FeatherWriter

With a shudder and a sound half sigh, half shout, the Lady Feather all but collapsed, falling to one knee. She knelt for a moment, taking deep breaths, then she looked up at the court. Her form shimmered and her earlier appearance flowed across her in a wave of light, spikes vanishing, dark robes becoming an opulent dress once again. "Harmony, but I do so hate when he does that." She gave one mirthless laugh as she stood. "Ah, the prices ones pays for power. I knew what I was getting into when I was recruited, but I do wish it was not so uncomfortable to go through." She turned to the once-Featherbow with a grin. "Oh, dearest Quiver. Thinkest thou that I alter my appearance for anyone's sake but my own? You cannot expect one with the ability to change her form to be anything other than vain, can you? As said before, I do not need to recruit followers. They seek me out, and none do so because of my appearance. My allegiance to the admins is well proclaimed. You need not see the spkes to know them. I have never been one to hide." And stealing the OOC blue because there is talk about linguistics and thou pronouns and HELLO FRIENDS I AM HERE TO HELP. I'll put it under a spoiler tag so as not to clog things up, because prepare for an essay. Spoiler alert: Feather is a nerd.

Lyla woke with a start, gasping for breath. She sat up, trying to get her bearings as her heart raced. She was in her room, the door still locked, everything as it should be. She could barely remember the nightmare, but it left her with cold chills that even her blankets couldn't dispel. Absently she rubbed her neck, but she wasn't entirely sure why. It felt like this city was closing a noose around her, and she was afraid she might not have long before the floor dropped out from under her. The morning sun was just beginning to rise outside her shuttered window but she could already hear the shouts and screams from the riots below. A part of her said she should run, try to save herself, get out of this terrible death trap, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Someone has to stay. Someone has to remember what happens here. She looked over at her desk, seeing the blinking light there. One of her spanreeds was flashing. She sighed, it was the reed from Kharbranth, of course. Wearily she walked across the room and set the reed up, turning the gem to indicate she was ready. She watched as the message began to write itself: Lyla, the documents you sent last night were exquisite and we have an ardent here ready to monitor the spanreed if you are ready to send more. How much information on Kholinar do you have? As the pen returned to its place, she picked it up, carefully writing back: I have a meeting with some that I hope are my allies in about an hour, and I don't think I have time to start sending the rest of the information right now. Not to mention, my hand is somewhat cramped after copying over the first half of the document last night. I have the final five glyphs and their commentary, as well as my own descriptions of the building. I can try to get back in the hall to do some sketches today, but it might be too dangerous. I think the guards who caught me might have told someone I was in there. Aside from the copy of Pai's work, I've also got my personal accounts of the information in the events in the city, including major powers and the rise of these factions that are competing for dominance. I'm not sure how good my information is, but I've made it as accurate as possible. There's nearly thirty pages of writing and around ten pages of sketches there since the last time I sent information. She set the pen back and carefully massaged her hand. All through the highstorm last night, she had meticulously copied her copy of Pai's work, at least, the first five glyphs of it. She'd thought copying it accurately from the floor had been difficult, but attempting to make a copy with a spanreed had cramped her hand excessively. She'd been so excruciating with the details, knowing that no matter how accurate she was, the copy in Kharbranth wouldn't be perfect. It was all she could do right now though. If you can send any more of your documents after this meeting of yours, the Palanaeum will preserve them with the highest of care. If the second half of this denunciation by Sister Pai is as well crafted as the first, it is an incredible work of merit. The branch of the Devotary of Denial here in Kharbranth are very grateful that you have gotten even this much out of the city. The scholars who have inspected the work praise its craftsmanship. Sending the second half would be very much appreciated. We would love to see and possibly make copies of your original documents as well, if you can get to us. The spanreed's inaccuracy is unfortunate. I know, but my work isn't done here yet. The riots are still in full force, and I do not know if there is anyone else recording them. Hopefully I will be able to send the rest of the denunciation later this afternoon, and then perhaps begin sending my personal accounts as well. I pray the Almighty will allow me to survive this city and get my originals somewhere safe, but until such time as my work here is done, this must suffice. Almighty protect you. And you as well. As the light blinked off, Lyla sighed heavily, feeling the weight of the task she had set for herself seem to settle upon her shoulders. She had spanreeds to other libraries in other major cities, and her best case scenario would have her be able to make a copy for each library, but for right now, Kharbranth was the priority. The Palaneum was one of the safest places for documents like these, and there were almost always scholars or ardents around to monitor the spanreed when she was ready. All she could do was take things one step at a time. For now, she had a meeting to get to. Stretching as she walked across the room, she grabbed her cloak and threw it across her shoulders. One step at a time.

