Matt O

*sigh* Now I may have to go and re-read _all_ of the Azure scenes in addition to the Zahel and Szeth scenes. I thought that stuff would eventually be explained!

Thanks. And why does she keep her arm covered? I may need to go back and find the specific scenes, I just remember the book going out of its way to say that she was doing something odd with clothing during the battle on the wall where Kaladin kills the Fused in the sky.

I am kinda stumped here. I remember reading that there was something weird about Azure, that Kaladin noticed that she kept her arm covered by a cloak a lot and that she would whip the cloak around in a weird way. I thought that was going to eventually be explained by the end of the book but it wasn't and I forgot about it. How does the book clue us in that she is Vivenna? Are we to assume that her "shardblade" is actually a sword more like Nightblood? As for Zahel.. I barely remember anything about him. Gruff sword master.. may wear a rope instead of a belt? (is that the only clue?) Vasher is evidently a poor duelist so how could he become a sword master? And why would he be content to live his life that way instead of Doing Cool Things ? I think since I hadn't read Warbreaker first, for all of the Zahel and Azure scenes, I just ignored the clues dropped assuming that they were to be used to build on a future story arc, not give the informed reader a hidden message I was actually expecting Azure to hook up with Adolin and Shallan to hook up with Kaladin, so I was surprised that Azure left the group.

No, I never picked up on that. Who?

So who stabbed the guard who was tied up by Vasher's rope? And why? What was so special about Mercy Star's palace? was she evil? Anyone else love Lightsong? His first few scenes left me scratching my head. "Why is this guy even a main character?" By the end he was one of my favorites. Apologies if I misspelled anything, I listened to the book on Audible so I don't know how names are spelled.

I was really confused why people kept calling Szeth's sword "Nightblood". I read all of the Stormlight books first and then decided to consume Warbreaker. I just finished listening to Warbreaker on Audible. Loved the narrator, I've never head her before, but she was awesome. Now I feel like I need to go to the end of Words of Radiance and read the scene where Szeth receives his sword, and then read all of the Szeth scenes over again. Nightblood's comments about Vasher to Szeth meant nothing to me so I kinda ignored them, figuring they were just meaningless lore to make the sword seem like it had some background.

Ah, yes. Azir. That is one of the ones I couldn't remember. I think Azir was _definitely_ inspired from Stormlight. Who would just make a name like Azir? (well except for Mr. Sanderson of course!) Also... Blizzard has a game called Hearthstone. Coincidence? (I know Blizzard is not Riot Games hehe)

I have googled this and even searched this forum and have not seen that many people talking about how the popular video game, League of Legends, has a surprisingly large number of allusions to Sanderson's work, particularly the Stormlight Archive. Has anyone else noticed this? Someone there is definitely a fan! ---- Ashe: (Elantris) a female archer in the game, one of the original characters Shen: (Stormlight) a tanky ninja Graves: (Stormlight) a ranged marksmen/jungler Voidbringer illaoi : (Stormlight) one of the skins for the character Illaoi. This one is particularly blatant. See http://leagueoflegends.wikia.com/wiki/Illaoi/Skins Talon: (Mistborn) he basically wears a mistcloak and his kit involves pushing and pulling metals I think there are at least one or two others that I am forgetting at the moment. I was introduced to the game before I read Sanderson's books so I kept getting surprised when I'd see in-game character names in the books. Pretty sure the books came first though

