Amanuensis

One does not simply join the Knights Radiant. Nor does one simply join this game. Signing up for LG30 will require you to roleplay at least two hundred words to introduce your character. If you haven’t read the Prologue already, I’d recommend you do so now, as I’ve not only provided you guys with some decent material to react to, but even created a character of my own to serve as an example. The reason why is because Journey Before Destination is meant to be more than a game of mafia. Sanderson Elimination IS a subforum of Roleplaying, after all, and as both a player and a game master, I’m trying to find ways to encourage that. So if you don’t believe you can handle writing two hundred words every three days, I’d recommend you ask to spectate this game rather than play it. That being said, you might be surprised at what you can accomplish if you try. If you haven’t been scared off already, then it’s time I introduce you to the mechanics of this game. CHAPTERS Each Chapter of Journey Before Destination will last for 70 hours, with a 2 hour break for STINK and I to prepare the results and produce the write up. Each Chapter will have a distinct setting, and the write up will provide players with a roleplay prompt. For example, Chapter One will take place at a gala to welcome the new Initiates, so for those of you attending, you may want to start preparing your finest attire (or not, if you’re feeling particularly rebellious). During each Chapter, players can vote for who they want to interrogate. We will count the most recent name written in orange by each player, so there’s no need to retract past votes. The player with the most votes at the end of the day will admit their past crimes and be promptly arrested. If a tie occurs, nothing will happen. While arrested, players cannot post in thread, although they can still communicate with others privately. They will also be added to a group message with their fellow prisoners (note: this is the only group message allowed in this game). If an arrested player is capable of using an action, they can only use it on their fellow prisoners. Free players can also vote to execute or pardon a currently imprisoned player. Executions need half of the free players to agree, while pardons require at least three-fourths. Only one of each type of vote can occur in a single Chapter. Only upon death a player’s role and alignment will be revealed publicly. THE HONORABLE No matter who you are or where you came from, your intentions for joining the Knights Initiate were pure. Sure, you might have had a bit of a… troubled past… but your tale is not so different than Highprince Dalinar’s or Captain Stormblessed. Still, you are not perfect, and you certainly have your regrets. At one point in your life you committed a horrible crime, or perhaps many petty ones; enough that if people knew, some might wish to see your head on a pike. If only they knew that it was your tragic history that shaped you into a Radiant in the first place. Alas, regardless of your inherently good nature, there are those whom aim to slay the Radiants before they can return. Though you know not the motivations for their unjust cause, it’s clear that someday, they’ll be coming for you. And thus it is your duty to find and kill them before they get to you first. In Journey Before Destination, the Honorable are the innocent, uninformed majority. By default, they are unable to take any actions, however, like the Unjust they can form a Bond with a spren. In order for the Honorable to win, all of the Unjust must be imprisoned or executed. Regarding crimes. When you sign up, send me a private message with LG30 and your forum name as the title: this will act as your GM PM. Include within it a list of crimes your character has committed, or if you’ve got the time, detailed info on what happened exactly. The more information you give me, the more powerful the reveals will be in the write ups. THE UNJUST They call you Unjust. Hah. What do those fools know of justice? Nalan’elin, the Herald himself, has selected you - yes, you - to prevent the True Desolation, either because of your affinity for equity or your relentless sense of righteousness. As such you were given this task; infiltrate the Knights Initiates in Urithiru and tear them apart from within. Only then will the world be saved from destruction. Of course, accomplishing your mission will not be easy. You’re not some honorless assassin, after all, but an executioner in service of the divine law of man. And thus you must obey by a certain set of precepts, such as kill noone without the proper writ in hand. Discovering those fools worst indiscretions will take a great deal of time and effort, but fortunately for you, you won’t have to do it alone. Opposite the Honorable are the Unjust; the evil, informed minority. As such, they know who their allies are and are allowed to communicate with them via a google doc, so long as they are alive and free. Each Chapter, the Unjust are can perform one of two actions: investigate a single player to discover their most heinous crimes, or attempt to execute a player whom they know the crimes of. If a player is free, two Unjust must attack them at once (note: in the case of an inactive Unjust, I will allow them to be ordered by their active teammates). If a player is imprisoned, only one Unjust will need to put in the order, due to the Honorable's inability to fight back. Like the Honorable, the Unjust can work towards Bonding a spren. In doing so they are unable to use any of their faction actions. If an Unjust Radiant attempts to investigate or execute an Honorable, their spren will abandon them. In order to remain competitive in the case of succumbing losses, surviving Unjust without any Bonds may become a Skybreaker, thus strengthening them enough to kill a player on their own. In order for the Unjust to win, they must outnumber the free Honorable. BONDS Journey Before Destination will be utilizing an Honor system that allows players to gain and maintain powers so long as they are actively participating both in the game’s discussion and narrative. If a player makes 3 discussion related posts in a single Chapter, they will earn one Honor, which they can spend to attract a spren of their choice. If a player also posts at least 100 words of roleplay twice in a single Chapter they will earn an additional Honor to spend. Players can work towards forming multiple Bonds at once, although once a Bond is established, you will not be able to gain another. In order to keep a Bond, you must provide your spren at least one Honor per Chapter, or else they will abandon you. Some spren may be harder to Bond than others, and may leave you of their own accord in specific circumstances. Only one Radiant of each order can exist at a time. Bonding an honorspren makes you a Windrunner. With the Surge of Adhesion, you can prevent another player from performing any actions that Chapter. Bonding a valorspren makes you a Dustbringer. With the Surge of Abrasion, you can set a player on fire, killing them. In the event that you kill two Honorable with this power your spren will abandon you. Bonding a cultivationspren makes you an Edgedancer. With the Surge of Abrasion, you can make yourself slick, allowing you to avoid a random action if free, or to escape custody if imprisoned. Bonding a reflectionspren makes you a Truthwatcher. With the Surge of Illumination, you can discover if another player has a spren, and if so, what kind. Bonding a liespren makes you a Lightweaver. With the Surge of Illumination, you can turn yourself invisible and spy on a conversation between two other players. Bonding a inkspren makes you an Elsecaller. With the Surge of Transportation, you can switch two players places, causing actions that would affect one to affect the other, and vice versa. Bonding an adventurespren makes you a Willshaper. With the Surge of Transportation, you can change another player’s vote (note: it can be any type, but only one at a time) to anyone of your choice. Bonding a trustspren makes you a Stoneward. With the Surge of Cohesion, you can fight alongside another player to prevent an attempt on their life (note: this includes public executions, although in this case, you will be revealed).

