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In the Wake of the Koloss: A Short Story


Gamma Fiend

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So, back after the end of the First Game of Sanderson Elimination, I said I would work on a story for it, since it seemed like good enough material. I eventually got sidetracked and stopped after coming across a few difficulties, like trying to main a balance between story and exposition and all that. I was planning on showing it to some friends as well, who haven't read Mistborn or anything at all, so I tried explaining allomancy and Scadrial and all that, and I dunno. My words stopped feeling right. But I dunno, here it is. I think those are notes I was making up for character descriptions and mannerisms (with some artistic liberties taken. I really hope I don't offend anybody by how I portrayed them

 

 

Tyrian Falls: A Mistborn Short Story of Lies and Subterfuge

 

 

 

213 - Dr. Digits (Doctor)  Deceased Village Tineye

Edgedancer - Edgar (Blacksmith) Deceased Village Seeker

Mailliw73 - Maill (Cobbler)

Aether - Aether (Scholar) Deceased Spiked Smoker

Lord Claincy Ffnord - Clancy (Storyteller)

Gamma Fiend - Gambles (Town Drunk)

Kurkistan - Kukri (Knife Guy) Deceased Village Coinshot

Bartbug - Beetle (Urchin)

Dyring - Dyring (Inn Keeper) Deceased Village Thug

Little Wilson - Wilson (Messenger)

Darnam - Darnam (Mortician)

LoganMathewJohnson - Mat (Wanderer)

Grayv - Grayv (Drunken Veteran) Deceased Village Smoker

JasonPenguin - Jason (Beggar) Deceased Village Villager

PorridgeBrick - Porridge (Bricklayer) Deceased Village Rioter

Quiver - Quinn (Town Crier) Deceased Village Lurcher

 

 

The small village of Tyrian Falls lay on the outer reaches of what was formerly The Lord Ruler's Central Dominance. When news had came of the Empire's collapse and the death of their living God, society had collapsed and anarchy had spread through the countryside like a wildfire. The mists even seemed more prevalent, lingering longer in the morning and coming earlier in the evenings. The Mists. The ever present, oppressive constant, coming in at night and covering the world under a dense, thick veil of swirling white fog. It obscured all vision and seemed to press against the light, condensing thicker as if trying to battle the illumination and choke out all sight. Nobody knew why they came or how. They just knew they had always been there. And any self-respecting Skaa knew better than to go wandering out in the mists at night. People were ready to scoff at lore and superstition during the day, underneath the full protection of the sun, but when night came you never saw them braving the outdoors.

 

Gambles was a villager of Tyrian Falls and was sitting in the local tavern, the Leaden Mug, and was sitting at his usual table enjoying his favorite drink during a game of dice. Gambles was of course his nickname and was representative of his favorite thing to do. Dyring, the bartender, was sitting behind the counter and was absent-mindedly wiping down the bar top, gazing off to the side as if distracted. The whole place was like that, everybody would occasionally glance off to the side, staring out the window or at a wall. The whole night was off, and Gambles couldn't blame them. His heart wasn't even in the dicing.


It had started when Aether, the local scholar, had barged into the bar declaring saboteurs. This only emphasized the stories that Quinn, Mat, and Beetle had already started spreading earlier in the night.
As if bloody Koloss weren't enough. Gambles mused to himself. That news had only came in mere moments before Aether had come barging in.


Koloss were one of the many legacies of the Lord Ruler. Not only did he rule absolutely with a large army (undefeated for 1000 years until recently), his Obligators running all levels of government and bureaucracy, and his terrifying Steel Inquisitors, mysterious practitioners and upholders of the Steel Minstry – the official religion of the Final Empire – he had his monstrous bands of Koloss. Literal monsters, ranging from twice as tall to three times as tall as an average man, and a relentless blood-thirsty rage that was insatiable and unstoppable. Gambles had heard of plenty of aftermath of Koloss attacks, everybody did, because nobody ever survived a first-hand experience.
So why, when a band of these monsters had been spotted and were surely on their way to come and destroy the city, did sabotage begin? Who in their right minds would prevent the village from preparing? Surely they would die in the aftermath as well. Gambles just still couldn't believe it. Hence why he was drowning himself in the booze extra hard tonight.

Edgar, the towns blacksmith had walked in shortly after Aether and walked in next to him and sat down, putting an arm around him for comfort and leaning in and talking closely. Gambles didn't try too hard to overhear him, most conversations were subdued and despite the awkward occasional silences, he wasn't too worried about missing out on information. People liked to talk over their wine cups in a game of dice, especially when the winnings were high in their favor. Gambles considered it an art form, to be able to lose on purpose and in good grace - as long as it was for a point.

“-realized now the full extent of what is going on, but this is deliberate sabotage, I tell you!” Aether was still going on over at the bar, his voice rising and drawing the attention of the people who had just recently walked in, Porridge and Kukri among them. He was going over his lists of “accidents” that had sprung up around the town like wildfire. Some people could only understand the world if it was written out on a piece of paper in front of them.
“The World is falling apart!” Declared a nearby Quinn, the town-crier, his voice was deep and projected, you could tell he was well practiced at orating. “Haven't you heard me before? We should be glad it's just mortar and shoes we have to worry about falling to pieces so far!”

“But what about my reputation?!” Exclaimed Maill, the cobbler, fretting over his ruined products.
“Who cares about your bloody reputation?!” yelled Grayv, the old, drunk veteran sitting in the corner, he had a stiff leg and a twitching eye, the prizes of long past wars he used to fight in years ago. He could drink Gambles under the table on any given day.
“A reasonable concern,” a new voice chimed in, it belonged to Clancy, one of the many strange faces in the town at the moment. His voice was was deeper even than Quinn's and it carried farther. Quinn was a town-crier, but Clancy was a storyteller. Gambles had seen him around the town a dozen or so times over the last few days, always around the Inn or town square, where the most people usually were, drawing crowds with his majestic voice, spinning out wondrous tales for all who wanted to hear.
“Any square-headed, normal man should be worried about his livelihood. Thus are the actions of man, to ensure their own proliferation and continued success. It is what drives us,” Clancy continued, using practiced speaking skills to steal everybody's attention to him, his voice a quiet whisper at first, forcing everybody to quiet down and straining to hear him. And then rising. “But that is a normal man, under normal circumstances. And our situation is anything but normal. What strikes you the odds of these particular accidents happening at the precise time we get wind of Koloss at our door steps? What are the chances that these two events are completely unrelated? Why, I doubt our beloved gambler over here wouldn't even that bet.”
Clancy chuckled and gestured over towards Gambles, who was sitting off slightly to his left.
“So what are you suggesting?” Gambles heard himself ask, his voice sounding extra raspy and drier than he had anticipated.
“Why, that this is no mere coincidence, my good man. No. I have seen this before.”
“Seen what before?” Asked Porridge, the local bricklayer. His name wasn't really Porridge, but it's just what everybody called him, and he seemed okay with it. Gambles couldn't recall his name exactly, either.
“Betrayal.” Clancy said, taking a small sip to punctuate and emphasize the word. “As I said, I've seen it before.
In a small village, not unlike this one, far to the north in the shadow of the ashmount Torinost. It was a peaceful farming village, much like our own, with men enough to fend off bandits and discourage recruiters. When word came to them of an approaching Koloss hoard they did not give in to their fear, but reviewed their defenses, hoping that they might survive the assault.
“But as they started to prepare and make defenses, they found problems similar to what we're experiencing. Broken walls. Missing weapons and tools. Weakened bindings and crumbling defenses, and spoiled food. The town was in disarray.”
Clancy lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper again. “There were traitors in their midst. People living and working on the inside of the town, ruining their chances of survival. Why somebody would do that, I'll never know. Soon suspicion and mistrust spread throughout the town, infecting everybody worse than a horrible plague, halting civilization in it's tracks worse than any disease could. There was no unity, no cooperation. Nobody willing to work together. There was only one thing villagers could agree on, after a while... and that was who to kill. When the paranoia grew out of control, it swept the town like a boiling cauldron bubbling over, and that's when the public hangings began. The town would mob up and lose it's mind, everyday the citizens would gang up on one of their own, and murder them one by one. So certain, so positive in the chosen one's guilt that they gave up their own humanity to ensure their own survival. They all turned on each other, and by the time the army of Koloss had arrived, there wasn't a single living soul left for them to terrorize.”
Clancy trailed off and a silence washed over the Inn. The wind howled outside and the boards creaked and groaned, making all the appropriate sounds of an old building being battered by the elements. There were a few squeaks and grunts as people shifted in their seats and a coughing noise came from somewhere in the back.