Ok, here is a serious attempt from me. I hope it doesn't come off totally cheesy -------------------------------------------- Shallan paced back and forth across the green and yellow checkered floor. Each footfall sounded far too loud in this room. With large wooden beams standing vertically in each corner, unusual for any room in Urithiru, it felt like something more fitting for a remote outpost rather than a preferred audience chamber with the Queen. Twin braziers, both, oddly enough, burning fire, sat at each side of a plain, straight-backed wooden chair. The chair itself was carved to resemble a throne, but contained no spheres or gems, or even any gold. Purple tapestries made of thick cloth hung on each side of the room, covering windows which were currently closed. Of the three times that Shallan had been to this room, her impression of the audience chamber was at its worst now. She didn't know if she hated the room so much, or if it was what took place within the room that she dreaded. She hadn't heard any of the guards in the room complain about the temperature. Storms, she hadn't seen any of them sweating either, and that was no small feat considering the formal armor that they wore. But if the room was pleasantly warm, then why did Shallan keep feeling beads of sweat running down her forehead. The handkerchief that she used to contain the perspiration was already getting damp and she had only been in here a few minutes. She glanced around at the guards who stared straight ahead. “Pardon?” she asked one of the guards, a man with bushy drooping mustaches, dark brown eyes, and grey at his temples. He jerked slightly, then glanced at her, as if he wasn't expecting her to address him directly. “Yes, Brightness?” he asked, recovering quickly and saluting. “Do you think the Queen would mind if we open a window or two?” She gave him an innocent smile. “It's a bit warm in here.” “Brightness Radiant,” the guard replied, pausing. He saluted again, and licked his lips. “I... I would love to be of service to your needs. However, I also need..” He stopped talking and stood up straighter. The rest of the guards similarly straightened, saluting smartly. Storms! Shallan spun as Queen Jasnah Kholin entered the room. As usual she was the image of perfection. A curvacious figure that made Shallan blush slightly, flowing black gorgeous hair, done in intricate curls, held in place by miniature shardblades, she was what any man would consider desirable yet she didn't seem to notice her feminine beauty nor encourage the favor of suitors. Now that she was queen, she seemed even more disinterested in marrying, perhaps even a bit suspicious of it. No, Jasnah's only love seemed to be research. Research and... shaming her ward? Shallan felt a slight bit of guilt at that last thought. Shallan bowed deeply, her eyes fixed upon the floor as she did so. “Your majesty,” she said, formally. “We can dispense with the formalities, Shallan,” Jasnah replied, briskly, allowing an attendant to remove her outer robes. She sat down on her plain chair and looked at Shallan with eyes that seemed to know.. far too much. Shallan felt herself squirm slightly. “I have had a long day, and I'm sure you've been busy as well,” Jasnah continued, her tone even and neutral. Her eyes rested on the stack of papers that Shallan clutched to her chest. Jasnah's eyebrow raised when she took in the crinkled edges. “I trust you have brought the transcriptions from the books in the library that I assigned to you?” “I have,” Shallan nodded. “I hope that my work will be up to your standards.” She took a step forward and handed the papers to Jasnah. Oh storms, her hands were trembling... visibly! As the queen received the stack, Shallan tried, without success, to smooth the edges of a few of the more errantly crumpled notes. She realized what she was doing and blushed brightly, whipping her hands backward. Jasnah looked down and began turning through the pages. At first, she went slowly. Then began turning pages faster and faster. She audibly sighed, then looked up, her face a scowl. Shallan felt her heart begin to beat faster. “Let us be frank,” Jasnah said, again in a neutral voice. “You do not wish to be my ward. The quality of your work attests to this. As queen, I no longer have the time that I once did for this type of relationship between us.” “Brightness... I... I mean, your majesty,” Shallan sputtered. “I do wish to be your ward, and do wish to do better. My mind has been.. distracted as of late.” She found herself staring at the floor again. Fool, she thought. Making excuses to Jasnah Kholin? The queen studied her for a moment without speaking. Then she said, “I am giving you what you asked of me. I am releasing you. There is no point in making this difficult.” “I am very grateful, your majesty,” Shallan began. “I am just not sure that I want to be released.” “Not sure,” Jasnah said. It was more of a statement, than a question. “Have you ever been sure what it is that you want?” Shallen felt her shoulders begin to shake slightly. Oh, storms, no. Not now. Jasnah sat up straighter in her chair and leaned closer to Shallan. “Those tears are evidence to me that I've made the correct choice. You have been overwhelmed. And people who are overwhelmed do not do their best work. In fact,” she glanced down at the papers again, “sometimes they do far less than their best.” Shallen wiped her face, her cheeks flaming. Storms! She rarely cried in public. And now crying in front of the last person on Roshar that she wanted to be vulnerable to? Bury