The other orders must be returning as well. We need to find those whom the spren have chosen. Quickly, for the Everstorm is upon us, and it is worse than we feared. Kaladin thought the words over and over again, hoping to drown out the guilt he felt with his sense of duty. Dalinar was right. Storm the man, but he was. As much as he wanted to... no, needed to go home, to make sure his parents were safe, he just couldn’t. He had accepted what he was and declared it to the world, which meant he had a great deal of new responsibilities to worry about beyond his own selfish concerns. “They’ll be alright,” Syl assured him, glowing softly as she paced the length of his shoulder, in a noticeably unassuring way. What did she have to be nervous about, anyway? It’s not like she had to make the tough choice of abandoning her family for the sake of the world. For the Everstorm is upon us, and it is worse than we feared. Storm Dalinar, and storm Shallan, too! The Oathgates are using too much Stormlight. She said as soon as Kaladin mentioned his plan to return home. Already we run low on infused spheres. Would you have us condemn all the warcamp refugees to weather a highstorm in the middle of the Shattered Plains, just so that you have a small chance of saving your parents? I get how hard it must be to accept, but we’re Radiants now; aren’t we? We’ve got to think for more than just ourselves. Easy for her to say, with her family safe and on their way. But still! Storm her for being right, too. Seeing Dalinar nod in agreement, he almost yelled right then. But suddenly Renarin was there, touching his arm gently. Not to reassure him like Syl was trying now, but to let him know if the situation were reversed, he would feel exactly the same. Kaladin would be too late, anyway. Deep down he knew that. He might own the winds, but he could not outrun the storm. A voice in the back of his head - not Syl, but something else, something foreign - told him that if he tried, he’d end up miles outside of Hearthstone, stranded on foot with no Stormlight to spare. By the time he reached home the streets would already be empty, some houses crushed to rubble, others cast aside, as if they hadn’t already stood for centuries against raging winds and torrential downpours. But this storm was different, of course. It belonged not to the Stormfather, but to who Syl called the One Who Hates. Kaladin had seen what the Everstorm was capable during his battle with the Assassin in White. An entire plateau got tossed in the air, had nearly splattered his foe before gravity could drag it back down to where it belonged. What resistance could a little town like his put up against a tempest like that? He was thinking too much. Always thinking too much. Where the Braize are they, anyway? It wasn’t like Bridge Four to be late. Perhaps they got lost? Kaladin supposed he couldn’t blame them. It’s not like they could fly like him - not yet, at least - and this tower-city-whatever was practically a maze. Still, the man was bothered. Ever since his time in that cell, it sickened him to be alone. Usually Syl was sufficient company, but whenever she was like this, she only worsened his mood. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, finally. “Hm?” Syl responded, finally still now that she was drawn out of her thoughts. “Oh, nothing.” “Oh? So what, you’re lying to me now? I thought you were a spren of honor, not lies.” “I’ve said it once before, Kal-a-din, but I’m no cryptic! You asked what’s wrong with me, and the answer is nothing! But something is wrong, of that much, I am certain.” “What, then? Is it Him again?” “No… I don’t think this feeling is His doing. It doesn’t reek of His touch. Not directly, at least. But it might be just as terrible.” Great, Kaladin groaned internally. As if there weren’t enough obstacles in his way already. “Someone comes,” Syl said, suddenly turning into a ribbon of light and zipping towards the stairs that lay behind him. “Hello Skar!” she shouted, surprising the man as he rose from the steps below. “Woah!” Skar yelled, startled by Syl’s enthusiastic welcome. The man could see her ever since becoming Kaladin’s Squire, though he still wasn’t used to her presence. Once she calmed down and landed on his shoulder, however, he settled down. Over the other shoulder, Drehy poked his balding head, a wide grin parting his face. “Good morning, Syl. I trust your day is going well?” “Better now that you’re here, Lanky!” she said, becoming a ribbon of light once more to greet him as she did Skar. When she landed on his shoulder, though, a pang of jealousy resonated in Kaladin’s heart. But why? These were his friends. More than that, now, what with the Bond they shared. Why did it matter if Syl became friends with them too? She was friends with Rock, before, and Sigzil too, and he never envied the attention she gave them. And yet somehow this was different. No matter. Skar was walking up to him now, Drehy trailing from behind. Stepping together, they saluted him, not in the Alethi way, but with their hands before them, crossed at the wrists. The way he taught them. The Bridge Four way. These were Kaladin’s brothers. His Squires. The envy dissipated from him even before Syl left Drehy’s shoulder for his own. “At ease, men. What took you so long?” “News, sir,” Drehy responded before Skar could open his mouth. “Important news. But before you ask, may I suggest we save it for after the demonstration?” Kaladin probed the taller man’s eyes, then glanced at his companion, who nodded in agreement. “We have time. I’ll hear it now.” Despite the frigid air at this altitude, Kaladin noticed the two men were sweating. “Well,” Drehy dragged on, “if you really want to know-” “Sadeas is dead. Assassinated, it seems.” Kaladin’s face didn’t change, though in that moment, he thought it should have. He already knew, of course. Until now, he thought he was the only man who did know. Aside from Adolin, of course. The man who killed him, then out of desperation, confided not to his father, his brother or his lover, but to him. “Do they know who did it?” Drehy gulped inaudibly, but Skar simply shook his head. “Don’t worry, I had nothing to do it with it,” Kaladin said, and Drehy relaxed. “If I did, I’d have broken my Oaths. Syl would be dead and you two would be ordinary men once more,” he explained, leaving out the rest of what he wanted to say. As much as he hated keeping secrets, he made a vow of silence to the princeling. Kaladin just hoped Adolin took his advice in return. If Dalinar found out his own son had murdered a Highprince, as traitorous a Highprince he might be, from any other source… That was a storm not even Kaladin would dare face. In his periphery a light flashed. It was distant, but large; a giant column of luminescence that quickly faded, leaving a brief afterimage in its place. “Enough talk,” Kaladin told them, rolling his shoulders, as if he needed to stretch. “It’s nearly time. Are you two ready?” Skar and Drehy began to glow, then nodded eagerly. “Well then, let’s get this show over with, already.” Despite his nonchalance, even Kaladin was a little bit excited. Throughout his life, Lomot had seen many beautiful things. But looking at the shining tower that had just faded to life before him, they seemed nothing more than pallid glimmers in comparison. He arrived with a crowd. Around him, men, women and even a few children gasped and glared as the curtain of light fell to reveal the City in the Sky, as their guides liked to call it. Looking at Urithiru now, Lomot decided to call it by a different name. Something simpler, and more accurate. Perfection. Stepping closer, failing to notice the youth he had to shoulder to get by, Lomot took a deep breath. After such a long, arduous journey across those blasted plains, he had finally reached his promised destination. A place of dreams. A place of wonder. A place he knew in his heart, he was always meant to be. As he walked a gloryspren popped into existence, a golden sun among a sea of awespren. Like most spren he’d seen before, he ignored it. There were more important things to look at, after all. Eyes slowly climbing up the height of the tower, Lomot counted the number of ridges first, wondering if what they said