Archer

Welcome! What, in your opinion, is the best cosmere power for ruining a surprise party? You can choose whether your friends are attempting to surprise you on your birthday, or if you are a member of the friend group attempting to sabotage the event.

The rope was coarse and painful to hold when Tion caught it. Grimacing, he pulled it around his waist and knotted it in the front. That allowed him to pull himself up the line to hug the mast. “It’s a good thing I don’t get seasick!” he cried, then promptly vomited the contents of his stomach all over the deck. The rushing water quickly sucked the goop away, leaving him a quivering mess on his knees. “Bleh. There’s a first time for-” he had to stop to choke down a second wave of nausea. He knew he had stuff for that in his coat, but he couldn’t remember in which pocket the chewing moss was contained. The god watched his rapier bounce back and forth on the foredeck. Thunder cracked above them. It was midday, yet the sky was dark. Tion looked up, watching as yet another wave crashed into the side of the boat. Then he began to panic, shouting frantically, but his words were lost in the stormy din, pulled from his mouth by the howling wind. He pointed, waving his arm desperately, eyes fixed on where he had seen his sword, somehow haven fallen off of his belt amidst all the chaos. In a fear-driven moment of resolve, he pushed himself off of the mast and fell forward with the rocking of the boat. The rope snapped taut, stopping him from flying overboard. His legs felt like lead when he scraped his knee on a rail. Then, there. A flash of metal. He pitched himself to the side just in time to pounce on the rapier, gripping its blade in his hand, feeling no pain. Only relief. Thunder boomed again, somehow even louder than before. He'd had a dream about this, only a few short weeks ago. Or maybe it had been a vision. Alone in the ocean, his powers rendered useless, waiting to die. Now that fear was actualized. At the complete mercy of the elements, Tion, god of Sensation, crawled back to the mast and held on for dear life.

Kingston nearly stumbled when NullBlade pulled him back by grabbing his forearm. "Alright," he said. "Since you'd rather dance, let's tango." He reached his free hand forward to rest on the Epic's right shoulder, placing them in an awkward slow dance position. Milking the moment, he shuffled his feet and swayed his hips, bumping up against the people around them. Over NullBlade's shoulder, he was able to see that the hooded man was pretending to window shop, likely watching the goings on through the reflections in the glass. "I'm gonna dip on three, okay? One-" Kingston fell forward, arms outstretched to break his fall in case his dancing partner had slow reflexes. As he did, his face shimmered. A three-day stubble appeared on his chin, giving it sharper definition. The mask he wore changed too, taking on the colour of a shimmering black pearl, better concealing the tint of the sunglasses over his eyes. All over the rest of his body, dirt stains appeared. The Semdry winked conspiratorially at NullBlade. The motion was completely lost behind his mask and Disguiser's Lens. "I really thought you'd be a better dancer," he teased, offering no more explanation. "Now that I've told you all about myself, you must tell me what brings you round these parts. From the look in your eyes, I think you're searching for love. I could introduce you to a couple lady friends here, if you're not too shy."

“It’s not a sword, it’s a doorstop of my own design. As I told the young lady, simply wedge the point into the ground at the base of any door and it will hold it open indefinitely.” As he demonstrated the motion with a copper short sword, he noticed the aluminum sheath on Nullblade’s hip. “Oh, I see I’ve already given you one. I’m sorry, but I have a strict ‘one doorstop per customer’ rule, you greedy gancho.” Kingston threw away the weapon, arcing it over the crowd to hit a building on the far side. People reacted strangely when you threw swords at them. Some, like Nullblade, became indignant. Others dodged out of the way or simply ducked their heads, depending on the amount of alcohol in their system. Regardless of their response, everyone’s natural reaction was to flinch at least a little bit. All except the hooded figure standing across the street. He was doing a good job of not appearing to stare, but despite being nearly impaled by Kingson’s impromptu projectile, he didn’t flinch. That’s how the Smedry knew he was trouble. “You know what, Nullblade, I’ve had a change of heart. Your confronting me was just the convincing I needed to change my stick-throwing ways. What do you say we go somewhere else so we can discuss this and any other behavioural corrections you may care to suggest? I would love to hear whatever ideas you may have.” Skittishly, Kingston started trying to walk away. He wanted to get lost in the crowd so he could change his disguise. Anywhere was better than here right now.

