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Long Game 30: Journey Before Destination


Amanuensis

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Sorry @Amanuensis:P It's been a hectic week. Mind if my character is in fact two people?

The Phantom Stranger and Hashiv would be their names

Prologue

The stranger’s name was unknown. Noone had ever seen him before. He had appeared in the Purelake two weeks ago and was frequently seen roaming around in a queer little boat. The only thing notable about him was that he wore a black cloak and a top hat, a strange fashion for these parts. And his boat was ornately carved with strange...glyphs or the sort. Well that and the fact that noone could ever get a good look at him. He would appear randomly in your peripheral vision, but when you would look at him…..it was like he had disappeared.

 

Hashiv didn’t know what to make of this stranger. The locals had already began calling him Hantu or Phantom. There was alot of superstition surrounding him considering the short amount of time he had been here. Then again, the plague had struck them around the time he had appeared. Many of his friends had succumbed to it. Nu Ralik forbid the man was the reason the plague had started. There was also the matter of highstorms, they had begun moving in the opposite directions 2 days after the man had appeared. Some whispered he was a Herald, confused as to where he was.

 

Hashiv shivered, and got up from his hut in his little village, Fu Larah. He stretched and left his abode, greeting Nibi, his wife who was making breakfast. He yawned and paced around the fire, impatient to start his day of fishing. Vun Makak eye me, but she is taking so long. But, as usual he knew the wait was worth it, as the aroma of cooked Kolgril drifted into his nostrils. He had caught it a few days ago and they had been saving it to make the most of it as the effects of the last Kolgril Hashiv had caught were still wearing off.

 

Finally, an eternity later, breakfast was ready as Nibi called him from his thinking. They sat down and made some small talk, Hashiv told her about his plans to go to Fu ALbast. The sky suddenly darkened outside. Hashiv narrowed his eyes, “was their supposed to be a Highstorm today?” Nibi shrugged, smirking, “I guess that’s your plans for today gone” she drew closer, “Just you and me, isn’t it?”

 

A boat drew up outside their hut, but not just any boat, it couldn't be his boat now could it? This was the first time he had ever gotten a clear look at the boat and he had to admire its craftsmanship. He got up, motioning Nibi to get into the back room. He grabbed the gut knife his wife had used to clean the kolgril and positioned him next to the entrance of his hut, water swishing around his feet. Sure enough the Phantom himself walked through the entrance, no he jumped through, spinning around to see Hashiv. With a flick of his wrist he pulled the knife from Hashiv’s hand.

 

“Hashiv, isn’t it, come with me won’t you?”

Hashiv reeled, Nu Ralik take me, the stranger was speaking with him!

 

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Uther... No, Teresh walked the halls of Urithiru, the holy city. Such a majestic city... Yet to him it was quickly becoming commonplace.

Strange, how quickly everything was happening now...

 

Without thinking about it, he had walked to the square. The square where it all happened.

The square where he had died. Or failed to do so properly, anyway.

A war had taken place here. The Ghostbloods, the Sons of Honor... And of coarse, the Diagramists. Always them.

 

The murderers. The ones who offered a false peace, the ones who played off the division in our useless factions to serve a ruinous agenda...

He could bring them to justice. He wasn't defenseless any more, nor was he under orders any longer to reign in his... talents.

 

No. That is not courage.

You have another purpose.

 

The words came unbidden to his mind, almost like... Almost like they didn't come from me.

And yet, at the same time, the voice was part of him. He knew it spoke truly.

 

He had heard rumors... The Windrunner, Captain Kaladin, talking to himself in public.

And then there were those visions of Highprince Kholin's... Back before the everstorm, he'd been ordered to recover a transcript of these rumored visions, but then Sadeas had gone and managed to leak them to the public.

Storms. Did all radiants contract schizophrenia then?

This is something I will have to ask about... There is a long journey ahead.

Edited by Drake Marshall
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"Slow down, whatever for? You'll miss out on all the good stuff," Rea said with a grin. And if you slow down, the past catches up. "So you're here? Why? Nevermind, if we're here, the least we can do is explore a bit. There could be gems down here!" And with that he took Ashetlv's hand and pulled her out the door and into the hallway beyond.

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Lady Tintallë Iurnu stood tall in the crowd, looking up with awe at Brightlord Kholin. She clutched her bare hand in her safehand, drawing away from others slightly - it wouldn’t do to touch anyone now. She couldn’t afford the shock just before applying for Radiance. 

Then it was her turn. She slowly ascended the stairs, holding her head high, her auburn hair pinned back perfectly. 

She faced Dalinar, his eyes glinting bright in the sunlight. She yearned for a second to snatch out her hand and touch his, to see into his soul - but her collapsing onto the floor in front of him probably wouldn’t make the best impression, sadly.

The Words. “Life before death,” she said clearly, smiling at the bitter irony. 

“Strength before weakness.” 

She paused. Breathed. Dared to hope. 

“Journey before destination.”

The highprince looked at her, almost as if he was searching her soul even without a touch. “Breathe deep and learn if your heart is true,” he commanded.

She took the broam with her safehand, then transferred it to her right, the broam cold on her bare skin. 

She breathed. And life filled her. Not others’ lives, as with so many times in the past. Her life. 

And it was wonderful


Late signup time! :P Will note that this is not LG20!Tintalle exactly, given that she died. :P It is someone with similar skills which come out through physical touch - so I'll basically be doing a bunch of minor depictions throughout the game. She's essentially a reincarnation. Ish. Probably. 

I cannot promise activity, but I will do better than... most recent games. >>

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After several long nights of deliberation, Shallan finally decided she was ready to learn the truth.