was true. It took some time, but he smiled once he finished, glad that it was true. A hundred floors. Ten by ten. Perfection. Before he knew it, Lomot was nearing the end of a bridge, narrow unlike the fat disc on which he traveled. Behind him, a river of people tread in his wake, a few rushing past him, more eager to get close than to bask in the place’s majesty. Further back, some more still remained upon the magic platform, stunned by the sheer scope of what they saw. Closer now, he could make out the wide variety of plantlife that comprised the garden’s upon each of the ninety-nine balcony’s leading to the top. He could see the tiny figures of people walking those same gardens, many of which seemed to be tending to them. For a moment his eyes lingered there, appreciating its beauty, as he so often loved to do, but then a blast like thunder rang from the sky, and everyone cast their eyes upwards at once. Three men - glowing men - rocketed towards them from above. A few people shouted, scrambled to get out of the way, but Lomot was too amazed to move. Several feet ahead of them, the first of them crashed, a glyph of frost expanding behind him like a pair of wings. The man had landed in a crouch unscathed, long, dark hair billowing behind him, his uniform a crisp, Kholin blue. Wisps of shimmering steam trailed from his mouth, seemed to leak from the pores of his exposed skin. His head snapped up, glacial ices locking with Lomot’s an instant before he spun to meet his attackers. Something like mist coalesced in the man’s hands, taking the shape of a silvery spear, it’s tip bearing azure swirls that shined even in the daylight. They came upon him together, two luminescent comets with spears of their own. Their weapons didn’t glow like his, however. They looked like they were carved from wood and Soulcast into steel. His seemed to be made of the same material as a Shardblade. And yet when they collided with all the force of their descent, the two men’s spears did not break. A ripple of pressure burst from the impact, causing Lomot to stumble back, but not nearly as far as those two men were sent. They recovered midair, however, flipping and landing on their feet with unfathomable grace. What happened next, Lomot could barely process. The three men’s movements were so fast, so incredibly precise. In their hands, their weapons were a storm. Miniature tornadoes, caught in a never-ending dance. Despite being outnumbered, the man with the long hair held them back. In fact, he even seemed to be winning. While his opponents began to slow, his movements only became swifter, stronger. They tried to get around him, to divide his attention, but it was almost like their opponent had eyes on the back of his head. They couldn’t best him. They knew they couldn’t best him. And yet they still tried with every bit of power they had left. Were these the Knights Radiant? The men Lomot sought to join? As he watched their fight unfold, up until the very moment that it came to a stunning end, he not once doubted himself. Not once lost his resolve in coming here. The whole time, he only had one thought. Throughout his life, Lomot had seen many beautiful things. But looking at the shining knights that just battled gallantly before him, they seemed nothing more than pallid glimmers in comparison. YOU’RE A FOOL, DALINAR KHOLIN. The Stormfather’s voice was as loud as thunder, but as usual, only one man could hear it. If not for the youth bowing on the platform before him and the large procession of people watching from below, Dalinar might have responded to the god’s taunting just then. But alas, he had more important matters to attend to. “Speak the words,” he told the boy. “Life before death.” He began, a tint of fear coloring his voice. He knew the words, sure, but Dalinar could tell he didn’t believe them. At this rate, he was never going to find any Initiates - the term he had been using for those who were spiritually ready for a Bond, but lacked a spren to Bond with. “Strength before weakness,” the boy said, firmer now, though he could not hide the trembling of his hands. Idly, Dalinar wondered what brought this young man here today. The boy was thin in his fashionable - albeit dirty - garbs. His hands seemed tiny, frail. Barren of calluses and scars. Something told him that this child had never known true hardship until his journey to Urithiru; not the kind that created Knights, at least. YOU’RE WASTING YOUR TIME. Dalinar almost sighed. “Journey before destination,” the boy finished, then looked up, eyes pleading. Dalinar could see the desire there. So then it’s glory he seeks. Power, perhaps. Or maybe something more innocent. Maybe he just wants to be a hero. Either way, the Highprince - no, Bondsmith - knew what the result would be. Still, he held the diamond broam out in the palm of his hands. “Breath deep, and we’ll know if your heart is true.” The youth breathed. Nothing happened. “I’m sorry,” he whispered before the boy began his sulky descent. WHEN WILL YOU BE DONE WITH THIS FARCE? I HAVE IMPORTANT MATTERS TO DISCUSS WITH YOU. “I’ll be done when they’re done,” Dalinar said, nodding to those whom still remained down below. Already another climbed the steps to him. Another noble by the look of his clothes. He didn’t even move out of the way as the lad got near, the boy’s head too low to see him coming. Of course, why should a man of his stature move for a mere child? Bah! By the look of his gait, that man was almost as bad as Sadeas. Sadeas… he thought with sad regret. To Dalinar’s surprise, the noble stopped before reaching the boy, looking at him curiously, as if noticing him for the first time. He squat low so that he could look him in the eyes, then with a finger, tilted the boy’s chin up so he could look in his. Words passed between them, their conversation concise, but when they parted ways, the boy held his head a little bit higher. Could it be that Dalinar misjudged him? DON’T GET YOUR HOPES UP. When the blonde nobleman reached him, there was no hesitance in his bow. It wasn’t practiced, Dalinar could tell that much, but the man was confident. Taking a knee, the noble looked up at Dalinar, dark orange eyes peering unwaveringly into his. Something about them stood out, too. Was that eyeliner? And his cheeks... they were abnormally red, even for the cold, and dusted with glitter, his lips painted a deep shade of violet. Just who was this man? Darkeyed and dressed like a noble, his face accented with make up... Dalinar had never seen no one like him in his life. Nevertheless, he would allow him the same chance. "Speak the words," he told the man. “Life before death. Strength before weakness. Journey before destination.” After twelve failures, Dalinar finally met a man who spoke the words as if they were own. There was a rumbling in the distance, one that only the Bondsmith could here. The Stormfather, it seemed, wasn't very happy. But just to be sure, Dalinar held the diamond broam before him. “Breath deep, and-” The man breathed deep indeed, nostrils flaring, stormlight flowing from the sphere to him, alighting his eyes, his skin. He smiled, revealing two rows of teeth, sheathed in gold, streams of light leaking from the cracks between them. “What is your name, Initiate?” “Lomot. ‘Tis the only name I have that matters.” “Very well. Then turn, Lomot, so that I might declare you to the world.” As Dalinar commanded, Lomot obeyed. Above them, something flew by, a gust of wind following close behind. A moment later, a cloak drifted down, solid gold silk with the symbol of the Knights Radiant stitched on the back in black. Like thunder, Dalinar’s own voice boomed throughout Urithiru. “Before you stands Lomot. He has spoken the First Ideal, and light reveals that his heart is worthy of the Oath. Thus an Initiate is sworn to serve. For the good of Man, and for the good of Roshar.” As Dalinar tied the cape around the Initiate’s shoulders, he couldn’t help but grin. A fool, am I? It felt good proving a god wrong. Once finished with the knot, Dalinar grabbed Lomot’s shoulders and turned him so that he could look into his eyes once more. “That boy. What did you tell him?” The Initiate smiled. No, he beamed. “The boy? Why, I simply told him the truth.”

