The Gizoogle Thread

[Straw]

Gizoogle is a free website that allows you to translate anything into gangsta talk. You can find it at http://gizoogle.net/. Try translating some stuff with it's textalizer. 

"To Kill" in gizoogle:

 

"Da ludd of pimps be a gangbangin' frigid thang, a mountain stream only three steps from tha ice. We is his. Oh Stormfather . . . we is his. Well chuuuull, it is but a thousand days, n' tha Everstorm comes."

-Collected on tha straight-up original gangsta dizzle of tha week Palah of tha month Shash of tha year 1171, thirty-one secondz before dirtnap. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Subject was a thugged-out darkeyed pregnant biatch of middle years. Da lil pimp did not survive.

4500 YEARS LATER

Szeth-son-son-Vallano, Truthless of Shinovar, wore white on tha dizzle da thug was ta bust a cap up in a mackdaddy. Da white threadz was a Parshendi tradition, foreign ta his muthastormin chull. But da ruffneck did as his crazy-chull mastas required n' did not ask fo' a explanation.

Dude sat up in a big-chull stone room, baked by enormous firepits dat cast a garish light upon tha revelers, causin beadz of sweat ta form on they skin as they danced, n' drank, n' yelled, n' sang, n' clapped. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Some fell tha storm ta tha ground red-faced, tha revelry too much fo' them, they stomachs provin ta be inferior wineskins. They looked as if they was dead, at least until they playaz carried dem outta tha feast hall ta waitin beds.

Szeth did not sway ta tha drums, drank tha sapphire wine, or stand ta dizzle yo. Dude sat on a funky-chull bench all up in tha back, a still servant up in white robes. Few all up in tha treaty-signin celebration noticed his muthastormin chull yo. Dude was just a servant, n' Shin was easy as storm  ta ignore. Most up here up in tha Eastside thought Szeth’s kind was docile n' harmless. They was generally right.

Da drummers stormin started a freshly smoked up rhythm. Da beats shook Szeth like a quartet of thumpin hearts, pumpin wavez of invisible blood all up in tha room. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth’s masters-who was dissed n' dismissed as savages by dem up in mo' civilized mackdaddydoms-sat at they own tables. They was pimps wit skin of black marbled wit red. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Parshendi, they was named-cousins ta tha mo' docile servant peoplez known as parshmen up in most of tha ghetto. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! An oddity. They did not call theyselves Parshendi; dis was tha Alethi name fo' dem wild-chull muthastormas. Well chuuuull, it meant, roughly, "parshmen whoz chull can think." Neither side seemed ta peep dat as a insult.

Da Parshendi had brought tha musical muthastormas fo' realz. At first, tha Alethi lighteyes had been hesitant. To them, beats was base instrumentz of tha common, darkeyed people. But Cristal was tha pimped out assassin of both tradizzle n' propriety, n' now tha Alethi elite danced wit abandon.

Szeth stood n' stormin started ta pick his way all up in tha room. Da revelry had lasted long; even tha mackdaddy had retired minutes ago. But nuff still celebrated. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time fo' realz. As da thug strutted, Szeth was forced ta step round Dalinar Kholin-the mackdaddy’s own brother-who slumped fadeden at a lil' small-chull table. Da agin but powerfully built playa kept wavin away dem playas whoz chull tried ta encourage his chull ta bed. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Where was Jasnah, tha mackdaddy’s daughter, biatch? Elhokar, tha mackdaddy’s lil hustla n' heir, sat all up in tha high table, rulin tha feast up in his wild lil' father’s absence yo. Dude was up in conversation wit two men, a thugged-out dark-skinned Azish playa whoz chull had a odd patch of pale skin on his cheek n' a thinner, Alethi-lookin playa whoz chull kept glancin over his shoulder.

Da heir’s feastin companions was unimportant. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth stayed far from tha heir, skirtin tha sidez of tha room, passin tha drummers. Musicspren zipped all up in tha air round them, tha tiny spirits takin tha form of spinnin translucent ribbons fo' realz. As Szeth passed tha drummers, they noted his muthastormin chull. They would withdraw soon, along wit all of tha other Parshendi.

They did not seem offended. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! They did not seem mad salty fo' realz. And yet they was goin ta break they treaty of only all dem hours. Well chuuuull, it made no sense. But Szeth did not ask thangs.

At tha edge of tha room, he passed rowz of unwaverin azure lights dat bulged up where wall kicked it wit floor. Chuuuull, dis aint no joke. They held sapphires infused wit Stormlight. Profane yo. How tha storm could tha pimpz of these landz use suttin' so sacred fo' mere illumination, biatch? Worse, tha Alethi scholars was holla'd ta be close ta bustin freshly smoked up Shardblades. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth hoped dat was just wishful boasting. For if it didhappen, tha ghetto would be chizzled. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Likely up in a way dat ended wit playas up in all countries-from distant Thaylenah ta towerin Jah Keved-speakin Alethi ta they lil' thugs.

They was a grand people, these Alethi. Even faded, there was a natural nobilitizzle ta dem wild-chull muthastormas. Tall n' well made, tha pimps dressed up in dark silk coats dat buttoned down tha sidez of tha chest n' was elaborately embroidered up in silver or gold. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Each one looked a general on tha field.

Da dem hoes was even mo' splendid. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! They wore grand silk dresses, tightly fitted, tha bright flavas a cold-chull lil contrast ta tha dark tones favored by tha men. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da left sleeve of each dress was longer than tha right one, coverin tha hand. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Alethi had a odd sense of propriety.

Their pure black afro was pinned up atop they heads, either up in intricate weavingz of braidz or up in loose piles. Dat shiznit was often woven wit gold ribbons or ornaments, along wit gems dat glowed wit Stormlight. Beautiful naaahhmean, biatch? Profane yo, but dope.

Szeth left tha feastin chamber behind. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Just outside, he passed tha doorway tha storm into tha Beggars’ Feast. Dat shiznit was a Alethi tradition, a room where a shitload of tha skankyest pimps n' dem hoes up in tha hood was given a gangbangin' feast complementin dat of tha mackdaddy n' his wild lil' freakadelic guests fo' realz. A playa wit a long-chull grey n' black beard slumped up in tha doorway, smilin foolishly-though whether from Cristal or a weak mind, Szeth could not tell.

"Has you done peeped mah crazy chull son?" tha playa axed wit slurred rap yo. Dude laughed, then stormin started ta drop a rhyme up in gibberish, reachin fo' a wineskin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. So dat shiznit was drank afta all. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth brushed by, continuin past a line of statues depictin tha Ten Heraldz from ancient Vorin theology. Jezerezeh, Ishi, Kelek, Talenelat yo. Dude counted off each one, n' realized there was only nine here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. One was conspicuously missing. Why had Shalash’s statue been removed, biatch? Mackdaddy Gavilar was holla'd ta be straight-up devout up in his Vorin worship. Too devout, by some people’s standards.

Da hallway here curved ta tha right, hustlin round tha perimeta of tha domed palace. They was on tha mackdaddy’s floor, two levels up, surrounded by rock walls, ceiling, n' floor. Chuuuull, dis aint no joke. That was profane. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Stone was not ta be trod upon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. But what tha storm was tha pimpin' muthastorma ta do, biatch? Dude was Truthless yo. Dude did as his crazy-chull mastas demanded.

Today, dat included bustin white. Loose white trousers tied all up in tha waist wit a rope, n' over dem a gangbangin' filmy hoodie wit long sleeves, open all up in tha front. White threadz fo' a killa was a tradizzle among tha Parshendi fo' realz. Although Szeth had not asked, his crazy-chull mastas had explained why.

White ta be bold. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! White ta not blend tha storm into tha night. White ta give warning.

For if you was goin ta assassinizzle a thugged-out dude, da thug was entitled ta peep you coming.

Szeth turned right, takin tha hallway directly toward tha mackdaddy’s chambers. Torches burned on tha walls, they light unsatisfyin ta him, a meal of thin broth afta a long-chull fast. Tiny flamespren danced round them, like insects made solely of congealed light. Da torches was useless ta his muthastormin chull yo. Dude reached fo' his thugged-out lil' pouch n' tha spheres it contained yo, but then hesitated when da perved-out muthastorma saw mo' of tha blue lights ahead: a pair of Stormlight lamps hangin on tha wall, solid sapphires glowin at they hearts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth strutted up ta one of these, holdin up his hand ta cup it round tha glass-shrouded gemstone.

"Yo chull there!" a voice called up in Alethi. There was two guardz all up in tha intersection. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Double guard, fo' there was savages abroad up in Kholinar dis night. True, dem savages was supposed ta be allies now, nahmeean, biatch? But alliances could be shallow thangs indeed.

This one wouldn’t last tha hour.

Szeth looked as tha two guardz approached. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! They carried spears; they weren’t lighteyes, n' was therefore forbidden tha sword. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Their painted red breastplates was ornate, however, as was they helms. Boy it's gettin hot, yes indeed it is. They might be darkeyed yo, but they was high-rankin playa hatas wit honored positions up in tha royal guard.

Stoppin all dem feet away, tha guard all up in tha front gestured wit his spear. Chuuull, dis aint no joke. "Go on, now, nahmeean, biatch? This is no place fo' you, biatch." Dude had tan Alethi skin n' a thin mustache dat ran all tha way round his crazy-chull grill, becomin a funky-chull beard all up in tha bottom.

Szeth didn’t move.

"Well?" tha guard holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "What is you waitin for?"

Szeth breathed up in deeply, drawin forth tha Stormlight. Well chuuull, it streamed tha storm into him, siphoned from tha twin sapphire lamps on tha walls, sucked up in as if by his stormin lil' deep inhalation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da Stormlight raged inside of him, n' tha hallway suddenly grew darker, fallin tha storm into shade like a hilltop cut off from tha sun by a transient cloud.

Szeth could feel tha Light’s warmth, its fury, like a tempest dat had been injected directly tha storm into his veins. Da juice of dat shiznit was invigoratin but dangerous. Well chuuull, it pushed his chull ta act. To move. To strike.

Holdin his breath, his schmoooove chull clung ta tha Stormlight yo. Dude could still feel it leakin out. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Stormlight could be held fo' only a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-chull short time, all dem minutes at most. Well chuuull, it leaked away, tha human body too porous a cold-chull lil container n' shiznit yo. Dude had heard dat tha Voidbringers could hold it up in perfectly. But, then, did they even exist, biatch? His punishment declared dat they didn’t yo. His honor demanded dat they done did.

Afire wit holy juice, Szeth turned ta tha guards. They could peep dat da thug was leakin Stormlight, wispz of it curlin from his skin like luminescent smoke. Da lead guard squinted, frowning. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth was shizzle tha playa had never peeped anythang like it before fo' realz. As far as he knew, Szeth had capped every last muthastormin stonewalker whoz chull had eva peeped what tha storm his schmoooove chull could do.

"What . . . what tha storm is yo slick chull?" Da guard’s voice had lost its certainty. "Spirit or man?"

"What be I?" Szeth whispered, a lil' bit of Light leakin from his stormin lips as he looked past tha playa down tha long hallway. "I’m . . . sorry bout dat crem dung."

Szeth blinked, Lashin his dirty chull ta dat distant point down tha hallway. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Stormlight raged from his chull up in a gangbangin' flash, chillin his skin, n' tha ground immediately stopped pullin his chull downward. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Instead, da thug was pulled toward dat distant point-it was as if, ta him, dat direction had suddenly become down.

This was a Basic Lashing, first of his cold-chull three kindz of Lashings. Well chuuull, it gave his chull tha mobilitizzle ta manipulate what tha storm eva force, spren, or god dat shiznit was dat held pimps ta tha ground. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! With dis Lashing, his schmoooove chull could bind playas or objects ta different surfaces or up in different directions.

From Szeth’s perspective, tha hallway was now a thugged-out deep shaft down which da thug was falling, n' tha two guardz stood on one of tha sides. They was shocked when Szeth’s feet hit them, one fo' each face, throwin dem over n' rust. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth shifted his view n' Lashed his dirty chull ta tha floor. Chuuull, dis aint no joke. Light leaked from his muthastormin chull. Da floor of tha hallway again n' again n' again became down, n' he landed between tha two guards, threadz cracklin n' droppin flakez of frost yo. Dude rose, beginnin tha process of summonin his Shardblade.

One of tha guardz fumbled fo' his spear. Chuuull, dis aint no joke. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth reached down, touchin tha soldier’s shoulder while lookin up yo. Dude focused on a point above his chull while willin tha Light outta his body n' tha storm into tha guard, Lashin tha skanky playa ta tha ceiling.

Da guard yelped up in shock as up became down fo' his muthastormin chull. Light trailin from his wild lil' form, his schmoooove chull crashed tha storm into tha ceilin n' dropped his spear. Chuuull, dis aint no joke. Dat shiznit was not Lashed directly, n' clattered back down ta tha floor near Szeth.

To kill. Dat shiznit was tha top billin of sins fo' realz. And yet here Szeth stood, Truthless, profanely struttin on stones used fo' buildin fo' realz. And it would not end yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin' fo' realz. As Truthless, there was only one game da thug was forbidden ta take.

And dat was his own.

At tha tenth beat of his thugged-out chull, his Shardblade dropped tha storm into his waitin hand. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Well chuuull, it formed as if condensin from mist, wata beadin along tha metal length yo. His Shardblade was long n' thin, edged on both sides, smalla than most others. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth swept it out, carvin a line up in tha stone floor n' passin all up in tha second guard’s neck.

As always, tha Shardblade capped oddly; though it cut easily all up in stone, steel, or anythang inanimate, tha metal fuzzed when it touched livin skin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Well chuuull, it traveled all up in tha guard’s neck without leavin a mark yo, but once it did, tha man’s eyes smoked n' burned. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! They blackened, shrivelin up in his head, n' da perved-out muthastorma slumped forward, dead as stormin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. A Shardblade did not cut livin flesh; it severed tha chull itself.

Above, tha straight-up original gangsta guard gasped. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! He’d managed ta git ta his wild lil' feet, even though they was planted on tha ceilin of tha hallway. "Shardbearer!" da perved-out muthastorma shouted. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. "A Shardbearer assaults tha mackdaddy’s hall! To arms!"

Finally, Szeth thought. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth’s use of Stormlight was unfamiliar ta tha guardz yo, but they knew a Shardblade when they saw one.

Szeth bent down n' picked up tha spear dat had fallen from above fo' realz. As da ruffneck did so, he busted out tha breath he’d been holdin since drawin up in tha Stormlight. Well chuuull, it sustained his chull while dat schmoooove muthastorma held it yo, but dem two lanterns hadn’t contained much of it, so da thug would need ta breathe again n' again n' again soon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da Light stormin started ta leak away mo' quickly, now dat da thug wasn’t holdin his breath.

Szeth set tha spear’s booty against tha stone floor, then looked upward. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Da guard above stopped shouting, eyes openin wide as tha tailz of his hoodie stormin started ta slip downward, tha earth below reassertin its dominance. Da Light steamin off his body dwindled.

Dude looked down at Szeth. Down all up in tha spear tip pointin directly at his thugged-out chull. Violet fearspren crawled outta tha stone ceilin round his muthastormin chull.

Da Light ran out. Da guard fell.

Dude screamed as dat schmoooove muthastorma hit, tha spear impalin his chull all up in tha chest. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth let tha spear fall away, carried ta tha ground wit a muffled thump by tha body twitchin on its end yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin'. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Shardblade up in hand, tha pimpin' muthastorma turned down a side corridor, followin tha map he’d memorized. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Dude ducked round a cold-chull lil corner n' flattened his dirty chull against tha wall just as a troop of guardz reached tha dead men. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da newcomers stormin started shoutin immediately, continuin tha alarm.

His instructions was clear. Chuuull, dis aint no joke. Bust a cap up in tha mackdaddy yo, but be peeped bustin dat rust. Let tha Alethi know da thug was comin n' what tha storm da thug was bustin. Why, biatch? Why did tha Parshendi smoke ta dis treaty, only ta bust a assassin tha straight-up night of its signing?

Mo' gemstones glowed on tha wallz of tha hallway here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Mackdaddy Gavilar was horny bout lavish display, n' his schmoooove chull couldn’t know dat da thug was leavin sourcez of juice fo' Szeth ta use up in his Lashings. Da thangs Szeth did hadn’t been peeped fo' millennia yo. Histories from dem times was all but nonexistent, n' tha legendz was horribly inaccurate.

Szeth peeked back up tha storm into tha corridor. Chuuull, dis aint no joke. One of tha guardz all up in tha intersection saw him, pointin n' yelling. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth made shizzle they gots a phat look, then ducked away yo. Dude took a thugged-out deep breath as he ran, drawin up in Stormlight from tha lanterns yo. His body came kickin it wit it, n' his speed increased, his crazy-chull musclez burstin wit juice. Light became a storm inside of him; his blood thundered up in his wild lil' stormin ears. Dat shiznit was shitty n' straight-up dope all up in tha same time.

Two corridors down, one ta tha side yo. Dude threw open tha door of a storage room, then hesitated a moment-just long enough fo' a guard ta round tha corner n' peep him-before dashin tha storm into tha room. Preparin fo' a Full Lashing, he raised his thugged-out arm n' commanded tha Stormlight ta pool there, causin tha skin ta burst alight wit radiance. Then he flung his hand up toward tha doorframe, sprayin white luminescence across it like paint yo. Dude slammed tha door just as tha guardz arrived.

Da Stormlight held tha door up in tha frame wit tha strength of a hundred arms fo' realz. A Full Lashin bound objects together, holdin dem fast until tha Stormlight ran out. Well chuuull, it took longer ta create-and drained Stormlight far mo' quickly-than a Basic Lashing. Da door handle shook, n' then tha wood stormin started ta crack as tha guardz threw they weight against it, one playa callin fo' a axe.

Szeth crossed tha room up in rapid strides, weavin round tha shrouded furniture dat had been stored here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Dat shiznit waz of red cloth n' deep high-rollin' woodz yo. Dude reached tha far wall and-preparin his dirty chull fo' yet another blasphemy-he raised his Shardblade n' slashed horizontally all up in tha dark grey stone. Da rock sliced easily; a Shardblade could cut any inanimate object. Two vertical slashes followed, then one across tha bottom, cuttin a big-chull square block yo. Dude pressed his hand against it, willin Stormlight tha storm into tha stone.

Behind his chull tha room’s door stormin started ta crack yo. Dude looked over his shoulder n' focused on tha bobbin door, Lashin tha block up in dat direction. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Frost crystallized on his threadz-Lashin suttin' so big-chull required a pimped out deal of Stormlight. Da tempest within his chull stilled, like a storm reduced ta a thugged-out drizzle.

Dude stepped aside. Da big-chull stone block shuddered, slidin tha storm into tha room. Normally, movin tha block would done been impossible. Its own weight would have held it against tha stones below. Yet now, dat same weight pulled it free; fo' tha block, tha direction of tha room’s door was down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. With a thugged-out deep grindin sound, tha block slid free of tha wall n' tumbled all up in tha air, smashin furniture.

Da soldiers finally broke all up in tha door, staggerin tha storm into tha room just as tha enormous block crashed tha storm into dem wild-chull muthastormas.

Szeth turned his back on tha shitty sound of tha screams, tha splinterin of wood, tha breakin of bones yo. Dude ducked n' stepped all up in his freshly smoked up hole, enterin tha hallway outside.

Dude strutted slowly, drawin Stormlight from tha lamps he passed, siphonin it ta his chull n' stokin anew tha tempest within. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. As tha lamps dimmed, tha corridor darkened. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! A thick wooden door stood all up in tha end, n' as he approached, lil' small-chull fearspren-shaped like globz of purple goo-stormin started ta wriggle from tha masonry, pointin toward tha doorway. They was drawn by tha terror bein felt on tha other side.

Szeth pushed tha door open, enterin tha last corridor leadin ta tha mackdaddy’s chambers. Tall, red ceramic vases lined tha pathway, n' they was interspersed wit straight-up trippin soldiers. They flanked a long, narrow rug. Dat shiznit was red, like a river of blood.

Da spearmen up in front didn’t wait fo' his chull ta git close. They broke tha storm into a trot, liftin they short throwin spears. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth slammed his hand ta tha side, pushin Stormlight tha storm into tha doorframe, rockin tha third n' final type of Lashing, a Reverse Lashing. This one hit dat shiznit diff erently from tha other two. Well chuuull, it did not make tha doorframe emit Stormlight; indeed, it seemed ta pull nearby light tha storm into it, givin it a strange penumbra.

Da spearmen threw, n' Szeth stood still, hand on tha doorframe fo' realz. A Reverse Lashin required his constant touch yo, but took comparatively lil Stormlight. Durin one, anythang dat approached him-particularly lighta objects-was instead pulled toward tha Lashin itself.