...y'all know me too well it seems. Your predictions are... eerily accurate.

Dear Lyla, I EXPLICITLY TRIED TO TELL YOU THAT GOING TO SEE THOSE WRITINGS WAS GOING TO GET YOU STABBED. Now look, you've got an assassin on your tail. You nerd. Sincerely, your writer, Feather In all seriousness, this is excellent fun. We can't exactly kill each other through RP alone, but there's no harm in one of the characters trying, is there? Mind if I continue? In the words of Kelsier, let's have a chase, you and I. The air had turned crisp as Lyla stepped out of the meeting house, the oncoming storm changing the scents and atmosphere of the city. She could probably make it back to her hideout before the storm hit. Probably. Storm predictions were never perfectly exact. She'd make an attempt at least. As she raised her hood, something drew her eyes to the rooftop of the building across the street. She frowned, a strange shiver running up her spine, but there was nothing to see there. Careful, Lyla, you're paranoid enough as it is. No reason to go jumping at shadows. Checking to make sure her satchel was secure against her back beneath the cloak, she started for home. At least the bag was light right now. She'd only brought one of her personal journals and a small sketchbook to the meeting. Almighty forbid she get caught out in the storm with any of her important documents. Her notebooks recounting the breakout of the riots and the rise of factions in the city, her sketches of the wreckages and maps of events were all safely back at home, as was the copy of Pai's denunciation. I definitely need to get back there and do some context sketches of the room and the placement of the work on the floor, she thought as she started down the street. The layout is simply marvelous and I'd hate for that to be lost. I'll pass the copy on during the storm though. That will be the first task when I get home. The sooner I can get that document somewhere outside of this city, the better.

Lyla tapped her fingers against the table as the debates dragged on. She was going to get trapped here by the highstorm if she wasn't careful and she had her own tasks for the duration of the storm. For now, she took notes on the proceedings, as she always did. Filling her journals with the events which were transpiring as accurately as she could. Whatever these riots came to, she had to keep them written down. As she continued her documenting of the city however, she was noticing worrisome trends. The unrestrained violence of the earlier riots was coalescing into something far more organized. More strategized. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. You're a part of these strategies now. How do you feel if your actions result in the deaths of others? She shook her head. A time of chaos was not a time to lose one's way. She claimed she was trying to help, she claimed she wouldn't go out of her way to hurt someone, yet was that not what was happening here? Precarious ledges to walk. Such fine lines. What would she sacrifice in order to stay alive?

With a sudden pained shout, the lady Feather clutches her eyes, her illusion of normalcy dissapating and revealing the spikes she wears beneath. Suddenly, she stiffens, her demeanor entirely changed as the hemalurgic power takes hold. A small smile crosses her lips. "The Lord Ruler has declared war against you, Queen Elsa, until either you or Princess Delightful changes your icon to something different. The Overlord of the forums has thus decreed that the similar icons are too confusing, and therefore one or both of you must change. He calls his spiked admins and moderators to the cause. Until the change occurs, let the war commence!"

"Dearest followers," the Lady Feather says in a voice that sounds not her own. "I cannot disobey. I have received the gifts of staff which the admins have bestowed upon me. They compel my allegiance..." She turns to address the group and her usual illusions are gone, revealing the spikes in place of her eyes. Two more glitter at her shoulders. "Until the icons have been changed, I am called to war. The Lord Ruler is too strong to resist. Follow me if you wish. I cannot stay any longer."

Oh, are there still FeatherChaos shippers? And here I thought I had managed to sneak away...

He's Alethi, just he's got a Veden ancestor somewhere back there. Lyla notes that his accent is Alethi when she hears him talk. If the heirs to the Kholin princedom possibly have a mother from Rira, I think a low-ranking guard can probably get away with some red Veden hair, right? Nooooo... I am not scary, I sweaaaar! I just write lots of things, that's all!

Heh, part of the problem is that I know Lyla very well since she's from another of my stories and so basically I stuck her on Roshar and she decided to go do things. I'm like "Lyla, you are in the middle of a mafia game and a bunch of riots, you're going to get yourself stabbed or something" and she was like "but helping people... and documenting history" and I was like "RIOTS LYLA" and she basically stuck her tongue out at me and said something like "you know Pai's glyph thing was one of your favorite parts of WoR, Feather, so I'm gonna go see it and you're gonna write it for me and you're gonna stop complaining" and I said "FINE on everything except for that last part because joke's on you Lyla I never stop complaining." I don't control my characters, they control me. Help.

