ICanDream

Hi guys, So I've written a story - well the beginning of one - and I wasn't sure whether or not it was good. This isn't related to the cosmere or Brandon so if you want you can stop reading. I wasn't sure where to post this, so this may be a bad idea. But oh well. heres the story: Chapter I Anastor Anastor ran through the silent trees. They were dead. All of them. He’d stood, frozen, unable to move, as his friends were cut down. He’d watched them go down in a wave of blood, steel and fire. He’d never see them again. Never again would he see their mischievous smiles; never again would he listen to one of their crazy stories. Anastor gritted his teeth to hold back the tears. Blood soaked Anastor’s tunic. This battle had been brutal. Far more than any Anastor had seen before. The Imperial Army had been ambushed. The enemy had descended, like phantoms, down from the hills. A massacre had ensured. He had survived though. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Anastor glanced behind him. In the half-light, he could imagine hooded riders approaching from afar. He could imagine their twisted blades flashing in the moonlight. He ran faster. The ground still shook. The Imperium’s Pureborn had broken the earth in a tectonic fury. The battlefield had been above a fault line. Somehow though, the rebels had prevailed. Clearly they weren't fighting mere peasants. Plumes of smoke rose above the battlefield behind him. A part of him considered going back – but he knew that wasn’t an option. Anyone who had remained on the battlefield would be already dead. And he was a Pureborn. In the rebellions alighting across the Imperium, headed by the elusive Demon in Dregs, all had the same motive – to break Pureborn power. Anastor didn’t fancy his chances. The trees around Anastor waved their leaves with a detached elegance. The last leaves of autumn still stained the ground in russet. The paradise here was in mocking contrast to the battle that had just occurred. Within the forest, every shadow seemed to resemble an enemy soldier. Saplings became spears thrusting to the sky; leaves became banners rippling in the wind. His own quiet footfalls sounded resonant – almost like the charge of cavalry in the battle that just occurred… Almost like the charge of cavalry that had killed everyone Anastor had ever called a friend… He’d lost his brother the same way. Anastor jumped over a fallen log. Behind him, the sun bleached the forest a bloody red. Anastor thought he heard voices behind him. He kept on running. Coward… His father’s voice seemed to whisper. Is that all you know how to do? Run? You tread a coward’s path. Tell me, Anastor – what happened to bravery. Anastor gritted his teeth. Ignore it… Anastor broke into a clearing. His entire body ached. He stopped to catch his breath. Behind him, he heard hoof beats. Anastor cursed. Cavalry. From the sound, Anastor guessed his pursuers to number about ten strong. He hadn’t expected such a powerful force to come after him. Perhaps he’d just underestimated the Demon in Dregs’ utter contempt for the Pure. Anastor rushed to the side of the clearing, and ducked behind a tree. He pressed his cheek to the bark. He tried to slow his breathing. To no avail. He could only hope that it wouldn’t betray him. “You heard him. Kill the Pureborn.” A rider cantered into the clearing. The rider and his stallion were both armoured in iron. Anastor could see hazel skin and deep yellow eyes. An Impure. For an Impure to wear iron was the height of blasphemy. Of course, some said that cowardice was blasphemous. An entourage of other riders entered the clearing. There were over fifteen – dramatically more than Anastor had expected. Hounds weaved in and out of the men, their noses twitching. One man stood at the forefront of the throng. The man had grey streaking his hair, and wrinkles covered a face like worn leather. When he spoke, he had a weary, deep tone. “Perhaps he could be an asset.” The first rider frowned. “The Demon wouldn’t agree.” “Perhaps the Demon is wrong. We shouldn’t rely so heavily on one man. Especially not a man as bitter as him.” “You speak treason.” Anastor shivered at the coldness in the rider’s voice. Division ran even in the Rebellion. “Treason? You should know better Kirin – treason is a word used by the Pures in their terraced palaces. They happen to be the very things we are trying to overthrow.” Senda looked at Kirin with terrifying intensity. “But the boy isn't one of them. Didn't you see the battle? He hurt no one. Our spies said he even spoke of peace.” Kirin fell into a stubborn silence. Finally, he said, “He's one of them. He has bad blood. He will have to die The sun was rising in the sky. Soon the shadows that played to Anastor’s advantage would be gone – chased away by the morning. Soon Anastor’s hiding place would simply be the other side of a tree. Anastor crawled along the base of the tree trunk to a small hollow. He squeezed in. He fitted. Just. Kirin glanced about the clearing. Hunger flashed in eyes that were an unnatural yellow. “Go, on. Find the Pureborn. Bring him to me. I’ll kill him with my own blade.” “This is wrong!” the old man hissed. “He can’t be more than a child!” “It may be wrong, Senda. But it is justice.” Kirin galloped off, leaving Senda behind. Anastor heard a twig snap. He inhaled sharply. One of the riders had gotten close. The woman grimaced as she urged her horse through the trees, muttering about how “this was something only a Pureborn should do”. Her horse pawed the ground, and then sniffed. Anastor rose to a crouch. He knew he had to move. He stepped deeper into the forest. His feet crunched on the bracken. The