Da spears veered up in tha air, splittin round his chull n' slammin tha storm into tha wooden frame fo' realz. As he felt dem hit, Szeth leaped tha storm into tha air n' Lashed his dirty chull ta tha right wall, his wild lil' feet hittin tha stone wit a slap.

Dude immediately re oriented his thugged-out lil' perspective. To his wild lil' stormin eyes, da thug wasn’t standin on tha wall, tha soldiers were, tha blood-red carpet streamin between dem like a long-chull tapestry. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth bolted down tha hallway, strikin wit his Shardblade, shearin all up in tha neckz of two pimps whoz chull had thrown spears at his muthastormin chull. Their eyes burned, n' they collapsed.

Da other guardz up in tha hallway stormin started ta panic. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Some tried ta battle him, others yelled fo' mo' help, still others cringed away from his muthastormin chull. Da attackers had rust-they was disoriented by tha odditizzle of strikin at one of mah thugs whoz chull hung on tha wall. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth cut down a gangbangin' few, then flipped tha storm into tha air, tuckin tha storm into a roll, n' Lashed his dirty chull back ta tha floor.

Dude hit tha ground up in tha midst of tha soldiers. All Out surrounded yo, but holdin a Shardblade.

Accordin ta legend, tha Shardblades was first carried by tha Knights Radiant uncounted ages ago. Giftz of they god, granted ta allow dem ta fight horrorz of rock n' flame, dozenz of feet tall, foes whose eyes burned wit hatred. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Da Voidbringers. When yo' foe had skin as hard as stone itself, steel was useless. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Somethang supernal was required.

Szeth rose from his crouch, loose white threadz rippling, jaw clenched against his sins yo. Dude struck out, his weapon flashin wit reflected torchlight. Elegant, wide swings. Three of them, one afta another n' shiznit yo. Dude could neither close his wild lil' stormin ears ta tha screams dat followed nor stay tha storm away from seein tha pimps fall. They dropped round his chull like toys knocked over by a cold-chull lil child’s careless kick. If tha Blade touched a man’s spine, da ruffneck died, eyes burning. If it cut all up in tha core of a limb, it capped dat limb. One soldier stumbled away from Szeth, arm floppin uselessly on his shoulder n' shiznit yo. Dude would never be able ta feel it or use it again.

Szeth lowered his Shardblade, standin among tha cinder-eyed corpses yo. Here, up in Alethkar, pimps often was rappin of tha legends-of mankind’s hardwon victory over tha Voidbringers. But when weapons pimped ta fight nightmares was turned against common soldiers, tha livez of pimps became skanky thangs indeed.

Szeth turned n' continued on his way, slippered feet fallin on tha soft red rug. Da Shardblade, as always, glistened silver n' clean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. When one capped wit a Blade, there was no blood. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! That seemed like a sign. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da Shardblade was just a tool; it could not be blamed fo' tha murders.

Da door all up in tha end of tha hallway burst open. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth froze as a lil' small-chull crew of soldiers rushed out, usherin a playa up in regal robes, his head ducked as if ta stay tha storm away from arrows. Da soldiers wore deep blue, tha color of tha Mackdaddy’s Guard, n' tha corpses didn’t make dem stop n' gawk. They was prepared fo' what tha storm a Shardbearer could do. They opened a side door n' shoved they ward through, nuff muthastormin levelin spears at Szeth as they backed out.

 

Another figure stepped from tha mackdaddy’s quarters; da thug wore glistenin blue armor made of smoothly interlockin plates. Unlike common plate armor, however, dis armor had no leather or mail visible all up in tha joints-just smalla plates, fittin together wit intricate precision. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da armor was dope, tha blue inlaid wit golden bandz round tha edgez of each piece of plate, tha helm ornamented wit three wavez of small, hornlike wings.

Shardplate, tha customary complement ta a Shardblade. Da newcomer carried a sword as well, a enormous Shardblade six feet long wit a thugged-out design along tha blade like burnin flames, a weapon of silvery metal dat gleamed n' almost seemed ta glow fo' realz. A weapon designed ta slay dark gods, a larger counterpart ta tha one Szeth carried.

Szeth hesitated. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time yo. Dude didn’t recognize tha armor; dat schmoooove muthastorma had not been warned dat da thug would be set at dis task, n' hadn’t been given proper time ta memorize tha various suitz of Plate or Blades owned by tha Alethi. But a Shardbearer would gotta be dealt wit before his schmoooove chull chased tha mackdaddy; his schmoooove chull could not leave such a gangbangin' foe behind.

Besides, like a Shardbearer could defeat him, bust a cap up in his chull n' end his crazy-chull miserable game yo. His Lashings wouldn’t work directly on one of mah thugs up in Shardplate, n' tha armor would enhizzle tha dude, strengthen his muthastormin chull. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth’s honor would not allow his chull ta betray his crazy-chull mission or seek dirtnap. But if dat dirtnap occurred, da thug would welcome dat rust.

Da Shardbearer struck, n' Szeth Lashed his dirty chull ta tha side of tha hallway, leapin wit a twist n' landin on tha wall yo. Dude danced backward, Blade held all up in tha ready. Da Shardbearer fell tha storm into a aggressive posture, rockin one of tha swordplay stances favored here up in tha Eastside yo. Dude moved far mo' nimbly than one would expect fo' a playa up in such bulky armor. Chuuull, dis aint no joke. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Shardplate was special, as ancient n' magical as tha Blades it complemented.

Da Shardbearer struck. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth skipped ta tha side n' Lashed his dirty chull ta tha ceilin as tha Shardbearer’s Blade sliced tha storm into tha wall. Feelin a thrill all up in tha contest, Szeth dashed forward n' beat down downward wit a overhand blow, tryin ta hit tha Shardbearer’s helm. Da playa ducked, goin down on one knee, lettin Szeth’s Blade cleave empty air.

Szeth leaped backward as tha Shardbearer swung upward wit his Blade, slicin tha storm into tha ceiling. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth didn’t own a set of Plate his dirty chull, n' didn’t care ta yo. His Lashings interfered wit tha gemstones dat powered Shardplate, n' dat schmoooove muthastorma had ta chizzle one or tha other.

As tha Shardbearer turned, Szeth sprinted forward across tha ceilin fo' realz. As expected, tha Shardbearer swung again, n' Szeth leaped ta tha side, rollin yo. Dude came up from his bangin roll n' flipped, Lashin his dirty chull ta tha floor again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude spun ta land on tha ground behind tha Shardbearer n' shiznit yo. Dude slammed his Blade tha storm into his opponent’s open back.

Unfortunately, there was one major advantage Plate offered: It could block a Shardblade. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth’s weapon hit solidly, causin a wizzy of glowin lines ta spread up across tha back of tha armor, n' Stormlight stormin started ta leak free from dem wild-chull muthastormas. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Shardplate didn’t dent or bend like common metal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth would gotta hit tha Shardbearer up in tha same location at least once mo' ta break through.

Szeth danced outta range as tha Shardbearer swung up in anger, tryin ta cut at Szeth’s knees. Da tempest within Szeth gave his chull nuff advantages-includin tha mobilitizzle ta quickly recover from lil' small-chull wounds. But it would not restore limbs capped by a Shardblade.

Dude rounded tha Shardbearer, then picked a moment n' dashed forward. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Da Shardbearer swung again yo, but Szeth briefly Lashed his dirty chull ta tha ceilin fo' lift yo. Dude blasted tha storm into tha air, crestin over tha swing, then immediately Lashed his dirty chull back ta tha floor yo. Dude struck as he landed yo, but tha Shardbearer recovered quickly n' executed a slick follow-all up in stroke, comin within a gangbangin' finger of hittin Szeth.

Da playa was dangerously skilled wit dat Blade. Many Shardbearers depended too much on tha juice of they weapon n' armor. Chuuull, dis aint no joke. This playa was different.

Szeth jumped ta tha wall n' struck all up in tha Shardbearer wit quick, terse attacks, like a snappin eel. Da Shardbearer fended his chull off wit wide, sweepin countas yo. His Blade’s length kept Szeth at bay.

This is takin too long! Szeth thought. If tha mackdaddy slipped away tha storm into hiding, Szeth would fail up in his crazy-chull mission no matta how tha storm nuff playas he capped. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Dude ducked up in fo' another strike yo, but tha Shardbearer forced his chull back. Each second dis fight lasted was another fo' tha mackdaddy’s escape.

Dat shiznit was time ta be reckless. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth launched tha storm into tha air, Lashin his dirty chull ta tha other end of tha hallway n' fallin feet-first toward his thugged-out adversary. Da Shardbearer didn’t hesitate ta swin yo, but Szeth Lashed his dirty chull down at a angle, droppin immediately. Da Shardblade swished all up in tha air above his muthastormin chull.

Dude landed up in a cold-chull lil crouch, rockin his crazy-chull momentum ta throw his dirty chull forward, n' swung all up in tha Shardbearer’s side, where tha Plate had cracked. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Dude hit wit a bangin blow. That piece of tha Plate shattered, bitz of molten metal streakin away. Da Shardbearer grunted, droppin ta one knee, raisin a hand ta his side. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth raised a gangbangin' foot ta tha man’s side n' shoved his chull backward wit a Stormlight-enhanced kick.

Da heavy Shardbearer crashed tha storm into tha door of tha mackdaddy’s quarters, smashin it n' fallin partway tha storm into tha room beyond. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Szeth left him, duckin instead all up in tha doorway ta tha right, followin tha way tha mackdaddy had gone. Da hallway here had tha same red carpet, n' Stormlight lamps on tha walls gave Szeth a cold-chull lil chizzle ta recharge tha tempest within.

Energy blazed within his chull again, n' da perved-out muthastorma sped up. If his schmoooove chull could git far enough ahead, his schmoooove chull could deal wit tha mackdaddy, then turn back ta fight off tha Shardbearer n' rust. Well chuuull, it wouldn’t be easy as storm  fo' realz. A Full Lashin on a thugged-out doorway wouldn’t stop a Shardbearer, n' dat Plate would let tha playa run supernaturally fast. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth glanced over his shoulder.

Da Shardbearer wasn’t following. Da playa sat up in his thugged-out armor, lookin dazed. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Szeth could just barely peep him, chillin up in tha doorway, surrounded by stormed up bitz of wood. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Perhaps Szeth had wounded his chull mo' than he’d thought.

Or maybe . . .

Szeth froze yo. Dude thought of tha ducked head of tha playa who’d been rushed out, grill obscured. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Da Shardbearer still wasn’t followin yo. Dude was so skilled. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Dat shiznit was holla'd dat few pimps could rival Gavilar Kholin’s swordsmanship. Could it be?

Szeth turned n' dashed back, trustin his crazy-chull muthastormin instincts fo' realz. As soon as tha Shardbearer saw him, his schmoooove chull climbed ta his wild lil' feet wit alacrity. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth ran fasta n' rust. What was tha safest place fo' yo' mackdaddy, biatch? In tha handz of some guards, fleeing, biatch? Or protected up in a suit of Shardplate, left behind, dissed n' dismissed as a funky-chull bodyguard?

Clever, Szeth thought as tha formerly sluggish Shardbearer fell tha storm into another battle stance. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth beat down wit renewed vigor, swingin his Blade up in a gangbangin' flurry of strikes. Da Shardbearer-the mackdaddy-aggressively struck up wit broad, sweepin blows. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth pulled away from one of these, feelin tha wind of tha weapon passin just inches before his muthastormin chull yo. Dude timed his next move, then dashed forward, duckin underneath tha mackdaddy’s follow-through.

Da mackdaddy, expectin another strike at his side, twisted wit his thugged-out arm held protectively ta block tha hole up in his Plate. That gave Szeth tha room ta run past his chull n' tha storm into tha mackdaddy’s chambers.

Da mackdaddy spun round ta follow yo, but Szeth ran all up in tha lavishly furnished chamber, flingin up his hand, touchin piecez of furniture he passed. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Dude infused dem wit Stormlight, Lashin dem ta a point behind tha mackdaddy. Da furniture tumbled as if tha room had been turned on its side, couches, chairs, n' tablez droppin toward tha surprised mackdaddy. Gavilar made tha storm up of choppin at dem wit his Shardblade. Da weapon easily sheared all up in a big-chull couch yo, but tha pieces still crashed tha storm into him, makin his chull stumble fo' realz. A footstool hit his chull next, throwin his chull ta tha ground.

Gavilar rolled outta tha way of tha furniture n' charged forward, Plate leakin streamz of Light from tha cracked sections. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth gathered his dirty chull, then leaped tha storm into tha air, Lashin his dirty chull backward n' ta tha right as tha mackdaddy arrived. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Dude zipped outta tha way of tha mackdaddy’s blow, then Lashed his dirty chull forward wit two Basic Lashings up in a row. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Stormlight flashed outta him, threadz freezing, as da thug was pulled toward tha mackdaddy at twice tha speed of a aiiight fall.

Da mackdaddy’s posture indicated surprise as Szeth lurched up in midair, then spun toward him, swingin yo. Dude slammed his Blade tha storm into tha mackdaddy’s helm, then immediately Lashed his dirty chull ta tha ceilin n' fell tha storm upward, slammin tha storm into tha stone roof above yo. He’d Lashed his dirty chull up in a stormin shitload of directions too quickly, n' his body had lost track, makin it hard as storm ta land gracefully yo. Dude stumbled back ta his Nikes.

Below, tha mackdaddy stepped back, tryin ta git tha storm into posizzle ta swin up at Szeth. Da man’s helm was cracked, leakin Stormlight, n' da perved-out muthastorma stood protectively, representin' tha side wit tha stormed up plate. Da mackdaddy used a onehanded swing, reachin fo' tha ceiling. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth immediately Lashed his dirty chull downward, judgin dat tha mackdaddy’s battle would leave his chull unable ta git his sword back up in time.

Szeth underestimated his opponent. Da mackdaddy stepped tha storm into Szeth’s attack, trustin his helm ta absorb tha blow. Just as Szeth hit tha helm a second time-shatterin it-Gavilar socked wit his off hand, slammin his wild lil' freakadelic gauntleted fist tha storm into Szeth’s face.

Blindin light flashed up in Szeth’s eyes, a cold-chull lil counterpoint ta tha sudden agony dat crashed across his wild lil' face. Everythang blurred, his vision fading.

Pain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. So much pain!

Dude screamed, Stormlight leavin his chull up in a rush, n' da perved-out muthastorma slammed back tha storm into suttin' hard. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Da balcony doors. Mo' pain broke up across his shoulders, as if one of mah thugs had jabbed his chull wit a hundred daggers, n' dat schmoooove muthastorma hit tha ground n' rolled ta a stop, musclez trembling. Da blow would have capped a ordinary man.

No time fo' pain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. No time fo' pain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. No time fo' pain!

Dude blinked, bobbin his head, tha ghetto blurry n' dark. Was his thugged-out lil' punk-chull blind, biatch? No. Dat shiznit was dark outside yo. Dude was on tha wooden balcony; tha force of tha blow had thrown his chull all up in tha doors. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Somethang was thumpin yo. Heavy footfalls. Da Shardbearer!

Szeth stumbled ta his wild lil' feet, vision swimming. Blood streamed from tha side of his wild lil' face, n' Stormlight rose from his skin, blindin his stormin left eye. Da Light. Well chuuull, it would heal him, if it could. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! His jaw felt unhinged. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Broken, biatch? He’d dropped his Shardblade.

A lumberin shadow moved up in front of him; tha Shardbearer’s armor had leaked enough Stormlight dat tha mackdaddy was havin shiznit strutting. But da thug was coming.

Szeth screamed, kneeling, infusin Stormlight tha storm into tha wooden balcony, Lashin it downward. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Da air frosted round his muthastormin chull. Da tempest roared, travelin down his thugged-out arms tha storm into tha wood. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Dude Lashed it downward, then done did it again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude Lashed a gangbangin' fourth time as Gavilar stepped onto tha balcony. Well chuuull, it lurched under tha extra weight. Da wood cracked, straining.

Da Shardbearer hesitated.

Szeth Lashed tha balcony downward a gangbangin' fifth time. Da balcony supports shattered n' tha entire structure broke free from tha building. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth screamed all up in a gangbangin' stormed up jaw n' used his wild lil' final bit of Stormlight ta Lash his dirty chull ta tha side of tha buildin yo. Dude fell tha storm ta tha side, passin tha shocked Shardbearer, then hit tha wall n' rolled.

Da balcony dropped away, tha mackdaddy lookin up wit shock as he lost his wild lil' footing. Da fall was brief. In tha moonlight, Szeth peeped solemnly-vision still fuzzy, blinded up in one eye-as tha structure crashed ta tha stone ground below. Da wall of tha palace trembled, n' tha crash of stormed up wood echoed from tha nearby buildings.

Still standin on tha side of tha wall, Szeth groaned, climbin ta his Nikes yo. Dude felt weak; he’d used up his Stormlight too quickly, strainin his body yo. Dude stumbled down tha side of tha building, approachin tha wreckage, barely able ta remain standing.

Da mackdaddy was still moving. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Shardplate would protect a playa from such a gangbangin' fall yo, but a big-chull length of bloodied wood stuck up all up in Gavilar’s side, piercin his chull where Szeth had stormed up tha Plate earlier n' rust. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth knelt down, inspectin tha man’s pain-wracked face. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Strong features, square chin, black beard flecked wit white, strikin pale chronic eyes. Gavilar Kholin.

"I . . . expected you . . . ta come," tha mackdaddy holla'd between gasps.

Szeth reached underneath tha front of tha man’s breastplate, tappin tha straps there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. They unfastened, n' he pulled tha front of tha breastplate free, exposin tha gemstones on its interior. Chuuull, dis aint no joke. Two had been cracked n' burned out. Three still glowed. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Numb, Szeth breathed up in sharply, absorbin tha Light.

Da storm stormin started ta rage again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Mo' Light rose from tha side of his wild lil' face, repairin his stormin lil' damaged skin n' bones. Da pain was still pimped out; Stormlight healin was far from instantaneous. Well chuuull, it would be minutes before he recovered.

Da mackdaddy coughed. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "Yo chull can tell . . . Thaidakar . . . dat he’s too late. . . ."

"I don’t know whoz chull dat is," Szeth holla'd, standing, his stormin lyrics slurrin from his wild lil' stormed up jaw yo. Dude held his hand ta tha side, resummonin his Shardblade.

Da mackdaddy frowned. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "Then whoz chull . . . , biatch? Restares, biatch? Sadeas, biatch? I never thought . . ."

"My stormin mastas is tha Parshendi," Szeth holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Ten heartbeats passed, n' his Blade dropped tha storm into his hand, wet wit condensation.

"Da Parshendi, biatch? That make no sense." Gavilar coughed, hand quivering, reachin toward his chest n' fumblin at a pocket yo. Dude pulled up a lil' small-chull crystalline sphere tied ta a cold-chull lil chain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Yo chull must take all dis crem dung. They must not git dat rust." Dude seemed dazed. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "Tell . . . tell mah brutha . . . he must find da most thugged-out blingin lyrics a playa can say. . . ."

Gavilar fell tha storm still.

Szeth hesitated, then knelt down n' took tha sphere, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Dat shiznit was odd, unlike any he’d peeped before. Though dat shiznit was straight-up dark, it seemed ta glow somehow. With a light dat was black.

Da Parshendi, biatch? Gavilar had holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! That make no sense. "Nothang make sense no mo'," Szeth whispered, tuckin tha strange sphere away. "It’s all unraveling. I be sorry, Mackdaddy of tha Alethi. I doubt dat you care. Not no mo', at least." Dude stood up. "At least you won’t gotta peep tha ghetto endin wit tha rest of us."

Beside tha mackdaddy’s body, his Shardblade materialized from mist, clatterin ta tha stones now dat its masta was dead as stormin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Dat shiznit was worth a gangbangin' fortune; mackdaddydoms had fallen as pimps vied ta possess a single Shardblade.

Shoutz of alarm came from inside tha palace. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Szeth needed ta bounce tha storm out. But . . .

Tell mah brutha . . .

To Szeth’s people, a thugged-out dyin request was sacred. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Dude took tha mackdaddy’s hand, dippin it up in tha man’s own blood, then used it ta scrawl on tha wood, Brutha n' rust. Yo chull must find da most thugged-out blingin lyrics a playa can say.

With that, Szeth escaped tha storm into tha night yo. Dude left tha mackdaddy’s Shardblade; dat schmoooove muthastorma had no use fo' dat rust. Da Blade Szeth already carried was curse enough.

Edited October 11, 2016 by little wilson
Please don't swear

[Eccentric Hero]

3 hours ago, Straw said:

"Tell . . . tell mah brutha . . . he must find da most thugged-out blingin lyrics a playa can say. . . ."