it deep inside and get ahold of yourself! “Your majesty,” she sniffed. “I simply ask for one more chance.” “But this isn't what you want, child!” Jasnah huffed, leaning back in the chair, spreading her hands out to each side. “I don't understand you, Shallan!” “What do you mean?” Of course you don't. I don't even understand myself. “You are married to a High Prince, you are a Knight Radiant, you clearly have gifts and skills that can and should be employed to help the kingdom, yet you keep begging to remain my ward, all the while proving through your actions that you don't have the heart for it.” Jasnah's eyes seemed to.. burn. Was that anger? Or just frustration. “One more chance,” Shallan repeated, voice calm and collected. This is what I want. This is who I am. Jasnah closed her eyes. Her lips moved but no sound came out, as if she was talking to herself. She rested her head in one hand. “This is getting absurd,” she muttered. “Inefficient. Silly, even. Ridiculous.” She opened her eyes, and her posture seemed to calm. “Very well, Shallan.” Her voice sounded resigned. She handed the stack of papers back. “Get me the research I asked for, do it right this time, and omit the unrelated sketches, and I may consider still allowing you to be my ward. As if a ward for a queen even made sense. Part of you seems determined. You may prove to me just how determined.” “You won't regret this, your majesty,” Shallan promised. She bowed again, then tried to walk slowly out of the room. She felt like she was running. * * * * * Veil sauntered along the wide street of one of the many markets in Urithiru. Pattern clung to her trousers, blending in, but yet not at the same time. He hummed, vibrating. “Shallan,” he buzzed. “Why did you tell the queen that you wanted to be her ward?” “Because I do,” Veil replied, her eyes looking at each random person that she passed. “But.. but... Shallan, this confuses me,” Pattern oscillated. “You ignore her assignments. You come to the market every night. You visit the housing sections. You imitate other people. This does not seem to be to be someone who wishes to be a ward?” “Shallan wants to be a ward,” Veil amended. “Veil has other goals.” Please don't ask me to explain that. “Mmmmm I do not mean to object,” Pattern hummed. “I like the lies. I look forward to tonight's new lie.” “Shallan will do her duty,” Veil insisted. “Just like I will do mine.” Pattern didn't immediately reply which gave Veil a chance to think about what he had said. She slowed her pace slightly. “What do you mean tonight's new lie?” “Shallan,” Pattern buzzed. “You have imitated a different person each night for the last week. Am I not to assume that tonight will be any different? Humans have patterns, I have noticed. This is your pattern.” Storms, thought Shallan. Had she gotten that bad? Surely it had only been once or twice. She didn't reply to Pattern and he didn't say anything else as she continued walking. The markets were bustling activity. Taverns, firemoss dens, brothels, blacksmith shops, and places to dine were common and plentiful. The spurt in crime that had occurred during the presence of the Unmade, and the subsequent invasion of Voidbringers into Urithiru had largely subsided with Jasnah in command. While the queen didn't overtly micromanage Aladar or the other High Princes, there was a definite order and structure that existed in this place that Elhokar was never able to bring. Her touch was on many aspects of Urithiru now, and it showed. Urithiru had grown to become more than just a military encampment. It now held houses and families. The housing section was located near the military section, but separate. It would not be prudent to have prostitution and male soldiers milling around housewives and children. Even Veil could see that, and she had grown up in the streets where that sort of thing was more common than in the more affluent areas. Yes, Veil definitely approved of the changes that had occurred since Jasnah's coronation. Crime was down, hunger was down, poverty was down. Veil hoped that the harsh street life that she had struggled with as a child would be something that none of the families living here would ever have to know. She felt a slight pang of regret as she thought about Kholinar and what the people living there must be experiencing now. She wondered if any of them had been able to escape? Would they be able to find their way to Urithiru? She slowed as she had reached the housing section. Sturdy, single family dwellings, made of wood, lined the streets here. None were too large, nor were any too small. They did tend to look the same, with little variety. That was one of the costs of limited space and a growing demand. Veil sat down on a cement block across from a row of ordinary looking houses. She took out a pad of paper and a writing instrument, and a small chip for light. Veil couldn't afford massive spheres like Radiant or Shallan could, so she would have to make do with a dimmer sketching environment. “Mmmmm,” Pattern hummed from her clothing. “Which house will it be tonight?” “That depends on who comes out,” Veil answered. She reached into her pack and pulled out a bottle of spirits. Not the horneater white. She had tried that a time or two again and decided that drinking liquid crem would be more enjoyable. This bottle was a mild yellow. Perfect for relaxing, but not intense enough to get drunk. She had some stormlight just in case. “Will it be another daughter?” Pattern wondered. “Or perhaps a son this time.” “I haven't decided yet,” Veil