and amputations.  Their razors could cut skin and give a close shave.  Shallan is joking Kaladin on his unfashionable and messy hair.  A bailiff in medieval times collected taxes as part of their job.  I also referenced the scene in the hallway of Elhokar's palace when Shallan meets Kaladin for the second time in Words of Radiance.

 

If you're wondering why I made Shallan Scottish, it's a reference to the post from a similar thread here, and since all those classic romances took place in England, I tried to make a weird fusion for humourous reasons.

Edited by sheep
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Excellent work, sheep!  Though I confess that I'd have been a little more moved if Lady Shallan had said something like, "Well, now tha' ya found me out, I'm a haf' ta take yer boots fer safekeepin'.  Ya know, t'make sure ya don't spread my secret around."  :D

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The Stormlight Archives Regency Romance

PART THREE

 

 

 

The carriage had arrived and the luggage brought up to the House - it would be a disservice to call Kholinar Court, with its long curving drive, cultivated gardens, fancifully mismatched architecture, and parade of servants waiting outside the front door to greet them, a mere house.  It was a House, a Grand House, one of the ten in this country; Shallan hadn't the fortune to see any other for herself, but she could not imagine a House grander; Dun McValam was a quaint folly in comparison. 

 

She had, with the help of a housemaid, changed from her hard-wearing travelling clothes in muslin and wool to the best she had for now - a blue silk dress from home she had, on a bit of whimsy, embroidered on the skirt and hem with mathematically inspired designs.  The current Duke and his younger brother were bachelors; the House had not seen a feminine touch since the death of the Duke's mother ten years before: the Prince their father had not seen fit to remarry, and thus the House had gone without lady-in-waiting or lady's maid for a decade now.

 

Shallan was used to dressing herself and the housemaid unused to dressing another.  She had crouched down on the floor in front of the mirror to lace herself up as she did at home; she'd found that it was easier to settle the layered underskirts in place whilst lying on her back, but a timid false-cough from the maid had reminded her that she would now have to rely on others - one habit with which she was haltingly unfamiliar. The dress was cut simply and more suitable for a burgher's wife than a noble lady; it was designed so that one could dress and dress alone.  Shallan decided then that she would gleefully welcome the label of "eccentric" if it meant not having strangers' cold fingers wandering over the bare skin of her back.

 

***

 

Shallan had not attended many formal dinners before, but she could not say that this one had been a success.   The servants had made an effort, yes - that could not be disregarded.  There must have been an intense debate downstairs over how to arrange the seating; everyone who aspired to call themselves well-bred and had read a manual on etiquette knew that in hosting mixed company - which they were, and none of the three of them wed - you alternated gentlemen between the ladies and made up the difference with obligation-invitations when you found your number woefully uneven.  But Countess Jasnah, though the rank of her peerage was the lesser of her cousins, was Family, and with the Duke currently absent, the highest in precedence at the table.  So Jasnah had been seated at the head of the table but not on the Duke's personal chair, with Shallan on her left and Doctor Kaladin at her right.  This made his seat directly opposite Shallan's, and implied that his status was not just of trusted Family or personal retainer, but an associate considered almost socially equal.  How very puzzling.

 

She had observed that they seemed to use more elaborate settings than perhaps Doctor Kaladin was used to; they were also, though it wouldn't do to point it out, more elaborate than what she herself was accustomed.  She watched Doctor Kaladin heft the cutlery in his hands as the first course was brought in and served from the left elbow; neither she nor Jasnah addressed the servants but Kaladin murmured his thanks.

 

"They're aluminium plated, you know," said Kaladin. "They're lighter than the silver set and do not polish up to so high a shine."

 

Shallan looked at the fork in her hand.  The handle had been cast with the shape of a shield at the end, with the tower-and-crown embossed in relief. 

 

"I know," she said.  She did not use her exaggerated country milkmaid's accent this time.  "I once had a necklace made of aluminium links.   It was very light for its size."

 

"Had?  What happened to it?"

 

"We sold it.  It was quite pretty, but after using this aluminium fork, I am glad we did.  Aluminium appears to have no taste so I cannot regret that we chose food over it."

 

Shallan met his eyes and smiled politely, trying to look as nonchalant about it as she wished she really was.  It seemed to work; Kaladin looked away and stabbed the filet of sole with his aluminium fork.  Ah, she thought, now I see: when that man is kept off-balance he cannot sustain the ill-humour necessary for his outward unpleasantness.