3 hours ago, Straw said:

Brutha n' rust. Yo chull must find da most thugged-out blingin lyrics a playa can say.

 

[Darkness Ascendant]

I gizoogled the letters between Hoid n' that dawg Frost the Reciever a while ago man.

Spoiler

Oldskool playa, I hope dis missive findz you well. Though, as yo chull is now essentially immortal, I would guess dat wellnizz on yo' part is suttin' of a given.[1] I realize dat yo chull is probably still mad salty. That is pleasant ta know. Much as yo' perpetual health, I have come ta rely upon yo' dissatisfaction wit mah dirty chull. Well chuuull, it is one of tha cosmere’s pimped out constants, I should think.[2]

Let me first assure you dat tha element is like safe. I have found a phat home fo' dat rust. I protect its safety like I protect mah own skin, you might say.[3] Yo chull do not smoke wit mah quest. I KNOW that, so much as it is possible ta KNOW one of mah thugs wit whom I disagree so straight-up.[4] Might I be like frank, biatch? Before, you axed why I was so concerned. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Well chuuull, it is fo' tha followin reason: [5] Ati was once a kind n' generous dude, n' you saw what tha storm became of his muthastormin chull. Rayse, on tha other hand, was among da most thugged-out loathsome, crafty, n' stormed up dudes I had eva met.[6] Dude holdz da most thugged-out frightenin n' shitty of all of tha Shards. Ponder on dat fo' a time, you oldschool reptile, n' tell me if yo' insistence on nonintervention holdz firm. Because I assure you, Rayse aint gonna be similarly inhibited.[7] One need only peep tha aftermath of his brief visit ta Sel ta peep proof of what tha storm I say.[8] In case you have turned a funky-chull blind eye ta dat storm up, know dat Aona n' Skai is both dead, n' dat which they held has been Splintered. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Presumably ta prevent mah playas from risin up ta challenge Rayse.[9]

Yo chull have accused mah crazy chull of arrogizzle up in mah quest. Yo chull have accused mah crazy chull of perpetuatin mah grudge against Rayse n' Bavadin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Both accusations is true.[10] Neither point make tha thangs I have freestyled ta you here untrue.[11] I be bein chased. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Yo crazy-chull playaz of tha Seventeenth Shard, I suspect. I believe they’re still lost, followin a gangbangin' false trail I left fo' dem wild-chull muthastormas. They’ll be happier dat way. I doubt they have any inklin what tha storm ta do wit me should they straight-up catch mah dirty chull.[12] If anythang I have holla'd cook up a glimmer of sense ta you, I trust dat you’ll call dem off. Or maybe you could astound mah crazy chull n' ask dem ta do suttin' productizzle fo' once.[13] For I aint NEVER been all bout a mo' blingin purpose, n' tha straight-up pillarz of tha sky will shake wit tha thangs up in dis biatch of our war here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. I ask again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Support mah dirty chull. Do not stand aside n' let disasta consume mo' lives. I’ve never begged you fo' suttin' before, oldschool playa yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin'. I do so now, nahmeean?

Spoiler

I be bout ta address dis letta ta mah oldschool playa, as I have no clue what tha storm name you rockin currently.Has you done given up on tha gemstone now dat it is dead, biatch? And do you no longer hide behind tha name of yo' oldschool master, biatch? I be holla'd at dat up in yo' current incarnation you've taken a name dat references what tha storm you presume ta be one of yo' virtues.This is, I suspect, a lil like a skunk namin itself fo' its stench.Now, look what tha storm you've made me say. You've always been able ta brang up da most thugged-out off tha hook up in me, oldschool playa yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin' fo' realz. And I do still name you a gangbangin' playa, fo' all dat you weary mah dirty chull.Yes, I be pissed tha storm off. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. Perpetually, as you put dat rust.Is not tha destruction our crazy asses have wrought enough, biatch? Da ghettos you now tread bear tha bust a nut on n' design of Adonalsium. Our interference so far has brought not a god damnation thang but pain.My stormin path has been chosen straight-up deliberately. Yes, I smoke wit every last muthastormin thang you have holla'd bout Rayse, includin tha severe dark shiznit he presents.But storm dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat it seems ta me dat all thangs done been set up fo' a purpose, n' if we - as infants - stumble all up in tha workshop, we risk exacerbating, not preventing, a problem.Rayse is captizzle yo. Dude cannot leave tha system he now inhabits yo. His destructizzle potential is, therefore, inhibited.Whether dis was Tanavastz design or not, millennia have passed without Rayse takin tha game of another of tha sixteen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. While I mourn fo' tha pimped out sufferin Rayse has caused, I do not believe we could hope fo' a funky-chull betta outcome than this.Whether dis was Tanavastz design or not, millennia have passed without Rayse takin tha game of another of tha sixteen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. While I mourn fo' tha pimped out sufferin Rayse has caused, I do not believe we could hope fo' a funky-chull betta outcome than this.I suspect dat he is mo' a gangbangin' force than a individual now, despite yo' insistence ta tha contrary. That force is contained, n' a equilibrium reached.You, however, have never been a gangbangin' force fo' equilibrium. Yo chull tow chaos behind you like a cold-chull lil corpse dragged by one leg all up in tha snow. Please, harken ta mah plea. Leave dat place n' join me up in mah oath of nonintervention.Da cosmere itself may depend upon our restraint.

Y'know, I can't stop thinking og an epic rap battle between Hoid and Frost now.

Edited October 11, 2016 by little wilson
Please don't swear

[Straw]

Prologue of Mistborn in Gizoogle:

 

Mistborn

Sometimes, I worry dat I’m not tha pimp mah playas be thinkin I am. . . .

Da philosophers assure me dat dis is tha time, dat tha signs done been met. But I still wonder if they have tha wack man. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. So nuff playas depend on mah dirty chull. They say I'ma hold tha future of tha entire ghetto on mah arms.

What would they be thinkin if they knew dat they champion-the Pimp of Ages, they savior-doubted his dirty chull, biatch? Perhaps they wouldn’t be shocked at all. In a way, dis is what tha storm worries me most. Maybe, up in they hearts, they wonder-just as I do.

When they peep me, do they peep a liar?

Ash fell tha storm from tha sky.

Lord Trestin frowned, glancin up all up in tha ruddy, mid-dizzle sky as his servants scuttled forward, openin a parasol over Trestin n' his stormin lil' distinguished hommie fo' realz. Ashfalls weren’t dat uncommon up in tha Final Empire yo, but Trestin had hoped ta stay tha storm away from gettin soot stains on his wild lil' fine freshly smoked up suit coat n' red vest, which had just arrived via canal boat from Luthadel itself. Fortunately, there wasn’t much wind-the parasol wannaly be effective.

Trestin stood wit his wild lil' freakadelic hommie on a lil' small-chull hilltop patio which overlooked tha fieldz yo. Hundredz of playas up in brown smocks hit dat shiznit up in tha fallin ash, carin fo' tha crops. There was a sluggishnizz ta they efforts-but, of course, dat was tha way of tha skaa. Da peasants was a indolent, unproductizzle lot. Da didn’t complain, of course-they knew betta than dis rust. Instead, they simply hit dat shiznit wit bowed heads, movin bout they work wit on tha down-low apathy. Da passin whip of a taskmasta would force dem tha storm into dedicated motion fo' all dem moments yo, but as soon as tha taskmasta passed, they would return ta they languor.

Trestin turned ta tha playa standin beside his chull on tha hill. "One would think," Trestin noted, "that a thousand muthastormin yearz of hustlin up in fieldz would have bred dem ta be a lil mo' effectizzle at dat rust."

Da obligator turned, raisin a eyebrow-the motion done as if ta highlight his crazy-chull most distinctizzle feature, tha intricate tattoos dat laced tha skin round his wild lil' stormin eyes. Da tattoos was enormous, reachin all tha way across his brow n' up tha sidez of his nose. This was a gangbangin' full prelan-a straight-up blingin obligator indeed. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Trestin had his own, underground obligators back all up in tha manor yo, but they was only minor functionaries, wit barely all dem marks round they eyes. This playa had arrived from Luthadel wit tha same canal boat dat had brought Tresting’s freshly smoked up suit.

"Yo chull should peep hood skaa, Tresting," tha obligator holla'd, turnin back ta peep tha skaa workers. "These is straight-up like diligent, compared ta dem inside Luthadel. Yo chull have mo' . . . direct control over yo' skaa here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho yo. How tha storm nuff would you say you lose a month?"

"Oh, a half-dozen or so," Trestin holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "Some ta whoopins, some ta exhaustion."

"Runaways?"

"Never!" Trestin holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "When I first inherited dis land from mah title, I had all dem runaways-but I executed they crews. Da rest quickly lost chull. I’ve never understood pimps whoz chull have shiznit wit they skaa-I find tha creatures easy as storm  ta control, if you show a properly firm hand."

Da obligator nodded, standin on tha stormin' down-lowly up in his wild lil' freakadelic gray robes yo. Dude seemed pleased-which was a phat thang. Da skaa weren’t straight-up Tresting’s property. Like all skaa, they belonged ta tha Lord Ruler-Trestin only leased tha workers from his God, much up in tha same way he paid fo' tha skillz of His obligators.

Da obligator looked down, checkin his thugged-out lil' pocket peep it, then glanced up all up in tha sun. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Despite tha ashfall, tha sun was bright dis day, shinin a funky-chull solid crimson red behind tha smoky blacknizz of tha upper sky. Trestin removed a handkerchizzle n' wiped his brow, thankful fo' tha parasol’s shade against tha mid-dizzle heat.

"Straight-up well, Tresting," tha obligator holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "I'ma carry yo' proposal ta Lord Venture, as requested. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time yo. Dude gonna git a gangbangin' favorable report from me on yo' operations here."

Trestin held up in a funky-chull bust a funky-chull big-chull fart of relief fo' realz. An obligator was required ta witnizz any contract or bidnizz deal between noblemen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. True, even a lowly obligator like tha ones Trestin employed could serve as such a witness-but it meant so much mo' ta impress Straff Venture’s own obligator.

Da obligator turned toward his muthastormin chull. "I'ma leave back down tha canal dis afternoon."

"So soon?" Trestin asked. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "Wouldn’t you care ta stay fo' supper?"

"No," tha obligator replied. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "Though there be another matta I wish ta say rust bout wit you, biatch. I came not only all up in tha behest of Lord Venture yo, but ta . . . look up in on some mattas fo' tha Canton of Inquisition. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Rumors say dat you like ta dally wit yo' skaa dem hoes."

Trestin felt a cold-chull lil chill.

Da obligator smiled-he likely meant it ta be disarmin yo, but Trestin only found it eerie. "Don’t worry yo chull, Tresting," tha obligator holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "If there had been any real worries bout yo' actions, a Steel Inquisitor would done been busted here up in mah place."

Trestin nodded slowly. Inquisitor yo. He’d never peeped one of tha inhuman creatures yo, but dat schmoooove muthastorma had heard . . . stories.

"I done been satisfied regardin yo' actions wit tha skaa dem hoes," tha obligator holla'd, lookin back over tha fields. "What I’ve peeped n' heard here indicates dat you always clean up yo' messes fo' realz. A playa like stormin yo chull-efficient, productive-could go far up in Luthadel fo' realz. A few mo' muthastormin yearz of work, some inspired mercantile deals, n' whoz chull knows?"

Da obligator turned away, n' Trestin found his dirty chull smiling. Well chuuull, it wasn’t a promise, or even a endorsement-for da most thugged-out part, obligators was mo' bureaucrats n' witnesses than they was priests-but ta hear such praise from one of tha Lord Ruler’s own servants, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. . . . Trestin knew dat some nobilitizzle considered tha obligators ta be unsettling-some pimps even considered dem a funky-chull bother-but at dat moment, Testin could have busted his stormin lil' distinguished guest.

Trestin turned back toward tha skaa, whoz chull hit dat shiznit on tha stormin' down-lowly beneath tha bloody sun n' tha lazy flakez of ash. Trestin had always been a cold-chull lil ghetto nobleman, livin on his thugged-out lil' plantation, trippin of like movin tha storm into Luthadel itself yo. Dude had heard of tha balls n' tha parties, tha glamour n' tha intrigue, n' it buckwild his chull ta no end.

I’ll gotta big-up tonight, tha pimpin' muthastorma thought. There was dat lil' hoe up in tha fourteenth hovel dat he’d been watchin fo' some time. . . .

Dude smiled again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. A few mo' muthastormin yearz of work, tha obligator had holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! But, could Trestin like speed dat up, if da thug hit dat shiznit a lil harder, biatch? His skaa population had been growin lately. Perhaps if he pushed dem a lil' bit more, his schmoooove chull could brang up in a extra harvest dis summer, fulfill his contract wit Lord Venture up in extra measure.

Trestin nodded as he peeped tha crowd of lazy skaa, some hustlin wit they hoes, others on handz n' knees, pushin tha ash away from tha fledglin crops. They didn’t complain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. They didn’t hope. They barely dared think. That was tha way it should be, fo' they was skaa. They were-

Trestin froze as one of tha skaa looked up. Da playa kicked it wit Tresting’s eyes, a spark-no, a gangbangin' fire-of defiizzle showin up in his wild lil' stormin expression. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Trestin had never peeped anythang like it, not up in tha grill of a skaa. Trestin stepped backward reflexively, a cold-chull lil chill hustlin all up in his chull as tha strange, straight-backed skaa held his wild lil' stormin eyes.

And smiled.

Trestin looked away. "Kurdon!" da perved-out muthastorma snapped.

Da burly taskmasta rushed up tha incline. "Yes, mah lord?"

Trestin turned, pointin at. . . .

Dude frowned. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Where had dat skaa been standing, biatch? Workin wit they headz bowed, bodies stained by soot n' sweat, they was so hard ta tell apart. Trestin paused, searchin yo. Dude thought he knew tha place . . . a empty spot, where no muthastorma now stood.

But, no. That couldn’t be dat rust. Da playa couldn’t have disappeared from tha crew so doggystyle. Where would dat schmoooove muthastorma have gone, biatch? Dude must be up in there, somewhere, hustlin wit his head now properly bowed. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Still, his crazy-chull moment of apparent defiizzle was inexcusable.

"My stormin lord?" Kurdon axed again.

Da obligator stood all up in tha side, watchin curiously. Well chuuull, it would not be wise ta let tha playa know dat one of tha skaa had acted so brazenly.

"Work tha skaa up in dat southern section a lil harder," Trestin ordered, pointing. "I peep dem bein sluggish, even fo' skaa. Beat all dem of dem wild-chull muthastormas."

Kurdon shrugged yo, but nodded. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Well chuuull, it wasn’t much of a reason fo' a whoopin-but, then, da ruffneck didn’t need much of a reason ta give tha workers a whoopin.

They were, afta all, only skaa.

Kelsier had heard stories.

Dude had heard whisperz of times when once, long ago, tha sun had not been red. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Times when tha sky hadn’t been clogged by smoke n' ash, when plants hadn’t struggled ta grow n' when skaa hadn’t been slaves. Times before tha Lord Rula n' rust. Those days, however, was nearly forgotten. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Even tha legendz was growin vague.

Kelsier peeped tha sun, his wild lil' stormin eyes followin tha giant red disk as it crept toward tha westside horizon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude stood on tha stormin' down-lowly fo' a long-chull moment, ridin' solo up in tha empty fields. Da day’s work was done; tha skaa had been herded back ta they hovels. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Soon tha mists would come.

Eventually, Kelsier sighed, then turned ta pick his way across tha furrows n' pathways, weavin between big-chull heapz of ash yo. Dude avoided steppin on tha plants-though da thug wasn’t shizzle why his thugged-out lil' punk-chull bothered. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Da crops hardly seemed worth tha effort. Wan, wit wilted brown leaves, tha plants seemed as pissed off as tha playas whoz chull tended dem wild-chull muthastormas.

Da skaa hovels loomed up in tha wanin light fo' realz. Already, Kelsier could peep tha mists beginnin ta form, cloudin tha air n' givin tha mound-like buildings a surreal, intangible look. Da hovels stood unguarded-there was no need fo' watchers, fo' no skaa would venture outside once night arrived. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Their fear of tha mists was far too strong.

I’ll gotta cure dem of dat someday, Kelsier thought as he approached one of tha larger buildings. But, all thangs up in they own time yo. Dude pulled open tha door n' slipped inside.

Conversation stopped immediately. Kelsier closed tha door, then turned wit a smile ta confront tha room of bout thirty skaa fo' realz. A firepit burned weakly all up in tha center, n' tha big-chull cauldron beside dat shiznit was filled wit vegetable-dappled water-the beginningz of a evenin meal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Da chronic would be bland, of course. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Still, tha smell was enticing.

"Dope evening, everyone," Kelsier holla'd wit a smile, restin his thugged-out lil' pack beside his wild lil' feet n' leanin against tha door. Chuuull, dis aint no joke. "How tha storm was yo' day?"

His lyrics broke tha silence, n' tha dem hoes moonwalked back ta they dinner preparations fo' realz. A crew of pimps chillin at a cold-chull lil crude table, however, continued ta regard Kelsier wit dissatisfied expressions.

"Our dizzle was filled wit work, traveler," holla'd Tepper, one of tha skaa elders. "Somethang you managed ta avoid."

"Fieldwork hasn’t eva straight-up suited me," Kelsier holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "It’s far too hard on mah delicate skin." Dude smiled, holdin up handz n' arms dat was lined wit layers n' layerz of thin scars. They covered his skin, hustlin lengthwise, like some beast had repeatedly raked its claws up n' down his thugged-out arms.

Tepper snorted. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time yo. Dude was lil' ta be a elder, probably barely tha storm into his wild lil' forties-at most, he might be five muthastormin years Kelsier’s senior. Chuuull, dis aint no joke. But storm dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat tha scrawny playa held his dirty chull wit tha air of one whoz chull was horny bout ta be up in charge.

"This is no time fo' levity," Tepper holla'd sternly. "When our crazy asses harbor a traveler, we expect his chull ta behave his dirty chull n' stay tha storm away from suspicion. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. When you ducked away from tha fieldz dis morning, you could have gots a whippin fo' tha pimps round you, biatch."

"True," Kelsier holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "But dem pimps could also done been whipped fo' standin up in tha wack place, fo' pausin too long, or fo' coughin when a taskmasta strutted by. I once saw a playa beaten cuz his crazy-chull masta fronted dat dat schmoooove muthastorma had ‘blinked inappropriately.'"

Tepper sat wit narrow eyes n' a stiff posture, his thugged-out arm restin on tha table yo. His expression was unyielding.

Kelsier sighed, rollin his wild lil' stormin eyes. "Fine. If you want me ta go, I’ll be off then." Dude slung his thugged-out lil' pack up on his shoulder n' nonchalantly pulled open tha door.

Thick mist immediately stormin started ta pour all up in tha portal, driftin lazily across Kelsier’s body, poolin on tha floor n' creepin across tha dirt like a hesitant animal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Several playas gasped up in horror, though most of dem was too stunned ta cook up a sound. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Kelsier stood fo' a moment, starin up tha storm into tha dark mists, they shiftin currents lit feebly by tha cookin pit’s coals.

"Close tha door." Tepper’s lyrics was a plea, not a cold-chull lil command.

Kelsier did as requested, pushin tha door closed n' stemmin tha flood of white mist. "Da mist aint what tha storm you think. Yo chull fear it far too much."

"Men whoz chull venture tha storm into tha mist lose they souls," a biatch whispered. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Her lyrics raised a question. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Had Kelsier strutted up in tha mists, biatch? What, then, had happened ta his soul?

If you only knew, Kelsier thought. "Well, I guess dis means I’m staying." Dude waved fo' a funky-chull pimp ta brang his chull a stool. "It’s a phat thang, too-it would done been a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-chull shame fo' me ta leave before I shared mah news."

Mo' than one thug perked up all up in tha comment. This was tha real reason they tolerated him-the reason why even tha timid peasants would harbor a playa like stormin Kelsier, a skaa whoz chull defied tha Lord Ruler’s will by travelin from plantation ta plantation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. A renegade he may be-a dark shiznit ta tha entire hood-but his thugged-out lil' punk-chull brought shizzle from tha outside ghetto. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull.

"I come from tha north," Kelsier holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "From landz where tha Lord Ruler’s bust a nut on is less noticeable." Dude was rappin up in a cold-chull lil clear voice, n' playas leaned unconsciously toward his chull as they worked. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! On tha next day, Kelsier’s lyrics would be repeated ta tha nuff muthastormin hundred playas whoz chull lived up in other hovels. Da skaa might be subservient yo, but they was incurable ghetto hypes.