Gotta keep the ladies guessing

Note: Please don't up vote me for this. It took next to no effort on my part; just had to fill in a few boxes on a website and it was generated for me. Thanks

I hope you do like MR17, it's going to use a system to help promote activity and roleplay, and you'd be a great addition.

I will post Sign Ups on Wednesday, January 25th, and the game will begin on February 1st. The exact start time is still pending, but will be decided once the thread is up.

Ahem... This was before our Captain contacted me and told me your role, too

Sorry I never got my response done, @A Joe in the Bush. I might be able to get it written tomorrow, but I'm way too hungover / busy with work today to manage it. If we can, I'd like to coordinate a scene where Sani brings Berilen her father. It would seem a tragedy if she died without ever getting the chance to avenge the victims of MR10. I only ever received one PM this game, sadly, and it was from my captain, Drake, who happened to get killed the same turn as me. I don't think he was as willing as I to die so that others could win, but at least we got some great RP out of him for it him and I also RP'd back and forth in our PM, which was really nice. So that everyone can enjoy it, I'll go ahead and put them in spoilers. Make sure you upvote Drake's next post if you like anything he wrote, please and thank you Drake Aman Drake Aman

Was Sani playing dumb to protect the one man's life she didn't compromise? Or was she being honest, proving the information the Ghostbloods provided Berilen as lies? No matter the answer, a surge of rage coursed through the young girl, prompting her to draw a needle and throw it at the woman, all within the blink of an eye. She didn't need to be a Radiant to move that fast, at least. Fortunately for the Diagrammist, she did not aim to kill. Instead of burying it in a vein, she let it dig into Sani's shoulder, with just enough speed that it should pierce the fabric and prick her skin. If she succeeded, then it would only take a minute for the burning sensation to take affect. With that confirmation, she could successfully bluff her way to her father. Already Berilen knew exactly what she would say. You feel that? That's firerot. A very rare poison that, if not treated within a day's time, will put you in a paralytic state. It will feel like instead of blood, fire is circulating your veins. If you wish to continue playing this game, then I will tell you Agrigar is a 42 year old Cook. I've no idea how he keeps his hair, or how tan his skin might be. But what I can tell you is he has the same eyes as mine - cobalt... and cold - and that he's missing his left ear. He is a Diagrammist like you, and once terrorized this very city with his cunning tongue and his deadly cuisine. If that doesn't summon any recollections for you, then perhaps it's time you start using whatever resources you possess to find the man I seek.

So... what went wrong? Was Berilen too weak? Too slow? Too dumb? Too naive? At the end of the day, the reason didn't matter. She had failed. Berilen had failed. But she would not fail again. Despite the loud clamor of the factions' debate, they all stopped when they heard the sound of a needle hitting the ground. Whatever strange metal the floor was made of, it resonated like a bell when struck by the thin, razor sharp weapon. Although some hesitated to look towards her, few would be able to resist turning their heads when she began shouting, her eyes burning as they gazed into the woman Diagrammist's pleading stare. "Sani! You sow for peace with the Ghostbloods, loathe as they are to accept it. Well. I may not speak for the Ghostbloods, but I can speak for myself. I did not join the Ghostblood's because I agreed with their doctrine. I did not join them to thwart the Sons of Honor, or because I despised the Diagrammists. I aligned myself with Thaidakar for one reason, and one reason alone. To find and kill my father. A man who I'm confident you know very well. His name is Agrigar Leiken. Heard of him, yes? The Mad King's very own Overseer of Urithiru. Bring him to me, bound and gagged. Allow me to execute him here and now for his crimes against my family, and I will give my life for the very peace you seek. You've heard the rumors; seen the unholy storm as it ravages and mutates our world. The True Desolation is upon us, or at the very least, will be soon. If we wish for humanity to survive, we cannot stand divided. And for that cause alone I am willing to hasten my journey to the Trainquiline Halls. I just need this one gift, and I will bow my head gently before you. So, what do you say, Diagrammists? Are you willing to sacrifice your glorious poisoner for victory? Or will you deny my offer, and choose battle instead? I might be small, but that doesn't mean I'll go down without a fight. And maybe I won't drag one of you down with me, but the Almighty knows I'll try."