Whoa how did this get here? I don't even know. I just looked down and this 1600 word fic just typed itself I swear, I had nothing to do with it, don't look at me like that. I'm just gonna... leave this here. And run. Don't blame me. I am incapable of writing short fics. Lyla crept around the large building, looking for a door loose enough to get into. She needed something to take her mind off of all this faction talk and she'd been meaning to accomplish this task since she'd first heard about what had happened. The people she'd teamed up with to try to put this city back to rights seemed, to be honest, the lesser of three evils, but she wasn't going to survive long on her own. There needed to be some kind unity if anyone was going to put this city back to rights. She didn't trust them, not for a moment, but perhaps she didn't need to trust them to work with them. For the moment, she put all the talk of strategy and planning out of her thoughts. Finally one of the doors she tried rattled beneath her hands, rather than the solid locks she'd felt from all the others. Planting her feet, she threw her shoulder against the weak door, easily breaking it open. There was a crash and the sound of splintering wood, but she didn't care. This place shouldn't have been locked up anyway. The air tasted stale and dust motes floated in the late afternoon light. The sun from the skylights splashed across the open stone floor, beautiful columns carved at the bottom, leading up to the low dais of the king's Common Throne. Stark against the pale stone tiles was what she had come for: black glyphs and paragraphs of women's script. The denunciation of Aesudan. For a few minutes, she simply walked across the floor, marveling at the work as she read it. It was a masterpiece. The calligraphy was beautiful, with each glyph sculpted in a feminine style as they outlined the ten foolish attributes. The handwriting on the explanations was clean and precise, the rhetoric in the arguments straightforward and undeniably accurate. No wonder the People's Hall had been locked up. Aesudan couldn't have people reading such well written work speaking against her, could she? Moving towards the bottom of the work, Lyla quickly found the attribution. "Sister Pai, Devotary of Denial." Bowing her head, she held a small moment of silence. Heralds protect you in the Tranquiline Halls, Sister Pai, she thought. Your work here will not be forgotten. I will see to that myself. Opening her eyes, she pulled out the large pad of blank paper and her pen and ink from her bag. She kept her satchel under her cloak at all times, partially to keep it safe from the smoke and the rains when they came, and partially to protect it from the covetous eyes of thieves. She kept the belt around her waist hidden beneath the folds of the cloak for similar reasons. She didn't know how much time she would have, so she quickly got to work, pacing back to the top of the glyphs. She sat carefully, copying Pai's glyphs and writing as precisely as possible. She even tried to emulate the handwriting in the arguments. The more perfectly she could document this work, the better. There were places on the ink where it was smeared or scuffed, but Lyla could still read and replicate it. Obviously the queen had tried to have someone scrub the message out, but in the chaos of the riots breaking out and with the difficulty of removing this ink, she apparently didn't have the manpower to spare for such a task. All the better for Lyla then. Her satchel was filled with notebooks and journals documenting as many parts of the riots as she could. This was a time of the unknown, of misinformation, and of hectic frenzy. Much of what was happening here in this city would be lost, forgotten, or misremembered. But hopefully, thanks to her work, at least there would be some accurate resources. People needed to know what was happening here. The world needed to see. History needed to remember. Especially with a document such as this one. Pai's condemnation was a work of art, and one which had cost her her life. Lyla felt as though she were walking across a message written in blood rather than ink. An artwork into which the artist had poured out her soul to the tiles to complete. Lyla hated every imprefection in her rendering, even the tiniest of discrepancies. A masterpiece like this deserved to be known in it's true form, not in the copy of a scholar who was more than likely out of her depth. She had finished her initial rendering of the glyphs and text and started to pull out her sketchbooks to create a drawing of the glyphs in the context of the Hall. She wanted to capture how the message ran between the columns up to Common Throne, to show how it was arrayed within its environment, but heavy footsteps and shouts from the main door made her rise with haste. Two low-ranking lighteyed guards burst through the main doorway, drawing their swords as they saw her. "You!" one shouted. His red and black hair revealed a partially Veden ancestry, but his unaccented Alethi hinted that he had probably lived in Alethkar for most of his life. "What are you doing in here? The People's Hall is off limits to all citizens by order of the queen! You're under arrest!" Lyla took a deep breath as they approached, then reached to her belt. Both guards paused as she drew a simple, but well crafted sword from her sheath. After attempting to survive a night out on these streets, it had become apparent that she'd need more than a knife. Their eyes widened as she fell into Flamestance with perfect precision, blade held before her in her freehand, gloved safehand lightly touching the flat of the blade. She had always liked the one-handed femininity of Flamestance. Fighting was a masculine art, but the feminine arts were those which were one-handed. Surely if there was a stance for a woman, it would be one such as this. She could see their hesitation, unsure what to make of a woman trained in the sword. She stepped lightly, keeping stance as they approached. "Kholinar burns and tears itself asunder and her people slaughter each other in the streets," Lyla said harshly, "yet the queen sends her guards to keep watch on an empty locked-up building instead, lest the people see the truths written about her. I can see her priorities are as misguided as she is." "Speaking against her majesty in such a way is treasonous, woman!" the streaked red-haired guard said. Lyla gave him a mirthless smile. "And the Almighty knows there's nothing more important than wayward words for the guards of this city to be concerning themselves with, is there?" As she spoke to him, his companion struck from the other side, apparently hoping she would be distracted by talking. She spun, catching his blade against hers and pressing him back with a flurry of strikes. He used a sloppy Windstance, as was common among Kholin guards, but he couldn't keep his form well enough to mount an effective defense. Under the harrowing flourishes of Lyla's Flamestance, he couldn't free his blade long enough to try any of the arcing sweeps for which his stance was designed. A poorly timed thrust forward on his part let her slip her sword underneath his and with a quick twist and a painful sounding crack from his wrist, she disarmed him, feeling a surge of satisfaction as his blade flew through the air and clattered to the stones a few paces away. Slipping behind him as his partner approached from her other side, she placed the weaponless guard between herself and the other attacker, bringing her blade up to his neck. Thankfully, he paused, not wanting her to hurt his companion. "Now," she said, breathing a bit heavily from the exertion, "you're going to walk out of here and leave me be. Once you're gone, I'll let him go, unharmed. There are children out there, dying in the panic. There are innocent people being murdered. Go find something actually helpful to do. If the queen won't save her people, it's up to people like us, people like you to make things right." The man seemed uncertain, so Lyla pulled her blade closer to her hostage’s neck. “Go! If I wanted to kill him, I would have done it already. The only thing that’ll put him in danger is if you continue to come after me and interfere!” The guard turned his blade, shifting stance as he tried to make his decision. Lyla held his eyes with a steady gaze until finally, he cursed and backed away toward the door. She waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps before shoving her captive away from her in the opposite direction of his sword. As he stumbled to catch his balance, she walked across the floor and picked up it up, sheathing her blade as she leveled his at him. “You too,” she said, gesturing for the door. “Y-you have my sword,” he said, pointing at it as though she wouldn’t know what he was talking about. “You can find a new one," she snapped. "Ask to have another issued or something. I’m sure the queen can get one for you. Out!” She punctuated the word with a threatening thrust in his direction. He scrambled to his feet, all but sprinting after his partner and leaving Lyla alone once more. She sighed in relief, letting her hand drop, then she looked down at the blade she’d gotten. Of good make, of course, as it was palace-issued. Perhaps she could sell it, get a good price. Almighty knew she could use some money to help her out. For now, she simply carried it, trying to keep it somewhat hidden under her cloak. She looked up at the dusty beams of light. The sun had shifted. Her time for personal tasks was over. Time for her work with her allies to begin.