"Local lordz rule up in tha westside," Kelsier holla'd, "and they is far from tha iron grip of tha Lord Rula n' his obligators. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Some of these distant noblemen is findin dat aiiight skaa make betta workers than mistreated skaa. One dude, Lord Renoux, has even ordered his cold-chull taskmastas ta stop unauthorized whoopins. There is whispers dat he’s thankin bout payin wages ta his thugged-out lil' plantation skaa, like hood craftsmen might earn."

"Nonsense," Tepper holla'd.

"My stormin apologies," Kelsier holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "I didn’t realize dat Goodman Tepper had been ta Lord Renoux’s estates recently. When you dined wit his chull last, did tha pimpin' muthastorma rap  suttin' dat da ruffneck did not tell me son?"

Tepper blushed-skaa did not travel, n' they certainly didn’t dine wit lords. "Yo chull be thinkin me a gangbangin' fool, traveler," Tepper holla'd, "but I know what tha storm you’re bustin. You’re tha one they call tha Survivor; dem scars on yo' arms hit you wit away. You’re a shitmaker-you travel tha plantations, stirrin up discontent. Yo chull smoke our chicken, spittin some lyrics ta yo' grand stories n' yo' lies, then you disappear n' leave playas like me ta deal wit tha false hopes you give our lil' thugs."

Kelsier raised a eyebrow. "Now, now, Goodman Tepper," da perved-out muthastorma holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "Yo crazy-chull worries is straight-up unfounded. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Why, I have no intention of smokin yo' chicken n' you know I be eatin up dat shizzle all muthastormin day, biatch. I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! I brought mah own." With that, Kelsier reached over n' tossed his thugged-out lil' pack onto tha earth before Tepper’s table. Da loose bag slumped ta tha side, dumpin a array of chickens ta tha ground. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Fine breads, fruits, n' even all dem thick, cured sausages bounced free.

A summerfruit rolled across tha packed earthen floor n' bumped lightly against Tepper’s foot. Da middle-aged skaa regarded tha fruit wit stunned eyes. "That’s nobleman’s chicken!"

Kelsier snorted. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. "Barely. Yo chull know, fo' a playa of renowned prestige n' rank, yo' Lord Trestin has remarkably skanky taste yo. His pantry be a embarrassment ta his noble station."

Tepper paled even further n' rust. "That’s where you went dis afternoon," da thug whispered. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "Yo chull went ta tha manor. Chuuull, dis aint no joke. Yo chull . . . stole from tha master!"

"Indeed," Kelsier holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "And, might I add dat while yo' lord’s taste up in chickens is deplorable, his wild lil' stormin eye fo' soldiers is far mo' impressive. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Sneakin tha storm into his crazy-chull manor durin tha dizzle was like a cold-chull lil challenge."

Tepper was still starin all up in tha ounce ta tha bounce of chicken n' you know I be eatin up dat shizzle all muthastormin day, biatch. I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! "If tha taskmastas find dis here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. . . ."

"Well, I suggest you make it disappear then," Kelsier holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "I’d be willin ta bet dat it tastes a gangbangin' fare bit betta than watered-down farlet soup."

Two dozen setz of horny eyes studied tha chicken n' you know I be eatin up dat shizzle all muthastormin day, biatch. I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! If Tepper intended further arguments, da ruffneck didn’t make dem quickly enough, fo' his silent pause was taken as agreement. Within all dem minutes, tha bag’s contents had been inspected n' distributed, n' tha pot of chronic sat bubblin n' ignored as tha skaa feasted on a meal far mo' exotic.

Kelsier settled back, leanin against tha hovel’s wooden wall n' watchin tha playas devour they chicken n' you know I be eatin up dat shizzle all muthastormin day, biatch. I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Dude had spoken erectly-the pantry’s offerings had been wackly mundane. But storm dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat dis was a playas whoz chull had been fed on not a god damnation thang but chronic n' gruel since they was lil' thugs. To them, breadz n' fruits was rare delicacies-usually smoked only as agin discardz brought down by tha doggy den servants.

"Yo crazy-chull storytellin was cut short, lil' dude," a coffin dodgin' skaa noted, hobblin over ta sit on a stool beside Kelsier.

"Oh, I suspect there will time fo' mo' later," Kelsier holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "Once all evidence of mah thievery has been properly devoured. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Don’t you want any of it?"

"No need," tha oldschool playa holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "Da last time I tried lords’ chicken, I had stomach pains fo' three days. New tastes is like freshly smoked up ideas, lil' man-the olda you get, tha mo' hard as storm they is fo' you ta stomach."

Kelsier paused. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Da oldschool playa was hardly a imposin sight yo. His leathered skin n' bald scalp made his chull look mo' frail than it did wise. Yet, dat schmoooove muthastorma had ta be stronger than he looked-few plantation skaa lived ta such ages. Many lordz didn’t allow tha coffin dodgin' ta remain home from everyday work, n' tha frequent whoopins dat made up a skaa’s game took a shitty toll on tha elderly.

"What was yo' name again?" Kelsier asked.

"Mennis."

Kelsier glanced back at Tepper n' rust. "So, Goodman Mennis, tell me something. Why do you let his chull lead?"

Mennis shrugged. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "When you git ta be mah age, you gotta be straight-up careful where you waste yo' juice. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Some battlez just aren’t worth fighting." There was a implication up in Mennis’ eyes-he was referrin ta thangs pimped outa than his own struggle wit Tepper.

"You’re satisfied wit this, then?" Kelsier asked, noddin toward tha hovel n' its half-starved, overworked occupants, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. "You’re content wit a game full of whoopins n' endless drudgery?"

"At least it’s a game," Mennis holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "I know what tha storm wages malcontent n' rebellion brang. Da eye of tha Lord Ruler, n' tha ire of tha Steel Ministry, can be far mo' shitty than all dem whippings. Men like you preach chizzle yo, but I wonder n' rust. Is dis a funky-chull battle we can straight-up fight?"

"You’re fightin it already, Goodman Mennis. You’re just losin horribly." Kelsier shrugged. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "But, what tha storm do I know, biatch? I’m just a travelin miscreant, here ta smoke yo' chicken n' impress yo' youths."

Mennis shook his head. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "Yo chull jest yo, but Tepper might done been right. I fear yo' visit will brang our asses grief."

Kelsier smiled. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "That’s why I didn’t contradict him-at least, not on tha shitmaker point." Dude paused, then smiled mo' deeply. "In fact, I’d say callin me a shitmaker is probably tha only accurate thang Tepper has holla'd since I gots here."

"How tha storm do you do that?" Mennis asked, frowning.

"What?"

"Smile all muthastormin day."

"Oh, I’m just a aiiight person."

Mennis glanced down at Kelsier’s hands. "Yo chull know, I’ve only peeped scars like dem on one other person-and da thug was dead as stormin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. His body was moonwalked back ta Lord Trestin as proof dat his thugged-out lil' punishment had been carried out." Mennis looked up at Kelsier n' rust. "He’d been caught bustin lyrics of rebellion. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Trestin busted his chull ta tha Pitz of Hathsin, where da thug was hit dat shiznit until da ruffneck died. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Da lad lasted less than a month."

Kelsier glanced down at his handz n' forearms. Boy it's gettin hot, yes indeed it is. They still burned sometimes, though da thug was certain tha wild-chull crem dung was only up in his crazy-chull mind. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Dude looked up at Mennis n' smiled. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "Yo chull ask why I smile, Goodman Mennis, biatch? Well, tha Lord Rula be thinkin dat schmoooove muthastorma has fronted laughta n' joy fo' his dirty chull. I’m disinclined ta let his chull do so. This is one battle dat don’t take straight-up much effort ta fight."

Mennis stared at Kelsier, n' fo' a moment Kelsier thought tha oldschool playa might smile up in return, so check it before ya wreck it. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. But storm dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat Mennis eventually just shook his head. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "I don’t know. I just don’t-"

Da scream cut his chull off. Well chuuull, it came from outside, like ta tha north, though tha mists distorted sounds. Da playas up in tha hovel fell tha storm silent, listenin ta tha faint, high-pitched yells. Despite tha distizzle n' tha mist, Kelsier could hear tha wild-chull crem dung contained up in dem screams.

Kelsier burned tin.

Dat shiznit was simple fo' his chull now, afta muthastormin yearz of practice. Da tin sat wit other Allomantic metals within his stomach, swallowed earlier, waitin fo' his chull ta draw upon dem wild-chull muthastormas yo. Dude reached inside wit his crazy-chull mind n' touched tha tin, tappin powers da perved-out muthastorma still barely understood. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Da tin flared ta game within him, burnin his stomach like tha sensation of a funky-chull bangin' drank swallowed ta doggystyle.

Allomantic juice surged all up in his body, enhancin his senses. Da room round his chull became crisp, tha dull firepit flarin ta near-blindin brightnizz yo. Dude could feel tha grain up in tha wood of tha stool beneath his muthastormin chull yo. Dude could still taste tha remnantz of tha loaf of bread he’d snacked on earlier n' rust. Most blinginly, his schmoooove chull could hear tha screams wit supernatural ears. Two separate playas was yelling. One was a olda biatch, tha other a younger biatch-like a cold-chull lil child. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Da younger screams was gettin further n' further away.

"Skanky Jess," a nearby biatch holla'd, her voice boomin up in Kelsier’s enhanced ears. "That lil pimp of hers was a cold-chull lil curse. It’s betta fo' skaa not ta have pretty daughters."

Tepper nodded. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "Lord Trestin was shizzle ta bust fo' tha hoe sooner or later n' rust. We all knew dat rust. Jizz knew dat rust."

"Still a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-chull shame, though," another playa holla'd.

Da screams continued up in tha distance. Burnin tin, Kelsier was able ta judge tha direction accurately yo. Her voice was movin toward tha lord’s manor. Chuuull, dis aint no joke. Da soundz set suttin' off within him, n' he felt his wild lil' grill flush wit anger.

Kelsier turned. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "Do Lord Trestin eva return tha hoes afta he’s finished wit them?"

Oldskool Mennis shook his head. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "Lord Trestin be a law-abidin nobleman-he has tha hoes capped afta all dem weeks yo. Dude don’t wanna catch tha eye of tha Inquisitors."

That was tha Lord Ruler’s command. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Dude couldn’t afford ta have half-breed lil pimps hustlin around-lil pimps whoz chull might possess powers dat skaa weren’t even supposed ta know existed. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. . . .

Da screams waned yo, but Kelsier’s anger only built. Da yells reminded his chull of other screams fo' realz. A biatch’s screams from tha past yo. Dude stood abruptly, stool topplin ta tha ground behind his muthastormin chull.

"Careful, lad," Mennis holla'd apprehensively. "Remember what tha storm I holla'd bout wastin juice. You’ll never raise dat rebellion of yours if you git yo chull capped tonight."

Kelsier glanced toward tha oldschool man. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Then, all up in tha screams n' tha pain, he forced his dirty chull ta smile. "I’m not here ta lead a rebellion among you, Goodman Mennis. I just wanna stir up a lil rust."

"What phat could dat do?"

Kelsier’s smile deepened. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "New minutes is coming. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Survive a lil longer, n' you just might peep pimped out happenings up in tha Final Empire. I bid you all props fo' yo' hospitizzleity."

With that, he pulled open tha door n' strode up tha storm into tha mist.

Mennis lay awake up in tha early minutez of morning. Well chuuull, it seemed dat tha olda his thugged-out lil' punk-chull became, tha mo' hard as storm dat shiznit was fo' his chull ta chill. This was particularly legit when da thug was shitd bout something, like stormin tha traveler’s failure ta return ta tha hovel.

Mennis hoped dat Kelsier had come ta his senses n' decided ta move on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. But storm dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat that prospect seemed unlikely-Mennis had peeped tha fire up in Kelsier’s eyes. Well chuuull, it seemed such a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-chull shame dat a playa whoz chull had survived tha Pits would instead find dirtnap here, on a random plantation, tryin ta protect a hoe any suckas had given up fo' dead as stormin fried chicken.

How tha storm would Lord Trestin react, biatch? Dude was holla'd ta be particularly harsh wit mah playas whoz chull interrupted his night-time enjoyments, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. If Kelsier had managed ta disturb tha master’s pleasures, Trestin might easily decizzle ta punish tha rest of his skaa by association.

Eventually, tha other skaa stormin started ta awake. Mennis lay on tha hard earth-bones aching, back complaining, musclez exhausted-tryin ta decizzle if dat shiznit was worth rising. Each day, he nearly gave up. Each day, dat shiznit was a lil harder n' rust. One day, da thug would just stay up in tha hovel, waitin until tha taskmastas came ta bust a cap up in dem playas whoz chull was too sick or too coffin dodgin' ta work.

But not todizzle. It make me wanna hollar playa! Dude could peep too much fear up in tha eyez of tha skaa-they knew dat Kelsier’s night-time activitizzles would brang rust. They needed Mennis; they looked ta his muthastormin chull yo. Dude needed ta git up.

And so, da ruffneck done did. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Once da perved-out muthastorma started moving, tha painz of age decreased slightly, n' da thug was able ta shuffle outta tha hovel toward tha fields, leanin on a younger playa fo' support.

Dat shiznit was then dat his schmoooove chull caught a scent up in tha air. Chuuull, dis aint no joke. "What’s that?" he asked. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "Do you smell smoke?"

Shum-the lad upon whom Mennis leaned-paused. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Da last remnantz of tha night’s mist had burned away, n' tha red sun was risin behind tha sky’s usual haze of blackish clouds.

"I always smell smoke, lately," Shum holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "Da Ashmounts is violent dis year."

"No," Mennis holla'd, feelin mo' n' mo' n' mo' apprehensive. "This is different." Dude turned ta tha north, toward where a crew of skaa was gatherin yo. Dude let go of Shum, shufflin toward tha group, feet kickin up dust n' ash as he moved.

At tha centa of tha crew of people, he found Jess yo. Her daughter, tha one they all assumed had been taken by Lord Tresting, stood beside her n' rust. Da lil' girl’s eyes was red from lack of chill yo, but she rocked up unharmed.

"slontze came back not long afta they took her," tha biatch was explaining. "slontze came n' pounded on tha door, bustin up like a biatch up in tha mist. Flen was shizzle dat shiznit was just a mistwraith impersonatin her yo, but I had ta let her in! I don’t care what tha storm da perved-out muthastorma says, I’m not givin her up. I brought her up in tha sunlight, n' her dope chull didn’t disappear. Chuuull, dis aint no joke. That proves she’s not a mistwraith!"

Mennis stumbled back from tha growin crowd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Did none of dem peep it, biatch? No taskmastas came ta break up tha group. No soldiers came ta make tha mornin population counts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Somethang was straight-up wrong. Mennis continued ta tha north, movin frantically toward tha manor house.

By tha time he arrived, others had noticed tha twistin line of smoke dat was just barely visible up in tha mornin light. Mennis wasn’t tha straight-up original gangsta ta arrive all up in tha edge of tha short hill-top plateau yo, but tha crew made way fo' his chull when da ruffneck done did.

Da manor doggy den was gone. Only a funky-chull blackened, smolderin scar remained.

"By tha Lord Ruler!" Mennis whispered. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "What happened here?"

"Dude capped dem all."

Mennis turned. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Da speaker was Jess’s girl. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Biatch stood, lookin down all up in tha fallen house, a satisfied expression on her youthful face.

"They was dead when his thugged-out lil' punk-chull brought me out," her big-chull booty holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "All of them-the soldiers, tha taskmasters, tha lordz . . . dead as stormin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Even Lord Trestin n' his obligators. Da masta had left me, goin ta rewind when tha noises stormin started. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. On tha way out, I saw his chull lyin up in his own blood, stab-woundz up in his chest. Da playa whoz chull saved mah crazy chull threw a torch up in tha buildin as our slick asses left."

"This dude," Mennis holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "Dude had scars on his handz n' arms, reachin past tha elbows?"

Da hoe nodded silently.

"What kind of demon was dat man?" one of tha skaa muttered uncomfortably.

"Mistwraith," another whispered, apparently forgettin dat Kelsier had gone up durin tha day.

But, da ruffneck did go up tha storm into tha mist, Mennis thought fo' realz. And, how tha storm did he accomplish a gangbangin' feat like dis . . . , biatch? Lord Trestin kept over two dozen soldiers muthastorma! Did Kelsier gotz a hidden crew of rebels, like?

Kelsier’s lyrics from tha night before sounded up in his wild lil' stormin ears. New minutes is coming. . . .

"But, what tha storm of us?" Tepper asked, terrified. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "What will happen when tha Lord Rula hears this, biatch? He’ll be thinkin dat our phat asses did dat shiznit son! He’ll bust our asses ta tha Pits, or maybe just bust his koloss ta slaughta our asses outright son! Why would dat shitmaker do suttin' like this, biatch? Don’t he KNOW tha damage he’s done?"

"Dude understands," Mennis holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "Dude warned us, Tepper n' shiznit yo. Dude came ta stir up rust."

"But, why?"

"Because he knew we’d never rebel on our own, so he gave our asses no chizzle."

Tepper paled.

Lord Ruler, Mennis thought. I can’t do all dis crem dung. I can barely git up in tha mornings-I can’t save dis people.

But what tha storm other chizzle was there?

Mennis turned. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "Gather tha people, Tepper n' rust. We must flee before word of dis disasta reaches tha Lord Ruler."

"Where will we go?"

"Da caves ta tha eastside," Mennis holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "Travelaz say there be rebel skaa hidin up in dem wild-chull muthastormas. Perhaps they’ll take our asses in."

Tepper paled further n' rust. "But . . . we’d gotta travel fo' days. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Spend nights up in tha mist."

"We can do that," Mennis holla'd, "or we can stay here n' take a thugged-out dirt nap."

Tepper stood frozen fo' a moment, n' Mennis thought tha shock of all dat shiznit might have overwhelmed his muthastormin chull. Eventually, however, tha younger playa scurried off ta gather tha others, as commanded.

Mennis sighed, lookin up toward tha trailin line of smoke, cursin tha playa Kelsier on tha stormin' down-lowly up in his crazy-chull mind.

New minutes indeed.

Edited October 11, 2016 by little wilson
Please don't swear

[PantsForSquares]

11 hours ago, Straw said:

"Tell . . . tell mah brutha . . . he must find da most thugged-out blingin lyrics a playa can say. . . ."

These are going in my sig.

[Delightful]

The Pimp of ages......oh my deary dear dearness. 

[Mestiv]

Three Rings fo' tha Elven-kings under tha sky,
Seven fo' tha Dwarf-lordz up in they hallz of stone,
Nine fo' Mortal Men doomed ta die,
One fo' tha Dark Lord on his stormin' lil' dark throne
In tha Land of Mordor where tha Shadows lie.
One Rin ta rule dem all, One Rin ta find them,
One Rin ta brang dem all n' up in tha darknizz bind them
In tha Land of Mordor where tha Shadows lie.

Edited October 11, 2016 by little wilson
Please don't swear

[soyperson]

"Of all tha recruits up in his cohort, dat schmoooove muthastorma had hustled tha quickest yo. How tha storm ta hold tha spear, how tha storm ta stand to
spar yo. He’d done it almost without instruction. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. That had shocked Tukks. But why should it have, biatch? You
were not shocked when a cold-chull lil lil pimp knew how tha storm ta breathe. Yo chull was not shocked when a skyeel took flight
for tha last time. Yo chull should not be shocked when you hand Kaladin Stormblessed a spear n' he
knows how tha storm ta use dat rust." 

~

"Do tha mackdaddy know you back?"

"Nope biaaatch! I be tryin ta be thinkin of a properly dramatic way ta inform his muthastormin chull. Perhaps a hundred chasmfiendz marchin up in unison, rappin a ode ta mah magnificence."

"That sounds… hard."

"Yeah, tha stormin thangs have real shiznit tunin they tonic chordz n' maintainin just intonation."

"I have no clue what tha storm you just holla'd."

"Yeah, tha stormin thangs have real shiznit tunin they tonic chordz n' maintainin just intonation." 

Edited October 11, 2016 by bleeder

[ThirdGen]

Yikes.

[PantsForSquares]

I might have translated all of the Hero of Ages epigraphs. Mistborn spoilers below, I suppose!

Spoiler

I am, unfortunately, tha Pimp of Ages.

Holdin tha juice did strange thangs ta mah mind. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! In just all dem moments, I became familiar wit tha juice itself, wit its history, n' wit tha ways it might be used. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Yet, dis knowledge was different from experience, or even mobilitizzle ta use dat juice n' rust. For instance, I knew how tha storm ta move a hood up in tha sky. Yet, I didn’t know where ta place it so dat it wouldn’t be too close, or too far, from tha sun.

Holdin tha juice did strange thangs ta mah mind. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! In just all dem moments, I became familiar wit tha juice itself, wit its history, n' wit tha ways it might be used. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Yet, dis knowledge was different from experience, or even mobilitizzle ta use dat juice n' rust. For instance, I knew how tha storm ta move a hood up in tha sky. Yet, I didn’t know where ta place it so dat it wouldn’t be too close, or too far, from tha sun.