murmured, absently. She took a pull from the bottle, but quickly put the lid back on as a women exited one of the houses. Veil began to sketch. The woman was young, perhaps late teens. She had on a non-descript green havah, and long, straight dark Alethi hair. Her eyes were a pale yellow. Veil took a memory and began filling in the details. “Mmmmm,” Pattern buzzed. “Another daughter. It has been a daughter every night. Never a son. I am sensing a pattern here. Mmmm.. yes.. a pattern.” “It could be a son some time,” Veil whispered. Of course, it couldn't. Shouldn't she just tell Pattern the truth? Keeping secrets from him seemed silly at this point. He probably had figured it out anyway. Did it matter to him? Did he care what she did as long as she was … as long as she was lying to people? The young woman walked off down the street, toward the markets. Judging by the basket in her hands, and the faint glimmer of spheres, Veil judged that she would be gone at least 15 minutes. Veil took another pull from the bottle, a rather long one. Considering what she was about to do, she could afford to get a little tipsy. She stretched, then shoved the bottle away into her pack. Veil stood up and breathed in stormlight. The alcoholic effect, as brief as it had been, vanished instantly. Her skin almost glowed, but Veil restricted the flow through force of will. She then looked at her sketch and breathed out. The air shimmered in front of her. Veil became the young woman that she had sketched. Her hair became longer, darker. Her clothing was replaced by the green havah. It wasn't real, but you'd never know without touching it. She adopted the stroll she had seen the young woman make and sauntered toward the house that the woman had come out of. She almost knocked. Storms, you idiot, you live here. You don't knock. She opened the door and stepped in, trying to project confidence. A man and woman were sitting at a long wooden table that had some remnants of dinner scattered on it. They looked up in surprise when she entered. “Haia?” the man asked, eyes confused. The top of his head was bald, with grey and white curled hair encircling his head. He was stoutly built with a bit of an expanding gut and large, strong arms, slightly flabby with age. He wore a grey outfit that looked to be some kind of military uniform. “Did you forget something?” “Yes, Father,” Veil replied. Please let him be my father, not an uncle or random visitor. The man nodded, and shrugged. Veil relaxed and let out an inaudible sigh. Her back muscles loosened, slightly. “What did you forget, dear?” the woman asked. Her hair was similarly dark as the daughter's but had streaks of grey at the sides. It was pulled into a bun and she wore a plain dress, of a lower station for a light-eyes. “I had to tell you something, Mother,” Haia answered. “You and Father both.” She tensed up again, slightly. If the woman was not the daughter's mother, this would be very awkward. The women and the man both gave Haia their attention, looking calm and unphased. This was a good sign. “I...” Haia hesitated. “Do you remember a while ago when we had a quarrel?” The man squinted and looked at the ceiling, rubbing his fingers on his chin. The mother paused for several moments, then looked away, her hands tightening around her dress slightly. “I've hurt you,” Haia continued. “Hurt you both.” I hope? What a strange thing to wish for. The man looked confused. “Are you talking about the … no... that was just a little thing.” He looked to his wife, he seemed to have gone a little pale. Or am I just seeing what I hope to see? She finally met Haia's eyes. “Haia,” she sighed. “I don't like playing these games. Yesterday, you were shouting at me. Said you wanted to leave. And now, tears? It's too much, dear.” Haia wiped her eyes. This was becoming an awkward habit. But part of it felt so.. so right. “I was wrong, mother,” she sniffed. “You were right. I can see that now.” “And what about the rest of it?” her mother asked, eyes narrowing slightly. Storms, she was skeptical. Haia took a gamble. “You were right about me. About who I am.” The father and mother cocked their heads, eyes showing confusion. “I mean, about me playing games. I do that sometimes,” Haia continued. “I'm so sorry. So, very very sorry.” The mother looked at the floor, frowning. The father's chair scraped as he stood up from the table. “Haia, dear,” he smiled, coming toward her. Was that a slight tremble in his voice? She didn't know him. Didn't know if it always sounded like that. “What is bothering you?” He casually opened his arms and she fell into them. She felt him jump. Don't seem too eager. She forced herself to pull back slightly. “I've just been thinking,” she said, her voice quavering much more than she wanted. Stormfather, she was losing control already. “What right do I have to be ungrateful? When you've both given me so much?” This wasn't going so well. She didn't know enough about the real Haia to sell the lie. But then again, what child was not ungrateful to her parents? What parent wouldn't enjoy hearing the apologetic words of a repentant child? “I...” He didn't seem to know what to say. Haia caught him sharing a look with his wife. She looked... bewildered. He patted her back, hesitantly. “There, there,” he whispered. She didn't know what kind of relationship she had with her parents. Her family seemed at least willing to hold her. Had he done this before? Many times? Almost never? She didn't know, couldn't know. But she needed him to love her. Needed him to cherish her. She wanted to be strong, but