Archer

Another time. Another place. It was dark. He was thirsty. He had battled tirelessly all day, fighting monsters that had seemingly been ripped straight out of his most scarring childhood nightmares. “But did he stop fighting? No! Not for a minute. Five, ten, fifteen Kolossals he slew, mechanically incapacitating them one by one.” In the dark cabin, the firelight flickered on young Lance Klasten’s awestruck face. “Uncle,” the boy asked, “what about the dogs?” The older man laughed. He grinned, his white teeth reflection the yellow light. “You’ve heard this story too many times. You know it so well…” He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes to think. For the longest time, he didn’t say a word. Lance had just begun to think he had fallen asleep when he suddenly his uncle began to speak again in a slow, dulcet tone. “He got lucky. I don’t know if it was feruchemically induced or just fate, but for some reason the beasts stopped coming. He could see them in the distance, gathering together, preparing another assault. But for a few brief moments the Kolossals stopped advancing across the roof.” He began to accompany his narration with hand gestures. “But the sea of seekradors had no such reservations. They knew where he was. He could see in their eyes that they were on the verge of charging him, to swarm him and gobble him up.” The man clapped his hands together, causing the startled Lance to jump. “What did he do, Uncle? Tell me. Please!” The old man was on a roll now. He moved so he could look the boy in the eye. Speaking softly, he continued. “He was a smart one. He knew the beasts were coming for him, so he did the only thing he could do. Bodies of Kolossals lay strewn on the rooftop around him. He smeared their blood on his clothes, then prepared to store heat to lower his body temperature. He would lower it so low he’d appear to dead.” Lance looked skeptical. He was about to interrupt, but the other man held up a finger to shush him. “Then, he took the body of a dead Kolossal and pushed it over the edge, into the pack of dogs! As he lay on the roof, not daring to move, he could hear them tearing it to shreds. Gnashing and tearing and lapping up every last bit. By the time they were done, even they couldn’t tell what they’d just eaten. There was nothing left but strips of cloth.” “So, how’d you get here?” Lance asked. His uncle had never gone into so much detail before. Excitement built in him as he sensed he was about to learn something new about his mentor. “I hitched a ride,” came the cryptic reply. “This ranch may have been trashed, but I rebuilt it. The important parts, at least. There’s no limit to what one can do with a little time and a strong will.” The two of them fell into a companionable silence. The old man rocked in his chair, watching the fire dance in his nephew’s eyes. He didn’t know that this would be the last night he would get to spend with him. He wasn’t aware of the half-buried rock on the pathway home that his nephew would fall upon and crack open his head. He didn’t know that the boy possessed great powers of his own, inherited from his mother, that would one day be used to alter the fate of the Alleyverse. No. As he watched the boy slowly drift off to sleep, all he saw was a child-like wonder and a strong will. A will that reminded him of his own. A will that would be tested in the days and months to come as the boy fought for his life in a drab hospital room, a thousand miles away. ******* Modern Day. “REMEMBER.” The old man often began his missives with the word. It was important to him. Just as helping his friends was important to him. That’s why, after nearly two decades of living peacefully in retirement, he’d agreed to return for one last run. He stood outside the front door of the mansion housing the Ghostblood Ball, debating when to make his entrance. He heard screams coming from inside, so he knew it was almost time. As he stood on the front porch, he waved over some mimes and slipped them a bribe. Just in case I need to make a Weird Al reference. Or are beavers and weasels too dissimilar? The mimes facepalmed, then quickly patched the hole in the fourth wall he created. A pair of beavers was sniffing at his leg, so the old man picked them up, one in each hand. He was a strange sight. He looked about sixty years old in his faded brown clothes and Kevlar vest that just pinched his scruffy white beard, but he carried himself with confidence. He had dozens of earrings and a few bracers, but no visible weapons. The screams were dying down, so the man squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, then kicked down the door. ****** The front door shattered, frightening those who were trying to escape through it. A spry old man stepped through, into the brightly lit room. The sporadically burning fires around the room cast an eerie glow upon his face. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he roared with the voice of an experienced commander. “My name is Mace Klasten. Who wants a beaver?” Mace lobbed the beavers in his hands at the nearest Ghostbloods. As the crowd around him panicked, he started memorizing faces. Even if they escaped, he would hunt them down. He would find them. And he would give them a beaver.