Heh, I haven't looked into Nyx at all yet. I've heard there's some fun things in there for a deck like mine, but I just haven't gotten around to looking for them. I'm a pretty casual player. (And Scrylands are SO EXPENSIVE)

Oh past Feather. So full of hope. So unknowing of the danger that lies in store for her...

Oh man, you don't even know the kind of control I like to run. Enchantment heavy, stacking with sphere of safety and ethereal armor to absolutely lock down the board and deal damage. There is very little in my deck that isn't some kind of enchantment or a thing to stick enchantments too. http://www.mtgdeckbuilder.net/Decks/ViewDeck/the-enchantress-1120621

Well, far be it from my place to attempt to sway recruits, as I tend to try to stay aloof from the day-to-day involvements. I much prefer to watch from afar and only step in when it suits me. But if it is a darker faction you seek, I feel I must point out that there are few in this fandom darker than the fandom monster herself. I subsist upon the distress of others. My sole purpose is to take that which is most painful and inflict it upon others. For everyone knows the easiest way to stop being upset over something is to use it to upset someone else, yes? I've never asked for followers or supporters. Those who took up the mantle of the featherblades did so entirely of their own volition. No bribes, no entreaties, no coercion. I know not why they have chosen me to pledge loyalty to, but I thank them for their services. You should speak to Captain Mailliw if you're interested.