“Excuse me,” Darnam said, coughing and speaking up, “If there weren't any survivors, then how exactly do you know this story? And why are you telling us?” Darnam was the town's mortician, and like his job, his personality was rather grim.

“I'm a traveler. I have seen many things and have heard countless more. It is my job to collect stories. To find all the untold tales of the world and spread that information. And what are the point of stories if not to share them?” He waved around the room and raised his voice, reveling in the attention. “Especially when these stories of mine are particularly relevant. The point of stories are to learn. And when I tell you of people's failures, I would hope you would take the hints and learn from their mistakes.”
Edgar walked back into the bar and alerted everybody to the fact he had locked up and hidden away all of his extra weapons with Aether following behind him trying to keep track of all supplies and resources at the town's disposal. Beetle, one of the many young street urchins, clothes ragged and dirty, smelling and looking like he'd gone weeks without washing scampered past both of them , squeezing through the door way behind them to get in. He kept his head ducked low and walked fast, trying to avoid the attention of the inn owner. Dyring had to chase him out daily.
At this point in time most of the villagers had filtered through at one point or another, sharing stories of things they've found throughout town being tampered with, silently musing with their heads down in their cups and a macabre mood settled over the common room.
Gambles was currently playing a round of dice with Edgar and Clancy. Edgar had abstained from getting drunk, a rule of his from a few years back when he had an unfortunate accident at the forge one night when he was deep into a bottle of wine – there was still a scar running down arm where he was burnt. Clancy was drinking, but only casually, not taking more than a few sips every now and then and staying away from the heavy liquor. But what Gambles two opponents were lacking for in booze they made up for in their purse size. Gambles had been steadily losing to the both of them with fantastic aplomb over the last couple hours. It was slow, delicate work. Normally he wouldn't go through such extremes to loosen and warm opponents up as much, but tonight's dire circumstances left him no choice.
Nobody was happier than a drunk man, or a man winning at dice. When Lady Fortune blessed you and you sailed smoothly down a river of wine or beer, men were extremely open.
Give somebody a drink, and they would smile. Give them a drink and invite them to a game of dice, and they call you friend. But if you take their money they will dislike you and forever remember. But if you got a man drunk, invited him to gamble, and unapologetically gave them all of your money, they will hug and bless you and call you best friend. And best friends?
Well, best friends told each other everything. They shared things. And that was Gambles advantage. He didn't know what was exactly going on, but with the Koloss and traitors in the midst, this town needed every advantage it could get. Gambles wasn't an old war hero, or a fancy story teller. He didn't know his way around the forges, he wasn't an important doctor or a fancy scholar or any other type of skill set or occupation.
He was a gambler. He relied on his luck and his own special set of skills he had honed over the years, using his own brand of lessons he'd learned. And rumors didn't spread faster anywhere else than at the dice-table, when people were fairly lubricated with liquor and feeling invincible with a never-ending winning streak. Let somebody think they have no worries in the world, and they might just slip something important.

 

 

 

 

 

Insert Meta's narrative**

 

Day 1 (The day millions of Companions cried out in pain)

 

Aether’s announcement sent ripples through the town, like an allomantic pulse. It seemed to draw people to the inn so they could share their tales of woe and a pint or two… or 20. As all of them recounted their tales, it became obvious; there were enemies amongst them. Many tried to drown their fears in drink, while Clancy tried to rally them into overcoming these saboteurs. One lonely voice amongst the masses asked if they were really willing to possibly sacrifice innocents to achieve their goals. Either way, the town started to prepare themselves, starting with Edgar locking up their remaining stores of weapons.

 

As the night wore on, they all realized that there wasn't much more they could accomplish this night except drive themselves mad with speculation. One by one, they disappeared into the mists, heading home to sleep off their drunken haze. Unfortunately, one of them wouldn't make it….

 

While most people found the mists discomforting due to its ability to conceal anything further than 10ft away, Dr. Digits didn't have that problem. Being a Tineye had its advantages, but even being a Tineye wasn't making any easier to walk home drunk. His wife would probably have a few choice words for him, but he found it difficult to care. Koloss on their way, saboteurs in their midst; he doubted anything she said could make things much worse. As he stumbled into a pile of crates, he noticed two people standing in the middle of the road. Or was there one? He shook his head, trying to clear his double vision. Why would someone be standing in the middle of the street, in the middle of the mists, in the middle of the night, in the middle of this catastrophe?

 

Digits chuckled to himself. “Maybe they’re a middle child too.”

 

He was so focused on the figure ahead that he almost missed hearing the footsteps behind him until it was too late. He spun, his vision wavering as his drunken mind tried to catch up. He flared tin to help clear his head, but that just amplified the sudden pain in his side as the dagger slid home. A hand clamped around his mouth, stifling his scream. “We’re very sorry about this, Doctor, but we can’t have you healing the wounded. Ruin doesn't approve of that.”

 

And with that, his assailants disappeared into the mists, leaving him to bleed out. He could already feel the effects of blood loss. His weakened limbs wouldn't support him anymore. Sliding to the ground, he shook his head in confusion. “But, but I’m the Doctor,” he whispered to himself as the world went black around him. It wouldn't be until morning and the mists reluctantly gave way to the sun before his body was found.

 

Dyring awoke to find a message scrawled onto the top of one of his tables. “There’s always another secret.” Dyring had no idea what it meant, but he didn't get time to contemplate it, as a scream sounded from outside.
Back to Gamble's Narrative:

 


Gambles had drunk himself into a stupor – one of many binges to come – and was awoken rudely early in the morning by screams of panic. His head was pounding fiercely, almost as if somebody was standing right next to him pounding one of those blasted giant Terris drums, each pulse an aching roar. He could barely see with the glare of the sun through the windows, blinding him and making his eyes water, he fumbled around half blinded until he managed to get to the sink on the other side of the room.

The screams from outside had subsided but was replaced by the noise of the whole village waking up and clamoring about.
Today is going to be a long day... Gambles thought sourly.
He had no idea what he was in for.
***

By time his headache had settled down and he got himself properly washed off from last night and washed up he made his way out the door. His house was a small, nondescript building near the edges of town, more of a shack than a proper residence. It had all the essentials, and that's what mattered. He spent most of his time at Dyring's Inn anyway.

Most of the citizens of the village were out and about, either bustling to and fro pretending to look busy or just standing outside their houses staring off absent mindedly. Gambles found what all the commotion was about in the center of town where most of the people had gathered. There was a small crowd gathered around... something. Gambles felt his stomach drop and his heart fill with dread.
Surely not already...

“This is a messy corpse,” Darnam was saying as he walked up, in his usual grave tone, “This wasn't murder. This was mutilation. The body was barely identifiable, but the widow was able to confirm who it was after a bit of... reconstruction.”
Gambles saw where there was a large patch of blood on the ground, the soil was soggy from soaking up so much. He was suddenly very glad he didn't try eating breakfast yet.
“Who... uh. Who was it?” He heard himself ask shakily, and was surprised it sounded even that steady.
“It was Digits.” Darnam replied evenly.
“Surely not the doctor!” Somebody cried out.
“Yes.” He continued, unfazed by the interruption. “This wasn't some subtle assassination. This was a blatant, deliberate planned murder.”