 

“No, not Shallan,” she mumbled as she examined herself for the seventh time that evening. The havah that Navani gifted her for tonight’s gala fit astoundingly well, despite her not being present whenever it was made. Even so, Shallan could not help but feel awkward wearing it. It was a dress befitting a queen - which she most certainly was not - woven from the finest silk she’d ever felt. Dyed a rich variety of blues, it glistened like the sea, or perhaps more like a sapphire broam. Black lace traced each hem, the tiniest, most intricate flowers that a master seamstress would dare create sprouting from their edges. Beginning at her throat and going down to her waist, five golden needles pierced ten silver loops, binding the two layers of the havah tight to keep it from sliding off her shoulders and pooling at her feet.

 

Let Shallan Davar be a Radiant, conformist and noble, Mraize told her on that equally terrible and glorious day. Let Veil come to us. And let her find the truth.

 

It was Veil who decided for her, and once she did, any fears Shallan had left receded deep within her, allowing confidence to swell into the chasm left in its wake. Oddly enough, Pattern seemed affected by the decision, too. Whenever he hummed, he did so in a brighter tone than usual, and his intangible tendrils undulated with more energy than she had ever witnessed before.

 

Though she did not acknowledge it at the time, she felt their Bond grow the moment she admitted that last, horrific truth. Before then, she would have to observe and analyze the Cryptic’s peculiar mannerisms to determine his mood, but now the understanding came natural to her. It was difficult to explain exactly what she was feeling, but at the very least she knew that Pattern had somehow become a part of her. Strange feelings tickled her mind whenever the spren thought or moved, similar to how a frozen limb felt shortly after it found warmth.

 

Despite everything that transpired between them, she could sense that Pattern was happy, but perhaps that was not the right term for it. He was just… well, more alive. More vibrant, and more real.

 

I hate you, she sobbed to him on that very same day. To the monster who destroyed her family and ruined her life.

 

I know, Pattern murmured to her, his buzzing hinting regret. Because of him, a Radiant was born, forged from sorrow and lies.

 

Eventually, you will kill me, and you will have your revenge. That was his way of trying to reassure her, she now realized. But what good would revenge do her? Neither Shallan nor Veil had a need for such a fantasy.

 

Despite the facade of sanity she fought so hard to maintain, that was one lie she wouldn’t try to sell herself. Revenge could not change the fact that her mother had tried to kill her, nor could it bring her father or Helaran back to life. Her only hope was to find a purpose and keep on pushing.

 

“I get how hard it must be to accept, but we’re Radiants now; aren’t we? We’ve got to think for more than just ourselves.”

 

Those were the words she told Kaladin, when he asked for leave to save his family. They were both the hardest words, and the truest words, Shallan ever had to say out loud. Considering that Kaladin remained, they seemed to convince him to stay. The only question Shallan had now was if they managed to convince herself?

 

Behind her, a pair of knocks resounded from the metal door that separated her washroom from her bedchamber. After that day, she had to move rooms, too traumatized by the truth Pattern forced her to admit.

 

Eyebrows raised, Shallan glanced over the reflection of her shoulder and beckoned for her visitor - or, as she soon learned, visitors - to enter into her washroom.

 

Wearing a simple, cloth dress made for leisure, Navani walked in, her eyes sparkling as she glimpsed Shallan in her havah for the first time. Just a step behind, Navani’s nephew and Shallan’s betrothed, Adolin, smiled at her handsomely. He too wore a casual outfit, albeit a stylish one, though it seemed a little dirty at the knees and scuffed at the cuffs.

 

“Why, dear, don’t you just look Radiant,” Navani complemented Shallan as she pulled her into an embrace. Over the last week, the woman was treating her more and more like a daughter. A part of Shallan worried that she might be trying to fill the gap Jasnah left behind, but she had to admit, it felt good to have a mother figure in her life, again.

 

Deciding it better not to mention how uncomfortable she felt wearing the havah, Shallan thanked Navani kindly, then slipped through the woman’s arms to greet her fiance. Noticing the loving gaze they shared, Navani excused herself from the washroom to wait in the hallway outside.

 

“She’s right, you know. I can see the grimace you’re hiding, but you really do look quite stunning.”

 

“Come now, Adolin. I thought we were well beyond flattery.”

 

Having never stopped smiling, the prince’s grin only grew bigger, though when Shallan moved in close for a kiss, he had no choice but to purse his lips together so that he could return it.

 

For a long moment they remained there, pressed together, sharing the same breath. Although they were as still as stone, Shallan trembled within, and judging by how tightly Adolin’s hands gripped her waist, she imagined he felt the same way.

 

Once satisfied, the two parted. Already Adolin was smiling again. As he did, he looked her up and down, then leaned over the side to see her reflection in the mirror behind her. Astonished by his blatancy, Shallan slapped the boy - lightly, of course - on the cheek, and then tilted his chin so that his eyes were looking into hers again.

 

“I’m sorry,” he told her, though his tone didn’t sound very apologetic. “I just want to see as much of you as I can before the gala begins. I really wish I could be there with you. You know that, right?”

 

“I know you do, and I wish you could be there, too. But tonight is for the Radiants and the Initiates to all meet and mingle. That’s it. Honestly, I don’t understand what you’re so worried about.”

 

“It’s not that I’m worried. It’s just I…” he frowned.

 

“Stop it. I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it. I’m telling you, Adolin, nothing is going to happen. If they can breathe stormlight, then they can’t be bad people. Spren don’t Bond bad people.”

 

“But how can you be sure? Just because you’re great doesn’t mean they all automatically have to be.”