noise was loud. The horse’s ears flicked. Anastor winced. He could only hope no rider had heard. He moved his foot back, and a few crinkled leaves were blown towards the clearing. Anastor felt his palms sweat. His heart, if possible, beat faster. No… He’d checked hadn’t he? He’d hidden and – No… He hadn’t checked the wind’s direction. He now stood upwind of fifteen armed soldiers – and their hounds. He was lucky they hadn’t already found him. Anastor tried to hurry while not making enough noise to alert the hounds to his presence. As Anastor stepped backwards, bracken crunched underfoot. A hound pointed its nose towards Anastor. Its dark eyes scanned the trees. Anastor, wincing with the noise of every step, backed deeper into the forest. The hound’s ears flicked. It lowered its head to sniff the ground. So far, it hadn’t seen Anastor. He gave a small sigh of relief. The hound’s ears flicked again. It barked. Then it rushed at Anastor. What little stealth Anastor had maintained, he discarded. Anastor sprinted through the trees. Behind him, shouts, barks and the clatter of hooves. Anastor glanced over his shoulder. He saw a flash of iron between the trees. He ran faster. The ground began to slope downwards. Anastor’s feet crunched frozen dirt. He could feel a looming presence as his pursuers gained on him… The trees suddenly thinned, and then the forest ended. Anastor entered the clearing – and was confronted with an enormous river. “No.” Anastor’s voice was weak from underuse. “No.” This river was the River Azure. The river was the largest of any within the Imperium, and fed the entirety of the Everlore Domain. The river snaked southwards towards the coast, and the great trader cities. And it had just cost Anastor his life. Figures on horses emerged from the wood, moving at a leisurely pace. They seemed almost mocking. They knew he was trapped. They were just flaunting their victory. Bastards. Be brave, Anastor… Rid the world of their evils… For the Imperium… For me… Anastor gritted his teeth. His brother’s dying words. His brother, who had fallen in a skirmish battle. His brother, who could never come back. Be brave… He could just give in. What would it be to Anastor? Just another broken promise. Just another man who would die unavenged. Coward, a voice whispered in his ears. You always fail. You always run. Anastor clenched his jaw. He wouldn’t freeze. He would fight. Here he would be slaughtered. He might as well go down with honour… “I won’t run…” The riders paused. Some of them smirked. “I will be brave…” The chief rider, Kirin, dismounted with a sword in his hands. He let out a snort of laughter. “For the Imperium…” Anastor closed his eyes. “For Katsuror…” Brother. Anastor opened his eyes. Around him, the riders looked bemused. Kirin smiled. “Done yet?” asked Kirin. Bastard. Anastor tried to rush at Kirin. He couldn’t make himself. He felt his muscles stiffen. So much for not being cowardly. He was freezing… Like he always did on the battlefield… Kirin advanced forward. He held his sword aloft, with the casual grace of someone trained with a sword. Anastor was at a disadvantage. “To be honest, I don’t care whether or not you run. Where would you go?” Kirin spread his arms, encompassing the river and the forest guarded by riders. “And I’d prefer it if you were brave. I don’t enjoy easy victories.” Kirin lunged forward, like a viper. Anastor recoiled. He just managed to get out of the way of the blade. He felt the wind of the attack brush his arm. Kirin gave another jab, at Anastor’s side this time. Anastor awkwardly brought his sword up to parry. Both hits would’ve only been light wounds. Kirin was only testing Anastor. Anastor wanted to run. But his heavy, terror-locked limbs wouldn’t allow such a thing. Neither would his honour. Kirin gave a final testing blow – a casual flick of the wrist. Anastor managed to defend himself. He could do this… He could pay back the bastards who had ripped his family apart… Kirin rushed Anastor. No more testing. This was it. This was the battle that would end Anastor’s life. Anastor scrambled out of sword range. “Why do this?” “My father was killed by a noble,” Kirin hissed, his teeth bared. “I consider this revenge.” Anastor scampered out of the way of a sword strike. He let out a whimper. Was he going to let the bastards who had broken him defeat him? Coward. Anastor felt sweat drip down his nose. He was breathing fast. Be brave, Anastor… Anastor gritted his teeth. For me… Anastor let out an anguished yell. He swung at Kirin. Kirin parried it effortlessly. Without his normal hesitation, Anastor lunged forward, bringing his sword in an arc. Kirin dodged – then dove towards Anastor. The flat side of the blade hit him in the stomach. Anastor was knocked off his feet. Kirin stood over him. Anastor tried to crawl back. These people had killed his friends. They’d broken the Solstynn clan. They had no mercy. They evidently wouldn’t hesitate to murder him. Kirin pressed the tip of his blade to Anastor’s chest. The arrogance, the smile – it had all vanished from his face. Replaced by a hard, steely look. Evidently, this man had seen war. He’d seen horror. And he’d survived. “This is for my father.” Perhaps Anastor imagined, but he thought he heard guilt in his voice. In barely a minute, Kirin had changed. But anger still smouldered in his eyes. Kirin would still kill Anastor. Kirin drew back his blade, jaw clenched… A messenger rushed out of the trees. Sweat beaded on his face. When he spoke his tone was urgent. “Orders from the Demon. Do not kill the Pureborn.” So what what do you think. I'd appreciate feedback. This is my first novel (I'm twelve)