********** The dragon felt the dog tickle his rear leg. "Ya want to take it there?" he growled. "This ain't me trippin' you know, those scales take me a mean long time to regrow." He whipped his tail around to hit the dog. As he did so, he quickly raked his claws along the floor, creating a spark that ignited the puddles of acid that lay around him. "Tough luck, pooch. Don't think you're flame proof," he said before striking again with his spiked tail.

“Hey, buddy, why you grilling the boss?” the pink dragon asked, lithely landing on an entire section of seats. He smiled when Fangblade donned his claws. “Aww, that’s mad cute, kid. You got moxie.” The dragon looked knowingly at the Control Booth, as if he could see through the one-way mirror that sperated the mediators from the spectators. “Kröjk ain’t gonna give a thirsty young’un nothing. ‘Sides, I got claws too.” He extended his claws to their full length. They impaled several seats, and at least one double bagel. “Thing about brick hea-" Mid-sentence, the dragon spat at Fangblade. Simultaneously, he flapped his wings, creating a sudden wind to knock them off balance. “Let’s dance!” he growled evilly, snapping his teeth. "You smell delicious, if a little crispy."

Klasten nibbled on the apple crisp. It was good, but it needed chocolate. "No," he said with his mouth full. "Not yet, at least. Trouble is, we've had trouble with apples. They keep rusting whenever we slice them up. Good idea though. We could use a bright fellow like you around, spouting good ideas." He put his viking helmet on. "Got any mayonnaise?" he asked. "Nevermind. I can do without." As they talked, he began to attack the beavers in the traditional way of his people.

“Camera three, move in for a wide- WHAT WAS THAT?” Drak the Assistant Mediator watched in disbelief as a large dog leaped from the stands. Before he even had the time to scream, “CODE YELLOW!” the disaster management team was already swinging into action. As soon as the perimeter sensors were tripped, the sentry Tineyes sighted the intruder with their [Reckoners-style] guns. With inhumanly accurate aim, they targeted the dog with their guns the size of small cannons. Within seconds they were firing, their guns belching short blue laser beams in rapid succession. They maintained fire on the dog as he moved across the arena. Seated at the back of the control room, shrouded in shadow, the Head Mediator whispered a command to one of his lackeys. “Are you sure, sire?” the minion questioned, shocked. “….” The Head Mediator responded. The colour drained from the other man’s face. “Ri- right away, sir.” The man raced pressed a button on the desk. “Harmony preserve us,” he whimpered. ***** Isaac the Intern nearly spit out his double bagel. A dog had entered the arena. And was presumably being torn to shreds by the turrets that had risen from the wall. Since when do we have hidden murder guns? He quietly wondered. Suddenly, a glowing symbol appeared in the air on the far side of the arena. It was a modified aon, shaped like a line spinning in a circle. The word ‘loading’ appeared underneath it. Then it disappeared, and a thirty-foot, strawberry pink dragon appeared in its place [fresh from I Hate Dragons world]. Isaac laughed. Sure, it had massive teeth, a spiked tail, and claws the size of tables. But it was pink. “You laughing at me, bud?” The dragon growled with a New York accent. It reared its head back and expectorated in Isaac’s direction. The dragon’s spit was black and chunky, and it disintegrated Isaac instantly. Satisfied he’d made his point clear, the dragon swooped down towards Fangblade, claws outstretched to pick them up. He didn’t want to have to kill the little guy, but he had to remove him from the premises. Orders were orders, after all. ***** In the control room, the Head Mediator whispered another command. Nodding, his second-in-command relayed the order. The soldiers firing the guns ceased fire, all except two. Taking careful aim, they turned their guns and fired at Atticus and Mara, to bring their health down to what it had been previously. "...." The Mediator said. His minions laughed at his hilarious joke.