 

Shallan rolled her eyes. “What about your father? And Renarin? Are they not great, too?”

 

“Well, yes…”

 

“And Kaladin?”

 

“I mean, he’s alright, I guess…”

 

“Adolin,” Shallan sighed, then began to tap her foot impatiently.

 

“Fine, fine. Just be careful, alright? I can’t explain why, but I have a really bad feeling about tonight.”

 

“Well maybe you should worry about yourself, then, or perhaps the rest of the people living in Urithiru. If anything, the gala should be the safest place in all of Roshar, with so many almost-Radiants running around.”

 

This time it was Adolin who sighed. “Yes, yes. You’re probably right. But just in case, there’s something I want to give you. For luck, and protection.”

 

“What is it?” Shallan asked as Adolin reached into his pocket. A series of jingles, or perhaps more accurate, a soft rubbing of metal on metal, came from it as he fished whatever-it-was out. When the prince finally removed his hand and opened his palm, she couldn’t help but gasp.

 

“Your mother’s chain? But why? It means so much to you…”

 

“It does mean a lot to me,” Adolin said with a soft, yet confident smile. “But not nearly as much as you do.”

 

Stunned, Shallan stared at him in silence. Without even thinking, her hand suddenly covered her mouth, in a vain attempt to hide her reaction. A second later she shivered, and her eyes began to water.

 

“Oh, Shallan… please don’t cry...”

 

Shallan couldn’t hold it in anymore.

 

Shaking now, she burst out with laughter.

 

“Adolin! That was horrible!” she choked out between snickers. “How long did you practice that corny line?”

 

“What? I offer you an extremely personal gift, and this is how you repay me? By laughing in my face? Maybe I should just take this back, then, since you clearly don’t want it... ” he said as his hand slowly returned to his pocket.

 

“No, no,” Shallan intercepted his hand, though she couldn’t stop laughing, not that she made an effort to try. “I love it, Adolin. I really do. I just… storms, that was bad. But bad in a good way, I promise.”

 

Again he looked at her with that breathtaking smile of his. “Can I put it on you then?”

 

“Please. It would me a lot to me. But not nearly as much as you do.”

 

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Perfect! Perfect! It needed to be perfect!

 

It was the only thought Lomot could process while he worked on perfecting his face. All around him, creationspren faded into existence, not that he ever noticed, as thankfully they never appeared between his face and the mirror before him. If he did look, however, he’d see the silver strings take the shape of his lips, some bending in ways that weren’t physically possible, others opening up to reveal a spinning eye within.

 

Hours had passed since he began his art. His cheeks were covered in numerous layers of foundation, each coat slightly darker, smaller and more precise than the last, their purpose to emphasize his bone structure while also masking his imperfect complexion, and to do so in a way that was both noticeably distinct and realistically shaded.

 

When will it be perfect?, a voice whispered in his mind. Not his voice, but a voice that sounded a lot like the rapid flapping of a larkin’s wings. Lomot paid it no attention, however, as he was much too focused on his art. A few more strokes and he’d be done contouring his face, and once that was finished, the true challenge would begin.

 

Reaching into one of six bowls that lay in front of him, he grabbed a handful of red leaves that crumbled easily at a touch. Holding them over a small, funnel-like tube, he rubbed his hand together until its maw was filled with the vibrant dust, to which he added a viscous, colorless liquid whose name he could hardly spell, let alone pronounce.

 

For a minute he watched the mixture bubble and writhe. All around him, creationspren faded out of existence, not that he ever noticed, as his eyes did not wander from his task. If he did look, however, he’d see a single, black string take the shape of a his lips, sometimes curving in ways that weren’t physically possible, other times opening up to reveal a pair of blinking eyes within.

 

Perfect! Perfect! He needed to be perfect!

 

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YOU’RE A FOOL, DALINAR KHOLIN.

 

Storms, was he tired of hearing that. For a sliver of the Almighty Himself, the Stormfather wasn’t very kind or benevolent. If not for the Squire kneeling on the ground before him and the crowd of servants flocking nearby, Dalinar would have responded to the god’s taunting just then. But alas, he had more important matters to attend to.

 

“Rise, Sigzil. What brings you to me this evening?”

 

“Well, sir, it’s a little complicated” the man replied in his distinct Azish accent. It was hard to tell by his face if he was nervous, as his skin was so dark and the night so dim, but there was the faintest hint of something in his tone that made Dalinar’s brow crease with worry.

 

“Isn’t everything these days,” he said, more to himself than to the young Squire. “I suppose this can’t wait until the morning?”

 

Nearby, a few servants chattered as they fixed a table, and behind Dalinar, a caterer dropped a platter of food in surprise.

 

“Perhaps it can, sir, though he insisted on speaking with you at once. He wouldn’t tell me why, exactly, but he did mention your niece.”

 

“My niece? Jasnah?” No wonder Sigzil seemed to be dancing around the subject. Jasnah was dead, after all, and few men were fond of bearing bad news. “I’m guessing her body has been recovered, then?”

 

“I’m not sure, sir, but I don’t think that’s the case. He sounded happy when he mentioned her.”

 

Dalinar considered that for a moment, stroking his beard as he thought. Shallan had assured him, with a heavy heart, that Jasnah was dead. She described the attack, and how she only narrowly escaped the ship before it was consumed by flame. What good news could anyone bring after that?

 

Close by, someone cackled with delight.

 

“I suppose there’s still time until the gala is ready. Where is this man, Sigzil? And just who is he, exactly?”