"I heard someone say they need a crowbar!" From across the street, Kingston threw a black claymore that, in the wrong lighting and with a little bit of imagination, could conceivably be used as a crowbar. It nearly impaled the woman dancing next to Crow Johnson, but fortunately she side-stepped it and it clattered harmlessly to the cobblestones. "There's more of the exact same sword where that came from, just step this way, ladies and gentlemen!" The distraction made it difficult to tell if Folorian spoke before, after, or at the same time as Crow. Meanwhile, Kingston produced another pair of sunglasses from his pocket and placed them over top of the ones he was already wearing. Their tint was hard to identify in the semi-darkness of the street, but it would be widely agreed that it was not a good look to combine two lenses and a costume mask. Fashion wasn't the Smedry's strong suit. He scanned the gathering in front of him for trouble. Tonight would be the perfect opportunity for his pursuers to ambush him, though he was confident that he was being subtle enough to avoid detection.

The ship was turning slightly as Sagitta's mighty thrusts overpowered Tion's. He redoubled his efforts in an attempt to correct them. Progress was being made, he could no longer touch bottom with his oar. Already, the chilly water had numbed his fingers. Every third stroke or so, the top of a wave crested over the side, spraying foam and icy droplets into his face. The god concentrated on Sagitta's voice. It was oddly comforting to hear her talk about better times so wistfully; it reduced the pain and terror of the moment enough to keep his arms pumping. "Must be nice to have a home! Someplace to fall back on when it all goes south. If we make it through this, I promise to take you back to Ta'e'lio. You can check up on-" "SENSATION!" Tion looked back to see Intensity running up the beach. It was the fastest he'd ever seen the deity move. Between them, the water was littered with bodies floating around the pier. Some were face-down, others splashed idly. None of them were swimming with any skill. Dark clouds coalesced above the island, swirling menacingly. It began to rain. "No time to waste, batten down the hatches!" Tion set down his oar and rushed to secure the sails. "I've always wanted to say that." The ship didn't have much of a below-decks, only a hollow semi-circle beneath the planks, maybe a meter tall at its center. He started shoving cloth through the trap door that led to it. The loose items would be easy enough to stow. It was the mast that worried him. If we make it through this, we're going to need it. Otherwise, we'll drift right back into his clutches. It was at times like these that he wished he had a god to pray to.

“We can rest once we’re out of here,” Tion shouted, having to compete with the strengthening wind to be heard. Rudder fixed in place, he made his way to the starboard side of the vessel - which he had dubbed The Sweet Escape in his head. The god hefted an oar over the side into the water, where it clunked into the sandbar below them. He was tempted to wack one of the nearer pursuers with it, but he didn’t have the energy. Instead he just pushed off the bottom of the seabed as hard as he could to get them going. Behind them, he heard a splash. Someone had jumped in the water. He pitied the poor man who tried to swim in these waves. It was starting to get choppy and would only get worse the further out they went. “You can swim, right?” he asked Sagitta. A quick look around showed they didn’t have any flotation devices to help her if it came to it, just a few secured boxes of rope and rigging, a line of chain, and the benches they sat on in front of the platform with the steering handle. “The trick is to keep your head above water and your limbs moving at all times. Or just hang on to your oar and try not to freeze, if it comes to it!” Another splash from behind them. The water around them was still infuriatingly shallow, maybe only chest height. The herd wasn’t what scared him though. There was a storm rolling in unnaturally fast. An intense one.