“You know what this means?” A panicked voice said over Gambles shoulder. He turned to find a wide-eyed Porridge, the bricklayer. “ People are going to want blood for this!” He cried out and ran away quickly, drawing even more attention to himself.

He was one of the newer people in town and had just established his business just a week or two before this whole mess started. If anybody had any reason to be worried, it would be outsiders. All suspicion would be on them from the get-go. But rightly so. How could anybody who lived here do this to their neighbors?

Edgar walked up after Porridge's hast departure and hailed Gambles.
“Aye, Gambles. How goes it? Any news?” He nodded towards the patch of blood on the ground. Apparently he had already been here earlier.
“No. I just walked up as Darnam was leaving. I can still barely believe it. I mean, the Doctor? That is no mere coincidence.”

Edgar nodded solemnly. “I agree. I just got back from comforting Solicia, you know, the doctor's wife.”

“Oh crap. I didn't even think of her. How's she holding up?”

“About as well as one could expect. As in, pretty terribly. Worst part is, there's all these medicines and powders back at his office, and I guarantee there's something there that could calm her down or help her out. But the one person who would know what's what...” He trailed off, scowling and not wanting to even finish the thought.
“We'll find out who did this,” Gambles said, putting an arm on Edgar's shoulder, “Here, let's go get breakfast, or something. I don't know about you, but this morning has already left a bad taste in my mouth and there's only one sort of thirst that can fix that.”
“Aye.” Edgar said and let Gambles steer him off towards the Inn. There seemed to be a few people already gathering there. The both of them had made it halfway there when they started hearing Quinn.
“Didn't I tell you this would happen!” He was yelling out, standing up on a platform and using all of his projection skills to make sure everybody hear him. He was in his usual attire of plain, baggy clothes and his well known green cloak draped over him, the hood down. The bell he usually rang to gather everybody's attention for announcements lay unused at his feet, it wasn't needed.
“This was exactly what I warned you all about!” He was still going on. “Last night, we were told there was a traitor in our midst, and what do we do? We get sodding drunk, so plastered half of us couldn't even make it home unaided! We departed and seperated, going off into the mists on our own. And what happens? Only the obvious! Our town Doctor, knifed down and
mutilated right in the middle of the town!” He heavily emphasized the word and was basically spitting venom by the end of the sentence. He continued on.
“I tell you what we must do! We must find those responsible and hang them from the rooftops! We have find these heinous murderers, these skulking wolves among us, hiding and pretending to be a docile sheep! We will not fall for it! I declare that we will find you, and we will have
justice!” He ended the sentence with a roar, the crowd that had gathered cheering out in agreement. However this matter may have been decided otherwise was irrelevant now, this crowd was out for blood and there would only be one way to satisfy that craving.
Gambles felt a shiver ripple through him and he ducked his head down and hastily shoved his way through the crowd. His head still hurt too much for all of this.
He needed a drink. And badly.

***

It was a few hours later and a large group had gathered in the town-hall, an old building that used to be the center of the town, a giant, old brick structure that had always functioned for large meetings and decisions of importance. It's bottom levels were stained black by the constant ashfalls, another things that was as regular and inconvenient as the mists. At night the world was covered by the thick, swirling mists. Those were almost pleasant compared to the ash. Some days were fine and the Ashmounts weren't too active, only causing an occasional, light falling. But some days, the ash would fall non-stop, like a nightmarish rain, but instead of washing everything away and turning the ground to mud, it covered everything, blanketing in a thick layer of black. And then if it rained it all turned into sludge. But after 1000 years of dealing with the mists and ashfalls, Skaa learned to deal with these things. There were a few common laborers, dressed in the plain color, patchy working clothes, mostly stained black, shoveling the ash away and creating a walkway leading up to the town-hall.

There was still quite a bit of commotion as everybody were still getting settled to their seats, taking their time and lingering in groups, chatting with their friends and loved ones in small, confidential circle. Although the groups seemed closed off, there was still friendliness among the people. Any fear or suspicions were kept hidden behind friendly waves and happy greetings. Gambles noticed Kukri standing and talking with Lady Wilson at a nearby table lined along the wall. Kukri was a wealthy exotic merchant, specializing in foreign knives. He singularly owned the rights to an exclusive trade route from the Eastern Dominance. He dressed to match his wealthy status and was in the garbed in the latest fashion, a neat suit coat and firmly pressed dress pants, his light brown hair was a little wild and pushing acceptable tradition by hanging down a little past his ears. He looked all neat and proper but Gambles knew first hand that Kukri had at least quite a few knives hidden on his person at all times. He didn't only sell knives, he damnation well knew how to use them. Lady Wilson was the town's messenger, rumor was that she was some distant cousin of some noble family in Luthadel but she neither confirmed or denied such rumors. Neither did she discourage the title Lady Wilson, either. She was dressed in a proper full length dress, a black color to match the mood of mourning, and hiked up more than a few inches to keep the end from trailing in the ash outside.

Over in another group chatting were Mat, the wanderer that rolled into town a few nights ago, who was talking with Beetle and Jason, a poor beggar who somehow managed to clean himself off and look and smell at least not completely offensive. Gambles had recalled him sitting outside the Inn's window, listening to the conversations inside while hiding in the shadow. He remember when Jason used to work on one of the wealthy noble house trade barges, sailing up and down the canal, transporting goods and precious cargo into the heart of the Final Empire. When news of the Lord Ruler dying came and the collapse of the noble houses came, Jason was one of the many workers left without a job and nowhere to go. He had wandered into town less than a month ago and had lived so far on people's goodwill. Gambles wasn't sure how much longer those charities would last.

Everybody grew silent and the crowd parted way as a few people made their way up to the stage. It was Aether, the scholar, and he was followed by Darnam.
“I, uh, have an important announcement to make.” Aether declared, not completely confident. “Um. Darnam?” He gestured to the mortician to speak.
“Upon examination of the... remains of the body, and rifling through his personal possessions I found something peculiar.” Darnam held up something small in his hand. Squinting hard to see it, Gambles could barely make it out. But as Darnam moved and swept it out in front of him to face the other half of the crowd, Gambles was certain what it was, and his heart dropped. In Darnam's hand was a twinkling little glass vial, and inside was a clear liquid. At the bottom of the vile, barely distinguishable, were small flakes of metal.

By the Lord Ruler. May the Survivor save us. Gambles prayed.
Metal. As much superstition and paranoia there was surrounding the mists, and dark spirits moving about in the night. Or all those other scary, crazy things. None of that matched the stories surrounding metal. Men and women, either blessed or cursed by the mists, depending on who you talked to. Whether a boon or a gift was hard to say, but the myths surrounding
Mistborn were legendary. Skaa knew that there were such things as people with special powers, powers that the Lord Ruler himself possessed or created (depends on who you talk to, yet again). This was basic teachings of the Steel Ministry, the heart of the Final Empire's religion. But out here in the far reaches, most things didn't make it out here. But everybody knew the stories, for that was all that was out here. Apparently until now.
“What... what is it?” Gambles said, trying to speak around a lump in his throat.”
“It's Tin.” Aether replied.

There were more than a few gasps.
“Tin.” Aether repeated. “Now some of you may not want to believe this, or just want to chalk it up to superstitious fancy. But here is a fact. Dr. Digits was an Allomancer.
Allomancer. Gambles knew the word.
“Allomancers,” Aether continued, “For those who aren't familiar, are people who have the ability to burn metals. Tin is one of the allomantic metals, and it heightens ones senses. Whatever stories you've heard, their true. These aren't made up stories. Mistborns and Mistings are real. People with extraordinary abilities. Blessed from the Lord Ruler himself, with blood lines going back to the original supporters and friends of the Lord Ruler when he first took up mantle as our leader.”