The roof: Klasten swore. Appropriately, it was a beaver related curse. “I hate fighting beavers. Who could bring themselves to punch such a majestic animal?” He watched as Tena, apparently having no such reservations, twirled her Shardbattleaxe. Not to be outdone, he got his lasso out, ready to whip the beavers back. Just as he was about to engage, he happened to glance at the spanreed in his inner-coat pocket. It was flashing. “Hold that thought,” Klasten said, ducking behind a chimney for some privacy. “Give me something good,” he muttered as the spanreed worked its magic. The job was done in a matter of seconds. Four words had been inked onto the roof, in an antiquated, flowing script. ‘REMEMBER I AM COMING’ they read. When Klasten returned to face the beavers, he was noticeably excited. “Let’s do this!” he cried. “Bad beavers. Go spike somebody else.” Klasten spun his lasso around his head, then released it. It hooked on one of the roof’s decorative spires. Knowing Tena could just fly away if she got in trouble, he immediately jumped over the roof. "Slay some for me, Teens!" he called to her as he stepped into the abyss, giving her a thumbs up. He rappelled down quickly, barely making it to the ground before the rope snapped off. Teeth marks were visible on the loose end. ******* Minutes later, Klasten had found his way into the ballroom. The place was is a state of disarray. Beavers waddled menacingly towards the guests, and a few small fires burned in various places. It reminded Klasten of the Alleyverse Zoo last time he’d accidentally opened one of the cages. A beaver started heading his way, so Klasten hid behind an overturned statue. He found himself crouching next to the harried looking announcer. “Hey,” he said. “Hi,” Klasten replied. “Got a weapon?” The man shook his head. Klasten shook his head, disappointed. “Rule number four,” he lectured. “Always carry a weapon.” He pulled a single bullet from his ammo belt, and handed it to the man. He then passed him his last Tia card. I need to buy some new ones, he thought. If I survive this. “That’ll take you to my home planet. I would tell you the name, but you probably already know it. After all, it’s famous worldwide.” He paused to consider that choice of words, but soon continued. “Take the bullet. Show it to the first person you meet. They’ll recognize it’s mine and throw you in jail for stealing it. That’ll give you free food and a roof over your head. Plus, you’ll get to learn about our justice system!” A spike jutted into the ground at his feet. Klasten leaped to the side dexterously to avoid the follow-up attack. He ran for the exit. En route, he bumped into Nogard. “Are those apple chips?” Klasten fangirled. “Trade you a cookie for one of them. My cookies are certified hemalurgy-free, baked fresh(ish) from the TUBA bakery.” He procured a cookie from his bag and offered it to Nogard. Nearby, somebody screamed. Klasten ignored them. "You know, apple crisp cookies would be fun to try. Have you ever thought of going into baking? TUBA's always looking for new members."

Isaac watched as two combatants died. He waited patiently for the medics to come on to the field to help them. But his waiting was in vain. "Hey!" he shouted. "Aren't you gonna heal those guys?"

Where do you need the mimes?! Oh. I see you only summoned me here to break my three-day streak. That's not the kind of thing I expected to be broken here. I lost The Game last week, when I came across this thread then decided to Google it. And now I've lost again. On the upside, there's memes I can upvote. Woot.

Thanks for the post, Mac. I appreciate how similar Alleymatics is to Brandon Magic Systems™. Unlike normal interactions, where energy is applied to an object to alter it, the object itself has power that can be commanded. If the entire universe is imbued with this energy, masters of Alleymatics are only limited by their mental capacity. The key to all this is the commands. Those who know Alleymatics have some way of communicating their desires to the energy of the universe. After that, they just need to know enough about the target to be able to intelligently manipulate it. (Winging it would be very bad. Messing with that much energy is liable to cause a sizable explosion if you make a mistake.) I’m reminded of the telekinesis in Defending Elysium. What will need to be studied is whether, like in DE, the commands can be blocked. Next time I feel like starting an armageddon, I might try shutting down Voidus in such a way. The other thing that warrants further study is if an Epic with the ability to create matter could use Alleymatics. If they create matter, is it automatically charged with the power of the universe? I doubt they’d consciously know how the matter is created, but they have to subconsciously know, so it’s possible they could master Alleymatics. I have trouble seeing how anyone else could easily hack the system. Even if you think you’ve made something new, you’re working with components that were there before. The thing they create would have to be created out of the raw Alleyverse energy, and that’s beyond most people’s capabilities.