Twist, scrape, flick. Twist, scrape, flick. Aside from the rhythmic sharpening of her needles, Berilen was a motionless statue, legs hanging over the ledge of a balcony that overlooked the plaza in which those three societies of monsters in human flesh convened. Twist, scrape, flick. Twist, scrape, flick. It was Sani who she wanted to get to first, truth be told. In a way, her betrayal - short lived as it may have been - hit far too close to home. It was Berilen's fault, anyway, for trusting a woman she hardly knew. And why? Because she talked sense? Because she thought the same as me? In a lot of ways, the two were alike, and that scared her. In another life, she could have been Sani. Perhaps when Sani was her age, she could have been Berilen. Twist, scrape, flick. Twist, scrape, flick. Things were better off this way, she decided. Somewhere in the depths of her being, she believed otherwise, but the rational aspect of her mind sang a different tune. She had come to Urithiru for a single purpose, after all. Who cares if the hunt was spoiled, so long as it led her to her father, and fast? In a few days time, she would relish in that sweet taste of victory, like she'd dreamed of the last three years. Twist, scrape, flick. Twist, scrape, flick. Sani needed to live. It was clear she was the leader of her cell, or at the very least, the spokesperson, which meant she either was the most knowledgeable, or the most willing to talk. Once her allies were dead, she would have no choice but to tell Berilen where Agrigar was. That is, unless, she would be willing to die for the man. Berilen wished she could say with any certainty that Sani wouldn't. Diagrammists were insane, after all. Not that the Sons of Honor and Ghostbloods were any less sane. But at least they were predictable. Twist, scrape, flick. Twist, scrape, flick. Berilen did not need to turn her head to see how close the sun was to the horizon. She could feel the heat on the back of her neck fading with ever monotonous carving of her needles' point. That and the gradual dimming of the ambient light. It wouldn't be long now before she made her move. The hardest part would be the timing. A moment too soon, and she could be halted by his allies. A moment too late, and her Captain would already be dead. She needed to be sudden. She needed to be quick. Praise Origin that she had been trained so thoroughly. Twist, scrape, flick. Twist, scrape, flick. Hand cramping, Berilen decided to take a break to look over the progress she had made. This was the third needle she'd sharpened to perfection, now. The tip was razor thin; the hilt, for lack of a better term, the perfect length and thickness to comfortably fit between her thumb and forefinger. Spinning it in her hand, she checked the balance, the weight. It would not take much force to pierce a man's flesh, though Drought Bringer did look like he had a unusually thick neck. Really, though, speed was all she needed. It didn't matter that her arms were so tiny. Not with a weapon this sharp and reflexes as swift as hers. So long as nothing - or no one - got in her way, a swift needle to the carotid artery should be enough. Just in case, she added Agrigar's favorite poison to the tip. From her safe pouch, she drew a thin, elongated sack that contained a few drops of a thick, black liquid. Bringing the needle and the sheathe to eye level, she patiently slid one into the other, careful so that the poison would not squirt onto her face. Although this particular liquid was only deadly when it entered a human's bloodstream, it had the tendency to burn exposed skin worse than a long day in the sun. Tilting the needle back, she made sure the liquid did not drip. Good. The seal was tight. Sighing with contentment, she stored the needle inside her safe pouch with the rest, then drew another to start the process over again. Twist, scrape, flick. Twist, scrape, flick. She went on like this for hours, a grin that was half sad, half excited, steadily creeping across her face. Cloaked by the tower's shadow, no one saw the girl's descent. The best part of weighing less than a hundred stones? Berilen didn't have much weight to break whenever she fell from a decent height. Regardless, she had worn a thick coat with a padded hood and spine, helping take the extra oomf out of her landing. While the others were busy squabbling and bearing swords and knives, she appeared within a hole at the center of the gathering, directly behind her target. "Drought Bringer!" she screamed as she kicked at the back of the man's knee, hoping to force him down to her level so that she could plunge one of her poisoned needles into his exposed jugular. In her other hand she held the remaining three needles between her fingers so that they extended like claws. Should anyone try to interfere, she would thrust and slash at them to ward them off, or in the worst of circumstances, draw them into her strong hand to throw while she escaped.

Berilen felt as if someone was watching her and craned her neck to see who. Everyone's attention seemed elsewhere, but she could have swore she saw that man with the "dead eye" looking in her direction, if only for a fraction of a second. Why hadn't he spoken up more, and why was he scanning the market so thoughtfully now? Suddenly she wished she organized her thoughts ahead of time, so that in case she did not live to see the next sunrise, she could leave some wisdom behind. Much too late for that. Turning back towards the horizon, she crossed her fingers.

Berilen considered Quintus' words thoughtfully. What he said made sense, in retrospect. But why didn't he make that clear to begin with? If he was really so afraid of the Diagrammist's manipulations, why not warn others, rather than act on his own? She decided then that her concerns were not assuaged, and thus decided to speak no further. At least until she was approached. Measuring the distance from the sun to the horizon with her hand, she sighed. Only a finger and a fourth left. Since arriving in Urithiru, she had never cared to watch the sunset. Today, she was determined to see it through. Not that she didn't listen for footsteps, or occasionally glance behind her back. There were too many enemies about, after all, and like always, never enough allies.

Berilen frowned. It was this sort of thinking that made her lose faith in humanity. What good is self-preservation if the world's going to end anyway? Disappointed, she replied with a simple "I see..." and stepped away from the market, finding something that resembled a bench, but if it was meant to be one, it was the most blocky, uncomfortable bench she'd ever sat on. Resigned, she peered into the distance, at the churning sky beyond the immaculate towers, down at the steep cliffs jutting below. How could a child be brave when even the adults were afraid? At that moment, she wondered where the Radiants were. Surely they would be able to convince these people that if everyone refuses to "lay their cards out on the table," that they'll get nowhere while their enemies plot and come out on top. Inaction only leads to more inaction. And as tempting as keeping yourself from painting a target on your back might be, that only narrows the Diagrammist's options to those who are confident enough to make a stand. Once those people were gone, who would step up then? Berilen feared nobody would. She barely felt the tear caress her cheek.