Do not mess with a shipper and her nOTPs. It leads to lots of grumbling, groaning, and blarghling. And in VERY fun news... as of a few seconds ago, I have just finished editing ALL OF THE SPLINTERCAST EPISODES. Woooooooooo! So from now on it's Eric's fault if they're not out on time, hahaha.

Aww, Weiry, thanks for being there for me. It hurt to listen to while editing too. Poor past me has no idea what's coming for her. :c

Ooh, not quite. I play almost mono-white with a splash of black. My personal philosophy is much closer to a white/blue though.

Lyla pulled the hood on her cloak up and over her face as she stepped out into the drizzling rain, though keeping herself dry is only a small part of her motivation. In a city like this, making enemies had been inevitable and the fewer people who saw her face, the better. She couldn't afford to be found now. There was work to be done. She clutched the small knife hidden beneath the folds of her cloak. She hated weapons. Before all this had erupted she'd always considered herself a pacifist. But she couldn't risk walking unarmed in this city anymore. She wondered if the knife meant she was a coward, choosing to try to protect herself when things came down to the wire. Should she have stood by her principles and simply let herself be slaughtered rather than fight back? A small part of her said yes, but the greater part reminded her that she could do more good alive than dead. She shuddered as she walked the broken streets, passing cobblestones shattered and crushed, passing buildings still smoldering slightly, though the rain had put out the blazes now. Passing bodies of the dead and dying, the scenes she saw all strangely bloodless as the water washed everythign away. Almighty curse that queen, she thought, not for the first time. This city is tearing itself apart and she's done nothing to stop it. Someone has to do something. Someone has to help. I don't know what I can do, but I'm going to do something.

Yes... Alyx's continued insanity. There's obviously nothing insane going on with Eric at all. Noooooooooo...

It's been a few months, so I don't totally remember off the top of my head, but I probably did okay! I'm a fairly good test taker...

Well, aside from one of the fics that I'm working on in my spare time that hasn't been released, I have been making some contributions to this thread: http://www.17thshard.com/forum/topic/8838-turning-protagonists-into-antagonists-for-fun/

But he's so cuuuuuuuuuuuute. And it's very possible that I feel bad for all of the terrible things I put him through in fanfics...

Right, what Kogi said. The overall arc of this storyline would take Renarin into conflict with the "heroic" side of things. In this case, he would be at opposition with Dalinar, Adolin, and Shallan, which is why I had Adolin see him and the lines about needing to run. I see Renarin as going on the run from them and probably all the members of Bridge 4 too. If we want to go truly tragic, I can take it further: Let's say that the visions are being hijacked and Odium is manipulating him. Kaladin didn't have to die at all. In fact, by killing Kaladin, Renarin has furthered Odium's goals. I've said before that the involuntary nature of Renarin's visions gives me pause. It seems so much more unwilling than all the other kinds of surgebinding that we've seen. So, I'll use that to say that these visions have been twisted by Odium, who is using Renarin as a pawn and turning his allies against Renarin as he does so. We've seen shards twist good intentions into furthering their plots before. If you all want a real antagonist out of Renarin, let's go all the way. Renarin continues seeing visions of the end of the world and the steps that he must take to stop them. He doesn't realize that everything he does is bringing about the end of the world instead. He cannot stop the images from coming, he doesn't know if what he's doing is right anymore, but he's in too deep and if he begins doubting himself now, all could be lost. The reason the ardents have always said that trying to see the future is of Odium is because Honor was able to see that much before he died: Odium will use future sight to bring about the end he desires. Odium sees this boy, so kind, so incapable of hate, and thus he twists him to make Renarin hated instead. By everyone, including himself. How amusing it is to Odium that his pawns should be tied to Truth. The Truthless and the Truthwatcher. Two assassins who weep as they kill. But Szeth was merely a tool. Renarin shall be his champion.

I think Shaggai is probably correct. I was simply making an analogue where the Tranquiline Halls were the Beyond that Brandon talked about and there was something standing in the way that had to be overcome before Rosharan souls could reach it. I think Shaggai's explanation is more in line with the text however.