“I remember my mother called me Kingston, so that’s what I’ve stuck with.” The man shook Cassie’s hand, eyes lingering on his forearm. Luckily for her, he didn’t know much about Rosharan technology. “That’s a nice piece of jewelry. I’m old hat at this, so I’ll try and drive some customers your way. Oh, you should watch your step, sir!” The Smedry subtly tripped a passing figure, a young man in a plain, but well-tailored suit. He was on him in an instant, brushing him off and offering a hand up. “It’s these cobblestones, they’re pointing every which way these days, wouldn’t you agree, sir? I’d expect a Thug like you to have better balance, but…” “I am no Thug! Get your hands off of me, skaa’s son.” He straightened his mask, which was designed to look like a pair of gold coins. Instinctively, the noble checked his pockets. “I’ll have you know I am a sharpshooter Coinshot of some renown round the shooting clubs. And void take us, you’ve smashed my vials.” Kingston became very still. “I did not break your vials,” he said calmly. His words had an authoritative quality to them, as if they were being spoken directly into the man’s mind. His victim blinked. “No, no, of course not. Just an accident, that’s all. I’ll file a complaint with the City after this.” “There’s a woman here selling metals, but I don’t think you could afford them.” His chest swelled at the insult. Dismissively, he turned to Cassie, already pulling out his wallet. “Nonsense! You girl, show me your wares.” Kingston smiled, and resumed handing out his durable walking sticks, “three times more flame resistant than a dueling cane!” (Ashbringer, you're welcome to narrate for the NPC, his name is Neil Patrick Charris.)

“Excuse me, fellow TUBAists, this matter requires my attention.” Kingston nodded to the group he’d conversed with, thanking them for their assistance. His eyes lingered on NullBlade the longest, taking in his appearance. He seemed arrogant enough to be important, which made him worth name-dropping, or impersonating with the Disguiser’s Lens he wore. “I’m afraid you won’t find any people around here, Miss!” He turned and dumped a pile of six swords of varying sizes into Cassie’s hands. When he did, the faded white letters on the back of his jacket came into the others' view: L.I.A.R. Kingston grabbed the unfortunate woman by the elbow, aiming to drag her across the street. “I have the permit to sell at this spot, but you’re welcome to share it with me. Everyone’s in such a trusting mood, with all these masks on. It’s easy to make a quick coin, let me show you.” He scanned the crowd. It was a vendor’s nightmare. Under all the masks and costume jewelry, he couldn’t tell the rich from the poor. Of course, the genuinely wealthy would balk at buying metals from a stranger. And the poor wouldn’t have the money to spare. That left the middle-class, who at this time at night would only be interested in food, drinks, and cheap novelties. “Swords, ten chrysts!” he bellowed. “Or by special arrangement between Newcago Steel Co. and myself, the humble Kingston Smedry, free with he purchase of a metal flake gift bottle from… I’m sorry lass, I appear to have forgotten your name.” He stuck out a hand for her to shake, eyes twinkling. He probably wouldn’t make much money helping an amateur panhandler, but he was in the market for something more valuable: friendship.

“Quill sharpeners, perfect for the frustrated bureaucrat! Less portable than a porcupine, but twice as likely to poke out your- excuse me fellas, I couldn’t help but notice that you seem to be my target demographic.” Kingston Smedry bumbled into the TUBArian group grumbling session. Beneath his mask and sunglasses, a cheerful grin was plastered on his face, making him seem happier than he felt. He held out an array of swords, hilts proffered, resting their tips on the Kevlar vest he wore beneath his jacket. He didn’t know much about making friends, but offering practical, high quality, only-slightly-stolen gifts seemed like a good way to anyone’s heart. “I couldn’t help but overhear some of your remarks, so maybe you guys can help me out. I submitted an application to join TUBA yesterday, how long do you reckon it will take to hear back from them? Should be only a few business days, right?” There was a subtle urgency in his voice, the desperation of man who needed allies, fast. But he tried not to show it. “My friend’s call me King, by the way.”