Everyone sat still, too stunned to react. Aether solemnly dipped his head for a small moment of silence. He gathered himself and looked up.
“Dr. Digits was one of out best hopes, I'm realizing now. Remember how he would always talk of the mists? Not afraid, not intimidated. He was one of the few of us that would brave going out at nights. Not just quickly walking back to your place, with your heads down and your trepidation running high. No. He truly loved the nights. He would boast of his long walks through the night. Not fearing the mists. It makes more sense now.”

Aether raised the vial of tin for all to see again. “He was a tin misting. He could see and hear things that we couldn't even conceive of. He would have been our best spy. He could have passed messages for our us in the night, not being scared off by the thick wall of fog at our doors. He could pierce right through the fog. But alas -”
“This is NOT a coincidence!” somebody yelled out from behind Gambles, cutting Aether off, he wasn't sure who.
“Now, now. Calm down.” Aether said, trying to make sure people didn't get out of control. Gambles applauded him mentally. Once you let one person start shouting and interrupting people, it quickly descended into chaos.
“We don't know that yet. It could very well have just been dumb luck on the assailants behalf. There's only one person who would know for certain.”

Everybody shifted uncomfortably and looked around at everybody else in the room.
No good. Gambles thought. The mistrust and suspicions are already starting to rise. If we keep getting bad news like this, I don't know how much longer we can stick together.
“So what are we to do?” asked Kukri, stepping forward and walking up onto the stage., flourishing with his knives for dramatic sense, a peculiar habit of his. Gambles didn't even think it was a conscious effort anymore.
“There is very clearly a traitor in our midst. And we need to flush him out. We need to start gathering clues.”

“Well obviously!” said Maill, standing up. “But what do you suggest? Huh? We don't have exactly that much to go on.” Maill had a point. With the cascade of horrible news from the night before and now the grizzly murder, everybody's nerves were frayed and there was nothing but with rumor and speculation flying about.
“There was nothing incriminating on the body I could find.” Darnam piqued in.
“Nor did I think you would.” Kukri said, trying to get everyone's attention back on him. “Think about it. This whole business has been carefully planned. This isn't random. No. Let's go over what we know. This all started when Grayv came and warned us about the band of Koloss on the way. Then Aether came screaming in here about sabotage. The walls. The mortar. Think! Who has been acting extra suspicious lately? Who's walls would we be relying on to protect us when the Koloss come? And they just happen to start crumbling? The mortar mysteriously weakened? We don't even know the bricklayer's name, for Preservation's sake!”
Everybody's eyes swiveled to Porridge, who was sitting near the edges of the town-hall. It really didn't help that he happened to be sitting next to Beetle and Jason, two of the less savory characters around town.

“Preposterous.” He said immediately, meeting Kukri's glare back. “How dare you? I have just as much to lose here as anybody else. I would be hiding behind my walls to! And if not for the sabotage, I would risk my life on them!” He stood and stared defiantly at everybody.

“Hold up” Maill said, raising a hand. “It's only the defensive walls being tampered with so far. That's way too controlled and specific. There's no way he could have planned that! Besides, wasn't the doctor stabbed? With knives?”

Maill turned and looked at Kukri, poising the question at him while still pretending to direct it to the crowd. Kukri got the message full by the apparent offense on his face.
“Now listen here!” He blurted out, unconsciously gesturing with his knives.
Not helping your case buddy. Gambles thought, quickly stepping forward to interject.
“Woah, now! Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We're neighbors here, remember?” He asked, looking both at Maill and Kukri in the eye. They both had the grace enough to look away embarrassed.
“Come on. We all know each other. We're good people here.” Gambles continued on in comforting tones before his voice took a sudden sharp turn. “But I may have heard some... unsavory things last night. Some confessions over a dice-game, you could say.”
“What do you know about the wanderer?” Gambles asked, gesturing with his head over towards where Mat stood by himself in the corner, conspicuously attempting to eavesdrop on everybody around him.
“Mat? What about him?” Kukri asked.
“Exactly. What about him? As in, what do we know about him? After that blasted storyteller whipped everybody up into a frenzy, Mat took right on over after he left. He was half boasting of ridiculous exploits, half fear-mongering. His stories all had an eerie resemblance to our predicament. And nothing but bleak endings. Now they could just be stories... but I'm not sure I exactly trust him.”

“What you say makes sense, Gambles.” Maill agreed. “There is definitely something off about that man.”
The blacksmith shoved his way through the crowd and joined the discussion.
“Mat? Aye, definitely something strange about that lad. But a murderer? He definitely has some delusions of grandeur, with all of his big talk and fancy stories. But that's what they are, harmless stories. I've seen men like him before. He's a wanderer because he himself doesn't know who he is. So he goes out looking, and all he finds are silly stories to entertain people with and make himself feel better.”

“Hm. You may be right.” Gambles conceded. “I'll still want to keep an eye on him.”

At that point, Grayv was limping up to the town-hall door. He looked like a mean old bastard, his eye twitching wildly, still wearing his disheveled clothes from the night before.

“This is all foolish, I say!” He yelled out, trying to get everybody to hear him. “What can we already know? Nothing, I tell yas! Us throwing names and suspicions around like this won't do no good! We'll only sow mistrust and enmity amongst ourselves. I tell you, voting out who we think did it like this will do no good! At least not yet. I've only come to tell you all I'll have no part in this today.”

And with that the drunk old veteran hobbled away, pulling out his flask and taking long drags. Gambles watched him go and heavily weighed his words in his head.
“What's that?” Quinn asked, also watching Grayv walk away. “Why the indifference?,” he said, now addressing the crowd. “Why would he not want to figure out who the murderer is? How could he even consider letting somebody go free for now?”

“Hey, now Quinn,” cut in Gambles, “What are you getting at?”

“Who here in this town can sleep soundly, knowing there's a traitor in out midst. Whom among us can just sit idly by while murderers roam free without ramifications? Without justice.” Quinn held the attention of the full town hall now, the wooden walls bouncing back the volume he projected and amplified it even louder. “I've seen what war does to people. I have watched old veterans wither away, hiding from the traumas they've seen in their youth, finding any escape they can. And old Grayv, there. How long can one find solace in a bottle before it does no more good? He's a soldier. He's killed before. That's a plain fact. When looking for murderers, I would say that we first look at those we know capable of it.”

“I... I don't know about that,” cut in Gambles. “Sure, the old mans seen some rust. And he's probably the only one in this village who could out drink me... but...I don't know.” He knew he didn't sound to confident at the end. Rust. He didn't even feel so confident. He'd diced and drank with Grayv more often than not. And sure, the man was messed up in the head. But murder?
“He's right.” Beetle said, scampering up and sliding in between people to get to the front and draw all eyes to him. “See the way he casually just stopped in, said he wanted nothing to do with it and stormed off? Sounds like a man who has something to hide. And I should know, I hide a many of things.”

Lady Wilson stood up now, and the hall fell silent. Most people gave her opinions more weight than others. She cleared her throat once and then spoke up, “I agree with Quinn and Beetle. I don't trust that Grayv fellow. His eye is just so darn twitchy. And we must find this murderer. I expect our best lead is to look at him.”
“Oh come on now,” Porridge shouted out. “That's silly. The more we argue amongst ourselves the longer this criminal roams free. Not to mention our bigger problems. I think we're all getting distracted. Why would the old veteran, one who has faced these ferocious beasts numerous times in his old military career, ever sabotage his own town to make us more susceptible to these monsters? We have to believe that work of this large a scale is not being carried out alone, and the murderer has accomplices. I still suggest we ask that wanderer a few questions.”