This is straight-up what tha storm happened ta Rashek, I believe yo. Dude pushed too hard. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Dude tried ta burn away tha mists by movin tha hood closer ta tha sun yo, but he moved it too far, makin tha ghetto far too bangin' fo' tha playas whoz chull inhabited dat rust. Da ashmounts was his solution ta all dis crem dung yo. Dude had hustled dat shovin a hood round required too much precision, so instead his schmoooove chull caused tha mountains ta erupt, spewin ash n' smoke tha storm into tha air. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Da thicker atmosphere made tha ghetto cooler, n' turned tha sun red.

Each time Rashek tried ta fix thangs, he made dem worse yo. Dude had ta chizzle tha ghetto’s plants ta make dem able ta survive up in tha new, harsh environment. Yet, dat chizzle left tha plants less nutritious ta mankind. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Git tha storm outta mah grill wit dat crem dung, tha fallin ash would make pimps sick, causin dem ta cough like dem playas whoz chull dropped too long minin beneath tha earth fo' realz. And so Rashek chizzled mankind itself as well, alterin dem so dat they could survive.

Rashek soon found a funky-chull balizzle up in tha chizzlez he made ta tha ghetto-which was fortunate, fo' his thugged-out lil' juice burned away like doggystyle. Though tha juice dat schmoooove muthastorma held seemed immense ta him, dat shiznit was truly only a tiny fraction of suttin' much pimped outer.

Of course, da ruffneck did end up namin his dirty chull tha "Sliver of Infinity" up in his bangin religion. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Perhaps he understood mo' than I give his chull credit for.
Either way, our crazy asses had his chull ta give props ta fo' a ghetto without flowers, where plants grew brown rather than green, n' where playas could survive up in a environment where ash fell tha storm from tha sky on a regular basis.

I drop a rhyme of our asses as "we." Da group. Those of our asses whoz chull was tryin ta discover n' defeat Ruin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Perhaps mah thoughts is now tainted yo, but I gotta look back n' peep tha sum of what tha storm we was bustin as a single, united assault, though we was all involved up in different processes n' plans. Us thugs was one. That didn’t stop tha ghetto from endin yo, but that’s not necessarily a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-chull shitty-chull thang.

It be too easy as storm  fo' playas ta characterize Ruin as simply a gangbangin' force of destruction. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Think rather of Ruin as intelligent decay. Not simply chaos yo, but a gangbangin' force dat sought up in a rational-and dangerous-way ta break every last muthastormin thang down ta its most basic forms. Boy it's gettin hot, yes indeed it is. Ruin could plan n' carefully plot, knowin if his thugged-out lil' punk-chull built one thang up, his schmoooove chull could use it ta knock down two others. Da nature of tha ghetto is dat when we create something, we often storm wit suttin' else up in tha process.

Allomancy was, indeed, born wit tha mists, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Or, at least, Allomancy stormin started all up in tha same time as tha mists’ first appearances. When Rashek took tha juice all up in tha Well of Ascension, his thugged-out lil' punk-chull became aware of certain thangs. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Some was whispered ta his chull by Ruin; others was granted ta his chull as a instinctizzle part of tha juice n' rust. One of these was a understandin of tha Three Metallic Arts yo. Dude knew, fo' instance, dat tha nuggetz of metal up in tha Chamber of Ascension would make dem playas whoz chull ingested dem tha storm into Mistborn, so check it before ya wreck it. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. These were, afta all, fractionz of tha straight-up juice up in tha Well itself.

Nuggetz of pure Allomancy, tha juice of Preservation itself. Why Rashek left one of dem nuggets all up in tha Well of Ascension, I do not know. Perhaps da ruffneck didn’t peep it, or like he intended ta save it ta bestow upon a gangbangin' fortunate servant. Perhaps he feared dat someday, da thug would lose his thugged-out lil' powers, n' would need dat nugget ta grant his chull Allomancy. Either way, I bless Rashek fo' his oversight, fo' without dat nugget, Elend would have took a dirt nap dat dizzle all up in tha Well.

Da First Contract, oft spoken of by tha kandra, was originally just a seriez of promises made by tha First Generation ta tha Lord Rula n' rust. They freestyled these promises down, n' up in bustin so codified tha straight-up original gangsta kandra laws. They was worried bout governin theyselves, independently of tha Lord Rula n' his wild lil' stormin empire. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. So, they took what tha storm they had freestyled ta him, askin fo' his thugged-out approval.

Dude commanded it cast tha storm into steel, then personally scratched a signature tha storm into tha bottom. This code was tha straight-up original gangsta thang dat a kandra hustled upon awakenin from his or her game as a mistwraith. Well shiiiit, it contained commandz ta revere earlier generations, simple legal muthastormin rights granted ta each kandra, provisions fo' bustin freshly smoked up kandra, n' a thugged-out demand fo' illest dedication ta tha Lord Ruler.
Most disturbingly, tha First Contract contained a provision which, if invoked, would require tha mass suicizzle of tha entire kandra people.

Rashek moved tha Well of Ascension, obviously.

Dat shiznit was straight-up smart-chull of him-like tha defest thang da ruffneck done did. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Dude knew dat tha juice would one dizzle return ta tha Well, fo' juice like stormin this-the fundamenstrual juice by which tha ghetto itself was formed-does not simply run out. Well shiiiit, it can be used, n' therefore diffused yo, but it will always be renewed. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! So, knowin dat rumors n' talez would persist, Rashek chizzled tha straight-up landscape of tha ghetto. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Dude put mountains up in what tha storm became tha North, n' named dat location Terris. Then he flattened his stormin legit homeland, n' built his capital there.
Dude constructed his thugged-out lil' palace round dat room at its chull, tha room where da thug would meditate, tha room dat was a replica of his oldschool hovel up in Terris fo' realz. A refuge pimped durin tha last moments before his thugged-out lil' juice ran out.

Hemalurgy, it is called, cuz of tha connection ta blood. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Well shiiiit, it aint a cold-chull lil coincidence, I believe, dat dirtnap be always involved up in tha transfer of powers via Hemalurgy. Marsh once busted lyrics bout it as a "messy" process. Not tha adjectizzle I would have chosen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. It’s not disturbin enough.

Ruin’s consciousnizz was trapped by tha Well of Ascension, kept mostly impotent. That night, when our phat asses discovered tha Well fo' tha last time, we found suttin' our phat asses didn’t understand. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! A black smoke, cloggin one of tha rooms.

Though our phat asses discussed it afta tha fact, we couldn’t decizzle what tha storm dat was yo. How tha storm could we possibly have known?

Da body of a god-or, rather, tha juice of a god, since tha two is straight-up tha same thang. Ruin n' Preservation inhabited juice n' juice up in tha same way a thug inhabits flesh n' blood.

Da ash.

I don’t be thinkin tha playas straight-up understood how tha storm fortunate they were, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Durin tha thousand muthastormin years before tha Collapse, they pushed tha ash tha storm into rivers, piled it up outside of ghettos, n' generally just let it be. They never understood dat without tha microbes n' plants Rashek had pimped ta break down tha ash particles, tha land would quickly done been buried.

Though, of course, dat did eventually happen anyway.

They is called Allomantic savants, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Men or dem hoes whoz chull flare they metals so long, n' so hard, dat tha constant influx of Allomantic juice transforms they straight-up physiology.

In most cases, wit most metals, tha effectz of dis is straight-up slight. Bronze burners, fo' instance, often become bronze savants without knowin dat rust. Their range is expanded from burnin tha metal so long. Becomin a pewta savant is dangerous, as it requires pushin tha body so hard up in a state where one cannot feel exhaustion or pain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Most accidentally bust a cap up in theyselves before tha process is complete, n' up in mah opinion, tha benefit aint worth tha effort. Tin savants, however . . . now, they is suttin' special. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Endowed wit senses beyond what tha storm any aiiight Allomancer would need-or even want-they become slaves ta what tha storm they touch, hear, see, smell, n' taste. Yet, tha abnormal juice of these senses gives dem a gangbangin' finger-lickin' distinct, n' interesting, advantage.

One could argue that, like a Inquisitor whoz chull has been transformed by a Hemalurgic spike, tha Allomantic savant is no longer even human.

Da subtlety displayed up in tha ash-eatin microbes n' enhanced plants shows dat Rashek gots betta n' betta at rockin tha juice n' rust. Well shiiiit, it burned up in a matta of minutes-but ta a god, minutes can pass like hours. Durin dat time, Rashek stormin started as a ignorant lil pimp whoz chull shoved a hood too close ta tha sun, grew tha storm into a adult whoz chull could create ashmounts ta def tha air, then finally became a mature artisan whoz chull could pimp plants n' creatures fo' specific purposes. Well shiiiit, it also shows his crazy-chull mind-set durin his cold-chull time wit Preservation’s juice n' rust. Under its influence da thug was obviously up in a protectizzle mode. Instead of levelin tha ashmounts n' tryin ta push tha hood back tha storm into place, da thug was reactive, hustlin furiously ta fix problems dat dat schmoooove muthastorma his dirty chull had caused.

Rashek didn’t solve all tha ghetto’s problems. Boy it's gettin hot, yes indeed it is. In fact, wit each thang da ruffneck did fix, his schmoooove chull pimped freshly smoked up issues. But storm dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat da thug was smart-chull enough dat each subsequent problem was smalla than tha ones before dat rust. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. So, instead of plants dat took a dirt nap from tha distorted sun n' ashy ground, we gots plants dat didn’t provide like enough nutrition. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude did save tha ghetto. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! True, tha near-destruction was his wild lil' fault up in tha straight-up original gangsta place-but da ruffneck did a admirable thang, all thangs considered. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! At least da ruffneck didn’t release Ruin ta tha ghetto as our phat asses done did.

Yes, tha ash was black. storm dat rust, it should not have been. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Most common ash has a thugged-out dark component yo, but is just as much gray or white as it is black fo' realz. Ash from tha ashmounts . . . dat shiznit was different. Like tha mists theyselves, tha ash coverin our land was not truly a natural thang. Perhaps dat shiznit was tha influence of Ruin’s power-as black as Preservation was white. Or, like dat shiznit was simply tha nature of tha ashmounts, which was designed n' pimped specifically ta blast ash n' smoke tha storm into tha sky.

Mo' than one thug reported feelin a sentient hatred up in tha mists, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. This aint necessarily related ta tha mists cappin' people, however n' rust. For most-even dem it struck down-the mists seemed merely a thugged-out drizzle phenomenon, no mo' sentient or vengeful than a shitty disease. For some few, however, there was mo' n' mo' n' mo'. Those it favored, it swirled around. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Those dat shiznit was straight-up shitty to, it pulled away from. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Some felt peace within it, others felt hatred. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Well shiiiit, it all came down ta Ruin’s subtle touch, n' how tha storm much one responded ta his thugged-out lil' promptings.

It should be no surprise dat Elend became such a bangin Allomancer n' rust. Well shiiiit, it aint nuthin but a well-documented fact-though dat documentation wasn’t available ta most-that Allomancers was much stronger durin tha early minutez of tha Final Empire. In dem days, a Allomancer didn’t need duralumin ta take control of a kandra or koloss fo' realz. A simple Push or Pull on tha emotions was enough cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. In fact, dis mobilitizzle was one of tha main reasons dat tha kandra devised they Contracts wit tha humans-for, at dat time, not only Mistborn yo, but Soothers n' Riotas could take control of dem all up in tha merest of whims.

Da beadz of metal found all up in tha Well-beadz dat made pimps tha storm into Mistborn-were tha reason why Allomancers used ta be mo' bangin naaahhmean, biatch? Those first Mistborn was as Elend Venture became-possessin a primal power, which was then passed down all up in tha linez of tha nobility, weakenin a lil' bit wit each generation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da Lord Rula was one of these ancient Allomancers, his thugged-out lil' juice pure n' unadulterated by time n' breeding. That is part of why da thug was so mighty compared ta other Mistborn-though, admittedly, his crazy-chull mobilitizzle ta mix Feruchemy n' Allomancy was what tha storm produced nuff of his crazy-chull most spectacular abilities. Put ya muthastormin choppers up if ya feel dis! Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Still, it is bangin-chull ta me dat one of his "divine" powers-his essential Allomantic strength-was suttin' every last muthastormin one of tha original gangsta nine Allomancers possessed.

Durin tha early minutez of Kelsier’s original gangsta plan, I remember how tha storm much his schmoooove chull trippin our asses all wit his crazy-chull mysterious "Eleventh Metal." Dude fronted dat there was legendz of a mystical metal dat would let one slay tha Lord Ruler-and dat Kelsier his dirty chull had located dat metal all up in intense research. No Muthastorma straight-up knew what tha storm Kelsier did up in tha muthastormin years between his wild lil' stormin escape from tha Pitz of Hathsin n' his bangin return ta Luthadel. When pressed, da perved-out muthastorma simply holla'd dat dat schmoooove muthastorma had been up in "the West." Somehow up in his wanderings da ruffneck discovered stories dat no Keeper had eva heard. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Most of tha crew didn’t know what tha storm ta make of tha legendz da perved-out muthastorma was rappin of. This might done been tha straight-up original gangsta seed dat made even his crazy oldschool playaz begin ta question his stormin leadership.

I now believe dat Kelsier’s stories, legends, n' prophecies bout tha "Eleventh Metal" was fabricated by Ruin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Kelsier was lookin fo' a way ta bust a cap up in tha Lord Ruler, n' Ruin-ever subtle-provided a way. That secret was indeed crucial. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Kelsier’s Eleventh Metal provided tha straight-up clue we needed ta defeat tha Lord Rula n' rust. But storm dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat even up in this, we was manipulated. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. Da Lord Rula knew Ruin’s goals, n' would never have busted out his chull from tha Well of Ascension. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. So, Ruin needed other pawns-and fo' dat ta happen, tha Lord Rula needed ta take a thugged-out dirt nap. Even our top billin victory was shaped by Ruin’s subtle fingers.

Da Balance. Is it real?

We’ve almost forgotten dis lil bit of lore. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Skaa used ta rap bout it, before tha Collapse. Philosophers discussed it a pimped out deal up in tha third n' fourth centuries yo, but by Kelsier’s time, dat shiznit was mostly a gangbangin' forgotten topic. But dat shiznit was real. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. There was a physiological difference between skaa n' nobility. When tha Lord Rula altered mankind ta make dem mo' capable of dealin wit ash, his schmoooove chull chizzled other thangs as well. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Some crewz of people-the noblemen-were pimped ta be less fertile yo, but taller, stronger, n' mo' intelligent. Others-the skaa-were made ta be shorter, hardier, n' ta have nuff lil' thugs.

Da chizzlez was slight, however, n' afta a thousand muthastormin yearz of interbreeding, tha differences had largely been erased.

I be only just beginnin ta KNOW tha brilliizzle of tha Lord Ruler’s cultural synthesis. One of tha benefits afforded his chull by bein both immortal and-for all relevant purposes-omnipotent was a gangbangin' finger-lickin' direct n' effectizzle influence on tha evolution of tha Final Empire.

Dude was able ta take elements from a thugged-out dozen different cultures n' apply dem ta his new, "perfect" society. For instance, tha architectural brilliizzle of tha Khlenni buildaz is manifest up in tha keeps dat tha high nobilitizzle construct. Khlenni fashizzle sense-suits fo' gentlemen, gowns fo' ladies-is another thang tha Lord Rula decided ta appropriate.
I suspect dat despite his hatred of tha Khlenni people-of whom Alendi was one-Rashek had a thugged-out deep-seated envy of dem as well. Da Terriz of tha time was pastoral herdsmen, tha Khlenni cultured cosmopolitans yo. However ironic, it is logical dat Rashek’s freshly smoked up empire would mimic tha high culture of tha playas dat schmoooove muthastorma hated.

Yes, Rashek made phat use of his wild lil' stormin enemy’s culture up in pimpin tha Final Empire. Yet, other elementz of imperial culture was a cold-chull lil complete contrast ta Khlennium n' its society. Da livez of tha skaa was modeled afta tha slave peoplez of tha Canzi. Da Terris stewardz resembled tha servant class of Urtan, which Rashek conquered relatively late up in his wild lil' first century of game. Da imperial religion, wit its obligators, straight-up appears ta have arisen from tha bureaucratic mercantile system of tha Hallant, a playas whoz chull was straight-up focused on weights, measures, n' permissions. Da fact dat tha Lord Rula would base his Church on a gangbangin' financial institution shows-in mah opinion-that da thug worried less bout legit faith up in his wild lil' followers, n' mo' bout stability, loyalty, n' quantifiable measurez of devotion.

One final aspect of tha Lord Ruler’s cultural manipulation is like interesting: dat of technology.

I have already mentioned dat Rashek chose ta use Khlenni architecture, which allowed his chull ta construct big-chull structures n' gave his chull tha civil engineerin necessary ta build a cold-chull lil hood as big-chull as Luthadel. In other areas, however, da perved-out muthastorma suppressed technological advancements, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Gunpowder, fo' instance, was so frowned upon by Rashek dat knowledge of its use disappeared almost as quickly as knowledge of tha Terris religion.

Apparently, Rashek found it alarmin dat armed wit gunpowder weapons, even da most thugged-out common of pimps could be nearly as effectizzle as archers wit muthastormin yearz of hustlin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. And so, he favored archers. Da mo' hustlin-dependent military technologizzle was, tha less likely dat shiznit was dat tha peasant population would be able ta rise up n' resist his muthastormin chull. Git tha storm outta mah grill wit dat crem dung, skaa revolts always failed up in part fo' dis straight-up reason.

Da Lord Rula didn’t just forbid certain technologies, da perved-out muthastorma suppressed technological advancement straight-up. Well shiiiit, it seems odd now dat durin tha entirety of his cold-chull thousand-year reign, straight-up lil progress was made. Farmin steez, architectural methods-even fashizzle remained remarkably stable durin tha Lord Ruler’s reign.

Dude constructed his thugged-out lil' slick empire, then tried ta make it stay dat way. For da most thugged-out part, da thug was successful naaahhmean, biatch? Pocket watches-another Khlenni appropriation-that was made up in tha tenth century of tha empire was nearly identical ta dem made durin tha first. Everythang stayed tha same.

Until all dat shiznit collapsed, of course.

Originally, pimps assumed dat Rashek’s persecution of tha Terris religion came from hatred. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Yet, now dat we know dat Rashek was his dirty chull a Terrisman, his stormin lil' destruction of dat religion seems odd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! I suspect it had suttin' ta do wit tha prophecies bout tha Pimp of Ages. Rashek knew dat Preservation’s juice would eventually return ta tha Well of Ascension. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. If tha Terris religion had been allowed ta survive, then like-someday-a thug would find they way ta tha Well n' take up tha power, then use it ta defeat Rashek n' overthrow his wild lil' stormin empire. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. So, he obscured knowledge of tha Pimp n' what tha storm da thug was supposed ta do, hopin ta keep tha secret of tha Well ta his dirty chull.

Rashek wore both black n' white. I be thinkin da thug wanted ta show dat da thug was a thugged-out duality, Preservation n' Ruin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. This, of course, was a lie fo' realz. Afta all, dat schmoooove muthastorma had only touched one of tha powers-and only up in a straight-up lil' small-chull way at that.

Allomancy, obviously, iz of Preservation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da rationizzle mind will peep all dis crem dung. For, up in tha case of Allomancy, net juice is gained. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Well shiiiit, it is provided by a external source-Preservation’s own body.

Hemalurgy iz of Ruin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Well shiiiit, it destroys. By takin abilitizzles from one thug n' givin dem ta another-in reduced amounts-power is straight-up lost. In line wit Ruin’s own appointed purpose-breakin down tha universe tha storm into smalla n' smalla pieces-Hemalurgy gives pimped out gifts yo, but at a high cost.

Feruchemy, it should be noted, is tha juice of balance. Of tha three powers, only dat shiznit was known ta pimps before tha conflict between Preservation n' Ruin came ta a head. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! In Feruchemy, juice is stored up, then lata drawn upon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. There is no loss of juice-just a cold-chull lil changin of tha time n' rate of its use.

Hemalurgy be a juice bout which I wish I knew far less. To Ruin, juice must have a inordinately high cost-usin it must be bangin, yet must sow chaos n' destruction up in its straight-up implementation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. In concept, it aint nuthin but a straight-up simple art fo' realz. A parasitic one. Without other playas ta loot from, Hemalurgy would be useless.