Thanks for the feedback. Very helpful. I'll go and change that

Sorry didn't mean to post this twice

Hi guys, So I've written a story - well the beginning of one - and I wasn't sure whether or not it was good. This isn't related to the cosmere or Brandon so if you want you can stop reading. I wasn't sure where to post this, so this may be a bad idea. But oh well. heres the story: Chapter I Anastor Anastor ran through the silent trees. They were dead. All of them. He’d stood, frozen, unable to move, as his friends were cut down. He’d watched them go down in a wave of blood, steel and fire. He’d never see them again. Never again would he see their mischievous smiles; never again would he listen to one of their crazy stories. Anastor gritted his teeth to hold back the tears. Blood soaked Anastor’s tunic. This battle had been brutal. Far more than any Anastor had seen before. The Imperial Army had been ambushed. The enemy had descended, like phantoms, down from the hills. A massacre had ensured. He had survived though. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Anastor glanced behind him. In the half-light, he could imagine hooded riders approaching from afar. He could imagine their twisted blades flashing in the moonlight. He ran faster. The ground still shook. The Imperium’s Pureborn had broken the earth in a tectonic fury. The battlefield had been above a fault line. Somehow though, the rebels had prevailed. Clearly they weren't fighting mere peasants. Plumes of smoke rose above the battlefield behind him. A part of him considered going back – but he knew that wasn’t an option. Anyone who had remained on the battlefield would be already dead. And he was a Pureborn. In the rebellions alighting across the Imperium, headed by the elusive Demon in Dregs, all had the same motive – to break Pureborn power. Anastor didn’t fancy his chances. The trees around Anastor waved their leaves with a detached elegance. The last leaves of autumn still stained the ground in russet. The paradise here was in mocking contrast to the battle that had just occurred. Within the forest, every shadow seemed to resemble an enemy soldier. Saplings became spears thrusting to the sky; leaves became banners rippling in the wind. His own quiet footfalls sounded resonant – almost like the charge of cavalry in the battle that just occurred… Almost like the charge of cavalry that had killed everyone Anastor had ever called a friend… He’d lost his brother the same way. Anastor jumped over a fallen log. Behind him, the sun bleached the forest a bloody red. Anastor thought he heard voices behind him. He kept on running. Coward… His father’s voice seemed to whisper. Is that all you know how to do? Run? You tread a coward’s path. Tell me, Anastor – what happened to bravery. Anastor gritted his teeth. Ignore it… Anastor broke into a clearing. His entire body ached. He stopped to catch his breath. Behind him, he heard hoof beats. Anastor cursed. Cavalry. From the sound, Anastor guessed his pursuers to number about ten strong. He hadn’t expected such a powerful force to come after him. Perhaps he’d just underestimated the Demon in Dregs’ utter contempt for the Pure. Anastor rushed to the side of the clearing, and ducked behind a tree. He pressed his cheek to the bark. He tried to slow his breathing. To no avail. He could only hope that it wouldn’t betray him. “You heard him. Kill the Pureborn.” A rider cantered into the clearing. The rider and his stallion were both armoured in iron. Anastor could see hazel skin and deep yellow eyes. An Impure. For an Impure to wear iron was the height of blasphemy. Of course, some said that cowardice was blasphemous. An entourage of other riders entered the clearing. There were over fifteen – dramatically more than Anastor had expected. Hounds weaved in and out of the men, their noses twitching. One man stood at the forefront of the throng. The man had grey streaking his hair, and wrinkles covered a face like worn leather. When he spoke, he had a weary, deep tone. “Perhaps he could be an asset.” The first rider frowned. “The Demon wouldn’t agree.” “Perhaps the Demon is wrong. We shouldn’t rely so heavily on one man. Especially not a man as bitter as him.” “You speak treason.” Anastor shivered at the coldness in the rider’s voice. Division ran even in the Rebellion. “Treason? You should know better Kirin – treason is a word used by the Pures in their terraced palaces. They happen to be the very things we are trying to overthrow.” Senda looked at Kirin with terrifying intensity. “But the boy isn't one of them. Didn't you see the battle? He hurt no one. Our spies said he even spoke of peace.” Kirin fell into a stubborn silence. Finally, he said, “He's one of them. He has bad blood. He will have to die The sun was rising in the sky. Soon the shadows that played to Anastor’s advantage would be gone – chased away by the morning. Soon Anastor’s hiding place would simply be the other side of a tree. Anastor crawled along the base of the tree trunk to a small hollow. He squeezed in. He fitted. Just. Kirin glanced about the clearing. Hunger flashed in eyes that were an unnatural yellow. “Go, on. Find the Pureborn. Bring him to me. I’ll kill him with my own blade.” “This is wrong!” the old man hissed. “He can’t be more than a child!” “It may be wrong, Senda. But it is justice.” Kirin galloped off, leaving Senda behind. Anastor heard a twig snap. He inhaled sharply. One of the riders had gotten close. The woman grimaced as she urged her horse through the trees, muttering about how “this was something only a Pureborn should do”. Her horse pawed the ground, and then sniffed. Anastor rose to a crouch. He knew he had to move. He stepped deeper into