Gambles was starting to get a headache again. They had been here arguing for what seemed well over an hour now and no conclusion was even closed to being reached. He just wanted to go have a drink and relax. And maybe spin the dice a few times. He found the rattling sound of a die in a cup soothed him almost as much as a strong wine. He closed his eyes and tried to remember some of the stories he heard last night, trying to find any lost connections he may have missed. He knew this mess was going to get a whole lot worse before it got better.
If it gets better. He thought darkly.

The arguing dragged on, lunch came and went, ash continued to drift on down from the sky and Gambles began to mark each passing of the hour with the sound of scraping shovels from outside. The sun was well past it's zenith and was starting to pass into the twilight hours, the sky becoming a deepening red, getting darker and darker until it looked the color of blood, the horizon a nasty purple bruised hue behind it. A bleak omen if Gambles ever saw one. His headache had become a roar to almost match the tumult of the arguing crowd.
Shouts of what had at first been to go question Grayv grew more and more hostile as the day grew on and tempers flared. The town-hall was a cacophony of yelling, thumps, and stomping. Everybody wanted to be heard and cast their opinions, and eventually the tension broke.

Aether finally stood up with his arms raised, trying to quiet everybody down. He had been frantically writing everything down, trying to keep track of all the points and counterpoints of the arguments. Everybody reluctantly simmered down, but the air was buzzing with the adrenaline in the room. Aether cleared his throat.
“People! We've been at it for hours and night draw nigh! Are we to stay cooped up in here, bickering amongst ourselves whilst the killer roams free? Will we just squabble and argue with one another while the mists come and cloak our traitor in darkness once again? No, I say! We have heard the arguments, we have heard people defend the man who was not even here to speak for himself. This grizzled old war veteran, an angry old man that we know not to cross. The man who walked right on by a dead body this morning without even a second glance. Perhaps he had already seen it before then, and the sight was familiar?”

The crowd had started jeering halfway through at all the proper points, raising volume and enthusiasm with every sentence. Aether may not have been as skilled as Quinn or Clancy at getting a crowd riled up, but at this point in the day, with blood running this hot, the crowd would have gone along with anything at this point, Gambles figured.
He didn't feel good about what was coming next.
“I say we don't let him strike again!” Aether continued on, whipping everybody up into a full frenzy. “Tonight, we deal out justice and strike this murderer from our ranks!”

The crowd surged out of the building like a wave, spilling out the front and spreading out through the town square, rising in volume and ferocity with each step.
This isn't a crowd. This is a full on mob. Gambles thought, his stomach feeling like a lead ball.

He followed behind trying to keep up with the frantic mob as they made their way through town and towards Grayv's battered shack. He lived in the small cluster of old, wooden houses around near where Gambles lived. Eventually they were all piled out front Grayv's house and were pounding on his door and walls, yelling and demanding for him to come out.
I hope the old bastard ran for it. Gambles thought. He knew there was no hope in getting the crowd riled down now. Against Gambles hopes, the door slowly opened and the mob fell silent. Grayv was dressed in his old military uniform. It was a neat, blue uniform coat, with brass buttons freshly polished, gleaming buttons. He slowly limped forward, glaring at each and every single person, staring them in the eye as they fanned out and surrounded him in a semi-circle against his house. Gambles saw Mat silently slide in behind him, cutting him off from running back into his house.
Grayv spat. “So that's how it is, eh? Don't even want to hear me out? Fine, to hell with the lot of you. I've seen too much death. I want no part in what's to come next for this town.”

Edgar strode forward, brandishing a large steel ax, and placed an arm on Grayv's shoulder, forcing him down to his knees. He squeezed his shoulder.

“No hard feelings.”

Grayv laughed. “Whatever you say, friend.” He stuck his neck out, showing he was ready. Edgar slowly raised his ax and was just about to let it drop when Grayv suddenly cried out.
“Wait!”
Gambles felt his heart skip.
Grayv just looked back up, stared Edgar in the eyes and slowly reached into his pocket. Edgar shifted, obviously uncomfortable and suspicious of a trick or a weapon. Gambles hissed when he saw the first gleam of metal as Grayv's hand withdrew from his cloak.

Edgar was clearly about to strike when Grayv hurriedly pulled what was in his hand out into the open.
It was a flask.
“One more for the road, eh?” Grayv laughed and up-ended it, taking more than a few long gulps and tossed the flask away to the side when he was done, wiping his mouth off. He closed his eyes and smacked his lips.
“Ahhhh. Now I'm ready.”

Edgar nodded, and without any warning quickly raised the ax fully up above his head and brought it down in one fluid motion.
Gambles didn't blink and saw it all in too clear fashion. Nobody had time to cry out or turn away. One second Grayv's head was there, the next second there was a sickening crunch that Gambles was sure would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life, a muffled thump, and then silence. He wasn't sure, but he may have heard some sort of grunt or gurgle from Grayv at the last second.
Gambles was paralyzed and looked at Grayv's corpse. He couldn't believe it. Edgar tossed his ax away and made a sound of disgust and stomped away. Nobody would dare stop him.

The blood was still flowing out of the torso, creating another patch of blood on the ground.
I wonder how many of those we'll leave before this is through.
A few people quietly shuffled over to Grayv's freshly beheaded body and started doing a macabre search. They were looking for evidence. Anything to implicate him. After half an hour of fruitless searching, going over his lifeless limbs again and again, everybody solemnly came to the conclusion that Grayv was innocent.
Gambles was numb. They had just killed an innocent.

“Uh guys?” Gambles heard somebody ask nearby.
“There's pellets of copper in this flask. I think... I think he was a Smoker!”

By the Lord Ruler....

****

It was a few hours later, night had come quickly and the mists were out in full strength. There hadn't been much discussion among villagers after the incident, and most people either went immediately home or to Dyring's Inn to go drown their sorrows.
We killed an innocent...Gambles mind was still reeling. Nobody had seen Edgar since the beheading, he just stalked off into the falling twilight, obviously not wanting to be bothered. Gambles didn't blame him in the least.

“So, um, what is a smoker?” asked somebody, Gambles wasn't sure who.

Aether sighed and cleared his throat. “This is my fault, I must admit.”
“Aw come on, now. Don't say that!” cried out Clancy. “How could you even think that?”
“I should have explained more for people earlier. I just didn't expect...” he trailed off, obviously still bothered by the course of events from the day. “It's just. Who would have suspected their being multiple people in this village with powers?”

“I still don't get it! What are these powers!” Beetle scooted front and center, directing the question at Aether.
“Very well. Allomancy. Most people know the source of these powers, or at least the legends surrounding them. But what is not well known is how these powers work. Metal is a focus. Nobody understands why these certain metals work the way they do when they're burned, but they do. So that's all that's important. As mentioned before, there are Mistborns, and there are Mistings, or at least those are the common terms. We just need to focus on Mistings, as Mistborn are surely just legends and exaggerations. Now we already found two villagers each with the gift of a certain metal. And at this point, I don't doubt we'll find more. So let me explain.
There are Eight basic allomantic metals. They come in pairs and have similar effects, two ends of the same spectrum, sort of. Just listen. We already found Tin and Copper. Tin, as mentioned earlier, is used to enhance your senses. You can see, hear, and feel things that ordinary people couldn't. The pair to copper would be Pewter. Pewter enhances your physical abilities. One burning pewter, appropriately called a Thug, or Pewterarm, is much stronger than an average man. Their strength is enhanced, along with their endurance and sense of balance. A person burning pewter can survive wounds that would normally knock a man down and kill him.”
“Well that's very nice and all, but what about copper?!” somebody shouted out. All order really was falling apart.
“Copper Mistings, or Smokers, are special. To understand copper we must talk about bronze first. A Bronze misting is called a seeker. When they burn it, they are able to sense and detect, I've heard it explained as pulses. When somebody is burning one of the allomantic metals, they give off some sort of signal, these 'frequencies' for lack of a better term. These signals can be read by Seekers who are burning their metals. Some of them are even good enough at reading these waves to tell what kind of allomantic pulse it is, i.e., what metal is being burned. They can pinpoint who and where and what. So that's Bronze. Copper is an alloyed pair of bronze, it could be called it's opposite, somewhat like how Tin and Pewter have similar, but opposite effects. When somebody is burning Copper, they create what is called a 'Coppercloud'. Anybody inside this cloud that expands around the misting can't be seeked by bronze. They are safe and undetectable, their allomantic pulsing unreadable. Most thieving crews use Copper clouds in the city to hide from law enforcement.”