 

Countess Jasnah, noticing a lull, cleared her throat, then engaged him in a conversation over the use of indentured labour that the civilians of the losing side were fated to when they were conquered by the Anglethi.  Jasnah was of the opinion that the vast numbers of the indentured would lead to some sort of a rebellion or uprising in the near future; Doctor Kaladin believed that the labour they provided lessened the burdens on the native Anglethi working class.

 

Shallan did not have an opinion.  These indentured "marshpeople" were relatively uncommon in her northern homeland.  Their contracts were bought and sold and her father, Laird Davar, had a few of them:  she could not remember that they had been differently or worse treated than any other menial.  They were not family retainers, of course, nor could they claim the rank of servant, who were obliged the few rights a patron-employer was law-bound to respect.  Their contracts had later been auctioned off with most of the other Davar liquid assets.

 

The discussion grew heated, and Shallan did not volunteer a remark, nor were any inquiries on her opinion offered.  Shallan observed that Countess Jasnah and Doctor Kaladin had lapsed with their formal address; from what she had learned of Jasnah over the months they had worked and travelled together, she could see that the countess was pleased to finally have a conversational partner her equal in intellect.  Jasnah had attempted to debate with Shallan in the past - to while away the days on the Wind's Pleasure - but Shallan was non-confrontational in her temperament; her disinterest in assertive argumentation drove Jasnah to seek stimulus, unsuccessfully, elsewhere.  Though Kaladin's view of the marshpeople was what Jasnah considered banally populist, he was undoubtedly widely-read and well-spoken; that almost excused his disagreeable sympathies with the lower classes. 

 

It was with grateful appreciation that Shallan accepted an escort to the retiring room when the last course had been served.  Countess Jasnah and Kaladin had elected to stay at table, and the servants, unwilling to interrupt their debate, had continued pouring drinks and refreshing the platter of cheeses and dried figs.  She was certain they were listening avidly to the debate and the main points would be parroted downstairs later; they would, assuredly, support Doctor Kaladin's sentiments that the foreigner marshpeople working in mines prevented the same fate being forced onto good honest Anglethis.

 

The retiring room was decidedly masculine in its furnishings.  Glassy-eyed hunting trophies decorated the wall - buffalo and crocodile and peculiar crab-things were more common than deer; even as it lacked the tartan lap rugs or carved bog monsters of home, the wooden panelling and warm yellow lamps reminded Shallan comfortingly of her father’s house, with the added benefit of her father not being there.   

 

“Shall I bring you some tea, my lady?” asked the footman who had shown her in.  He was now throwing another log into the fireplace.  “The ladies’ parlour was ordered mothballed after…ahem …and we were never given any orders to the otherwise.    The butler said we daren’t risk it with the Duke away, but we should make you feel comfortable as best we can.  If there’s anything at all, my lady.”

 

“Can you bring me the book I left on the nightstand in my room?” said Shallan.   Jasnah had given her a list of readings that she had forced herself to plough through on the journey, and if she had the opportunity now to indulge in some pleasure reading without the countess impatient at her shoulder, she should not hesitate to take it.

 

“Very good, my lady,” came the reply.

 

If only all of the Duke’s creatures were as amenable.

 

And thus Shallan found herself in a corner of the room, reclining with a book while a pot tea sat snugly in its cosy on the low table.  It was quite comfortable; solitude without the constant rattle and shake of carriages was a novelty that she was eager to reacquaint herself with – preferably with good company that lacked the ability to speak.   It was to the turning of pages, the warmth and stillness, and the soft, rhythmic ticking of the wall clock that she drowsed and finally lapsed into the contented ease of sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

THE END.

If you were waiting on a certain character appear in this episode,  you were disappointed.

 

 

 

 

Author's Notes:

This is getting to be pretty long.  No one else here has written multi-post entries, so should I start a new thread for the story instead of hijacking this one?  I listed the major plot points in that other "if X wrote SA" thread and wrote a skeleton outline with a few notes that I never posted there; so far I'm just elaborating and proofreading on what I've got.

 

I've been trying to keep the character personalities "on canon" while also making sure they meld with the alternate universe 1800's England-ish setting.  Alternate universe would probably be the best way to describe it.  The classism may seem weird to you but some things I think are best kept realistic to retain the flavour of the Regency era. 

 

Some backstory for you: in this universe, the Anglethi united Ireland (Irenatan?) into one Kingdom.  They did not like it, and King Gavilar I was assassinated by rebels.  There was a Vengeance Pact, etc etc.  Kaladin studied to become a physician in Kharbranth.  Tien was a carpenter's apprentice at home and when the war happened, he volunteered out of patriotism.  Lirin already had his prized surgeon son by then so didn't do a good job of stopping him.  Kaladin joined the army as a combat medic when he found out, but Tien still died.  Tien has to die in every universe, like Batman's parents.