“I suspect you’re cheating,” Tion gasped between breaths as he continued to quickly jog. “You know you don’t get the full benefits of the exercise if you magically lighten the load of your weights.” They ran for five minutes, but it felt like eternity. The god had just started to cramp when the treeline faded away to spit them back out onto the beach. Amazingly, they were the only ones in sight. Evidently the herd was slow, even over open terrain. His gut told him they wouldn't be far behind, though. In the middle of the sand had been driven a massive wooden spike, tied to which a fair-sized river barge bobbed in the shallow water. “Get her loose,” he grunted, running straight into the water. Its cool embrace relieved some of the tension in his burning thighs. The bag he carried clattered onto the deck, coming to a stop next to the small mast. One look at it while he clambered aboard told him they didn’t have time to raise the sails; it had been tied down securely while the vessel was out of service. Without it, sailing the ship was really a three-man job: one to row on either side, and one to steer. Fortunately the ship was pointed the right direction. Tion had jumped to the back – stern, some long-forgotten memory told him – to tie the rudder in place when curiosity struck. “Hey, Sagitta! When you get on, you row that side, I'll do the other. But what’s the name on the front of this thing say? I want to know the name of the ship I'm captaining."

As he gathered undeserved tips for busking, Kingston had been listening to the hum of the crowd, tuning out the music to tap into the swirl of conversations going on around him. “No refunds,” he replied instinctively to a gentleman who placed a sword at his feet, causing him to almost miss a half-audible sentence from a few meters away. “You've been in TUBA… now, right?” He looked and saw a trio of individuals in polite conversation. “Remedies for sale! Medicines to heal the stomach-ache those food vendors’ll give you! You sir, you look like you could use a pick-me-up.” The Smedry bounded through the throng to boisterously shake the hand of a perfectly healthy-looking senior who happened to be standing close enough to the discussion he wanted to eavesdrop on. He drew a sword from his bag. “Swallow one of these twice a day and you’ll be feeling right as rain.” “Oh, that’s, that’s not really the kind of thing I need right now, I mean…” “Ahh, I see.” Kingston pulled a thinner blade, more of a rapier from his pouch. “You need something a little smaller than those nasty horse-pills. Take this one, it’s a free sample from the company.” His confused victim did take the weapon, but he hurried off with it without putting it in his mouth. His young grandson had recently had his broadsword stolen from him, this would make a good replacement to stop him crying.

“Festive sticks! Get yer sticks for celebrating, free while supplies last!” Kingston Smedry was hawking swords, but no one wanted to buy swords at a street party. He pulled dozens of them one by one from his bag, a feat which caught the eye of more than a few passersby, given the pouch’s outwardly small dimensions. One toddler clapped excitedly when he drew a meter-long broadsword out, then squealed when delight when Kingston obligingly put it in his hands. “Go stab something for me, okay kid?” A few party-goers dropped coins at Kingston’s feet, despite his insisting it wasn’t necessary. He had donned a simple black mask for the occasion, under which he wore a pair of dark sunglasses. Others sported extravagant costumes for the occasion, but he preferred his simple black bomber jacket and loose blue jeans. Besides, they were the only clothes he owned. “I’m in no rush! Plenty happy just to be here, handing out these fabulous kitchen utensils. We got one-pronged forks here, in case you don’t trust the food vendor’s cutlery!” Someone was roasting a pig nearby. He crouched to quickly scoop up the tips he’d received, checking to see if he had enough chrysts to buy dinner later. He didn’t. “This is a good haul, all things considered.”

Hey Sorana, I've got a self-insert god-tier character with no backstory that I want to play! That's cool, right? Quarantine's given me some time to kill, I think I'll slide in for the first few weeks of E5 with this character; the pitch is that he's Kingston Smedry, an ex-Librarian commando with a Talent for lying seeking redemption in the Alleycity for his past crimes. Thanks in advance!