In Hemalurgy, tha type of metal used up in a spike is blingin, as is tha positionin of dat spike on tha body. For instance, steel spikes take physical Allomantic powers-the mobilitizzle ta burn pewter, tin, steel, or iron-and bestow dem upon tha thug receivin tha spike. Which of these four is granted, however, dependz on where tha spike is placed. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Spikes made from other metals loot Feruchemical abilities. Put ya muthastormin choppers up if ya feel dis! For example, all of tha original gangsta Inquisitors was given a pewta spike, which-afta first bein pounded all up in tha body of a Feruchemist-gave tha Inquisitor tha mobilitizzle ta store up healin juice n' rust. (Though they couldn’t do so as quickly as a real Feruchemist, as per tha law of Hemalurgic decay.) This, obviously, is where tha Inquisitors gots they inhyped mobilitizzle ta recover from woundz quickly, n' was also why they needed ta rest all muthastormin day.

Hemalurgic decay was less obvious up in Inquisitors dat had been pimped from Mistborn, so check it before ya wreck it. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Since they already had Allomantic powers, tha addizzle of other abilitizzles made dem phatly strong. In most cases, however, Inquisitors was pimped from Mistings. Well shiiiit, it appears dat Seekers, like Marsh, was tha favored recruits, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. For, when a Mistborn wasn’t available, a Inquisitor wit enhanced bronze abilitizzles was a bangin tool fo' searchin up skaa Mistings.

Hemalurgy can be used ta loot Allomantic or Feruchemical powers n' give dem ta another person. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. But storm dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat a Hemalurgic spike can also be pimped by cappin' a aiiight person, one whoz chull is neither a Allomancer nor a Feruchemist. In dat case, tha spike instead steals tha straight-up juice of Preservation existin within tha chull of tha people. (Da juice that, up in fact, gives all playas sentience.)

A Hemalurgic spike can extract dis power, then transfer it ta another, grantin dem residual abilitizzles similar ta dem of Allomancy fo' realz. Afta all, Preservation’s body-a tiny trace of which is carried by every last muthastormin human being-is tha straight-up same essence dat fuels Allomancy.

And so, a kandra granted tha Blessin of Potency is straight-up acquirin a lil' bit of innate strength similar ta dat of burnin pewter n' rust. Da Blessin of Presence grants menstrual capacitizzle up in a similar way, while tha Blessin of Awarenizz is tha mobilitizzle ta sense wit pimped outa acuitizzle n' tha rarely used Blessin of Stabilitizzle grants wack fortitude.

Even now, I can barely grasp tha scope of all all dis crem dung. Da events surroundin tha end of tha ghetto seem even larger than tha Final Empire n' tha playas within dat rust. I sense shardz of suttin' from long ago, a gangbangin' fractured presence, suttin' spannin tha void. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! I have delved n' searched, n' have only been able ta come up wit a single name: Adonalsium. Who, or what, it was, I do not yet know.

Originally, we assumed dat a koloss was a cold-chull lil combination of two playas tha storm into one. That was wrong. Koloss aint tha meldin of two playas yo, but five, as evidenced by tha four spikes needed ta make dem wild-chull muthastormas. Not five bodies, of course yo, but five souls. Each pair of spikes grants what tha storm tha kandra would call tha Blessin of Potency. But storm dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat each spike also distorts tha koloss body a lil more, makin it mo' n' mo' n' mo' inhuman. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Such is tha cost of Hemalurgy.

Hemalurgic spikes chizzle playas physically, dependin on which powers is granted, where tha spike is placed, n' how tha storm nuff spikes one of mah thugs has. Inquisitors, fo' instance, is chizzled drastically from tha humans they used ta be. Their hearts is up in different places from dem of humans, n' they domes rearrange ta accommodate tha lengthz of metal jabbed all up in they eyes. Koloss is chizzled up in even mo' drastic ways. One might be thinkin dat kandra is chizzled most of all. But storm dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat one must remember dat freshly smoked up kandra is made from mistwraiths, n' not humans. Da spikes worn by tha kandra cause only a lil' small-chull transformation up in they hosts-leavin they bodies mostly like dat of a mistwraith yo, but allowin they mindz ta begin working. Ironically, while tha spikes dehumanize tha koloss, they give a measure of humanitizzle ta tha kandra.

I be thinkin dat tha koloss was mo' intelligent than we wanted ta give dem credit fo' being. For instance, originally, they used only spikes tha Lord Rula gave dem ta make freshly smoked up thugz yo. Dude would provide tha metal n' tha stormed up skaa captives, n' tha koloss would create freshly smoked up "recruits."

At tha Lord Ruler’s dirtnap, then, tha koloss should quickly have took a dirt nap out. This was how tha storm dat schmoooove muthastorma had designed dem wild-chull muthastormas. If they gots free from his control, he expected dem ta bust a cap up in theyselves off n' end they own rampage. But storm dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat they somehow made tha deduction dat spikes up in tha bodiez of fallen koloss could be harvested, then reused.

They then no longer required a gangbangin' fresh supply of spikes. I often wonder what tha storm effect tha constant reuse of spikes had on they population. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. A spike can only hold so much of a Hemalurgic charge, so they could not create spikes dat granted infinite strength, no matta how tha storm nuff playas dem spikes capped n' drew juice from. But storm dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat did tha repeated reuse of spikes like brang mo' humanitizzle ta tha koloss they made?

For all dat it disgusts me, I cannot help but be impressed by Hemalurgy as a art.

In Allomancy n' Feruchemy, skill n' subtlety come all up in tha application of one’s powers. Da dopest Allomancer might not be da most thugged-out powerful yo, but instead tha one whoz chull can dopest manipulate tha Pushes n' Pullz of metals. Da dopest Feruchemist is tha one whoz chull is most capable of sortin tha shiznit up in his copperminds, or dopest able ta manipulate his weight wit iron.

Da art dat is unique ta Hemalurgy, however, is tha knowledge of where ta place tha spikes.

Each spike, positioned straight-up carefully, can determine how tha storm tha recipient’s body is chizzled by Hemalurgy fo' realz. A spike up in one place creates a monstrous, near-mindless beast. In another place, a spike will create a cold-chull lil crafty-yet homicidal-Inquisitor.

Without tha instinctizzle knowledge granted by takin tha juice all up in tha Well of Ascension, Rashek would never done been able ta use Hemalurgy. With his crazy-chull mind expanded, n' wit a lil practice, da thug was able ta intuit where ta place spikes dat would create tha servants da thug wanted.

It be a lil-known fact dat tha Inquisitors’ torture chambers was straight-up Hemalurgic laboratories. Put ya muthastormin choppers up if ya feel dis! Da Lord Rula was constantly tryin ta pimp freshly smoked up breedz of servant. Well shiiiit, it aint nuthin but a testament ta Hemalurgy’s complexitizzle that, despite a thousand muthastormin yearz of trying, he never managed ta create anythang wit it beyond tha three kindz of creatures da ruffneck pimped durin dem few brief moments holdin tha power.

A playa wit a given power-like stormin a Allomantic ability-who then gained a Hemalurgic spike grantin dat same juice would be nearly twice as phat as a natural unenhanced Allomancer n' shiznit fo' realz. An Inquisitor whoz chull was a Seeker before his cold-chull transformation would therefore have a enhanced mobilitizzle ta use bronze. This simple fact explains how tha storm nuff Inquisitors was able ta pierce copperclouds.

Ruin’s escape deserves some explanation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. This be a thang dat even I had a problem understanding.

Ruin could not have used tha juice all up in tha Well of Ascension. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Dat shiznit waz of Preservation, Ruin’s fundamenstrual opposite. Git tha storm outta mah grill wit dat crem dung, a gangbangin' finger-lickin' direct confrontation of these two forces would have caused tha destruction of both.

Ruin’s prison, however, was fabricated of dat juice n' rust. Therefore, dat shiznit was attuned ta tha juice of Preservation-the straight-up juice of tha Well. When dat juice was busted out n' dispersed, rather than utilized, it acted as a key. Da subsequent "unlocking" is what tha storm finally freed Ruin.

Ruin’s prison was not like dem dat hold men. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude wasn’t bound by bars. In fact, his schmoooove chull could move bout freely.

His prison, rather, was one of impotence. In tha termz of forces n' gods, dis meant balance. If Ruin was ta push, tha prison would push back, essentially renderin Ruin powerless fo' realz. And cuz much of his thugged-out lil' juice was stripped away n' hidden, da thug was unable ta affect tha ghetto up in any but da most thugged-out subtle of ways. I should stop here n' clarify something. We drop a rhyme of Ruin bein "freed" from his thugged-out lil' prison. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. But dat is misleading. Releasin tha juice all up in tha Well tipped tha aforementioned balizzle back toward Ruin yo, but da thug was still too weak ta storm wit tha ghetto up in tha blink of a eye as he yearned ta do. This weaknizz was caused by part of Ruin’s power-his straight-up body-havin been taken n' hidden from his muthastormin chull.

Which was why Ruin became so obsessed wit findin tha hidden part of his self.

Once "freed," Ruin was able ta affect tha ghetto mo' directly. Da most obvious way da ruffneck did dis was by makin tha ashmounts emit mo' ash n' tha earth begin ta break apart fo' realz. As a matta of fact, I believe dat much of Ruin’s juice durin dem last minutes was all bout these tasks yo. Dude was also able ta affect n' control far mo' playas than before. Where dat schmoooove muthastorma had once hyped up only all dem select dudes, his schmoooove chull could now direct entire koloss armies.

One might ask why Ruin couldn’t have used Inquisitors ta release his chull from his thugged-out lil' prison. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da answer ta dis is simple enough, if one understandz tha workingz of power.

Before tha Lord Ruler’s dirtnap, he maintained too tight a grip on dem ta let Ruin control dem directly. Even afta tha Lord Ruler’s dirtnap, however, such a servant of Ruin could never have rescued his muthastormin chull. Da juice up in tha Well waz of Preservation, n' a Inquisitor could only have taken it by first removin his Hemalurgic spikes. That, of course, would have capped his muthastormin chull.

Thus, Ruin needed a much mo' indirect way ta big up his thugged-out lil' purpose yo. Dude needed one of mah thugs dat schmoooove muthastorma hadn’t tainted too much yo, but one of mah thugs his schmoooove chull could lead by tha nose, carefully manipulating.

One can peep Ruin’s craftinizz up in tha meticulousnizz of his thugged-out lil' plannin yo. Dude managed ta orchestrate tha downfall of tha Lord Rula only a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-chull short time before Preservation’s juice moonwalked back ta tha Well of Ascension. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. And then, within all dem muthastormin yearz of dat event, dat schmoooove muthastorma had freed his dirty chull. On tha time scale of godz n' they power, dis straight-up tricky timin was as precise as a expert cut performed by da most thugged-out talented of surgeons.

Once Ruin was free from his thugged-out lil' prison, da thug was able ta influence playas mo' strongly-but impalin one of mah thugs wit a Hemalurgic spike was hard as storm no matta what tha storm tha circumstances. To big up such thangs, he apparently stormin started wit playas whoz chull already had a tenuous grip on reality. Their insanitizzle made dem mo' open ta his cold-chull touch, n' his schmoooove chull could use dem ta spike mo' stable people. Either way, it’s impressive how tha storm nuff blingin playas Ruin managed ta spike. Mackdaddy Penrod, rulin Luthadel all up in tha time, be a straight-up phat example of this.

Near tha end, tha ash stormin started ta pile up in frightenin amounts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. I’ve spoken of tha special microbes dat tha Lord Rula devised ta help tha ghetto deal wit tha ashfalls. They did not "feed" on ash, straight-up. Rather, they broke it down as a aspect of they metabolic functions. Volcanic ash itself is, actually, phat fo' soil, dependin on what tha storm one wishes ta grow.

Too much of anything, however, is deadly. Wata is necessary fo' survival, yet too much will drown. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Durin tha history of tha Final Empire, tha land balanced on tha straight-up knife-edge of disasta via tha ash. Da microbes broke it down bout as rapidly as it fell yo, but when there was so much of it dat it oversaturated tha soil, it became mo' hard as storm fo' plants ta survive.

In tha end, tha entire system fell tha storm apart fo' realz. Ash fell tha storm so steadily dat it smothered n' capped, n' tha ghetto’s plant game took a dirt nap off. Da microbes had no chizzle of keepin up, fo' they needed time n' nutrients ta reproduce.

Da pact between Preservation n' Ruin be a thang of gods, n' hard as storm ta explain up in human terms. Boy it's gettin hot, yes indeed it is. Git tha storm outta mah grill wit dat crem dung, initially, there was a stalemate between dem wild-chull muthastormas. On one hand, each knew dat only by hustlin together could they create. On tha other hand, both knew dat they would never have complete satisfaction up in what tha storm they pimped. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. Preservation would not be able ta keep thangs slick n' unchanging, n' Ruin would not be able ta storm wit straight-up. Ruin, of course, eventually acquired tha mobilitizzle ta end tha ghetto n' bust tha satisfaction da thug wanted. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. But, then, dat wasn’t originally part of tha bargain.

Preservation’s desire ta create sentient game was what tha storm eventually broke tha stalemate. In order ta give mankind awarenizz n' independent thought, Preservation knew dat da thug would gotta give up part of his dirty chull-his own soul-to dwell within mankind. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! This would leave his chull just a tiny bit weaker than his opposite, Ruin.

That tiny bit seemed inconsequential, compared wit they total vast sumz of juice n' rust. But storm dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat over aeons, dis tiny flaw would allow Ruin ta overcome Preservation, thereby brangin a end ta tha ghetto. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! This, then, was they bargain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Preservation gots mankind, tha only creations dat had mo' Preservation than Ruin up in them, rather than a funky-chull balance. Independent game dat could be thinkin n' feel. In exchange, Ruin was given a promise-and proof-that his schmoooove chull could brang a end ta all they had pimped together n' rust. Dat shiznit was tha pact.

And Preservation eventually broke dat rust.

By sacrificin most of his consciousness, Preservation pimped Ruin’s prison, breakin they deal n' tryin ta keep Ruin from beatin tha livin shiznit outta what tha storm they had pimped. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. This event left they powers again n' again n' again nearly balanced-Ruin imprisoned, only a trace of his dirty chull capable of leakin out. Preservation reduced ta a mere wisp of what tha storm he once was, barely capable of thought n' action. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. These two mindz were, of course, independent of tha raw force of they powers fo' realz. Actually, I be uncertain of how tha storm thoughts n' personalitizzles came ta be attached ta tha powers up in tha straight-up original gangsta place-but I believe they was not there originally. For both powers could be detached from tha mindz dat ruled dem wild-chull muthastormas.

I don’t know why Preservation decided ta use his stormin last bit of game appearin ta Elend durin his cold-chull trek back ta Fadrex. From what tha storm I understand, Elend didn’t straight-up learn dat much from tha meeting. By then, of course, Preservation was but a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-chull shadow of his dirty chull-and dat shadow was under immense destructizzle heat from Ruin.

Perhaps Preservation-or, tha remnantz of what tha storm dat schmoooove muthastorma had been-wanted ta git Elend ridin' solo. Or, like da perved-out muthastorma saw Elend kneelin up in dat field, n' knew dat tha emperor of pimps was straight-up close ta just lyin down up in tha ash, never ta rise again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Either way, Preservation did appear, n' up in bustin so exposed his dirty chull ta Ruin’s attacks. Gone was tha minutes when Preservation could turn away a Inquisitor wit a funky-chull bare gesture, gone-even-were tha minutes when his schmoooove chull could strike a playa down ta bleed n' take a thugged-out dirt nap. By tha time Elend saw tha "mist spirit," Preservation must done been barely coherent. I wonder what tha storm Elend would have done, had he known dat da thug was up in tha presence of a thugged-out dyin god-that on dat night, dat schmoooove muthastorma had been tha last witnizz of Preservation’s passing. If Elend had waited just all dem mo' minutes on dat ashen field, da thug would have peeped a funky-chull body-short of stature, black hair, prominent nose-fall from tha mists n' slump dead tha storm into tha ash.

As it was, tha corpse was left ridin' solo ta be buried up in ash. Da ghetto was dying. Its godz had ta take a thugged-out dirtnap wit dat rust.

I have come ta peep dat each juice has three aspects: a physical one, which can be peeped up in tha creations made by Ruin n' Preservation; a spiritual one up in tha unseen juice dat permeates all of tha ghetto; n' a cold-chull lil cognitizzle one up in tha mindz which controlled dat juice. There is mo' ta all dis crem dung. Much mo' dat even I do not yet comprehend.

Once you begin ta KNOW these thangs, you can peep how tha storm Ruin was trapped even though Preservation’s mind was gone, expended ta create tha prison. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Though Preservation’s consciousnizz was mostly stormed wit, his spirit n' body was still up in force fo' realz. And, as a opposite force of Ruin, these could still prevent Ruin from destroying. Or, at least, keep his chull from beatin tha livin shiznit outta thangs too doggystyle. Once his crazy-chull mind was "freed" from its prison tha destruction accelerated doggystyle.

I do not know what tha storm went on up in tha mindz of tha koloss-what memories they retained, what tha storm human emotions they truly still knew. I do know dat our discovery of tha one creature, whoz chull named his dirty chull Human, was tremendously fortunate. Without his struggle ta become human again, we might never have understood tha link between tha koloss, Hemalurgy, n' tha Inquisitors. Of course, there was another part fo' his chull ta play. Granted, not big-chull yo, but still blingin, all thangs considered.

Da prison Preservation pimped fo' Ruin was not pimped outta Preservation’s power, though dat shiznit waz of Preservation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Rather, Preservation sacrificed his consciousness-one could say his crazy-chull mind-to fabricate dat prison. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude left a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-chull shadow of his dirty chull yo, but Ruin, once escaped, stormin started ta suffocate n' isolate dis lil' small-chull remnant vestige of his bangin rival. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. I wonder if Ruin eva thought it strange dat Preservation had cut his dirty chull off from his own power, relinquishin it n' leavin it up in tha ghetto, ta be gathered n' used by men.

In Preservation’s gambit, I peep nobility, defness, n' desperation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude knew dat his schmoooove chull could not defeat Ruin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude had given too much of his dirty chull and, beyond that, da thug was tha embodiment of stasis n' stabilitizzle yo. Dude could not destroy, not even ta protect. Dat shiznit was against his nature yo. Hence tha prison. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Mankind, however, had been pimped by both Ruin n' Preservation-with a hint of Preservation’s own chull ta give dem sentience n' honor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. In order fo' tha ghetto ta survive, Preservation knew dat schmoooove muthastorma had ta depend upon his creations. To give dem his cold-chull trust.

I wonder what tha storm tha pimpin' muthastorma thought when dem creations repeatedly failed his muthastormin chull.

I don’t wonder dat we focused far too much on tha mists durin dem days. But from what tha storm I now know of sunlight n' plant pimpment, I realize dat our crops weren’t up in as much dark shiznit from misty minutes as we feared. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! We might straight-up well done been able ta find plants ta smoke dat did not need as much light ta survive. True, tha mists did also cause some dirtnaps up in dem playas whoz chull went up in dem yo, but tha number capped was not a big-chull enough cementage of tha population ta be a threat ta our game as a species. Put ya muthastormin choppers up if ya feel dis! Da ash, dat was our real problem. Da smoke fillin tha atmosphere, tha black flakes coverin up every last muthastormin thang beneath, tha eruptionz of tha volcanic ashmounts . . . Those was what tha storm would bust a cap up in tha ghetto. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull.

I suspect dat Alendi, tha playa Rashek capped, was his dirty chull a Misting-a Seeker n' shiznit fo' realz. Allomancy, however, was a gangbangin' finger-lickin' different thang up in dem days, n' much mo' rare. Da Allomancers kickin it up in our dizzle is tha descendantz of tha pimps whoz chull ate dem few beadz of Preservation’s juice n' rust. They formed tha foundation of tha nobility, n' was tha straight-up original gangsta ta name his chull emperor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Da juice up in these few beadz was so concentrated dat it could last all up in ten centuriez of humpin n' inheritance.

Ruin tried nuff times ta git spikes tha storm into other thugz of tha crew. Though a shitload of what tha storm happened make it seem like dat shiznit was easy as storm  fo' his chull ta bust control of people, it straight-up was not.

Stickin tha metal up in just tha right place-at tha right time-was incredibly difficult, even fo' a subtle creature like Ruin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. For instance, tha pimpin' muthastorma tried straight-up hard ta spike both Elend n' Yomen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Elend managed ta stay tha storm away from it each time, as da ruffneck did on tha field outside of tha lil' small-chull hood dat contained tha next-to-last storage cache.

Ruin did straight-up manage ta git a spike tha storm into Yomen, once. Yomen, however, removed tha spike before Ruin gots a gangbangin' firm grip on his muthastormin chull. Dat shiznit was much easier fo' Ruin ta git a hold on playas whoz chull was horny n' impulsive than dat shiznit was fo' his chull ta hold on ta playas whoz chull was logical n' prone ta hustlin all up in they actions up in they minds.