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THE END.

If you were waiting on a certain character appear in this episode,  you were disappointed.

 

Where is Adolin??????????????

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Sheep, this is fabulous. I love your character and world building decisions. I am incredibly excited that not only have there actually been three full episodes, but that more are in the offing! It has been some time since I read any Bronte, etc. but this definitely has the right feel. Well done in many ways!

This is getting to be pretty long. No one else here has written multi-post entries, so should I start a new thread for the story instead of hijacking this one?

I don't have any problem with it staying here, but if (as I hope) there is quite a bit yet to come, it might be good to give it a dedicated thread. I almost recommend it simply to increase visibility for people who may be skipping over this thread. Edited by ccstat
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Where is Adolin??????????????

I made a new thread so I could stop hijacking this one with mega-long walls of text.

Here you go.

 

Sheep, this is fabulous. I love your character and world building decisions. I am incredibly excited that not only have there actually been three full episodes, but that more are in the offing! It has been some time since I read any Bronte, etc. but this definitely has the right feel. Well done in many ways!

I don't have any problem with it staying here, but if (as I hope) there is quite a bit yet to come, it might be good to give it a dedicated thread. I almost recommend it simply to increase visibility for people who may be skipping over this thread.

 

Thanks!   The bad thing about alternate universe fics is that the more you write, the more you diverge from the canonical source.  Roshar is a great place, it feels kind of bad that I'm using a Regency England setting when it is nowhere near as original.

 

I made a new thread because I am clogging this one up.  You have to do endless scrolling to get anywhere.  :rolleyes:

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Dr. Seuss

 

One spren, two spren,

Lie spren, truth spren.

Are the blue spren truly glue spren?

This one makes a skyeel fly,

That one shows up when you die.

Oh what a lot of spren I spy!

 

You have light in your spheres, You have shards in your hand,

You have surges to help you to fly and to land!

So where will you go?  Somewhere high? Somewhere low?

To the great Reshi Isles, or somewhere with snow?

Perhaps you will dine on some Horneater Stew,

Delivered directly through Urithiru.

Or maybe the Shin will sell you a chicken

(eating it helps Thaylen eyebrows to thicken).

There’s so many places and people and spren,

It’s easy to wonder just where your path ends.

But please, don’t forget, it’s the way that you walk

that matters much more than the place that you stop.

Yes, the road that you take, whether straight, curved, or bendy

always matters the most—just ask the Parshendi.

 

I just found this thread and this post. It's my new favorite thing in the cosmere.

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Oh, oh, oh. I claim Susanna Clarke.

 

 

Some years ago there was in the ten warcamps of the highprinces a group of highprinces. They met irregularly, on every month or every second or every third, but meet they did, and they did read dull manuscripts, speak duller speeches, and partake in petty intrigue the likes of which one could only find in the lofty societies of the Alethi brightlords. 

They were gentlemen - Shardbearers, which is to say they cared naught for those of the darker eye color, but solely the Thrill of battle - or done any one the slightest good, other than through accident. In fact, to own the truth, not one of these brightlords had ever saved the smallest darkeyes, nor by any Surgebinding flown even a single step that they could have walked,  made one mote of stormleavings change its course or changed a single hair upon one's head. But, with this reservation, they enjoyed a reputation as some of the most influential and feared individuals on all of Roshar. 

(Shardbearers get invited to Dalinar's mansion)

(A description of Mr. Dalinorrell)

It seemed that it was not only live Shardbearers which Mr. DaliNorrell despised. He had taken measure of the dead ones too and found them wanting. (Especially Toronathan Strangeas.)

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Who ever wrote Peter Pan:

Kaladin flies through Shallan's window, with sylkerbell following behind. He digs through the assorted chests in her room, looking for something. 

 

"Little boy, what are you doing?"

 Kaladin spins around to she Shallan staring at him.

 

-later-

"you can't leave! We need you to be our mother, and draw pictures for us!" The lost bridge 4 boys cried.

 

-to be continued-

Edited by Allomancy
I will add more later...
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2 hours ago, Allomancy said:

Who ever wrote Peter Pan:

That would be Sir James Barrie, it was just a google away.

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Jim Butcher

(Setting this one on Scadrial instead, because it just works better thematically.)

 

My name is Harrillium Dawnshot Coppercloud Dresdrian.  Conjure by it at your own risk.  I'm a Mistborn.  I work out of an office in the Fifth Octant in Elendel.  As far as I know, the only actively practicing professional Mistborn in the Basin.

