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Writing Roshar: Week One


Clarity-Art

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Over on the Stormlight subreddit, u/wtfevenisthis69 recently started a series of writing prompts with the intention of encouraging people to explore Roshar through their own writing. I haven't written fanfiction in ages, or at least not any fanfiction pertaining to Brandon's work, so I decided to participate! What I wrote was completely spontaneous and unedited, as of today, but I worked up the courage to share it over here because I thought it would be entertaining. It still requires heavy revisions, especially in terms of characterization and set-dressing, but overall, I'm quite satisfied with the end result. The entire work is contained in the spoiler tag below, since it contains some mild Cosmere and Oathbringer spoilers. 

Spoiler

[OB] You, a master thief, successfully broke into the Kharbranth palace disguised as a nurse. Medical supplies are worth are fortune these days, and you plan on stealing from the hospital within the palace itself. As you wander the halls, however, you get the feeling the doctors aren't here to help people...

Content warning for death, blood, bodily imagery, cutting, and general emotional distress. And possibly errors when it comes to writing technology. Here goes nothing!

 

Natalah, disguised in the white habit of a nurse, listened to the cries of the dying.

 

She would've preferred to be on corpse duty—back when she ran with her thieving crew, she'd become accustomed to the sight of dead bodies—and besides, the morgue was a stone's throw away from the supply room. It would've been easy for her to get what she wanted and sneak out of the hospital. But the head doctor, or whatever he was, insisted that she stay. So she did.

Best not to blow her cover, especially since she was working alone.

Like a windspren, she drifted around the ward, stiffly proffering the tray of medical provisions to whoever called her over. There was a prodigious assortment of small, sharp tools, along with clay bowls to collect blood, bile, and other unpleasant-looking substances. She did pocket two scalpels, at least when no one was looking. A poor yield for someone of her talents in a place like this, but better than nothing so far.

"Girl, come here!" she heard a man shout from the far side of the ward. Natalah almost jumped out of her skin, then hurried over.

It wasn't the head doctor who'd called her over, but rather a gaunt-looking fellow that she recognized as his second-in-command. Accompanying him were two unfamiliar women: one was a cheery-looking ardent with a stack of papers and a reed pen, and the other was an old lady with a face like a hatchet. The three of them huddled around a bed where a darkeyed child lay. Natalah's grip tightened on the tray. Every instinct, every thief's sense that she had, wanted her to stop walking towards them. She resisted those instincts.

As she drew closer to the bed, she saw that the darkeyed child had his eyes closed. His breathing was ragged. Sweat beaded on his brow. Natalah glanced at the shuddering rise and fall of his chest, then back at the doctor.

"Doctor," she said, "the child, he—"

"Never mind the child," the gaunt man snapped. He plucked a sharp blade and a bowl off Natalah's tray. Placing the blade against the child's wrist, where the veins were visible through the feverish-looking skin, he situated the bowl underneath the arm. The ardent and the old lady both leaned closer, narrowing their eyes.

With one swift, neat gesture, the doctor severed the child's blood vessels. Natalah watched in horror as the blood dripped into the bowl. She nearly turned around and ran, had it not been for the thing that came from the child's slack mouth.

"The Desolation comes," intoned the child. "He falls upon us with the force of the storms, relentless, pounding, violent. Corrupt, divide, break, that is his purpose."

The darkeyed child uttered one last sigh and went limp against the bed. His chest no longer rose and fell. The ardent placed her pen to paper, scribbling down the statement and the date. She turned to the old lady, who whispered an unintelligible reply. Both of them nodded their assent to the doctor before they walked away, moving to another bed, with another patient, with another doctor.

"Well, that was successful," said the doctor. He took a cloth from his pocket, wiped the tools clean, and placed both bowl and blade back on the tray. "Could you get me some fresh provisions, girl? Supply room. Make it quick. The other nurses will take care of the body."

"Yes, Doctor," Natalah replied, but the doctor was already on his feet, following the ardent and the lady. Natalah glanced at the child. She had no idea what had happened. What she did know is that the child had died alone, perhaps scared, at the hands of someone who was supposed to help him.

Balancing her tray on her gloved safehand, she reached out with her freehand and closed the child's eyes. "May you finally find rest, wherever it reaches you," she whispered. Unconventional and non-Vorin, but a benediction common among thieves.

When Natalah eventually exited the ward and made her way to the supply room, she slipped inside with her tray. The nurse at the door admitted her with a smile. Natalah forced herself to smile back. Thank the Stormfather that there were no other nurses inside with them.

Only then, while weaving through the shelves of supplies, did Natalah let the smile fade. She sat down on the floor and peered at her tray. There was nothing worth stealing there, but she did find some medicine bottles on the shelf behind her. Knobweed sap. Perfect. Those went into her pockets, the same as the scalpels from earlier.

And now, it was time for her to plan her great escape.

She couldn't do it now, not when the doctor was expecting her back. At the earliest, she could sneak out tonight and make it look like she'd suddenly resigned. But when she remembered the words from the dying child, the way the ardent and the old lady had the gall to look excited, the sheer dismissal on the gaunt doctor's face as he sliced open the child's wrist—

Natalah inhaled deeply. She pressed her face into her nurse's habit, only to find that there were tears running down her cheeks. As a master thief, she'd seen the worst of humanity. She’d seen crime lords execute their underlings for sneezing the wrong way, she’d seen highprinces have dinner parties while feeding darkeyes to their axehounds, she’d seen her thieving bosses assault courtesans in dark alleyways. And yet she wanted to run and hide at the thought of having to witness more of these bloodlettings again.

No, she'd made her decision. She'd leave now, before anyone suspected anything. Back in Alethkar, her fellow thieves had called her Natalah the Silent, and by the Heralds, she’d live up to her name. 

 

Edited by Clarity-Art
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