 

“Well, sir… he’s right behind you now, actually,” Sigzil said, pointing over Dalinar’s shoulder, prompting him to turn around. Several feet away, a man dressed in all back watched a servant, like a hawk, as she anxiously cleaned up the mess that she made - or more likely, he - made.

 

“You!” Dalinar shouted, surprised, confused, and maybe a little bit amused, as well.

 

“Me!” Wit shouted instinctively and then, suddenly aware that he had been addressed, lifted his head to begin searching for the source. “Ah, Dalinar. There you are! Long time, no see. I hear you’ve been talking to Shadows while I’ve been gone. Everything okay up there, old friend?” Wit asked, wagging a finger at the Highprince’s head.

 

Ignoring the provocation, Dalinar went straight to the point. “What do you know about Jasnah?”

 

“That unlike a fine wine, she really doesn’t get better with age.”

 

Dalinar’s jaw tightened.

 

Wit stared at him blankly, and then, suddenly, his face became more grave. “Despite what you’ve heard, Jasnah is still alive and kicking. In fact, she’s on her way to Kholinar now, hoping she can fix the damage Aesudan has done before the city falls apart at its seams. She also thinks she can open the Oath Gate there using what he learned from the Highspren in Shadesmar, though I’m not so sure about that.

 

Jasnah, alive? Damage Aesudan has done? Highspren? Shadesmar?

 

So many questions, and so little time for answers.

 

“Wit… thank you. I’m glad you came here to share this with me, but unless you’re going to tell me you’re a Radiant now, too, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Tonight’s a little important. Can we finish this conversation in the morning?”

 

“Hmm. I suppose Elhokar’s not here, is he? Huh. I should probably go find His Majesty, then, and tell him the news as well. I am the King’s Wit, after all. Not the Tyrant’s. Enjoy your night while you can, friend. Oh! And do tell what’s left of Tanavast that Midius the Meddlesome says hello.”

 

Expression stoic, Dalinar watched Wit depart, then turned to find Sigzil doing the same. Although he could still not real the Squires face, an idea struck him.

 

“You know him, don’t you?”

 

“I do, sir. More than most, I reckon, though I still know so little.”

 

“What can you tell me, then?”

 

“Not much that will have any meaning to you. Though I can say he’s a smart man. Dangerous, too, even though he may not seem it. I wouldn’t want to be on whatever side he isn’t, that’s for sure.”

 

“Well then, son. Let’s hope he remains on ours, then.”

 

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The sky was beautiful at this height; so clear and majestic. As Lomot ascended the stairs to the roof of Urithiru, he stared upon that vast, black mural, tracing patterns by the countless stars. As usual, Taln’s Scar was the first of the constellations he saw, being the only slash of red among clusters of blue and white, though once he stepped out into the open, all he could see was the gala.

 

There were no servants present. Only Radiants, Initiates, and a few of the Squires. Lomot did not know all their names, but he recognized the important ones. Those two men who fought Kaladin on that first day, for example. They stood between him and a group of Initiates now, along with an Azish man and a massive Unkalaki.

 

Beneath the glow of one of ten four-pronged post bearing an equal number lanterns containing infused spheres, Highprince Dalinar and his son, Renarin, talked alone. By their body language, it seemed like they were having a debate, although the younger boy had the faintest grin upon his face. Lingering nearby, a few Initiates watched the two Kholins curiously, likely hoping that they’d finish their conversation soon so that they could introduce themselves.

 

Close to a large heating fabrial that sat at the roof’s center, Shallan Davar seemed to be instructing a few curious Initiates on the science behind the technology. Although Lomot himself wasn’t very interested in fabrials, his instincts urged him to join that crowd and see what he could learn.

 

That was before he caught a whiff of the massive buffet and his stomach growled of hunger, however. The long table was packed with food and was, perhaps, the most crowded attraction of them all. Judging by the smell, Lomot could tell why. While the culinary arts certainly weren’t where his talents lied, he appreciated them as much as anyone else.


Wandering towards the buffet, he watched a man sip from a bowl, then listened as they sighed with bliss. Stepping beside him, Lomot reached for a lump of bread making sure to brandish the rainbow henna that decorated his flesh. On his arms, they traced his veins, but the true art was upon his face. Taking care not to ruin it, he took a small bite of the bread, pleasantly surprised by meat, cheese, and vegetable gravy filled in its middle.

 

Edited by Amanuensis
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CHAPTER ONE

 

And so it begins. Everyone shall receive their alignments in their GM PMs shortly. Note that there will be no interrogation today. This Chapter is an opportunity for characters to interact, strategies to be discussed, PMs to be established, and Honor to be earned. Use the time wisely, Initiates.

 

If you can't be bothered to read the entire write up, I recommend you read the fourth part, at the very least, as it describes the scene in which your characters will be interacting. Feel free to take some creative liberties with it, if you wish, as I've not given nearly as many details as there should be.

 

INITIATES

 

  1. Amanuensis as Lomot

  2. A Joe in the Bush as Jonly

  3. Assassin in Burgundy as Araon Darkblade

  4. Jondesu as Kintas

  5. randuir as Ranatar

  6. Hemalurgic_Headshot as Sareth-son-Erneth

  7. TheSilverDragon as Rea

  8. Ecthelion III as Fifth Nameless

  9. Arinian as Arionium

  10. JUQ as Hess

  11. Quiver as Veriq

  12. Shqueeves as Leif

  13. Doc12 as Hithon

  14. Magestar as Balthazar

  15. Arraenae as Ralaani

  16. TheMightyLopen as Shinon

  17. Drake Marshall as Teresh

  18. AliasSheep as Ashetvl

  19. The lazy anarchist as Lyna Telavalet

  20. Alvron as Naihar

  21. DroughtBringer as Petrik

  22. Darkness Ascendant as The Phantom Stranger & Hashiv

  23. Elbereth as Tintallë Iurnu

 

COUNTDOWN

 

Chapter One will end on Wednesday, February 8th, at 0400 EST. Chapter Two will begin 2 hours later.