Imagine Prachett's books are like the cosmere. Most of them are connected. Some are connected by being in the same universe or planet (if you can call that a planet ), others have the same characters and setting (like one of Brandon's series do eg. SA or Mistborn). But like Brandon's works, it's best to start at the start. Begin with the stuff he wrote first, then work your way forward. The Colour of Magic and The Light Fantastic are the first Discworld books, so I'd recommend beginning with them. Rincewind and Death are standout characters you'll immediately fall in love with. After that you can follow through those character's adventures, or you can branch off into other arcs. Guards Guards! will introduce you to the Watch series, his tales of the Ankhmorporkic police force's activities. (Thud is one of those books, and I'd argue it's his best.) Then there's the adventures of Moist VonLipwig. Bad name, funny plot. He appeares first in Going Postal, then in Making Money. Both are good reads. There's plenty of other stuff too. The Wyrd Sisters is an excellent book, with strong female protagonists. That's a good arc to get into too. My recommendation would be to sample a variety of his works (likes the ones mentioned above) then if you really like any, read his other books with the same characters in them. Enjoy!

Klasten was tempted to pour jellybeans on the heads of the combatants, but that would have been a waste of good jellybeans. Instead, he shot some of the fireworks he had on hand into the air. They made loud noises and exploded into bursts of pretty light. If this duel is a distraction for something, I'm storming complicit now. Disguising it as an errant firework, he also shot a flare into the air. He quickly scanned the briefly illuminated area for threats. Mace had taught him that paranoia was the key to survival. That, and never riding something you can't (theoretically) eat. He took both of those to heart.

A cloaked figure approached. He pinned a message to the board, taking care to ensure it completely covered the steel plate that had been posted earlier. This is too easy, he thought to himself as he slipped away into the night.

When Tena stuck her hand in the bag, Klasten bit it. "Begone Ironeyes!" he shouted from inside the bag. His hand, holding a medieval-style torch, reached out of the bag. "Oh. It's you," he said. He then grabbed a protruding part of the roof and used it to pull himself out of the bag. "Don't sneak up on a guy like that. Want a jellybean? I found them near the bottom." He munched on a handful as he tried to find a comfortable place to sit.

Klasten felt the grappling gun get ripped out of his fingers. It flew outwards, into the abyss of darkness above the garden. Rust! Unknown hostile or hostiles. Either equipped with a strong magnet and darkvision-tech, or steelsight and allomancy, Klasten thought as his mind went into overdrive. Gravity gleefully took hold of the gun, pulling it downwards. Klasten didn't see what or who it hit when it reached the ground. If he's got atium, I'm toast. That is to say I'm soft and warm on the inside, and good in a jam. Klasten grabbed the edge of the roof and pushed himself forward. He smoothly slid forwards, like a skeleton sledder starting their run. He easily slid off of the roof, into thin air. Ha! Try and hit me now Inquisitor! He prepared to fire his grappling gun to slow his fall. Then he remembered that he didn't have one any more. Push! He thought, willing himself to develop allomantic abilities. That didn't work either. ******* The author was tempted to change viewpoints to leave the real fate of his character ambiguous after they supposedly fell from the roof of a building, but that felt unoriginal. ******* Thump. Klasten's ammo belt landed heavily on the ground, surprising some party goers. A half-second later, his bag landed with a woomph next to it. Its owner was nowhere to be seen.

Klasten felt the source of a feeling behind him. Something cliche was happening. He focused on it, noting its location. In case he had to slay it later, he pointed his grappling gun in its direction, but kept it resting on the top of the roof. I should buy a light-line, he thought. They're much more efficient. But then, that's not the reason I collect hings, is it? Klasten lay in silence, waiting for the duel to start. He wished he had a brass metalmind. Then he could pop a bunch of popcorn and send it raining down on the people below.

Klasten, unused to people retaliating, ceased throwing popcorn at the book-readers. "SMOKE SCREEN!" he shouted, throwing an entire bag of popcorn in the air. Completely visible, but feeling twice as confident in his sneaking abilities, he bolted for the side door. He ran up the stairs, headed for the top level of the house. When he reached the attic, he punched the glass out of the nearest window and climbed out onto the dark roof. "I am bad man!" he said, feeling guilty. Klasten lithely sneaked along the black roof tiles. The decorative spires cast long shadows over his path. Regardless, it didn't take long for Klasten to hear the sound of the band beginning their suspenseful music. One hand rummaging in his bag to find a weapon to use, he crept up the edge to look down, hoping to watch the duel from above.

Plot twist: Eric discovered the name of a Shard in Dragonsteel Prime, then chose his username just so he could say the 'Shard of Chaos' is named after him when Brandon cannonizes it in 2096. And then he set up a discord server for the added irony.