Tion gripped the rapier awkwardly, but held it. The booming hypnosis of Intensity's words was still bouncing around in his head, but Sagitta's touch was like a shot of caffeine. A piercing sense of urgency consumed him for a moment, driving away the lingering effects of the other god's attack. The soldier's tugging snapped him out of his stupor; after a few steps he pulled his arm away and started running on his own. The sand behind the row of cabins they sped past was loose, threatening to trip them up with every step. It would also leave an unmistakable trail for their pursuers to follow. That made him incredibly nervous. Behind them, the entire side wall of Sagitta’s beach house flew off with a tremendous bang! Tion looked over his shoulder and shrieked as Intensity stepped out into the daylight, growling inaudible instructions to his followers. Tion changed course, veering towards the jungle. “Need to break line of sight! Make it harder to target us.” In front of them, a coconut tree started to crack at the base, threatening to tip over, pushed by a suddenly intense wind on its trunk. Tion changed direction again, running roughly parallel to the beachfront through the trees. He moved at speed, crashing through the undergrowth. “Don’t bother being quiet, he’ll still hear us. Besides, there’s only once place we can go. There’s one boat on this island. Big barge, a half-mile in that direction. Can’t miss it.” A colourful bird of paradise took issue to their stepping through its nesting ground and started squawking. Tion swung at it, wielding his sword like a club. “Is running supposed to hurt this much? Whatever’s in this bag weighs a ton.” The god was still moving, but he slowed from a sprint to a fast jog, Sagitta's magical influence finally wearing off.

Instead, he would just eat that potato over and over again. He accomplished this through cloning and grey magics.

Intensity’s smiled, technically. All traces of his amiable persona were gone. The god’s lips curled back to reveal two rows of perfect white teeth. Each had been carefully filed to a canine point, as sharp as any shark’s. A drop of spittle rolled from the corner of his mouth, slid down his cheek, and dropped into his scraggly beard. “STAY,” he ordered. His words had weight, they shook the walls of the cabin and echoed in the ears of those that heard them. Zombie-like acolytes clambered through the windows, not caring about the broken glass that cut at their skin. Others pushed through the doorway Intensity stood in, squeezing past him into the room. When one bumped into him, his arm snaked out and grabbed their wrist. His blue-eyed stare was darkening. “WARRIOR SAGITTA OF THE T'SORA NAME, I COMMAND YOU TO KNEEL.” Behind her, Tion bounced on the heels of his feet, nervous energy coursing through him. “Ignore him, we need to go!” He had drawn his rapier. “It was a mistake coming here.” Intensity’s head swiveled an inch to the side, switching to bore his eyes into to his fellow god. When he did, the tension in Tion’s body faded away. He sighed contentedly as Intensity dampened a very specific set of memories. His grip of the rapier loosened; the weapon fell to the sand, forgotten. Intensity pulled the arm he was holding up to his mouth. The man on the other end was still trying to grab at Sagitta. As casually as one munches on a carrot, Intensity chomped down his finger, breaking it clean off in a shower off blood. Outside, Tion shook his head like he had a headache. “Not again, Intensity. We are leaving. Please.” Thunder rumbled overhead. “NOT THIS TIME, MORTALS.”

Tion nodded, understanding the suggestion. “Good idea, Sorana,” he whispered. “Oops, sorry, wrong wall.” The god grabbed Sagitta’s second bag and dragged it to the back of the room. “I’ll take whatever you can’t carry,” he murmured, trying not to let his voice carry. To free up his hands, he shrugged on his coat and fastened it at the front. It clashed considerably with his loose brown robes, but there was no time to change. He poked a finger into the wall, examining its construction. The inside appeared to be a façade of driftwood planks, fitted together in rows, but their organic shaped left a few gaps through which he could see the cabin’s outer wall and the occasional support column. Lacing his fingers through one hole, Tion was able to yank a piece free from the nails that held it in place. He tried to keep his grunts of exertion to a minimum, but the ripping noise of the wood was unavoidable. Thump, thump, thump. Three more knocks pounded the door, harder this time. “Sagitta T'Sora, I greatly desire to speak with you. Please come out.” The latch on the door shook. An edge of frustration was audible in Intensity’s voice. Meanwhile, Tion had stripped a few square feet of inner wall. He stepped back to size up the rest of the job. “The outside’s more solid, but we’ll be pushing on them. It should come off easily enough, but it’s going to be loud.” As if on cue, there was a tremendous sound of cracking glass. Simultaneously, the two windows beside the door exploded into a thousand tiny shards. Luckily, the blinds blocked most of them from flying up to hit the pair of them. “Nevermind!” Tion said, stepping up the wall. He launched a flurry of precision kicks into the wood there. It splintered, letting in cracks of sunlight. Tion slammed his entire body into it, pushing himself through and out of the house. Before Sagitta could follow, he also grabbed the bag he had promised to carry. Inside, there was a click. The front door swung open smoothly, revealing a very cross Intensity, and behind him, twenty island residents. The god glared at the hole, then at Sagitta. “HMM,” he blared, his voice deep and resonant. A mile back, in the deep water of the sea, lightning struck the waves.