 

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Edited by Amanuensis
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A Début

Ashetvl pushed her face into the basin full of hot water, pulling her hair down quickly after.  She kept it under for a few seconds and then pulled out, gasping deeply for air as she moved strands of her out from her eyes.  She put her hand to the side and scooped out a handful of tonic and then began to rub it into her hair, closing her eyes and letting herself relax in the soothing motions, dragging her fingers through the fibres of hair and slowly letting the herbally infused liquid soak into her hair.  After several minutes of doing this, she took another deep breath and pushed her face back under the basin.  She used her hands again to agitate the hair, getting off all the excess tonic, and she lifted herself back out again.  Grabbing a towel from the side, she dried off her hands and then her face, taking great care around her eyes.  While the tonic was good for hair, it would be nothing but an irritant to her eyes.  She then proceeded to dry off her hair with the towel, spending upwards of half an hour simply trying to get the rest of the water out.  It was time consuming, but somehow relaxing.  Finishing drying, she gathered her hair back and began to comb it out using a delicate bone comb she had been given by someone who had travelled on her caravan, as a farewell gift.  As she combed out the slight curls in her hair, she stared deeply into her own reflection.  There hung a large mirror over the washbasin, so detailed it could have been for royalty.  Yet, she knew that almost every room belonging to Initiates had one.  Such a bizarre thing.  She looked deeply into herself and considered what she was doing.  Perhaps it was safer to put the whole thing behind her, to go to the gala as Tvazn.  Maybe she should have never tried to become an Initiate in the first place.  She should have simply left.  But she had been declared now, and from that, she supposed, there was no turning back.  Not only that, but she had been declared as Ashetvl. This is what she had wanted, and now she would be forced to live it.  After finishing combing, she was tempted to braid it but decided against it.  She did not know how.  

 

She stood up and took out her dress from her bag.  It was creased in places, but nothing too bad that it would be noticeable when she was wearing it.  She looked down at it affectionately.  For so long she had wanted to do this.  She slipped it on, taking care not to get her hair caught in it at all.  Turning to the mirror, she smoothed the dress out and then looked at herself.  She looked awful.  A tear came to her eye but she shook her head and wiped it away.  She would be fine.  She would speak to Shallan… to Shallan, and she would become a Lightweaver.  She picked up her satchel and walked out the door.

 

 

The stars were majestic that night.  They were every night, but somehow, being where she was and being what she was right now made them seem all the more so.  She climbed the stairs up to the final, highest floor of Urithiru, and each step seemed to be both a blow and a boon to her confidence.  With each step she regretted it more and more and yet felt more the strength to go on.  She reached the final flight.  She took the first step.  And then the second. And then the third.


Ashetvl ascended the final step onto the open terrace and looked around.  She was one of the earliest there, the others were likely to arise later.  She could see the two Kholins talking to each other and being crowded by some of the few Initiates already there was Shallan Davar.  Ashetvl gulped.  She checked her eyebrows, tucking them back behind her ears again, and then walked over to get a drink.

 

If anyone wants to approach Ashetvl we could get some conversation going.  And Aman, thank you, I do love these gatherings you have at the beginning of your games.

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Sareth-son-Erneth stood by the wall, watching the new inhabitants of the Holy City relax and enjoy themselves. Soft music drifted over the throng, from a group of musicians playing instruments brought by refugees. He had spoken with them earlier, having an interest in music himself. The musicians were nice, friendly people, and he had been able to share a message of the Truth with them before he left. His attention was now drawn by a curious display. Some ambitious brewer, or perhaps wine hoarder, had arranged glasses of colorful wine side by side to make a full rainbow. The hues of the wine were in such perfect intervals that it seemed that there was one complete gradient among the entire display. Sareth took a moment to admire such craftsmanship. Such a display could make one thirsty, but Sareth had vowed to himself to abstain from alcohol. It had raised a few brows among his old friends, and there was no specific teachings of the Truth against alcohol consumption (there were many different views among Truthseekers on the subject), but Sareth remained firm to his decision. He sipped a glass of water.

His attention was now on those partying. It seemed every person he saw was dressed in his or her finest apparel, whatever had been taken with them. Some had gone to extreme measures to "beautify" themselves, masking themselves with powders and makeup. He had done nothing of the sort, and still wore his banded cloak. He glanced down at it. Perhaps in normal circumstances, it could be considered fancy, but here, among these, it was outdone. Looking back at the overdressed dancers, he wondered if such fashion was beneficial. Did it do anything to cover one's face in makeup? He had never tried it, and probably never will. So he leaned against the wall in peaceful meditation.

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The stars were out. 

Araon saw them every night, but tonight was different. Spheres lit the pavilion, but only made the stars look brighter. They shone truer than the Stormlight, and stood out against the darkness of space. 

He sat down, his back against the wall in the far corner of the celebration. He had no place in these events, and contrasted sharply between the partygoers. He wore a simple fur cloak and a chull-leather tunic, and as a result, tried to escape the bright colors and frivolity that most people possessed. He decided to try and stay away from the conversation, and gathered his cloak around him. 