Once again, Berilen found herself listening more often than talking. Though her adopted father made sure she received a thorough education, she rarely had the opportunity to practice social interactions beyond that. These last three years had undoubtedly improved her conversational skills, though due to her vast distrust of strangers, it didn't seem to be helping here. Many of these people, especially that woman, Sani, had been making valid points. When a man called Uther followed up on a comment she made regarding Nelop, Berilen raised her eyebrow curiously. Was he trying to get on her good side, or just following his own lead? Considering the options for a moment, Berilen shrugged. With the sun descending towards the horizon more rapidly than before, the young girl decide she had to act fast, if she wanted to gather any more information for the day. "I did not expect you to analyze everyone, Davis (Ecth). But no one person can see everything, and you seem the observant type. Like I mentioned with Drak being present one second and then completely vanished the next, or Nelop writing and passing notes, I hoped you might have saw I might have missed, and wanted to hear more. If all you honestly have to offer is those comments on Ryth, I guess I was wrong about you. "Quintus (Jondesu), was it? Your attempts to bring the shier individuals into our conversation earlier was admirable, but I can't help but ask... Why do you think "we must remove someone from our company today"? Doesn't it make more sense to wait for our leadership to establish communications? The more I consider your words, the harder I find it to ignore the possibility that you're making a clever attempt to hide your bloodthirst behind unrealistic obligations. Surely we can all agree to Sani's plea for temporary peace?" A sudden, frigid breeze swept through the market, sending Berilen's black curls into a flurry of motion and causing her flesh to prickle up with hundreds of bumps. A coincidence, or an omen? Feeling paranoid, she glanced towards a man who just spoke against Seonid. She'd heard no mention of his name, but the best word she could use to describe the imposing figure was stoic. When he spoke, it reminded her of the earth sighing after a particularly rough storm. Berilen sneezed, likely due to some kind of allergen that was carried on the wind, but she remembered an old superstition about someone talking about you behind your back, prompting her stomach to return to its previous, uneasy state. Clutching her gut, she hoped no one noticed her moment of weakness, though she did wish she had a Surgeon to look her over right about then.

Berilen's pale brow furrowed in confusion. Sweeping a curl of black hair behind her right ear - unintentionally revealing a jagged edge where her lobe should be - she strained to read the man's expression and his body language for any hint of cruel intentions. "Storm your coffee, mister," she said, growing both more irritated and suspicious. A sudden, unfounded thought crossed her mind, then. What if this self-proclaimed "honest" man had been trained by Agrigar himself, and his so called coffee was secretly a fast acting poison, like her father used so often on his enemies? For now she tossed the idea aside, though she would not be taking anything from him. Not anytime soon, at least. "I've noticed you're avoiding my question. I never asked you anything about the time of day, nor lynches. I asked you for your thoughts on the crowd. Not a lone individual. If it makes you feel any better, I'll share a few things I've noticed, and some thoughts of my own. I've watched as Nelop listened quietly before writing down his thoughts and drifting through the ranks, surely to pass a note to a target, though I can't say for sure, who. I've seen Drak watch the conversation from the shadows, then fade into them entirely, as if he was the darkness himself. As for Ryth, whom you now accuse, we've all seen him ask questions that would be unwise for a Diagrammist to mutter aloud. Perhaps that's not the best reason for me to trust him, but coupled with your evasiveness, I'm starting to think he might be innocent."

When Seonid replied, Berilen did not understand many of his words. Perhaps he was from a far away land that used a strange dialect, or perhaps she did not remain in Kholinar long enough to learn them, but either way, she got enough of what he was saying to make a judgment. Still, to release pressure too soon might allow a potential crack to never surface, so with eyes so dark a shade of blue that they were nearly black, she stared beyond her reflection upon the pair of shaded glasses that rested upon Seonid's nose, searching for the outline of his iris' and for any hint of wavering. Finding nothing, she began to study his brow for drops of sweat, then traced the length of his lips and the set of his jaw, hoping for a flicker that might tell her he was nervous, or perhaps even lying. Suddenly she wished she knew the man better. The way he presented himself appeared innocent enough, and he had a bit of a scholarly air about him, despite his youth. And so, she decided to ignore the knot that formed in her chest whenever she looked at the man, and move on to someone else. For now. "I think I see where you're coming from, Seonid. I can see the fun in the speculation, but to me, doing it so openly defeats the purpose of our organizations, doesn't it? Even the most innocent, off handed statement can give people's enemies information. Whether you're a Son of Honor or a Ghostblood, you already know Diagrammists walk among you. They'll figure things out, and fast, likely without us having to talk about it. But for many of you, they're only one half of the problem. Have you not heard of what happened to the larger cells before us? Thaidakar's blood and Restares' children focused too much on each other, allowing Agrigar and his ilk to annihilate those that opposed them. I've come here to stop exactly that unfolding again, and redeem those whom they slaughtered. "So, let's talk Diagrammists. While they might not create the distractions, I see no reason why they'd try to discourage them. For that reason, I'm somewhat trusting of... Sani, wasn't it?, given how quickly she interfered with the Bondsmith discussion. While possible, I have doubts that a Diagrammist would make the effort, especially so fervently. I've got some bad feelings about Bzeth, but for the moment I find them difficult to articulate, and thus will deliberate on them longer. How about you, Davis (Ecth)? Besides offering people coffee and potentially compromising information, how do you feel about the crowd so far?"