With the Catacendre and the dawning of the Age of Harmony, many people believed such things to be gone, or worse still, mythical.  A common man might encounter an Allomancer once every few months, a Feruchemist even less frequently due to the Terris community's reclusive nature.  But true power, that was the stuff of legends.

And yet, despite all our advances in the last few centuries, the Age of Harmony never quite seemed to live up to its name.  As mankind grew more advanced, we seemed to simply learn more and better ways for the powerful to prey upon the common man.  Oppression, and the discontent it spawned, festered even in paradise, and where there is such suffering, there are things to feed upon it.  And when those things slithered out of the shadows and the storybooks, people in the know turned to me.

Fortunately for them, but not so much for myself, the slithering had been at a minimum lately, a fact that the latest bill from my landlady underscored painfully.  I was a month past-due on my rent, as I perpetually had been for the last four months.  As I looked around my sparsely-furnished office, I couldn't help but wish for something to happen that would require my services.

Just as I thought that, there was a knock at the door.  Ruin's bells!  Someday I'm going to learn to stop tempting fate like that.

"Come in!" I called out.

The woman who entered looked sorely out of place in my shabby office.  She was tall and stately, her hair long and white.  Not blonde, not silver or graying, but white, pure as the mists themselves.  Her dark skin stood out in sharp contrast, though I couldn't call her a Terriswoman; her features weren't right.  Her face was simply too... stunning, looking like someone who belonged in a high society party uptown, not in the disreputable office of a private lawman.

She wore a perfectly tailored gray suit, the skirt cut just high enough to make it hard to look away, though the tantalizing scoop-necked blouse gave me a reason to turn my eyes elsewhere.  At her neck and around both her wrists, she wore fine jeweled chains encrusted with bright, shining opals.  My eyes widened as I noticed the distinctive silvery-gray shade of the metal she wore.  Aluminum, more valuable even than gold!  I got the distinct feeling that, should I burn steel or iron in her presence, I wouldn't find a single metal line pointing to anything on her person.

As she stalked towards my desk like some feline predator from the Roughs, I caught a whiff of her perfume.  It was heady, floral, though I couldn't discern the smell.  It tickled at my nose with the perfection of its scent, as if Harmony's own hand had distilled the very essence, the core of flower itself, into a bottle and sprayed it upon her skin.

"You are Mr. Dresdrian?" she asked, her voice bearing teasing hints of an exotic accent that I couldn't place.

I stopped gawking long enough to let the words register.  "I am, Lady..."

"Prepho," she said.  "I am called Drowl Prepho, and you are called many things by the people who know of you.  Most of them are highly... unflattering."

"And yet you're here," I pointed out.

"This is true," she said slowly.  "I find myself in need of some very specialized services.  One of my most highly-ranked servants is... gone."

On one hand, every inch of her screamed money, and boxings were in short supply lately.  But on the other hand, it would not go well for me to mislead a woman such as this.  "Missing persons aren't exactly my specialty, Lady Prepho."

She shook her head.  "I know exactly where he is, Mr. Dresdrian.  He was found murdered in his bed this morning."

My eyes widened slightly as I digested this.  "Then what is it you need to discover?"

"It was a most unusual killing, Mr. Dresdrian."  Her lips curled in one of the coldest smiles I'd ever seen.  "His entire bed, comforter, sheets, mattress and frame, was sheared through, as if sliced in half by a giant blade, his clothes as well, and yet there is no wound upon the body, not even the smallest scratch... except for his eyes.  They appear to have been burned out somehow.  But what is truly distressing is the object that he had in his possession.  It has been stolen, and it is of paramount importance that it be returned."

I frowned.  "What is it that was lost, then?"

Another of those cold smiles.  "Now that, I cannot tell you."

"If I don't know what I'm looking for, how do you exp--"

"Do you practice the art of Soulgazing, wizard?"

I bristled; I hate that term.  A wizard is a foolish story told to entertain children and drunks.  I'm a Mistborn.  But... wait.  Had she just said...  "Soulgazing?  If you've even heard of that power..." I scoffed.  "Look around you; does this look like the office of a man who has stores of atium and gold hidden away?"

She set down a tiny bead of silvery-white metal upon my desk, and my eyes widened.  Could this be?  Malatium was the stuff of legend, even to a man like me!  "Go ahead," she said.  "Burn it."

I stiffened, suddenly nervous for no reason I could discern.  Then the woman stared deep into my eyes, and I shuddered.  The colored parts of her eyes held no color; they were as black as the irises.  Not simply dark, and not shiny and reflective like ordinary people's eyes are.  No, these were dark as a void, dark as a starless, empty night.  "Burn it," she repeated.