Araon continued to look upwards, and began to pick out the constellations. He had relied on their guidance to get to the Shattered Plains, and would continue to give them the reverence they deserved. Taln's Scar was bright tonight, as it always was. He continued to scan the sky, and found the triangular shape of the Honorblade, along with the "U" shape of Jezerezah's Crown. 

Then his face contorted. The Highstorm, an extremely rare wave-shaped set of stars, was bright red. His eyes narrowed. It was said that it only appeared in times where change was coming, and was a sign of bad tidings. As he watched, the glow from the constellation flared, then completely faded. He blinked, and like around. No one else seemed to have seen it. The message was for him alone, it seemed. The Desolations would once again ravage the land, and the only path Araon could see ahead of him was one of fire and blood. 

Edited by Assassin in Burgundy
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‘If the ocean-going distance from one end of the continent is equal to Perep, the average ocean temperature is nihn and the separation between the two highstorms is ini hours, then the storm acceleration would be expressed as…’ Ranatar’s chain of though was interrupted by a knock on the door of his room. “Yes?” Ranatar managed to keep most of his annoyance out of his voice.

“Apologies for interrupting… Brightlord.” Ranatar had picked up on the slight hesitation before the servant added the title. It wasn’t surprising. People had had issues figuring out his position while he was still a normal bastard with two different eyes. His new position would not make this any easier. “You had requested to be given a reminder shortly before the start of the Gala.” the unseen servant continued.

Ranatar suppressed a curse. He’d lost track of time again. He’d been putting in as much time as possible in finishing his storm-model before his training as a radiant would begin in earnest, and was now almost done. One final term kept eluding him however. Ranatar frowned at the wall before him. He’d covered the entirety of this wall in large paper sheets, most of which were now covered in glyphs as he worked through the problem. If he had a bit more time…

“Brightlord?” The voice of the servant drifted through the room’s heavy door again.

“Yes, thank you, I’ll be along shortly.” Ranatar Responded with a weary sigh, and turned to his dress uniform. It had been brought by this morning for him to wear this evening. He had removed some of the more outrageous ornamentations and had added a small patch to his left sleeve to indicate he was a Stormwarden. Despite everything, this was still something he was proud of.

Ranatar pulled on the uniform’s pants and jacket and added all other parts that court deemed necessary, then turned towards the door. Before he went out, he picked up a notebook and a piece of writing charcoal and stuffed the both of them in a pocket.

 

***

Despite his earlier lapse of attention, Ranatar was still among the first initiates to reach the roof and join the festivities. His eye was quickly caught by the man to first take up the mantle of the initiates, Lomot. The man was hard to miss, as he was nothing short of a walking work of art. He noted several others he’d noted wearing initiate’s mantles in the past day, including a Thaylen lady and the Shin man that had been preaching about ‘Truth’. The Shin certainly had a way with words, but Ranatar didn’t understand why he felt the need to preach to people in these times.

While Ranatar’s gaze wandered around the terrace, his feet had brought him to the roofs center. There, Lady Davar, a confirmed knight Radiant, was surrounded by several other initiates. Unsurprisingly they were almost all female. She was talking about the heating fabrial next to her. Ranatar walked to a table close by and took a glass of light wine from a passing servant while listening to her instruction on the various types of fabrials.

-------------------------------------

A quick note on the first sentence: the italics words are glyphs. as far as I know, they are ones I've made up on the spot, though they'd have some meaning linking them to the variables I used them for.

If not approached by someone shortly after taking  his place at the table, Ranatar will get out his notebook and start writing in it. Send me a PM if someone's character walks by and shoots a look at what I'm writing.

Last of all, I wish everyone a lot of fun with this game!

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Okay then, I don't have much time, but let's talk strategy. 

We know the unjust can bond spren just as easily as the rest of us can, that means that we should try to keep up a count of how much honor everyone is earning, and see who can/does have a spren. The unjust loose their spren if they attempt any of their unjust faction actions which we can use to check people out, and make sure that they do in fact have a spren, and that they were not part of the last faction attack that was made, should anyone come into question. This leaves the hole of if they have three(or more) when one of them comes under suspicion then the rest of them have that one person use a spren bond, then the others still use faction actions to prove innocence...not the best strategy but the best one that I can come up with currently.

@Amanuensis  Is it 1 honor to bond a spren, or how exactly is this process going to end up working, the rules don't describe it that well. Also will you be making a tally of who receives how much honor, or will that not be posted officially?

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  • Alvron locked this topic

Kintas looked through the opening to the roof of Urithiru's tower at the gathering and ostentation he saw on display.  It was a muted splendor, to be sure, with glowing spheres instead of blazing torches or shining magical symbols (he'd seen both of those before) and possessed a distinct sense of artistry, but was no less glamorous for that.  Several initiates were gathered around tables with food or the rainbow-hued wine, while others spoke with Shallan, the red-haired Veden woman who had operated the Oathgate for his group, or to Dalinar himself, including…

Was that Hoid? Quintus (Kintas, he mentally corrected himself, trying to maintain his composure) hadn't seen the man since he'd virtually abandoned Quintus on Nalthis.  Sure, he'd been exceptionally helpful and truly seemed to care for Quintus at the time, but he had a bad habit of disappearing when he could be useful, presumably for some other important task or purpose (or perhaps just to find someone else to annoy).  At the moment, he was dressed in black with a sword on his hip, even though he'd never used a weapon as far as Kintas could remember.  He couldn't hear the conversation between Dalinar and Hoid, nor the initiate that had been kneeling in front of him, but it was obvious that Hoid had actually brought Dalinar good news, though he was summarily dismissed before Kintas even recovered enough to consider approaching him.  Just as Hoid slipped out the door, though, he turned and winked just for a moment at Kintas.