Beyond the incomprehensible depths of the mortal subconscious, there exists a place that is so much like your reality, and yet so very, very different. It is there that a man who's not really a man wades through an ocean that is not really an ocean. In truth, the man is just a mere thought that's manifested existence through purpose. In earnest, the ocean is but an expanse of unyielding silence, freckled with tiny resonances that to you might seem as large as the very stars. In this place, the man has no shape or form, but if you'd like, consider him a undulating wave of gold in an otherwise motionless shadow. In this manner, he weaves between countless glints of white hot luminescence, looking for a spark that may seem indistinguishable from the rest, but if you could only visit this place, you'd realize that no two glimmers shine alike. Here and now, time is meaningless, but if the man desires, he can glimpse into a light and watch as history unfolds. When he finally does find the spark he's looking for, he dives within, and suddenly the man is really a man, though he does not wade in a real ocean. Before him rests a maze of weathered stone with shelves cut so impossibly precise that a million books of disparate sizes can fit into them perfectly. Above him, translucent orbs with jagged scars of color for hearts float in peculiar directions, some even remaining in the air, as if bound there by some unseen force. Even further up, a storm as dark as the night ripples with malevolent energy, though fortunately, it's torrent of hatred is unable to reach the earth. Casually, the man strolls through the winding library. Though he is careful not to trip on the uneven ground, his eyes seldom leave the spines of the books. He does not recognize the odd, symmetric lettering impressed upon them, but the tomes - like the stars - whisper to him, telling him where to go. After an age or so, he hesitates beside a rather large opus, big enough that it could only belong to a king. Curious, the man reaches into his azure coat and retrieves a tiny Crystal Lens, which he then peers through at the name. Nohadon. An interesting person, for sure. A wise philosopher, and brave leader. The sort that the man would love to sit down for a chat. Curious as he was to sift through the King's memories, his was not the story he was searching for, and so he moved on, telling himself he'd return when his job was done. For what could have been a millennia, the man pressed forward until he came upon a series of much smaller books, one of which was so thin it could have passed for a novella. Instantly a pang of sadness thrummed in his heart, for the man knew that most tales as short as these seldom had a happy ending. And yet even without his Crystal Lens, he knew this was the book he was meant to read. To read, and then to retell, for within it existed a lesson worth learning... a life worth remembering. As always, the man started from the beginning. A few words in, and already his eyes had gone wet. But the best storytellers new to never start their tale from the start. And so when he set to do his work, he began, instead, in the middle. Sadly, it wasn't very happy either. With a heavy heart and a shallow stomach, Berilen Valdev - or as she had learned exactly three years to this day, Berilen Leiken - had finally accepted that in many ways, the end was near. On a broad scale, the True Desolation had come. Once upon a time, she would have trusted in the Almighty to deliver them from this evil. Back when she still believed she was the daughter of a wayward priest who had managed to "obtain forgiveness" despite his "multiple indiscretions." Maybe even after she discovered the crimes her true father committed, so terrible that the entire Ardentia insisted on lying to her about it, she would have had faith in humanity. But even that hope had died once she got tangled in this petty war between the Ghostbloods and the Sons of Honor, between the Alethi and the Parshendi. Death. So much death. And it was only the beginning. At the start of her journey, she was but an ignorant little girl, clueless about the world, despite all of her learning. Obsessed with a single goal - to find her father and make him pay - she would have done anything to fulfill it. But of course, alone it was an impossible task. It was as if the man's entire history had been erased once he joined the Diagrammists. But they couldn't possibly kill everyone who met the man. If they did, they would have left her a trail straight to him. Eventually, she did find someone; or rather, that someone found her. Jaral. That bastard. What she wouldn't give to slit his throat for getting her into this mess. Why didn't he warn her of the horrors she would have to witness? Why not tell her of the crimes she would have to commit? Until this Weeping, Berilen had never seen war. Until this Weeping, Berilen had never killed a man. She'd read about war in the history books, but those were just numbers without faces, broken down and processed so that even a child could digest the information. She'd trained how to disable an attacker, or to end his life if there was no other way, but even that was just exercise. Truly no different than running or lifting stones. Or, at least, only until she was truly in danger. Berilen was exhausted. Berilen felt sick. And yet Berilen was here, in Uritheru. The same place her father was. The same place where he had just recently slaughtered so many people indiscriminately. Sure, they might have all been Sons of Honor and Ghostbloods. But what of the others before them? The innocent souls, like her mother and her step-father, or that pregnant Horneater in the Peaks? What of the countless others that he would surely kill to fulfill his precious Diagram? No matter how hard her heart pounded, or how relentlessly her stomach writhed, she had to find him. She had to make him pay. And so she found herself in a market, surrounded by both allies and enemies. Even the allies who didn't secretly work for her father weren't really allies, but she'd have to pretend they were if she wanted to succeed. Once it was over, once she found Agrigar and dealt him justice, she would run. She cared nothing for the Sons of Honor or the Ghostbloods and their idiotic squabbles. And though she knew they'd chase her if she fled - kill her, even - she wouldn't mind. Not so long as she saw the light leave Agrigar's eyes. After that, she too could die in peace. Nothing else mattered. But perhaps that wasn't exactly true... not that the girl would ever admit it. Some part of her conscience thought that if she helped kill enough of these monsters, she might be able to find hope again. She was no Radiant, but since coming to Urithiru, she had seen quite a few, and each found a way to inspire a different sort of hope in different kinds of people, even after the Battle of Narak or the destruction left in the Everstorm's wake. Whether it was Dalinar with his wise guidance, or Kaladin with his unwavering determination, or Shallan with her vast intelligence, they were beginning to change people, affect the world around them in a way that actually meant something. Compared to them, Berilen was small - after all, she was just a child of 15 - but that didn't mean she couldn't be of use to them... to the world. After a while, Berilen realized the others had begun talking, none paying the girl much mind. She had thought her Captain would have attempted to speak with her by now, but alas, she hadn't been passed letters by anyone. Well, she wasn't going to get any closer to finding her father standing here and listening, and thus she deliberated on what she had heard and decided to start a conversation of her own. Already she could tell that this wasn't going to end well. "Seonid," Berilen whispered, the name tasting odd as it passed by her lips. When she realized the man didn't hear her, she tugged on his wrist and repeated it again, this time loud enough that several people could hear her. "Most of what you say makes sense, but I get this feeling that your words are practiced, as if you're just telling us what you think we want to hear. And perhaps this applies to a few others more than you," Berilen looks pointedly that man with the dead eye and the woman who can't seem to stop talking or retracting statements, "but honestly, why discuss the organization of our factions openly? If the leaders do their jobs right, we'll find that out anyway, and bringing it up in public like this is only distracting us from what matters: Finding the Diagrammists. "I may be young, but I learned many years ago how to manipulate an adult when they want you to do something you'd rather not. Just mention something unimportant that interests them, and then sneak off when they're busy with their thoughts. A discussion such as this seems like the perfect way for the Diagrammists to keep our eyes diverted from the knives they're aiming for our backs."