the forest. His feet crunched on the bracken. The noise was loud. The horse’s ears flicked. Anastor winced. He could only hope no rider had heard. He moved his foot back, and a few crinkled leaves were blown towards the clearing. Anastor felt his palms sweat. His heart, if possible, beat faster. No… He’d checked hadn’t he? He’d hidden and – No… He hadn’t checked the wind’s direction. He now stood upwind of fifteen armed soldiers – and their hounds. He was lucky they hadn’t already found him. Anastor tried to hurry while not making enough noise to alert the hounds to his presence. As Anastor stepped backwards, bracken crunched underfoot. A hound pointed its nose towards Anastor. Its dark eyes scanned the trees. Anastor, wincing with the noise of every step, backed deeper into the forest. The hound’s ears flicked. It lowered its head to sniff the ground. So far, it hadn’t seen Anastor. He gave a small sigh of relief. The hound’s ears flicked again. It barked. Then it rushed at Anastor. What little stealth Anastor had maintained, he discarded. Anastor sprinted through the trees. Behind him, shouts, barks and the clatter of hooves. Anastor glanced over his shoulder. He saw a flash of iron between the trees. He ran faster. The ground began to slope downwards. Anastor’s feet crunched frozen dirt. He could feel a looming presence as his pursuers gained on him… The trees suddenly thinned, and then the forest ended. Anastor entered the clearing – and was confronted with an enormous river. “No.” Anastor’s voice was weak from underuse. “No.” This river was the River Azure. The river was the largest of any within the Imperium, and fed the entirety of the Everlore Domain. The river snaked southwards towards the coast, and the great trader cities. And it had just cost Anastor his life. Figures on horses emerged from the wood, moving at a leisurely pace. They seemed almost mocking. They knew he was trapped. They were just flaunting their victory. Bastards. Be brave, Anastor… Rid the world of their evils… For the Imperium… For me… Anastor gritted his teeth. His brother’s dying words. His brother, who had fallen in a skirmish battle. His brother, who could never come back. Be brave… He could just give in. What would it be to Anastor? Just another broken promise. Just another man who would die unavenged. Coward, a voice whispered in his ears. You always fail. You always run. Anastor clenched his jaw. He wouldn’t freeze. He would fight. Here he would be slaughtered. He might as well go down with honour… “I won’t run…” The riders paused. Some of them smirked. “I will be brave…” The chief rider, Kirin, dismounted with a sword in his hands. He let out a snort of laughter. “For the Imperium…” Anastor closed his eyes. “For Katsuror…” Brother. Anastor opened his eyes. Around him, the riders looked bemused. Kirin smiled. “Done yet?” asked Kirin. Bastard. Anastor tried to rush at Kirin. He couldn’t make himself. He felt his muscles stiffen. So much for not being cowardly. He was freezing… Like he always did on the battlefield… Kirin advanced forward. He held his sword aloft, with the casual grace of someone trained with a sword. Anastor was at a disadvantage. “To be honest, I don’t care whether or not you run. Where would you go?” Kirin spread his arms, encompassing the river and the forest guarded by riders. “And I’d prefer it if you were brave. I don’t enjoy easy victories.” Kirin lunged forward, like a viper. Anastor recoiled. He just managed to get out of the way of the blade. He felt the wind of the attack brush his arm. Kirin gave another jab, at Anastor’s side this time. Anastor awkwardly brought his sword up to parry. Both hits would’ve only been light wounds. Kirin was only testing Anastor. Anastor wanted to run. But his heavy, terror-locked limbs wouldn’t allow such a thing. Neither would his honour. Kirin gave a final testing blow – a casual flick of the wrist. Anastor managed to defend himself. He could do this… He could pay back the bastards who had ripped his family apart… Kirin rushed Anastor. No more testing. This was it. This was the battle that would end Anastor’s life. Anastor scrambled out of sword range. “Why do this?” “My father was killed by a noble,” Kirin hissed, his teeth bared. “I consider this revenge.” Anastor scampered out of the way of a sword strike. He let out a whimper. Was he going to let the bastards who had broken him defeat him? Coward. Anastor felt sweat drip down his nose. He was breathing fast. Be brave, Anastor… Anastor gritted his teeth. For me… Anastor let out an anguished yell. He swung at Kirin. Kirin parried it effortlessly. Without his normal hesitation, Anastor lunged forward, bringing his sword in an arc. Kirin dodged – then dove towards Anastor. The flat side of the blade hit him in the stomach. Anastor was knocked off his feet. Kirin stood over him. Anastor tried to crawl back. These people had killed his friends. They’d broken the Solstynn clan. They had no mercy. They evidently wouldn’t hesitate to murder him. Kirin pressed the tip of his blade to Anastor’s chest. The arrogance, the smile – it had all vanished from his face. Replaced by a hard, steely look. Evidently, this man had seen war. He’d seen horror. And he’d survived. “This is for my father.” Perhaps Anastor imagined, but he thought he heard guilt in his voice. In barely a minute, Kirin had changed. But anger still smouldered in his eyes. Kirin would still kill Anastor. Kirin drew back his blade, jaw clenched… A messenger rushed out of the trees. Sweat beaded on his face. When he spoke his tone was urgent. “Orders from the Demon. Do not kill the Pureborn.” So what what do you think. I'd appreciate feedback. This is my first novel (I'm twelve)