Guess he recognizes me.

Kintas didn't even pause to wonder about that fact.  He'd learned long ago that Hoid knew far more than he would ever let on, and he'd stopped trying to second-guess the man, if he was even truly a man.  He wasn't going to get answers from him for now, though, so instead he found himself making his way over to the tent where Shallan was talking about the fabrials that were in place around the roof in a few different places.  He had a glass of wine in his hand, drinking sociably, but considering he wasn't capable of getting drunk, and didn't actually need food anyways, it was merely for show.

"…augmenting fabrial, so it actually increases the amount of heat in the air around it.  There's a flamespren trapped inside a ruby in there, and the fabrial uses that to heat the entire tent here to a precise temperature, far more efficiently than a fire would.  Navani has so many more ideas, but this is definitely the nicest one right now, since I'm pretty sure it's about to be winter, and this tower is so high up! Now, those elevators you rode on the way up here, those we think use some type of conjoined fabrials with a counterweight, but we haven't actually been able to get at the mechanism yet, especially since we don't want to break anything, so it'll require more study to be sure.  They're far more advanced than any fabrials the artifabrians have developed in the the last few, well, centuries.  More than the Half-Shards Jah Keved tried, although those are pretty amazing."

Kintas loved hearing the science behind the various magics in the worlds he visited, so he could already tell he was going to love spending time around Shallan and the other fabrial scientists.  He let himself just blend into the group of initiates there, not feeling a need to socialize tonight, but instead indulging his true scholarly nature.

Kintas may not plan on being social, but feel free to strike up a conversation if you'd like.  He's just not going to go looking for one.

Drought, that's an excellent plan (my impression is that there will not be a public tally of Honor earned, but I would be curious as well).  I think I'll try to track that myself, though I know that not everyone will have reason to trust everything I say, so of course we should have others doing the same, if not everyone (I guarantee most people won't spend the time, though). I had to go look it up to remember: 3 discussion posts gets 1 Honor, plus another if you also do 2 RPs at least 100 words.  That's not going to be something that everyone will earn certainly, so I suspect keeping track of that will actually be extra helpful.

EDIT: I just adapted the spreadsheet I made for AG3, so I can keep track of Honor earned per night, but also get a running total on my main page of it. This should be interesting.

Edited by Jondesu
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1 hour ago, DroughtBringer said:


@Amanuensis  Is it 1 honor to bond a spren, or how exactly is this process going to end up working, the rules don't describe it that well. Also will you be making a tally of who receives how much honor, or will that not be posted officially?

 

I won't reveal the exact amounts, but each spren requires a specific number of Honor to bond. In the event that multiple players reach that number at once, a dice will be rolled to determine who gets it. In the event that a Radiant dies or goes inactive, the spren will move onto a random player that meets the requirement. The more honor someone has invested in a single spren, the greater chance they'll have of bonding it.

I will not be posting tallies of who spends honor on what. 

Edited by Amanuensis
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18 minutes ago, Alvron said:

Will you tell us if someone does bond a spren?  And if so, will we learn which one so we can place our honour elsewhere?

It will be announced when bonds are formed and broken, but not what kind or with who. 

Edited by Amanuensis
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2 minutes ago, Alvron said:

Will you tell us if someone does bond a spren?  And if so, will we learn which one so we can place our honour elsewhere?

I don't think that that's good idea, it's will make game less interesting :P.

Will write my thoughts on everything later cause writing RP right now.

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1 minute ago, Arinian said:

I don't think that that's good idea, it's will make game less interesting :P.

I agree but the question still needed to be asked.  And answered.  More information can only be a good thing.

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Ralaanar sat in a corner of the room, chewing on a sugary puff of... something. He didn't know what it was, but it tasted exactly like the other 20 something foods he'd sampled already. The only difference was its color, pink. The sugar dusting the puff sparkled in the light, but its appearance didn't make up for the taste. It was cloyingly sweet, enough to make Ralaanar gag. If he hadn't been so hungry, he would have thrown these away the moment he tried them.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Ralaanar mumbled to Rissa. "Too much sugar."

"There's a nice stack of chouta on the left table that's calling your name," Rissa said.

"I can’t eat that! They’ll know who I am if I do,” Ralaanar said.

“Oh, come on. How are they supposed to divine your real gender from a single piece of chouta?” Rissa asked.

“Uh. There’s a book, um, Arts and Majesty,” Ralaanar said. “It, um, it says something about women only eating sweet things. So I can’t go over to the men’s table.”

“This the same book that says all men should fight?” Rissa asked.

“Um, yes,” Ralaanar said.

“That’s a stupid book, then.” Rissa said. She rolled her eyes. “You should eat whatever you want. Sneak outside to eat it if you have to. Say it's for Addy.”

Ralaanar paused and set down his sugar puff. Normally he wouldn’t want to risk exposure, but he was hungry. He needed actual food, with salt in it, not these sugar puffs or whatever they were. Still, he’d have to actually get the food. People would see him.

“C’mon, do it already,” Rissa said. She grabbed his arm and tugged on it.

“Fine,” Ralaanar muttered. He stood up and smoothed his light blue havah. Then he threw on a cloaks he’d taken from a guest. It was Kholin blue, a royal color. He glanced around the room, then started walking around the walls.

“Stop looking around so much, Ralaanar! Nobody’s going to eat you,” Rissa said.

“Don’t say my name!” Ralaanar whispered. “They might be able to hear you.”

“Fine,” Rissa said. “Ralaani. Ralaani Ralaani Ralaani. Better now?”