It's been fun, Xino. Hope to see you around Discord!

Tion was right on Sagitta’s heels. He hesitated as she bounded up the porch steps to her cabin, crouching to reach under the stairs where he had hidden his own things. “Stand back!” he cried as he stepped into the room, his trademark coat under one arm and his rapier in the other, bits of sand flying from it as he gave it a mighty swing at the chest’s lock. Twang! It scratched the metal, but the clasp held firm. “Pull it out more,” he grunted, stepping around to the back of it. Bracing himself against the bedframe, the god kicked the back of the box’s lid, where its hinges were subtly recessed. After a few pounds, he jammed the rapier in the crack up to its hilt and pulled it up as a lever. Slowly, the damaged wood gave way. With a pop, the hinge screws came loose enough that a few more kicks knocked the lid off entirely. Inside, carefully folded and placed, lay Sagitta’s possessions. On the very top, her sword lay in waiting, wrapped in a leathery material. “Test it, just to be safe. Make sure nothing’s tampered with.” Tion looked outside one of the building’s windows. It had a lovely view of the surf, and beyond it, the restless waves of the ocean. Dozens of inhabitants were walking towards them on the beach. They had a distinctly relaxed air about them, but their gait was straight and purposeful. They were close enough now that Tion could see the whites of their thin, mindless smiles. One of the men near the back was moving with greater speed, almost a power-walk. He got Tion’s attention, though it took him a moment to recognize his fellow deity. “Hurry it up,” he said, slamming the door shut. His fingers fumbled with the cords to pull the blinds, as if blocking the line of sight would protect them. “I don’t mean to alarm you, but-,” the porch steps creaked, announcing the presence of a portly man, “Intensity is here.” On cue, a soft knocking noise made him jump. Tap, tap, tap. “Hullo. Do you mind if I come in, mm?” Tion's wide eyes looked to Sagitta, scrambling for a plan, willing to follow her lead.

“I don’t know what I don’t know, so let’s just go,” Tion called, parkouring his way through the forest. He mostly ran, robe flowing in the wind, but occasionally pushed off a rock or stuck out his hand to spin around a tree when he needed to change direction. The reaching thorns of crawling vines bit as his clothes and ripped his skin, but he kept going. “I have a very bad feeling about all of this!” In minutes, he burst out onto the sandy beach that had been his sandpit for the past week. He checked over his shoulder to make sure Sagitta wasn’t far behind, then looked across the beachfront to see… nothing. Where dozens of immaculate sandcastles had been constructed lay only mounds of flattened earth. It was as if the tide had beaten them down, but the god had made sure to build them far enough away from the water to avoid that. He starting running again, zig-zagging from site to site. That was when he saw them. Ten members of Intensity’s herd, shambling along the beach in the same direction. They had formed a fire-line of sorts and were very intentionally wandering up to each of his creations and stomping them underfoot. As he observed them, a middle-aged woman faceplanted into a sandcastle, smashing it flat. When she rolled onto her back to get up, she caught sight of him. “Oi! Oi! Oi! Oioioioioioioioi!” she squealed excitedly. En masse, the entire group turned and locked eyes on Tion. “Change of plans, Sagitta! These are useless now and they took days to arrange. I think we need to check out. Fast. Where’s your stuff?” The group began walking towards them. They were slow, but persistent. “I don’t feel like finding out what they want with us. Hope you’ve caught your breath, let’s move.”