Strongly agree with this. A big problem with Stormlight is no one dies. I don't want needless death, but i get the impression that everyone is immortal. Also ( this is more of a quibble than anything ) Gaz and co become obedient far too quickly. They suddenly turn from monsters to kind and caring characters. Especially the leader of the group (can't recall his name)

You can change anything in a cosmere work (preferably Stormlight). What do you change? Personally I would have made Shallan's chapters in WoK more action packed as the first ones dragged.

No idea why Azul's post made me laugh so much

What is the best Stormlight book? Explain why they are the best ( these explanations can include spoilers ). Let the discussion begin!

What are the military strengths of Roshar? And what are they relative to each other? So we know Alethkar is the strongest, followed closely by Jah Keved. On the shattered plains there are 100,000 men, a ridiculous amount. Shinovar doesn't have an army. (I'm not sure about the last one) So what is the combined military strength of Roshar? And what is the military strengths of places like Azir and Babatharnam.

Thanks for all the replies! So something I was wondering is what the population of Shinovar is. It seems to resemble earth, so wouldn't the larger fertility result in higher population. Also without war, more food could be transported to cities, instead of, say, war camps. And armies are usually made of about 1% of the population ( though it could be higher on Roshar due in o should casters ) so that could make a difference. Also how much of a population is sent to war on the shattered plains. 2%? 3%? In a pre industrial society this would usually be incredibly high, but, well... soulcasters. Any replies will be much appreciated.

Which is better? Personally I massively prefer Stormlight. It's so much more epic, so much more rich in detail... But I'm interested in your opinions. So, in your opinion, which is better - Mistborn or Stormlight? (Back up your arguments if you can)

Personally, i think it could be Ialai. I don't know though. What are your ideas?

I'm a bit of a population buff, and I was wondering something - what are the populations of Roshar? For instance, what is the population of Alethkar? Kharbranth? Shinovar? Sorry if I missed it in the book. Let's see if we can get a discussion going