“Shhh,” Ralaanar said. “They’ll get suspicious if you say it like that.”

“So now you want me to shut up, huh?” Rissa said. “Figures.”

They continued arguing, and Ralaanar stopped watching the rest of the room for signs of suspicion. They made it through two walls of the room and were almost at the men's table when Ralaanar collided into a Thaylen women. He cried out and stumbled backwards.

This was bad.


Your turn, @AliasSheep

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Araon was worried. 

Give him a sword and put three bandits in front of him, fine. Put him in a cage with a whitespine, you'd learn the organ structure of the thing. But this was different. After spending years on the countryside, sleeping under trees and taking shelter from highstorms in caves, he wasn't prepared for this.  He wouldn't be shunned by the court- he was an Initiate, after all- but that only meant he would have higher expectations set upon him. He had spent years of his life living alone, and the social requirements of Alethkar surprised him. He had already been approached by many people, for both talking and dancing. For the latter, apparently 'storm off and die' wasn't an acceptable answer. Due to his earlier omen, almost anything put him on edge, and he was perpetually tensed, ready for a fight. And he had a feeling, that before the night was through, there would be one. 

Anyone want to have a barfight by the end of this Chapter?

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Sareth had not moved from the wall. He didn't need to. From this position, he had a good view of nearly everything that went on in the pavilion, and could guess about what else. While he reclined of a sort, he observed the going-ons of social activity and some other strange events. To name one, more than one individual seemed extremely anxious, glancing about at his or her surroundings. Of course, this couldn't be counted as too suspicious. He had met a handful of people with anxiety disorders and extreme fear. It was a problem of the mind, and from these experiences, he had gained a respect of those people. So it didn't unnerve him to see this. Other things were more concerning. Groups of people had condensed from the crowd, chattering among themselves. In such circles, vile things could be born. And besides, he thought, it is good to meet different people, get to know their cultures.

The other side of his mind hissed, hypocrite! Why don't you go out and meet some new people? Sareth brushed that aside. For now, it is time to watch and wait. He swept his view over the party goers again, and glanced at the other man, off in the corner opposite his, obviously avoiding the gala. He had refused many who approached him, gesturing rudely. Quite an introvert, that one. The warrior type, grizzled and muscular. Most likely skilled with the sword. Sareth tapped his chin. Would such a man be interested in the Truth, or would he refuse it blatantly, like he had the hopeful dancers? Somethings could only be discovered by doing, so Sareth began to stride in the direction of the man.

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Ashetvl cried out in shock as the woman knocked into her, dropping her chalice to the ground, spilling the drink everywhere.  A moment passed where she simply held her breath and then the world came back to her and she realised that the poor woman had stumbled backwards and was about to fall over.  Ashetvl reached out to stop her from falling and grabbed onto the shoulder strap of her dress.  The strap began to slide down and Ashetvl let go immediately, not wanting to unclothe the young woman before the entire crowd.  The woman fell down to the ground, fortunately not falling on her head or any other important part of the body, for she had managed to put her hands down in time to break her fall.  Ashetvl rushed over immediately, kneeling down beside the poor woman and putting her hand to the woman’s head.  


“Oh, I’m so sorry!” She cried out, sounding panicked, “Are you alright?  Do you want me to go fetch one of the medics?”

@Arraenae

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Ralaanar yanked his shoulder strap back on. Then he looked up at the woman kneeling over her. She was Thaylen, with long, white eyebrows that framed her face. Her eyes were a startling shade of azure, like the ocean on a sunny day. No, not like the ocean. Prettier than the ocean.

Ralaanar gaped at her face for a few seconds. Then he remembered her question. He stared for another few seconds before answering. "I -- um. Um. Uh. I'm okay."

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The woman seemed almost dazed, lost in her own world.  She just stared at Ashetvl for several seconds, but those seconds seemed to drag out.  Ashetvl was very confused.  At least they weren’t hurt.  Ashetvl began to stand up again, holding a hand out for the woman to grab onto so that Ashetvl could pull her up.


“I suppose that after such an encounter it would be rude of me not to introduce myself.  My name is Ashetvl, it’s nice to meet you.”

Edited by AliasSheep
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Aman, I have to add, I am floored by your write up. I really hope for your sake that most of the stuff you'll use has been written already, but no matter what it's astounding. 

For tactics, in addition to watching Honor gained and trying to track voting/interrogation tactics, I'd love to have some strong PM conversations, which is something I haven't been good at. I'll probably pick a few people that I've played with and at least one person I haven't to PM, but anyone can of course PM as well. I'll make sure at least 2-3 people know if I bond a spren, though whether I tell them what type will depend on how much I think I can trust them by that time. Let's try not to make too much public, though, including suggesting actions for people (we ran into trouble in AG3 because of that I think).

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"I'm, uh, Ralaani," Ralaanar said. He took Ashetvl's hand. "Um, nice to meet you too."


From now on, all game related discussion will be in the voices of my characters. Ralaanar is normal text, Rissa is bold. Everything from me will be in purple.


Um… hi? My name’s Ralaani, my spren’s forcing me to talk. Uh. Not much to talk about. Um. Uh, uh, uh...

The Unjust. Remember what you practiced?

Oh, right! I’ve, um, I’ve heard something about, um, some people called the Unjust. How often do they become Skybreakers? And, uh, isn’t it good if they do? Aren’t they Radiants just like us? They swear the same things as us, right? Why is that bad? I’ve heard that they’ll make us all lose, but...

Okay, let me clarify for Ralaani. She wants to know why how often Skybreakers are made, and what conditions the Unjust need to make us lose.

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