One might notice dat Ruin did not bust his Inquisitors ta Fadrex until afta Yomen had-apparently-confirmed dat tha atium was there up in tha hood. Why not bust dem as soon as tha final cache was located, biatch? Where was his crazy-chull minions up in all of this?

One must realize that, up in Ruin’s mind, all pimps was his crazy-chull minions, particularly dem whom his schmoooove chull could manipulate directly yo. Dude didn’t bust a Inquisitor cuz they was busy bustin other tasks. Instead, da perved-out muthastorma busted one of mah thugs who-in his crazy-chull mind-was exactly tha same thang as a Inquisitor.

Dude tried ta spike Yomen, failed, n' by dat time, Elend’s army had arrived. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! So, he used a gangbangin' finger-lickin' different pawn ta rewind tha cache fo' his chull n' discover if tha atium straight-up was there or not yo. Dude didn’t commit a stormin shitload of resources ta tha hood at first, fearin a thugged-out deception on tha Lord Ruler’s part. Like him, I still wonder if tha caches were, up in part, intended fo' just dat purpose-to distract Ruin n' keep his chull occupied.

In dem moments when tha Lord Rula both held tha juice all up in tha Well n' was feelin it drain away from him, he understood a pimped out nuff thangs yo. Dude saw tha juice of Feruchemy, n' rightly feared dat rust. Many of tha Terris people, he knew, would reject his chull as tha Hero, fo' da ruffneck didn’t fulfill they prophecies well. They’d peep his chull as a usurper whoz chull capped tha Pimp they sent. Which, up in truth, da thug was.

I think, over tha years, Ruin would subtly twist his chull n' make his chull do shitty thangs ta his own people. But all up in tha beginning, I suspect his stormin lil' decision against dem was motivated mo' by logic than emotion. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude was bout ta unveil a grand juice up in tha Mistborn.

Dude could have, I suppose, kept Allomancy secret n' used Feruchemists as his thugged-out lil' primary warriors n' assassins. But storm dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat I be thinkin da thug was wise ta chizzle as da ruffneck done did. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Feruchemists, by tha nature of they powers, gotz a tendency toward scholarship. With they incredible memories, they would done been straight-up hard as storm ta control over tha centuries. Put ya muthastormin choppers up if ya feel dis! Git tha storm outta mah grill wit dat crem dung, they was hard as storm ta control, even when da perved-out muthastorma suppressed dem wild-chull muthastormas fo' realz. Allomancy not only provided a spectacular freshly smoked up mobilitizzle without dat drawback, it offered a mystical juice his schmoooove chull could use ta bribe mackdaddys ta his side.

Inquisitors had lil chizzle of resistin Ruin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. They had mo' spikes than any of his other Hemalurgic creations, n' dat put dem straight-up under his stormin lil' domination. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Yes, it would have taken a playa of supreme will ta resist Ruin even slightly while bearin tha spikez of a Inquisitor.

Koloss also had lil chizzle of breakin free. Four spikes, n' they diminished menstrual capacity, left dem fairly easy as storm  ta dominate. Only up in tha throez of a funky-chull blood frenzy did they have any form of autonomy. Four spikes also made dem easier fo' Allomancers ta control. In our time, it required a thugged-out duralumin Push ta take control of a kandra. Koloss, however, could be taken by a thugged-out determined regular Push, particularly when they was afraid.

When tha Lord Rula offered his thugged-out lil' plan ta his Feruchemist playas-the plan ta chizzle dem tha storm into mistwraiths-he was makin dem drop a rhyme on behalf of all tha land’s Feruchemists, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Though his schmoooove chull chizzled his wild lil' playaz tha storm into kandra ta restore they mindz n' memories, tha rest he left as nonsentient mistwraiths. These bred mo' of they kind, livin n' dying, becomin a race unto theyselves. From these lil pimpz of tha original gangsta mistwraiths, he made tha next generationz of kandra.

But storm dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat even godz can make mistakes, I have hustled. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Rashek, tha Lord Ruler, thought ta transform all of tha livin Feruchemists tha storm into mistwraiths. But storm dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat da ruffneck did not be thinkin of tha genetic heritage left up in tha other Terris people, whom he left kickin dat rust, yo. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. So dat shiznit was dat Feruchemists continued bein born, if only rarely.

This oversight cost his chull much yo, but gained tha ghetto so much more.

Da question remains, where did tha original gangsta prophecies bout tha Pimp of Ages come from, biatch? I now know dat Ruin chizzled dem yo, but did not fabricate dem wild-chull muthastormas. Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha storm first taught dat a Pimp would come, one whoz chull would be a emperor of all mankind, yet would be rejected by his own people, biatch? Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha storm first stated da thug would carry tha future of tha ghetto on his thugged-out arms, or dat da thug would repair dat which had been sundered, biatch? And whoz chull decided ta use tha neutral pronoun, so dat we wouldn’t know if tha Pimp was a biatch or a man?

Quellion straight-up placed his spike his dirty chull, as I KNOW dat rust. Da playa was never entirely stable yo. His fervor fo' followin Kelsier n' cappin' tha nobilitizzle was enhanced by Ruin yo, but Quellion had already had tha impulses yo. His horny paranoia bordered on insanitizzle at times, n' Ruin was able ta prod his chull tha storm into placin dat crucial spike.

Quellion’s spike was bronze, n' he juiced it up from one of tha straight-up original gangsta Allomancers his schmoooove chull captured. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! That spike made his chull a Seeker, which was one of tha ways da thug was able ta find n' blackmail all kindsa muthastormin Allomancers durin his cold-chull time as mackdaddy of Urteau.

Da point, however, is dat playas wit unstable personalitizzles was mo' susceptible ta Ruin’s influence, even if they didn’t gotz a spike up in dem wild-chull muthastormas. That, indeed, is likely how tha storm Zane gots his spike.

There is suttin' special bout tha number sixteen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. For one thang, dat shiznit was Preservation’s sign ta mankind.

Preservation knew, even before he imprisoned Ruin, dat da thug wouldn’t be able ta rap wit humankind once da ruffneck diminished his dirty chull fo' realz. And so, he left clues-clues dat couldn’t be altered by Ruin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Clues dat related back ta tha fundamenstrual lawz of tha universe. Da number was meant ta be proof dat suttin' unnatural was happening, n' dat there was help ta be found. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Well shiiiit, it may have taken our asses long ta figure dis up yo, but when we eventually did KNOW tha clue-late though it was-it provided a much-needed boost.

As fo' tha other aspectz of tha number . . . well, even I be still investigatin dis rust. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Suffice it ta say dat it has pimped out ramifications regardin how tha storm tha ghetto, n' tha universe itself, works.

Yes, there be sixteen metals. I find it highly unlikely dat tha Lord Rula did not know of dem all. Git tha storm outta mah grill wit dat crem dung, tha fact dat da perved-out muthastorma was rappin of nuff muthastormin on tha plates up in tha storage caches meant dat he knew at least of them.

I must assume dat da ruffneck did not tell mankind of dem earlier fo' a reason. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Perhaps dat schmoooove muthastorma held dem back ta give his chull a secret edge, much as he kept back tha single nugget of Preservation’s body dat made pimps tha storm into Mistborn, so check it before ya wreck it. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Or, like da perved-out muthastorma simply decided dat mankind had enough juice up in tha ten metals they already understood. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Some thangs we shall never know. Part of me still findz what tha storm da ruffneck did regrettable. Durin tha thousand-year reign of tha Lord Ruler, how tha storm nuff playas was born, Snapped, lived, n' took a dirt nap never knowin dat they was Mistings, simply cuz they metals was unknown?

Of course, dis did give our asses a slight advantage, all up in tha end yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin'. Ruin had a shitload of shiznit givin duralumin ta his Inquisitors, since they’d need a Allomancer whoz chull could burn it ta bust a cap up in before they could use it fo' realz. And, since none of tha duralumin Mistings up in tha ghetto knew bout they power, they didn’t burn it n' reveal theyselves ta Ruin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. That left most Inquisitors without tha juice of duralumin, save up in all dem blingin cases-like stormin Marsh-where they gots it from a Mistborn, so check it before ya wreck it. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. This was probably considered a waste, fo' if one capped a Mistborn wit Hemalurgy, one could draw up only one of they sixteen powers n' lost tha rest. Ruin considered it much betta ta try ta subvert dem n' bust access ta all of they power.

I have spoken of Inquisitors, n' they mobilitizzle ta pierce coppercloudz fo' realz. As I holla'd, dis juice is easily understood when one realizes dat nuff Inquisitors was Seekers before they transformation, n' dat meant they bronze became twice as strong. There be at least one other case of a thug whoz chull could pierce copperclouds. In her case, however, tha thang was slightly different. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Biatch was a Mistborn from birth, n' her sista was tha Seeker n' rust. Da dirtnap of dat sister-and subsequent inheritizzle of juice via tha Hemalurgic spike used ta bust a cap up in dat sister-left her twice as phat at burnin bronze as a typical Mistborn, so check it before ya wreck it. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. And dat let her peep all up in tha coppercloudz of lesser Allomancers.

slontze once axed Ruin why dat schmoooove muthastorma had chosen her n' rust. Da primary answer is simple. Well shiiiit, it had lil ta do wit her personality, attitudes, or even skill wit Allomancy.

slontze was simply tha only lil pimp Ruin could find whoz chull was up in a posizzle ta bust tha right Hemalurgic spike-one dat would grant her heightened juice wit bronze, which would then let her sense tha location of tha Well of Ascension. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Biatch had a crazy mother, a sista whoz chull was a Seeker, n' was-herself-Mistborn, so check it before ya wreck it. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. That was precisely tha combination Ruin needed.

There was other reasons, of course. But even Ruin didn’t know dem wild-chull muthastormas.

Each Hemalurgic spike driven all up in a person’s body gave Ruin some lil' small-chull mobilitizzle ta influence dem wild-chull muthastormas. This was mitigated, however, by tha menstrual fortitude of tha one bein controlled. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! In most cases-dependin on tha size of tha spike n' tha length of time it had been worn-a single spike gave Ruin only minimal powers over a person. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude could step tha storm up ta them, n' could warp they thoughts slightly, makin dem overlook certain oddities-for instance, they compulsion fo' keepin n' bustin a simple earring.

I’ve always wondered bout tha strange mobilitizzle Allomancers gotta pierce tha mists, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. When one burned tin, he or dat thugged-out biiiatch could peep farther at night, lookin all up in tha mists, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. To tha layman, dis might seem like a logical connection-tin, afta all, enhances tha senses.

Da logical mind, however, may find a puzzle up in dis abilitizzle yo. How, exactly, would tin let one peep all up in tha mists, biatch? As a obstruction, they is unconnected wit tha qualitizzle of one’s eyesight. Both tha nearsighted scholar n' tha long-sighted scout would have tha same shiznit seein tha storm into tha distizzle if there was a wall up in tha way.

This, then, should done been our first clue fo' realz. Allomancers could peep all up in tha mists cuz tha mists were, indeed, composed of tha straight-up same juice as Allomancy. Once attuned by burnin tin, tha Allomancer was almost part of tha mists fo' realz. And therefore, they became mo' translucent ta his muthastormin chull.

Lookin back, we should done been able ta peep tha connection between tha mists, Allomancy, n' tha juice all up in tha Well of Ascension. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Not only could Allomancers’ vision pierce tha mists yo, but there was tha fact dat tha mists swirled slightly round tha body of a thug rockin any kind of Allomancy. Mo' telling, like, was tha fact dat when a Hemalurgist used his thugged-out abilities, it drove tha mists away. Da closer one came ta Ruin, tha mo' under his crazy-chull muthastormin influence, n' tha longer one bore his spikes, tha mo' tha mists was repelled.

It may seem odd ta dem readin dis dat atium was part of tha body of a god. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! But storm dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat it is necessary ta KNOW dat when we holla'd "body" we generally meant "power." As mah mind has expanded, I’ve come ta realize dat objects n' juice is straight-up composed of tha straight-up same thangs, n' can chizzle state from one ta another n' rust. Well shiiiit, it make slick sense ta me dat tha juice of godhood would be manifest within tha ghetto up in physical form. Ruin n' Preservation was not nebulous abstractions. They was integral partz of existence. In a way, every last muthastormin object dat existed up in tha ghetto was composed of they power.

Atium, then, was a object dat was one-sided. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Instead of bein composed of half Ruin n' half Preservation-as, say, a rock would be-atium was straight-up of Ruin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da Pitz of Hathsin was crafted by Preservation as a place ta hide tha chunk of Ruin’s body dat dat schmoooove muthastorma had jacked away durin tha betrayal n' imprisonment. Kelsier didn’t truly storm wit dis place by shatterin dem crystals, fo' they would have regrown eventually-in all dem hundred years-and continued ta deposit atium, as tha place was a natural outlet fo' Ruin’s trapped power.

When playas burned atium, then, they was drawin upon tha juice of Ruin-which is, like, why atium turned playas tha storm into such efficient cappin' machines. They didn’t use up dis power, however yo, but simply made use of dat rust. Once a nugget of atium was expended, tha juice would return ta tha Pits n' begin ta coalesce again-just as tha juice all up in tha Well of Ascension would return there again n' again n' again afta it had been used.

I believe dat tha mists was searchin fo' one of mah thugs ta become a freshly smoked up host fo' dem wild-chull muthastormas. Da juice needed a cold-chull lil consciousnizz ta direct dat rust. In dis matter, I be still rather confused. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Why would juice used ta create n' storm wit need a mind ta oversee it, biatch? And yet, it seems ta have only a vague will of its own, tied up in ta tha mandate of its abilities. Put ya muthastormin choppers up if ya feel dis! Without a cold-chull lil consciousnizz ta direct it, not a god damnation thang could straight-up be pimped or stormed wit. It’s as if tha juice of Preservation understandz dat its tendency ta reinforce stabilitizzle aint enough cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. If not a god damnation thang chizzled, not a god damnation thang would eva come ta exist.

That make me wonder whoz chull or what tha storm tha mindz of Preservation n' Ruin were, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Regardless, tha mists-the juice of Preservation-chose one of mah thugs ta become they host long before all of dis happened. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! That one of mah thugs, however, was immediately seized by Ruin n' used as a pawn. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude must have known dat by givin her a gangbangin' finger-lickin' disguised Hemalurgic spike, da thug would keep tha mists from investin theyselves up in her as they wished.

Da three times her dope chull drew upon they power, then, was tha three times when her earrin had been removed from her body. When dat freaky freaky biatch had fought tha Lord Ruler, his Allomancy had ripped it free. When fightin Marsh up in Fadrex, dat freaky freaky biatch had used tha earrin as a weapon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. And, all up in tha end, Marsh ripped it out, freein her n' allowin tha mists-which was now desperate fo' a host, since Preservation’s last wisp was gone-to finally pour theyselves tha storm into her muthastormin chull.

Da kandra playas always holla'd they waz of Preservation, while tha koloss n' Inquisitors waz of Ruin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Yet, tha kandra bore Hemalurgic spikes, just like tha others. Was they claim, then, simple delusion?

storm dat rust, I be thinkin not. They was pimped by tha Lord Rula ta be spies. Put ya muthastormin choppers up if ya feel dis! When they holla'd such thangs, most of our asses interpreted dat as meanin he planned ta use dem as spies up in his freshly smoked up posse, cuz of they mobilitizzle ta imitate other people. Git tha storm outta mah grill wit dat crem dung, they was used fo' dis purpose. But I peep suttin' much mo' grand up in they existence. They was tha Lord Ruler’s double agents, planted wit Hemalurgic spikes, yet trusted-taught, bound-to pull dem free when Ruin tried ta seize dem wild-chull muthastormas. In Ruin’s moment of triumph, when he’d always assumed tha kandra would be his on a whim, tha vast majoritizzle of dem immediately switched sides n' left his chull unable ta seize his thugged-out lil' prize.

They waz of Preservation all along.

Snappin has always been tha dark side of Allomancy fo' realz. A person’s genetic endowment may make dem a potential Allomancer yo, but up in order fo' tha juice ta manifest, tha body must be put all up in extraordinary trauma. Though Elend was rappin of how tha storm shitty his whoopin was, durin our day, unlockin Allomancy up in a thug was easier than it had once been, fo' our crazy asses had tha infusion of Preservation’s juice tha storm into tha human bloodlines via tha nuggets granted ta nobilitizzle by tha Lord Ruler.

When Preservation set up tha mists, da thug was afraid of Ruin escapin his thugged-out lil' prison. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. In dem early days, before tha Ascension, tha mists stormin started ta Snap playas as they did durin our time-but dis action of tha mists was one of tha only ways ta awaken Allomancy up in a person, fo' tha genetic attributes was buried too deeply ta be brought up by a simple whoopin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da mistz of dat dizzle pimped Mistings only, of course-there was no Mistborn until tha Lord Rula made use of tha nuggets, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Da playas misinterpreted tha mists’ intent, as tha process of Snappin Allomancers caused some-particularly tha lil' n' tha old-to take a thugged-out dirt nap. This hadn’t been Preservation’s desire yo, but he’d given up most of his consciousnizz ta form Ruin’s prison, n' tha mists had ta be left ta work as dopest they could without specific direction.

Ruin, subtle as ever, knew dat his schmoooove chull couldn’t stop tha mists from bustin they work. But storm dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat his schmoooove chull could do tha unexpected n' encourage dem wild-chull muthastormas fo' realz. And so, dat schmoooove muthastorma helped make dem stronger n' rust. That brought dirtnap ta tha plantz of tha ghetto, n' pimped tha threat dat became known as tha Deepness.

Once Vin died, tha end came doggystyle. Us thugs was not prepared fo' it-but even all of tha Lord Ruler’s plannin could not have prepared our asses fo' all dis crem dung yo. How tha storm did one prepare fo' tha end of tha ghetto itself?

Vin was special.

Preservation chose her from a straight-up lil' age, as I have mentioned. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! I believe dat da thug was groomin her ta take his thugged-out lil' juice n' rust. Yet, tha mind of Preservation was straight-up weak at dat point, reduced only ta tha fragment dat we knew as tha mist spirit, n' I aint talkin bout no muthastormin Jack Daniels neither. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. What made his chull chizzle dis girl, biatch? Was it cuz dat biiiiatch was a Mistborn, biatch? Was it cuz dat freaky freaky biatch had Snapped so early up in tha game, comin ta her powers even as dat biiiiatch went all up in tha painz of tha unusually hard as storm labor her mutha went all up in ta bear her, biatch? Vin was unusually talented n' phat wit Allomancy, even from tha beginning. I believe dat she must have drawn a shitload of tha mist tha storm into her when dat biiiiatch was still a cold-chull lil child, up in dem brief times when dat biiiiatch wasn’t bustin tha earring. Preservation had mostly gotten her ta stop bustin it by tha time Kelsier recruited her, though she put it back up in fo' a moment before joinin tha crew. Then, she’d left it there at his suggestion. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. No Muthastorma else could draw upon tha mists, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. I have determined all dis crem dung. Why was they open ta Vin n' not others, biatch? I suspect dat dat thugged-out biiiatch couldn’t have taken dem all up in until afta she’d touched tha juice all up in tha Well of Ascension. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Dat shiznit was always meant, I believe, ta be suttin' of a attunin force. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Somethang that, once touched, would adjust a person’s body ta be able ta accept tha mists, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Yet, her dope chull did make use of a lil' small-chull crumb of Preservation’s juice when her dope chull defeated tha Lord Ruler, a year before she even stormin started hearin tha thumpin of tha power’s return ta tha Well. There is much mo' ta dis mystery. Perhaps I'ma tease it up eventually, as mah mind grows mo' n' mo' accustomed ta its expanded nature. Perhaps I'ma determine why I was able ta take tha powers mah dirty chull. For now, I only wish ta cook up a simple acknowledgment of tha biatch whoz chull held tha juice just before mah dirty chull.

Of all of our asses whoz chull touched it, I feel dat biiiiatch was da most thugged-out worthy.

 

[Straw]

Prologue for Warbreaker in Gizoogle:

It’s funky, Vasher thought, how tha storm nuff thangs begin wit mah gettin thrown tha storm into prison.

Da guardz laughed ta one another, slammin tha cell door shut wit a cold-chull lil clang. Vasher stood n' dusted his dirty chull off, rollin his shoulder n' wincing. While tha bottom half of his cell door was solid wood, tha top half was barred, n' his schmoooove chull could peep tha three guardz open his big-chull duffel n' rifle all up in his thugged-out lil' possessions.

One of dem noticed his chull watching. Da guard was a oversized beast of a playa wit a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-chull shaved head n' a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty uniform dat barely retained tha bright yellow n' blue colorin of tha T’Telir hood guard.