Aether paused from his speech, or lecture, depending on how you looked at it. Gambles was vaguely familiar with the stories and the powers. He remembered hearing things over the years. He listened as Aether went on, listing all of the allomantic metals and their effects. Essentially, although there were eight of them, it was more or less four pairs of two metals: a base metal and an alloy. Tin and Pewter: internal attributes and external attributes. Bronze and Copper: Seeking and Hiding. The other metals were Zinc, Brass, Iron, and Steel. Zinc and Brass were one pair, the latter two the other. Zinc and Brass were subject of paranoia more than the others because of their effects. One of the metals, when burned, allowed the user to influence the minds of others. Either enhancing or negating certain emotions that people around them may have. Brass mistings were called Soothers, they have the ability to dampen, or decrease what are feeling. The opposite, Zinc, were refered to as Rioters, could heighten or enhance the emotions otherwise. Both were typically feared, as only rumors of those were heard. Nobody wanted to know if their neighbor was controlling what they thought or not. Gambles shivered, and realized this whole situation was a lot worse than he had ever even imagined.
While most people feared the 'mind-control' metals, Gambles was downright terrified of the last two. Iron and Steel. The most magnificent and obvious of the metals. These two, like the other metals, had a 'push' and 'pull' type mechanism, one pushed, the other pulled. But unlike the other metals, these affected other things. The user could push or pull on metals to or away from them. Iron was pull, Steel was push – lurchers and coinshots. People who could shoot metal around (mind you the currency used were little bits of metal coins) and go flying through the mists at night were dangerous folk.
Everything was worse enough with just Koloss and regular old murderous traitors. Now everyone had to worry about people with special powers running around in the nights, too.
Gambles drained his tankard and signaled for Dyring to bring him another. He was still way too sober for all of this. He felt absolutely miserable.
“So what does all of this mean?!” yelled Jason, standing up to his feet, swaying greatly. It seemed he had managed to have more than a few generous people share drinks with him in their grief. “Why did people search his body afterwards? What in the Lord Ruler's name is going on here?!” He didn't have to specify what he he was talking about. Gambles brow furrowed. Jason was right. Why did people surge forward and search the body afterwards? He could understand checking somebodies pockets, or looking in their house for weapons or any damning evidence. But the mob patted Grayv's body down quickly and ruthlessly, searching for something.
Surely not...Gambles thought morbidly.
“You don't mean....” He couldn't help himself and the question escaped his lips. He didn't direct it at anyone, but Aether seemed to catch the implication.
“Yes, I'm afraid there's more.” Aether said darkly. As grim as the subject was before, with the murder of an innocent and a killer still roaming free. Gambles wished it was just that, feeling his dread rising.
“Spiked.” Aether said simply, and the deadest quiet ever swept through the room. Gambles could even here the wooden boards groaning, the ghostly whisper of the wind outside, but there was no noise inside the inn. No scooting chairs, nobody sipping or picking up their mugs.

Just dead silence.
Spiked were the newest, nastiest, and unfortunately, most persistent sort of stories spreading through the country side. It has been said since the fall of the Lord Ruler, strange things have been happening. Stranger than the mists, the constant falling ash, and even people leaping about in the night with crazy super powers. Stories of regular people suddenly acting differently. Acting strange. And then suddenly lashing out or doing heinous, merciless acts of cruelty. It was said that when these people are detained, usually at the cost of their own life, when their bodies were searched over they were found to be pierced with a metal spike.

Whispers of Ruin, they call it. For it's always reported that the said spiked people always seem to be talking or listening to some unseen voice, insisting they're working on orders of somebody else. Something else.
Gambles wasn't sure where or how the horrible rumors started, and he figured somebody just gave the ominous name of ruin to scare people. Either way, it seemed to be working. For he was scared witless at the moment. He couldn't even gather up the spirits to enjoy a quick game of dice, they stayed in his special pouch he sewed on the inside of his cloak, just waiting to be used.

He grabbed his new drink from Dyring as he walked over to hand it to him, and before he could walk away Gambles grabbed at him to get his attention and quickly began gulping his beer down. It took only a few seconds and he held the empty mug out to Dyring,
“Another please, if you don't mind.”
Dyring nodded and walked off, stopping at a few other tables and seeing if other patrons needed anything else. Gambles had a feeling the innkeeper was going to need to pull out the hard liquor and keep it flowing heavily, tonight.
Gambles slumped into his chair and opened his ears to the conversations around him. If he wasn't going to gamble for rumors tonight he might as well try gathering some information.
“-- that was the easiest autopsy I ever had to perform.” Gambles overheard Darnam saying, sitting off at a table having a drink. “Cause of death? Edgar beheaded him.”
Aether snorted a little bit and put his drink back down to the table. You could see his discomfort at laughing at such a morbid joke plain on his face.

“Bunch of fools, I say.”
Gambles spun to look at who spoke up, somebody closer to the center of the room. He didn't have to look hard, he found Jason swaying on his feet once again. He had somehow managed to acquire a bottle of brandy from somewhere, and it looked like he had already done some serious damage to the contents of the bottle. And the alcohol likewise to him,
“The Koloss don't even have to come kill us. We've already begun doing it for them!” He laughed and swung the bottle in a wide arc back up to his lips. He cackled again as he finished gulping, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand holding the bottle, spilling some down the front of his already soiled shirt.
“What about the blacksmith? Huh? Seemed to be a little anxious to use that big ax of his! Have we even seen him since he took that innocent man's head off?” As Jason looked around the room trying to find people to agree with him, Gambles saw how bloodshot his eyes were, and how frantic they looked. He was a man on the verge of a breakdown.
But Gambles wasn't going to sit here while everybody started throwing guilt around again. He did not want the blood of another innocent on his hands. Even if he didn't believe in Grayv's guilt, he still watched and did nothing to stop it. He was as guilty as everyone else.
“He just killed somebody for Lord Ruler's sake! Let it rest, Jason! I'm sure Edgar is at home mourning what he had to do. He is the biggest and strongest among us, and he owns and makes weapons that half of us can't even handle. Of course he had to be the headsman! I didn't see anybody else rushing up to volunteer to chop their neighbors head off, did you?”
Jason only looked slightly abashed. “Well earlier in the day, when he was talking with all of you guys spouting suspicion of Mat. And then when everybody started jumping on Grayv as the suspect he went right along with them. I'm just saying that's a little weird.”
Darnam spoke up, “Hey now! Just what good is talking about all of this here? There's still a bloody, spiked murderer among us! And we're sitting here listing targets for them to kill? Have you all lost your minds?”
There was a general agreement and most of the talk died down. There was still a few small circles of people talking, and Gambles heard the occasional snippet of conversation about the days events and people's worries, but he tried to drown it out. He kept ordering tankard after tankard ale and was soon not able to see straight. He realized he may have had a little too much to drink and made his way up the stairs. He heard Dyring mention earlier that people too drunk should just find an empty bed rather than wandering off into the mists alone. Gambles silently thanked him as he stumbled up the steps. He did not want to take the long walk home tonight.
He peeked into the first room he passed and saw Beetle, the young urchin, curled up on one of the beds. He laughed to himself and knew Dyring would regret his open policy in the morning when he chased the little bugger out.
Gambles check the next room and found it empty and barely made it to the bed in time before falling over, already unconscious before he hit the mattress.