As that inhuman gaze bore down upon me, I picked up the metal bead and swallowed it, feeling a new reserve illuminate within my stomach that I had never before felt.  As I burned the metal, she continued to stare deep into my eyes, and suddenly everything shifted, and I knew the truth of her.  Standing before me was something ancient and vast, possessor of powers such as I had never dreamed of.  A being that had been old when the Final Empire of legend was in its infancy, who would continue long after the final Ruin of this world.  A being with legions of spirit entities at her command, and yet there was some... thing... that was beyond her.  And for that, she sought out me.

The metal burned surprisingly quickly, and there was very little of it, so the Soulgaze dissipated after only a few brief moments.  As the glimpse burned away, I realized I was drenched in sweat.  I slumped back in my chair, a little bit overawed.  "Who... what... are you?"

The woman give a cruel smile.  "Oh, I am known by many names, and I would not entrust the core of my Identity to one such as yourself, wizard.  But you may simply call me Mabam, Queen of Shadesmar, Dark Lady of the Void spren."

Edited by Mason Wheeler
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This Book of Mormon one is just perfect. I was considering doing one myself, but this is 10 times better than I could have done... Good job, ZenBossanova.

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You know how I said earlier that I wasn't going to do a Book of Mormon one? I've changed my mind.

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1. And it came to pass that in the twelfth year of the reign of King Gavilar, there sprung up secret combinations against him from the Parshendi.

2. And the leader of the Parshedi, having the Oathstone of one Truthless, the same Truthless as had been exiled for declaring the return of the Knights Radiant, he swore in his wrath and his fear that King Gavilar would be killed.

4. And it came to pass that he ordered his servant Szeth that he must slay the king.

5. And it came to pass that Szeth entered into the palace of the king, and he sought out the king that he might slay him.

6. And it came to pass that the king's brother was drunken with wine, that he could not come to Gavilar's aid

7. And it came to pass that when Szeth entered into the hallway, he found the king disguised as a guard.

8. Now Szeth, being a man of much skill and power, fell upon the king and slew him.

9. And it came to pass that as the king died, he gave unto Szeth one black sphere, which he told Szeth must not fall into the hands of the enemies of the king.

10. And the king also implored Szeth to tell his brother, who was drunken with wine, to find the most important words a man can say.

11. Now Szeth, being a man of good and a servant of Tanavast, wrote these words on a board in the king's own blood.

12. And it came to pass that the daughter of the king found the king there, and asked the Parshendi regarding the events that had occurred.

13. And it came to pass that the leaders of the Parshendi told the daughter of the king of their crime,  saying it had had to be done.

14. And it came to pass that they departed, and whither they went no man knoweth, save it be known that they were somewhere in the Shattered Plains.

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22 hours ago, Elenion said:

5 And there was much contention and strife between them; therefore Adolin, being a strong and mighty man like unto his father Dalinar, did smite upon Sadeas, and slew him.

6 And there was neither weeping nor gnashing of teeth in all of the warcamps.

These two lines are literary perfection. 

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On 11/15/2016 at 1:25 AM, ZenBossanova said:

Since Brandon is Mormon, it only seems appropriate to write it in the style of the Book of Mormon. 

Chapter 1

1.    It came to pass in the 5th year of the reign of Elhokar, King of Alethkar, that the Stormfather spake unto Dalinar saying, They must unite, or this people will be utterly destroyed. 
2.    And Dalinar raised up his voice unto the people of Alethkar, saying unto them that they must unite, and live by the Codes that their fathers has delivered to them. 
3.    And there rose up one Brightlord Sadeas, who said, What is this that thou sayest? Should we believe one man, though he should preach that the world should be destroyed? Behold, I say it is the effect of a frenzied mind. And that which ye say are ancient prophecies, are the foolish traditions of your fathers. For no man knoweth of things to come, but every man prospers according to his genius and conquers according to his strength. 
4.    And the people hearkened not unto Dalinar. 

 

Chapter 54

1    And the servant of Sadeas rose up and swore in his wrath that the army of Dalinar should not perish from Roshar. And his name was Kaladin. And the spirit of Honor was upon him, and her name was Sylphrenia, which being interpreted means the joyful wind. 

2     He was a large and a mighty man and he sought for the covenants of his fathers, that he might receive the blessings of the Knight Radiant. 

3     And He smote upon the army of the Parshendi insomuch that they did flee before him.
 

I don't understand, as I have no grasp of the tenets of Mormonism...

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