Tion’s hand clenched into a fist. Tiny bits of tortoise poop squeezed out of the bottom as his knuckles whitened. A whispered swear word was all he could say as he processed what she’d told him. The urge to lash out verbally, to tell how stupid it was to keep this from him, how dangerous this could be. Deep breaths. In. Out. Release the tension. “You aren’t to leave my side until we find out who Last is,” he commanded. “I need to get my eyes on him. Can you call him? Do you have link, some sort of signal?” Tion began to pace, mind awash with possibilities. It could be a hallucination of a memory, brought on by the trauma. Just a fever dream she had. Or it’s my Dark Side, trying to throw me off. Or it knows something about her that I don’t. Something you could only see with… “Magic. You might be marked. We need to go to the beach, now.” He held out his feces-stained hand to pull her along, then realized what he’d done and lowered it sheepishly. “I put some wards there. Shrines of tiny stone, what do you call them? Sandcastles. They’ll dampen the magic on you, come on.”

Tion scampered towards the spot where Sagitta had found the excrement, happily crouching to insect it. “Who is Last?” came the question. A hint of confusion flashed across his brow. Last for what? "What do you know about him?" His reaching hand paused in midair, hovering above where the turtle had passed what looked to be a meal of berries and fern leaves. He looked to Sagitta, trying to figure out what she meant. The way she asked the question made him suspect that Last was more than just a person she’d bumped into on the island. “I’m afraid I don’t know who you’re talking about. It’s not a very common name, I think I’d remember if I’d met anyone who went by it.” He breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of his prize. It smelled fresh. The god began collecting it onto some cloth, nonchalantly thinking out loud. “If he’s someone of significance, it’s possible that he’s using a pseudonym. Describe him for me? His appearance, mannerisms, I might be able to narrow down his identity for you.” Without warning, his forearms developed goosebumps. He paused once more, entertaining an unpleasant thought. What if my other half is speaking to her?

@Brandon Sanderson does, but hasn't used it in a while. He prefers Reddit, where he posts as u/Mistborn. Or Twitter, but I can't remember his handle there. @PeterAhlstrom, his editor, sometimes pops by, but that's extremely rare.

“That’s an interesting plant you got there,” Tion said softly, churning out words to calm the tone more than to convey any information. “It’s called a broméliad. The red leaves make it very visible to bugs. They come and spread its pollen or drink its nectar. Larger animals avoid it. In forests like these, red means… Anyway, interesting choice! There’s a pink subspecies you might see around here too. They’re a little smaller, closer to the ground.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “You could give it up, you know. Walking away is always an option. With your shoulders, you’d make a good craftswoman. Could switch from knifing nomads to carving wood. But I won’t lie to you, it’s a hard transition.” “You’ve no doubt met the other residents of this island. Many of them were like you once: they had a hard edge to them and too much on their mind. A thirst for adventure brought them here. Yet, over time, the master of this domain has eroded their gruff exteriors, made them more affable.” Tion dipped his pinky into the water that pooled in the flower’s leaves. It tasted stale, so he spit it out. “Bleh. Anyway, it’s a good system. They get some rest, sustaining themselves on the roots and vegetables that grow here for a few months, then eventually, Intensity gets the meat he needs to feed his birds. A single human can feed this island’s flock for a week, if rationed correctly. If you’re really tired of all this, that route is available to you. I’m told that joining the herd is incredibly pleasant. I tried to do it once, but there were… complications.” The god clapped his hands together. "But for now, how's about helping me find the feces of a tortoise? They should be little black pellets, stacked in a mound. Come on, we're burning daylight." He stepped away, crashing through the undergrowth, trying to drag Sagitta along for an afternoon of ingredient collection.