*

Day 2 (Beggars can’t be Choosers)

 

Jason considered himself a very practical man. When one has to live on the streets, one learns how to separate things into needs and desires. That’s why, while everyone else talked and blustered, he would sit quietly and watch. He knew what the towns needs were. They needed to find those who were sabotaging their ability to defend against the Koloss. After the day though, he realized that all they really desired was revenge. The image of the crowd, calling for blood, followed him as he made his way through the alleyways towards his prefered sleeping spot. It wasn’t much, just another section of an alley, but the wall was connected to Edgar’s forge and there was a slight overhang to help keep off the rain.

 

“Fools, the lot of them,” he snorted. “They need to stop letting their nerves get the better of them or else we’re all doomed.”

 

Maybe next time, he’d have to speak up. He didn’t like being the center of attention, but if the rest of them couldn’t be reasonable, then he’d have to do it. He had just about reached his spot when he heard a sound that no beggar would mistake; the sound of a ringing coin. It was coming from just around the next corner. He peeked around the edge to see someone in a hooded cloak, flipping a single coin into the air and catching it. It was difficult to tell in the mists, but it looked like the cloaked figure was watching and waiting for something. Could this be one of the traitors, out to butcher someone else? Surprisingly, Jason found himself compelled to stay and see what was happening.

 

It didn’t take long before he saw another figure walking down the street. The mists were a little lighter tonight, but even so, Jason couldn’t make out who it was. The newcomer was apparently oblivious to the trap he was about to walk into. Just before Jason could call out in warning, the coin the hooded stranger was flipping stopped in mid flip and shot out of the alley at a blinding speed.

 

“And they claim another one of us,” Jason thought, as the coin whipped through the mist towards its target. At the very last moment, the newcomer seemed to be pushed to the side by unseen hands and the coin whizzed past him. It was too far away to tell, but Jason could almost sense the sudden panic in their stance.

 

The stranger cursed and pulled out a few more coins, throwing them out in front of him and then pushing on them. Then newcomer was pushed again, barely dodging the coins before starting to run.

 

The stranger rushed out of the alley after him and Jason ran up to where he had been standing. It was one thing to hear of these strange powers called Allomancy and entirely another to see them happening right in front of him.

 

The stranger had another set of coins at the ready and there was nowhere for the newcomer to hide along the street. Just before the stranger threw out his third attempt, the newcomer seemed to stop in his tracks and fly backwards and upwards. The stranger had to throw himself out of the way or be kicked in the head. The newcomer flew up and over the roof of one of the buildings and fell out of sight.

 

Jason followed his flight with his jaw hanging open.

 

“Amazing, isn’t it,” whispered a voice behind him.

 

Jason nodded, then jumped in startlement. He started to turn towards the voice, but the dagger slit his throat before he had done more than turn his head.

Back to Gamble's Narrative

 

**

It was still early in the morning, not yet quite dawn as the sun was just a sliver or light on the horizon, obscured by the lingering mists. There was a brisk wind winding it's way through the small village, leaving a rustling of leaves and small garbage skittering along the ground the ground in it's wake. Once again, Gambles was woken up in the early hours by a piercing scream, cutting through the fog and seeming to echo and reverberate off of the cobblestone alleys.
Not again... Gambles groaned, waking up way too early with yet another hangover. He hurriedly threw his cloak back on, realizing he was still wearing all of his clothes from yesterday. He rushed out the door and down the steps to an empty room. Of course, everybody was already outside. He braced himself and threw the door open, squinting his watering eyes against the blinding morning light. He quickly looked around and saw a small group gathered off down the street.
He rushed off and jogged over, fearing who he would see lying there. He did a quick tally of people standing there as he walked up. Darnam, the mortician, was obviously already on the scene. He was kneeling by the corpse, which was laying face down at the moment, prodding around and doing... mortician-y things. Kukri, Beetle, Clancy, and Maill were already standing there, looking disturbed.
Gambles opened his mouth to ask the question he feared but was cut off before he could ask.
“It's Jason.” said Darnam, standing up. And then he added with some sympathy. “Poor bastard.”
Gambles closed his mouth and absorbed the shock. He remembered how drunk Jason was last night and wasn't too surprised. What better target than one that can barely stand, let alone defend themselves?
Gambles got drawn out of his introspection by shouts nearby. It was Kukri and apparently had found something.
“Hey, you guys see this?” Gambles followed where the was pointing and saw what Kukri was looking at.

Coins.
There was a handful or two of clips, the smallest denomination of coins, laying randomly scattered on the ground, about 20 feet away from where the corpse was found. After further inspection of the area, everyone had found a few dozen or more scattered elsewhere, even a few imbedded into the bricks of nearby buildings.
“There was a battle here.” Gambles said, trying to imagine the scene. And how did poor Jason fit into it?
“But what happened?” somebody asked.
“Maybe we should look at the bodies?” suggested Beetle, looking as ragged as ever. “I mean. If we can figure out why they've been targeted we can figure out who is doing it?”
“Posh.” cut in Darnam, “What can that tell us? Right now somebody is just killing randomly. There's no order or logic to this.”

“Darnam's right,” said Kukri, “There's nothing we can learn about or murderers from just these two bodies. And I have a feeling any more evidence we gather will be the expense of one of us.”

“Well it seems that no matter what we do will be at the expense of one of ours lives” said Clancy, speaking up. “We have to find out who is doing this. And right now, I'll just mention, it is pretty suspicious that Jason was voicing worries over Edgar being the killer and then he winds up dead. What are the chances, exactly?”
“So you're saying you think Edgar did this?” Gambles asked, trying to keep the incredulity out of his voice. This was just heating up too fast and Gambles wanted to make sure it didn't get out of control again. “I really think we should give him a chance to defend himself and his actions.”
“We just have to look at the facts we know!” Darnam said, stepping forward. “We need to look at the voting block from yesterday. Who all jumped in on the bandwagon to kill Grayv? I'm telling you, there's got to be a group of them secretly working together, influencing our decisions! Where's Aether's lists?!” He looked around real quick, and instead of looking for nearby lists he dropped down and scooped up a few of the random coins at his feet.
“And this.” He said, hefting the clippings in his hand, “is evidence they have a Mistborn.”
There were a few groans from the crowd at this.
“But how?” Gamma asked, slightly confused. He knew the mythical powers of Mistborns, far outweighing the strength and capabilities of all Mistings – they did have all of their powers combined, after all.
“Simple. If we have a Coinshot in our town, he hasn't been active at all, as of yet. And these coins, but no body with matching wounds? Jason wasn't killed by coins.” He gestured down at the nearby body, with it's throat visibly slashed. “No. It doesn't add up. Somebody else was attacked last night, and they were able to protect themselves. Now let me ask you. If coinshots are people that “push” coins, what could stop them?”
“A lurcher.” Quinn said, speaking up. He had been uncommonly quiet since the murder of Grayv, yesterday. He had been one of the people to whip the mob up into a frenzy.
“Bingo. A Lurcher. An iron misting who can “pull” metal. Being able to pull himself to the side and dodge attacks. Notice these bent and bulged out hinges around here?” He pointed towards a few windows nearby, and the hinges and any exterior metal parts were visibly damaged.
“So now they know the identity of our Lurcher.” Darnam continued. “And we still don't have much to go by. There's not much we can gleam from their known targets, and I highly doubt anybody is going to come forward with anything implicating themselves. No. We need to think this through. Right now, I'm really thinking it could've been that Beetle, fellow.” He stopped and glared at the little urchin who was squeezing his was through the crowd. “I never really did like the look of him,” he said and then spat to the side.
The bickering went on and on, back and forth. Darnam continued to dominate the conversation, dismissing Beetle's idea of trying to examine why Jason was killed, exactly. Which most people seemed to agree with. Gambles was still completely uncertain of who to trust and what to believe. Everything was just happening too fast.
“I propose we form a voting block.” Darnam said, still projecting his voice and trying to address everybody at once, “We need to pool together and vote for the same person, making an agreement based on trust.” You could tell Darnam was at the edge of his orator skills. He was the regular old mortician. He was used to handling dead bodies all day, not trying to sway public opinion. And you could tell he was straining to keep from being overwhelmed by the stress of it all. “Clancy, are you with me?”
The storyteller reluctantly stepped forward, “You make some very valid arguments. And you make some good sense. We really need to examine those who voted at Grayv very carefully. One of these bastards surely is in that group. And as a few people may have pointed out, Edgar switching sides in the argument with the sway of the majority...could very well be somebody trying to cover their chull.”