I was planning on pinch hitting, but these sign ups have been up for a few days already and haven't received many sacrifices players. So for now, count me in. I will be playing Amanuensis, but the character will be Berelen Leiken. Not many people may know this, but before the events of MR10, Agrigar had a fiancé who was cheating on him with his best friend. She got pregnant, and after the birth there were questions about who was the child's father. Overcome with rage, Agrigar pushed his fiancé away until eventually she left him and maried his best friend. Years later he invited them to his home to "make amends" and, in actuality, poisoned them both, then ran away to the Horneater Peaks to escape retribution. There he learned the culinary arts with which he terrorized Urithiru. Meanwhile, Berelen was orphaned. After learning the history of her family, she, like Lift, has begun traveling the world, attempting to track down Agrigar. She has followed him all the way to Uritheru. Because I'm on vacation in Colombia until January 2nd, I will not be around for the beginning of this game. I plan on role playing that Berelen arrives to Uruthiru late, so if people could not mention her in RP until my initial post, that'll be great. I am going to be trying a few new things this game, such as only roleplaying in character. Do not expect me to write essays like I usually do. This game, I will not play like Mike would. I will be Berelen, completely, perhaps even in actions. I've left her character open to be any faction, but keep in mind that her primary motivations will not be achieving her factions win conditions. Her top priority is finding her father.

I shall be spectating, good sir.

To quote Brandon from his twitter, "the cosmere is a distinct universe, and our world is not a part of it." I thought it was clear already, but I do not believe, nor am I advocating that any story of his that involves Earth is a part of the Cosmere. What I'm saying is I believe that the two universes are entirely separate, but both Adonalsium and Calamity came from the same place, and this is based on the fact how many textual analogues there are. Mind you, they could not be connected in this way. We might never know that, but I doubt Brandon won't eventually reveal the origins of Adonalsium. This is just a theory that Adonalsium is the same type of extradimensional being we witness in another series of his, and will likely witness again in Apocalypse Guard. While Ym's teligion definitely seems analogous to what happened with the Shards, there are some pretty huge differences, such as the entire motivation of the separation. When you compare Ym's religion to what Calamity says, the two align much better. That being said, we already know that Splintering is Shattering on a smaller scale, and that's because it deals with the same energy, Investiture, just in different scales. Likewise, we know that Splinters are pieces of Shards. What I'm pointing out is the possibility that what the Shards once were (Adonalsium) in turn is just a fragment of something else, but in the terms of the Cosmere, is the largest. That being said, Adonalsium not being the original holder of the power is a possibility. I've considered it before, too, though there doesn't seem to be evidence of it, other than the fact that Shards can transfer between people. At the very least, that doesn't appear to have been foreshadowed at all yet. I suppose one could argue that Adonalsium and Cephandrius are relatively similar names, but it's reasonable that Adonalsium can just be Yolen's name for their god, and that he actually has an entirely different one (such as Elinthanithile - Honor - Tanavast). That being said, all very fascinating information, although I hesitate to compare two authors work in this scenario.That's very different than looking at two completely different series by the same author and noticing a few striking similarities that might point to them being connected in a vague, internally meaningless way. Either way, it's one of those things we'll just have to wait and see. As for my using the word "reprimanded" I suppose it's not necessary that Adonalsium was. It just seemed that Calamity had been somehow based off of what he said, which if this theory is correct, makes it possible to have happened to Adonalsium, too. As an aside, Yolish lore claims fainlife came from the corpses of gods, right? I wonder if those gods are somehow involved.

There was lots of juicy tidbits such as the definition of Cognitive Shadows (entities whose souls have been replaced with pure Investiture). The fact that the Heralds qualify as Cognitive Shadows is very fascinating. Seems to support the theory that a Returned is a the Splinter of Endowment shaped into a person's soul and put into a body, as well, and makes me wonder about the Threnodite rituals used to make people into Cognitive Shadows.

Oh, right. I actually have a thought on what's walking in the storms. Whether or not the Highstorms are Honor's "mobile Perpendicularity", they do appear to weaken the barrier between the Physical Realm and the Cognitive Realm. I wonder if those figures we see aren't necessarily Unmade, but simply what a pair of Spren actually look like in the Cognitive Realm. The next question would be, what particular Spren are they?

So just finished listening to the Outside Q&A. Silverlight apparently believe that Shards separated for a reason and thus should remain that way, so anyone who dabbles in things that exacerbate the opposite are frowned upon *cough17thShardandHoidcough*

That is correct. I don't believe that the two will ever intersect. But there does seem to be something here. I suspect that Apocalypse Guard will help further this theory, as we know it expands on the multiverse introduced in the Reckoners. Either way, we'll just have to see when we get there I personally believe that's a result of the personalities of Adonalsium and Calamity. We see that in an alternate reality, Invocation didn't react the same way as Calamity (whether or not they are the same "Many"). It's not a good example since the two worlds have the exact same magic system. That being said, Reckoners does seem to have some rules to it, such as the fact the Megan and Prof were able to claim the powers entirely for themselves by overcoming their fears (something Calamity was incapable of), and the fact that there's something in an Epic's DNA that carries their powers and allows them to be used for technology. That's a pretty close analogy to Fabrials on Roshar and Mistech in Southern Scadrial. Either way, according to Calamity, he is not young (likely has no real definable age), but his introduction to the reality in Reckoners was frightening for him, and had a large impact on how things formed. It's possible Adonalsium did not have such a fear, and instead immediately felt love for his new reality, hence why he got so involved in the start, but like Calamity, he was told to stop interfering (this is based off the fact that he's crafted specific worlds, like Roshar, for example, but then had no part in stopping the fainlife and seems to have been killed / his power taken so that the Vessels could save Yolen). Questions I would like to ask Brandon, but would likely receive an RAFO (last one's more of a joke than an actual question): Would you say that Adonalsium is one of many? Did Adonalsium always inhabited the Cosmere? Can we expect to see a Desolated Roshar or Scadrial where Ruin won in Apocalypse Guard?