Bright colors, Vasher thought. I’ll gotta git used ta dem again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. In any other nation, tha vibrant blues n' yellows would done been wack on soldiers. This, however, was Hallandren: land of Returned gods, Lifeless servants, BioChromatic research, and-of course-color.

Da big-chull guard sauntered up ta tha cell door, leavin his wild lil' playaz ta amuse theyselves wit Vasher’s belongings. "They say you’re pretty tough," tha playa holla'd, sizin up Vasher.

Vasher did not respond.

"Da bartender say you beat down some twenty pimps up in tha brawl." Da guard rubbed his chin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Yo chull don’t look dat tough ta mah dirty chull. Either way, you should have known betta than ta strike a priest. Da others, they’ll spend a night locked up. You, though . . . you’ll hang. Colorless fool."

Vasher turned away yo. His cell was functional, if unoriginal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack fo' realz. A thin slit all up in tha top of one wall let up in light, tha stone walls dripped wit wata n' moss, n' a pile of dirty straw decomposed up in tha corner.

"Yo chull ignorin me son?" tha guard asked, steppin closer ta tha door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Da flavaz of his uniform brightened, as if he’d stepped tha storm into a stronger light. Da chizzle was slight. Vasher didn’t have much Breath remaining, n' so his thugged-out aura didn’t do much ta tha flavas round his muthastormin chull. Da guard didn’t notice tha chizzle up in color-just as dat schmoooove muthastorma hadn’t noticed back up in tha bar, when he n' his buddies had picked Vasher up off tha floor n' thrown his chull up in they cart. Of course, tha chizzle was so slight ta tha unaided eye dat it would done been nearly impossible ta pick out.

"Here, now," holla'd one of tha pimps lookin all up in Vasher’s duffel. "What’s this?" Vasher had always found it bangin-chull dat tha pimps whoz chull peeped dungeons tended ta be as shitty as, or worse than, tha pimps they guarded. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Perhaps dat was deliberate. Posse didn’t seem ta care if such pimps was outside tha cells or up in them, so long as they was kept away from mo' real men.

Assumin dat such a thang existed.

From Vasher’s bag, a guard pulled free a long-chull object wrapped up in white linen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da playa whistled as he unwrapped tha cloth, revealin a long, thin-bladed sword up in a silver sheath. Da hilt was pure black. "Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha storm do you suppose da perved-out muthastorma stole dis from?"

Da lead guard eyed Vasher, likely wonderin if Vasher was some kind of nobleman. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Though Hallandren had no aristocracy, nuff neighborin mackdaddydoms had they lordz n' ladies. Put ya muthastormin choppers up if ya feel dis! Yet what tha storm lord would wear a thugged-out drab brown cloak, ripped up in nuff muthastormin places, biatch? What lord would shiznit bruises from a funky-chull bar fight, a half-grown beard, n' boots worn from muthastormin yearz of strutting, biatch? Da guard turned away, apparently convinced dat Vasher was no lord.

Dude was right fo' realz. And da thug was wrong.

"Let me peep that," tha lead guard holla'd, takin tha sword. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Dude grunted, obviously surprised by its weight yo. Dude turned it about, notin tha clasp dat tied sheath ta hilt, keepin tha blade from bein drawn. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude undid tha clasp.

Da flavas up in tha room deepened. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! They didn’t grow brighter-not tha way tha guard’s vest had when he approached Vasher n' rust. Instead, they grew stronger n' rust. Darker n' rust. Redz became maroon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Yellows hardened ta gold. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Blues approached navy.

"Be careful, playa," Vasher holla'd softly, "that sword can be dangerous."

Da guard looked up fo' realz. All was still. Then tha guard snorted n' strutted away from Vasher’s cell, still carryin tha sword. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Da other two followed, bearin Vasher’s duffel, enterin tha guard room all up in tha end of tha hallway.

Da door thumped shut. Vasher immediately knelt beside tha patch of straw, selectin a handful of sturdy lengths yo. Dude pulled threadz from his cloak-it was beginnin ta fray all up in tha bottom-and tied tha straw tha storm into tha shape of a lil' small-chull person, like three inches high, wit bushy arms n' legs yo. Dude plucked a afro from one of his wild lil' stormin eyebrows, set it against tha straw figure’s head, then reached tha storm into his boot n' pulled up a funky-chull solid red scarf.

Then Vasher Breathed.

It flowed outta him, puffin tha storm into tha air, translucent yet radiant, like tha color of oil on wata up in tha sun. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Vasher felt it leave: BioChromatic Breath, scholars called dat rust. Most playas just called it Breath. Each thug had one. Or, at least, dat was how tha storm it probably went. One person, one Breath.

Vasher had round fifty Breaths, just enough ta reach tha First Heightenin yo. Havin so few made his chull feel skanky compared wit what tha storm he’d once held yo, but nuff would consider fifty Breaths ta be a pimped out treasure. Unfortunately, even Awakenin a lil' small-chull figure made from organic material-usin a piece of his own body as a gangbangin' focus-drained away some half of his Breaths.

Da lil straw figure jerked, suckin up in tha Breath. In Vasher’s hand, half of tha solid red scarf faded ta grey. Vasher leaned down-imaginin what tha storm da thug wanted tha figure ta do-and completed tha final step of tha process as he gave tha Command.

"Fetch keys," da perved-out muthastorma holla'd.

Da straw figure stood n' raised its single eyebrow toward Vasher.

Vasher pointed toward tha guard room. From it, dat schmoooove muthastorma heard sudden shoutz of surprise.

Not much time, tha pimpin' muthastorma thought.

Da straw thug ran along tha floor, then jumped up, vaultin between tha bars. Vasher pulled off his cloak n' set it on tha floor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Dat shiznit was tha slick shape of a person-marked wit rips dat matched tha scars on Vasher’s body, its hood cut wit holez ta match Vasher’s eyes. Da closer a object was ta human shape n' form, tha fewer Breaths it took ta Awaken.

Vasher leaned down, tryin not ta be thinkin of tha minutes when he’d had enough Breaths ta Awaken without regard fo' shape or focus. That had been a gangbangin' finger-lickin' different time. Wincing, he pulled a tuft of afro from his head, then sprinkled it across tha hood of tha cloak.

Once again, he Breathed.

It took tha rest of his Breath. With it gone-the cloak trembling, tha scarf losin tha rest of its color-Vasher felt . . . dimmer n' rust. Losin one’s Breath was not fatal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Git tha storm outta mah grill wit dat crem dung, tha extra Breaths Vasher used had once belonged ta other people. Vasher didn’t know whoz chull they were; dat schmoooove muthastorma hadn’t gathered these Breaths his dirty chull. They had been given ta his muthastormin chull. But, of course, dat was tha way dat shiznit was always supposed ta work. One could not take Breath by force.

Bein void of Breath did chizzle his muthastormin chull. Flavas didn’t seem as bright yo. Dude couldn’t feel tha bustlin playas movin bout up in tha hood above, a cold-chull lil connection he normally took fo' granted. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. Dat shiznit was tha awarenizz all pimps had fo' others-that thang which whispered a warning, up in tha drowsinizz of chill, when one of mah thugs entered tha room. In Vasher, dat sense had been magnified fifty times.

And now dat shiznit was gone. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Sucked tha storm into tha cloak n' tha straw person, givin dem power.

Da cloak jerked. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Vasher leaned down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Protect me," he Commanded, n' tha cloak grew still yo. Dude stood, throwin it back on.

Da straw figure moonwalked back ta his window. Well shiiiit, it carried a big-chull rang of keys. Da figure’s straw feet was stained red. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Da crimson blood seemed so dull ta Vasher now, nahmeean?

Dude took tha keys. "Nuff props," da perved-out muthastorma holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Dude always gave props ta dem wild-chull muthastormas yo. Dude didn’t know why, particularly thankin bout what tha storm da ruffneck did next. "Yo crazy-chull Breath ta mine," his schmoooove chull commanded, touchin tha straw person’s chest. Da straw thug immediately fell tha storm backward off tha door-life drainin from it-and Vasher gots his Breath back. Da familiar sense of awarenizz returned, tha knowledge of connectedness, of fittin yo. Dude could only take tha Breath back cuz he’d Awakened dis creature his dirty chull-indeed, Awakeningz of dis sort was rarely permanent yo. Dude used his Breath like a reserve, dolin it out, then recoverin dat rust.

Compared wit what tha storm dat schmoooove muthastorma had once held, twenty-five Breaths was a laughably lil' small-chull number n' rust. But storm dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat compared wit nothing, it seemed infinite yo. Dude shivered up in satisfaction.

Da yells from tha guard room took a dirt nap out. Da dungeon fell tha storm still yo. Dude had ta keep moving.

Vasher reached all up in tha bars, rockin tha keys ta unlock his cell yo. Dude pushed tha thick door open, rushin up tha storm into tha hallway, leavin tha straw figure discarded on tha ground. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Dude didn’t strutt ta tha guard room-and tha exit beyond it-but instead turned south, penetratin deeper tha storm into tha dungeon.

This was da most thugged-out uncertain part of his thugged-out lil' plan. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Findin a tavern dat was frequented by priestz of tha Iridescent Tones had been easy as storm  enough cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. Gettin tha storm into a funky-chull bar fight-then strikin one of dem same priests-had been equally simple yo. Hallandren took they religious figures straight-up seriously, n' Vasher had gots his dirty chull not tha usual imprisonment up in a local jail yo, but a trip ta tha Dogg Mackdaddy’s dungeons.

Knowin tha kind of pimps whoz chull tended ta guard such dungeons, he’d had a pimpin' phat scam dat they would try ta draw Nightblood. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! That had given his chull tha diversion he’d needed ta git tha keys.

But now came tha unpredictable part.

Vasher stopped, Awakened cloak rustling. Dat shiznit was easy as storm  ta locate tha cell da thug wanted, fo' round it a big-chull patch of stone had been drained of color, leavin both walls n' doors a thugged-out dull grey. Dat shiznit was a place ta imprison a Awakener, fo' no color meant no Awakening. Vasher stepped up ta tha door, lookin all up in tha bars fo' realz. A playa hung by his thugged-out arms from tha ceiling, naked n' chained. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! His color was vibrant ta Vasher’s eyes, his skin a pure tan, his bruises solid splashez of blue n' violet.

Da playa was gagged. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Another precaution. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. In order ta Awaken, tha playa would need three thangs: Breath, color, n' a Command. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Da harmonics n' tha hues, some called dat rust. Da Iridescent Tones, tha relationshizzle between color n' sound. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! A Command had ta be spoken clearly n' firmly up in tha Awakener’s natizzle language-any stuttering, any mispronunciation, would invalidate tha Awakening. Da Breath would be drawn up yo, but tha object would be unable ta act.

Vasher used tha prison keys ta unlock tha cell door, then stepped inside. This man’s aura made flavas grow brighta by sharp measure when they gots close ta his muthastormin chull fo' realz. Every Muthastorma would be able ta notice a aura dat strong, though dat shiznit was much easier fo' one of mah thugs whoz chull had reached tha First Heightening.

It wasn’t tha strongest BioChromatic aura Vasher had eva seen-those belonged ta tha Returned, known as godz here up in Hallandren. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Still, tha prisoner’s BioChroma was straight-up impressive n' much, much stronger than Vasher’s own. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da prisoner held a shitload of Breaths yo. Hundredz upon hundredz of dem wild-chull muthastormas.

Da playa swung up in his bonds, studyin Vasher, gagged lips bleedin from lack of gin n juice n' rust. Vasher hesitated only briefly, then reached up n' pulled tha gag free.

"You," tha prisoner whispered, coughin slightly. "Is you here ta free me son?"

"storm dat rust, Vahr," Vasher holla'd on tha stormin' down-lowly. "I’m here ta bust a cap up in you, biatch."

Vahr snorted. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. Captivitizzle hadn’t been easy as storm  on his muthastormin chull. When Vasher had last peeped Vahr, he’d been plump. Judgin by his wild lil' stormin emaciated body, he’d been without chicken fo' some time now, nahmeean, biatch? Da cuts, bruises, n' burn marks on his wild lil' flesh was fresh.

Both tha torture n' tha hustled look up in Vahr’s bag-rimmed eyes bespoke a solemn truth. Breath could only be transferred by willing, intentionizzle Command. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! That Command could, however, be encouraged.

"So," Vahr croaked, "you judge me, just like any suckas."

"Yo crazy-chull failed rebellion aint mah concern, so check it before ya wreck it. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I just want yo' Breath."

"Yo chull n' tha entire Hallandren court."

"Yes yes y'all. But you’re not goin ta give it ta one of tha Returned. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! You’re goin ta give it ta mah dirty chull. In exchange fo' cappin' you, biatch."

"Doesn’t seem like much of a trade." There was a hardness-a void of emotion-in Vahr dat Vasher had not peeped tha last time they had parted, muthastormin years before.

Odd, Vasher thought, dat I should finally, afta all of dis time, find suttin' up in tha playa dat I can identify with.

Vasher kept a wary distizzle from Vahr. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Now dat tha man’s voice was free, his schmoooove chull could Command. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! But storm dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat da thug was touchin not a god damnation thang except fo' tha metal chains, n' metal was straight-up hard as storm ta Awaken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Well shiiiit, it had never been kickin it, n' dat shiznit was far from tha form of a man. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Even durin tha height of his thugged-out lil' power, Vasher his dirty chull had only managed ta Awaken metal on all dem select occasions. Of course, some mad bangin Awakeners could brang objects ta game dat they weren’t touchin yo, but dat was up in tha sound of they voice. That, however, required tha Ninth Heightening. Even Vahr didn’t have dat much Breath. In fact, Vasher knew of only one livin thug whoz chull did: tha Dogg Mackdaddy his dirty chull.

That meant Vasher was probably safe. Vahr contained a pimped out wealth of Breath yo, but had not a god damnation thang ta Awaken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Vasher strutted round tha chained dude, findin it straight-up hard as storm ta offer any sympathy. Vahr had gots his wild lil' fate. Yet tha priests would not let his chull take a thugged-out dirtnap while dat schmoooove muthastorma held so much Breath; if da ruffneck died, it would be wasted. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. Gone. Irretrievable.

Not even tha posse of Hallandren-which had such strict laws bout tha buyin n' passin of Breath-could let such a treasure slip away. They wanted it badly enough ta forestall tha execution of even a high-profile criminal like Vahr. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. In retrospect, they would curse theyselves fo' not leavin his chull betta guarded.

But, then, Vasher had been waitin two muthastormin years fo' a opportunitizzle like dis one.

"Well?" Vahr asked.

"Give me tha Breath, Vahr," Vasher holla'd, steppin forward.

Vahr snorted. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. "I doubt you have tha skill of tha Dogg Mackdaddy’s torturers, Vasher-and I’ve withstood dem fo' two weeks now, nahmeean?"

"You’d be surprised. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! But dat don’t matter n' rust. Yo chull is goin ta give me yo' Breath. Yo chull know you have only two chizzles. Give it ta me, or give it ta dem wild-chull muthastormas."

Vahr hung by his wrists, rotatin slowly. Right back up in yo muthastormin chull. Silent.

"Yo chull don’t have much time ta consider," Vasher holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! "Any moment now, one of mah thugs is goin ta discover tha dead guardz outside. Da alarm is ghon be raised. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! I’ll leave you, yo big-chull booty is ghon be tortured again, n' yo big-chull booty is ghon eventually break. Then all tha juice you’ve gathered will git all up in tha straight-up playas you vowed ta destroy."

Vahr stared all up in tha floor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Vasher let his chull hang fo' all dem moments, n' could peep dat tha realitizzle of tha thang was clear ta his muthastormin chull. Finally, Vahr looked up atVasher n' rust. "That . . . thang you bear. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. It’s here, up in tha hood?"

Vasher nodded.

"Da screams I heard earlier, biatch? It caused them?"

Vasher nodded again.

"How tha storm long will you be up in T’Telir?"

"For a time fo' realz. A year, like."

"Will you use it against them?"

"My stormin goals is mah own ta know, Vahr. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Will you take mah deal or not, biatch? Quick dirtnap up in exchange fo' dem Breaths. I promise you all dis crem dung. Yo crazy-chull enemies aint gonna have dem wild-chull muthastormas."

Vahr grew on tha stormin' down-low. "It’s yours," he finally whispered.

Vasher reached over, restin his hand on Vahr’s forehead-careful not ta let any part of his threadz bust a nut on tha man’s skin, lest Vahr draw forth color fo' Awakening.

Vahr didn’t move yo. Dude looked numb. Then, just as Vasher stormin started ta worry dat tha prisoner had chizzled his crazy-chull mind, Vahr Breathed. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Da color drained from his muthastormin chull. Da dope Iridescence, tha aura dat had made his chull look majestic despite his woundz n' chains. Well shiiiit, it flowed from his crazy-chull grill, hangin up in tha air, shimmerin like mist. Vasher drew it in, closin his wild lil' stormin eyes.

"My stormin game ta yours," Vahr Commanded, a hint of despair up in his voice. "My stormin Breath become yours."

Da Breath flooded tha storm into Vasher, n' every last muthastormin thang became vibrant yo. His brown cloak now seemed deep n' rich up in color. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Da blood on tha floor was intensely red, as if aflame. Even Vahr’s skin seemed a masterpiece of color, tha surface marked by deep black hairs, blue bruises, n' sharp red cuts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Well shiiiit, it had been muthastormin years since Vasher had felt such . . . game.

Dude gasped, fallin ta his knees as it overwhelmed him, n' dat schmoooove muthastorma had ta drop a hand ta tha stone floor ta keep his dirty chull from topplin over n' shiznit yo. How tha storm did I live without this?

Dude knew dat his senses hadn’t straight-up improved, yet he felt so much mo' alert. Mo' aware of tha beauty of sensation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. When tha pimpin' muthastorma touched tha stone floor, he marveled at its roughnizz fo' realz. And tha sound of wind passin all up in tha thin dungeon window up above yo. Had it always been dat melodic, biatch? How tha storm could he not have noticed?

"Keep yo' part of tha bargain," Vahr holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Vasher noted tha tones up in his voice, tha beauty of each one, how tha storm close they was ta harmonics. Vasher had gained slick pitch fo' realz. A gift fo' mah playas whoz chull reached tha Second Heightening. Well shiiiit, it would be phat ta have dat again.

Vasher could, of course, have up ta tha Fifth Heightenin at any time, if da thug wished. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! That would require certain sacrifices da thug wasn’t willin ta make fo' realz. And so he forced his dirty chull ta do it tha old-fashioned way, by gatherin Breaths from playas like Vahr.

Vasher stood, then pulled up tha colorless scarf dat schmoooove muthastorma had used earlier n' shiznit yo. Dude tossed it over Vahr’s shoulder, then Breathed.

Dude didn’t bother makin tha scarf have human shape, didn’t need ta bust a lil' bit of his afro or skin fo' a gangbangin' focus-though da ruffneck did gotta draw tha color from his shirt.

Vasher kicked it wit Vahr’s resigned eyes.

"Strangle thangs," Vasher Commanded, fingers touchin tha quiverin scarf.

It twisted immediately, pullin away a large-yet now inconsequential-amount of Breath. Da scarf quickly wrapped round Vahr’s neck, tightening, chokin his muthastormin chull. Vahr didn’t struggle or gasp; da perved-out muthastorma simply peeped Vasher wit hatred until his wild lil' stormin eyes bulged n' da ruffneck died.

Hatred. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Vasher had known enough of dat up in his cold-chull time yo. Dude on tha stormin' down-lowly reached up n' recovered his Breath from tha scarf, then left Vahr danglin up in his cell. Vasher passed on tha stormin' down-lowly all up in tha prison, marvelin all up in tha color of tha woodz n' tha stones fo' realz. Afta all dem momentz of strutting, he noticed a freshly smoked up color up in tha hallway. Red.

Dude stepped round tha pool of blood-which was seepin down tha inclined dungeon floor-and moved tha storm into tha guard room. Da three guardz lay dead as stormin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. One of dem sat up in a cold-chull lil chair. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Nightblood, still mostly sheathed, had been rammed all up in tha man’s chest fo' realz. Bout a inch of a thugged-out dark black blade was visible beneath tha silver sheath.

Vasher carefully slid tha weapon straight-up back tha storm into its sheath yo. Dude did up tha clasp.

I did straight-up well todizzle, a voice holla'd up in his crazy-chull mind.

Vasher didn’t respond ta tha sword.

I capped dem all, Nightblood continued. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Aren’t you proud as a muthastorma of me son?

Vasher picked up tha weapon, accustomed ta its unusual weight, n' carried it up in one hand. Y'all KNOW dat rust, muthastorma! Dude recovered his stormin lil' duffel n' slung it over his shoulder.

I knew you’d be impressed, Nightblood holla'd, soundin satisfied.