 

 

 

 

List I was using to keep track of characters and Roles

213 - Dr. Digits (Doctor)  Deceased Village Tineye Night 1

Edgedancer - Edgar (Blacksmith) Deceased Village Seeker

Mailliw73 - Maill (Cobbler)

Aether - Aether (Scholar) Deceased Spiked Smoker

Lord Claincy Ffnord - Clancy (Storyteller)

Gamma Fiend - Gambles (Town Drunk)

Kurkistan - Kukri (Knife Guy) Deceased Village Coinshot

Bartbug - Beetle (Urchin)

Dyring - Dyring (Inn Keeper) Deceased Village Thug

Little Wilson - Wilson (Messenger)

Darnam - Darnam (Mortician)

LoganMathewJohnson - Mat (Wanderer)

Grayv - Grayv (Drunken Veteran) Deceased Village Smoker Day 1

JasonPenguin - Jason (Beggar) Deceased Village Villager

PorridgeBrick - Porridge (Bricklayer) Deceased Village Rioter

Quiver - Quinn (Town Crier) Deceased Village Lurcher

Um, I guess I also wrote up my death scene ahead of time. I'd like to think Preservation wanted to apologize to us for not helping. It's a little comforting.

 

As Gambles lay dying, his blood spilling out of him and onto the cobblestones, he looked up into the swirling mists for one last time. Odd that, he thought, ash never seems to fall at night, when the mists are out. Why have I never noticed that before? The pain was starting to fade away, as was his vision, his breathing starting to become more shallow. He closed his eyes.
I'm sorry....
A voice, barely a whisper, being carried on the wind. It almost sounded like a sad sigh.
I wanted to help you. You all fought so hard. But my protection had to be elsewhere. I hope it all won't be in vain...
Tendrils of mists swirled and floated in, almost seeming to fold Gambles into an embrace, and then, he was gone. Covered in the mists and obscured from sight and forgotten.

 

Notes:

fix to take place a year and half or so after fall or Lord Ruler, so shortly after Ruin is released from the Well. Sun is red because of the atmosphere, ashfalls being a lot more frequent and mists coming earlier (twilight) and staying until morning.
Make village not afraid of mists, but skaa superstition makes them wary. And then the 'rumors' of mists attacking people, and some living, some dying. (snapping)

 

Gambles is just shy of six feet. Taller than a small majority of people, slightly above average height. Disheveled, shaggy dark brown hair and constant stubble. Usually wears an old, faded and tattered suit coat. Many random, off color patches of various dark colors that blend together with the ash smudges and liquor stains.

Kukri was a bodyguard for a merchant trail between Fadrex and Luthadel. Always carries dozens of knives and and is very skilled with them, An middle aged gentlemen, black hair starting to pepper gray, a full, nice trimmed mustache.

Quinn is the town-crier and is known for his trademark hooded travelling cloak. It is a deep forest green, although is has many random outside and inside patches that double as pockets, and many more hidden ones. Short, groomed light brown hair and clean-shaven.

Beetle is the local urchin. Small of frame, always mistaken for being a younger age. No back story is known, but he scampered into town a month or two ago and has been begging and running odd jobs for people to get by. Pickpockets, usually gets chased out of the inn by Dyring.

Dyring is the local inn owner. An older gentleman, his hair mostly white with age, usually wearing an apron, tied up hanging down usually, when he's bustling around the inn. Surprisingly spry, for a man his age. Constantly chasing Beetle out of the inn and muttering under his breath about his patrons.

 

Wilson is the town messenger. Most people just call her Lady Wilson, she is the closest to nobility the small town has. She refused to leave with the refugee, other women and small children, and wanted to stay and help with the towns defenses. Although it's never been confirmed, and she's never supported or denied any rumors, it is said that one of her distant cousins were part of the Luthadel nobility. She is always well dressed, with up to date fashion and ash-free clothes and multiple sets of earrings and gems.

 

Conway Canal is one of the only major waterways leading to the west and Fadrex city. .

 


But yeah. That's what I had. Please let me know of any corrections/suggestions/criticisms, anything.
Edit: Also, sorry for any problems with paragraph inconsistency. Darn forums not copying over tab presses. :/

Edited by Gamma Fiend
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This is great! Looks like a lot of work went into this!

 

One of the biggest things that I see is that it's in this weird sort of omniscient. If you decided to choose a main PoV, it could be a lot more gripping. I don't know who you'd necessarily do (maybe me :D), but it would definitely smooth stuff over.

 

Edit: I just read more carefully, and saw that you did choose yourself as a primary viewpoint, sort of, but maybe transposing Meta's write ups would be easier.

Edited by bartbug
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Yeah, definitely. It helped in the Office writer doc I was writing it up in, because Meta's write-ups were different text style, and I was mostly just adding each one in as a place-holder more or less, to let me know where in the game I was at. I did notice when I copied it over all the text turned the same, and it is really hard to tell when the write-ups ends and Gambles narrative begins.

But thank you for the great feedback! I really don't know why I stopped writing this, for whatever reason, and with a few quick fixes this story could be back on track and ready to roll. 

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Your character works out quite well as the main view point, since you actually survived the entire game. I actually had to go back and check to see if you did! I think he comes off a little too clean sometimes, a little too knowing, but you need something of a good guy to give the story the tension, so it works. 

 

I think this is an excellent start and I hope you continue it. Feel free to use my write ups as guidelines, but I like how you handled Grayv's death by storytelling it out from Gamble's perspective and I'd suggest doing most of them that way. You'd have to do a lot more supposition about the night deaths, but you already did some of that with Darnam's investigation of Jason's death, so I think you'd be able to handle it just fine. Not every detail of the night deaths needs to be known to tell a compelling story. In fact, I think it would add to the suspense of the story if those deaths weren't revealed exactly. It would make the Spiked (which I love how you explained them btw) seem all that more dark and mysterious. 

 

Overall, this gets my two thumbs up, so keep writing! :D

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Dang, that's good! I find it humorous that you built up my character more than I ever did. Didn't picture her as a lady, but it works. And all the other detail (for not just mine, but everyone's). Fantastic. You should definitely finish it. Because the story's just starting to get good (game-wise).

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Wow, thank you, everybody! It's always nice to hear good praise like this, very encouraging. I'm glad you enjoyed those minor details, like some of the characters backgrounds and stuff like that. I do believe I was purposely re-reading Mistborn at the time of writing this, so I had a lot of nice in-book references for fashion and locations, etc. And yeah, I do think I was planning on keeping it mostly my narrative through the lynches.

actually, thinking about it, I think I started reading Name of the Wind, and that's what interrupted me. :lol: This was right at the end of a minor writing spree I finally managed to get going, but yeah. Rothfuss happened. I dunno, I'm weird when I start to try writing. I'll try and get a few paragraphs out, and either it starts to flow or it doesn't. I definitely am going to go back and review the Game 1 thread and try and get back in-touch with the game and chain of events.

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  • 1 year later...

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