a part of her wanted to be vulnerable. So vulnerable. Storm it, she thought. This man adores me. Taking a deep breath, and with that thought firmly planted in her head, she surrendered. She buried her head into his shoulder, a stranger whom she did not know... and she wept like a child. * * * * * Veil walked down the street, slowly, wiping her eyes. Pattern hummed at her side. “That was a very nice lie,” he purred. Veil didn't speak, continuing to walk, eyes forward. What am I doing? “Humans,” Pattern buzzed, “are sometimes hard for me to understand.” Don't think about it. Shove it away. Keep it locked up tight. “You had never met those people before,” Pattern continued. “Yet, you seemed to care for them a great deal.” Veil kept walking. What could she say? Did she even understand herself what she was doing? She passed house after house, all looking the same. She was nearing the market again, and the bustle of military life reached her ears. There were a few people walking the opposite direction as her but she didn't stop until she found the one she wanted, a woman whom she had never met but whose name she knew. “Haia,” Veil said to the startled woman. “Yes,” Haia replied, jumping slightly and putting one hand to her chest. Her alarmed face changed to one of confusion. “Do I.. do I know you?” “No,” Veil answered, nonchalantly. “But do me a favor. Be nice to your parents tonight.” “My.. parents?” Haia's eyes widened slightly and her head tilted to the side. “You know them?” “In a way. Please... I.... this may sound like an odd request. Treat them as if you've apologized.” “What?” Haia laughed. “Please,” Veil pled. She took out some glowing spheres. The other woman backed away, scowling. “I... I don't understand what is happening.” Without a further word, she side-stepped Veil and continued walking along the path. Veil continued to face her, with one hand outstretched, holding glowing spheres. Storms! Veil took one step toward Haia, then stopped, hands clenching and unclenching. “Mmmmm...” Pattern hummed. “She did not want the lie.” Veil noticed a pile of refuse lying along the side of the road. With one sturdy boot, she kicked into the center of it, where crem and other offal went flying spectacularly. “What am I doing?” she growled. Keep it in. Don't feel it. “Mmmm,” Pattern oscillated. “I do not know.” Veil stalked into an alleyway. A quick glance told her she was alone. She slumped against one of the brick walls, then slowly slid down into a sitting position. Her buried her head into her hands and her shoulders began to shake. Gently at first, then fiercely as her body was wracked with sobs. Tears ran down her cheeks and splashed onto the dirty alley floor. “Shallan?” Pattern vibrated. “You.. do not like the lie?” “I hate myself!” she screamed, raising her tear-streaked face to the sky. “I hate what I did, hate who I am, hate who I am becoming!” She stood up, with fists clenched. “HATE!” she yelled again. Pattern was silent for a moment. Then he buzzed again. “Jasnah can help, Shallan.” No, she thought. Not her. The shame I feel simply being in her presence. The guilt. She will never trust me again. “Shallan,” Pattern hummed again. “Jasnah understands you.” “Of course she doesn't,” Veil sobbed. “She only understands how to balance a budget or manage a spanreed.” She winced at her own callous words. “Jasnah lies too, Shallan,” Pattern purred. Veil frowned, and looked at the ground, blinking back tears. “Lies? About what? That she never feels tired?” “She hides deep secrets, Shallan. Very very good lies. Mmmmm yes.. very good.” “Of course she doesn't. She's Jasnah Kholin.” Pattern vibrated, obviously pleased. “You do not know of this? I had thought you did. She will tell you if you ask her.” Veil wiped one sleeve across her nose and sniffed. “Are you saying I should just come up to her and ask her what she is hiding?” “It will work,” Pattern buzzed. “Mmmm yes. She will not be able to hide it from you if you ask her.” Perfect. Storms, this was yet another problem in a long line of problems for Veil to deal with. She didn't want to know anything more about Jasnah. She wanted to be as far away from Jasnah as possible. But... Shallan... Shallan might be willing to do what Pattern wanted. Shallan might be willing to ask Jasnah. After all, Shallan wanted to be a ward. Didn't she? “We will ask Shallan to do this for us,” Veil informed Pattern. “She might. I won't, storms, no. But she might. Can you convince her? Can we convince her?” “Mmmm, yes,” Pattern hummed. “The lies. I like these lies. I will convince. Mmmm, yes.” “Very well,” Veil nodded, walking out of the alleyway. No one seemed to have noticed her outburst. “Let's return and find Shallan.”

I think you've hit upon something that the books seem to be foreshadowing: that capturing spren to make fabrials work isn't a Good Thing.

I've got a problem. I've watched a lot of Brandon's online lectures about how to write cool stories, gotten excited about it, have wanted to sneak into his lectures some time (I live locally to BYU) and maybe find a writing group of like-minded people who want to improve their writing skills. But heck, I'm 42 years old, I've got a wife and 4 kids, a demanding career writing computer software, and a side business preserving my memories of when I was a kid. When could I possibly have time to get serious about developing my writing skills enough to write a serious story? It just doesn't seem possible. Nevertheless, with that being said, somewhere inside of me is a dream. This dream is to write my own story and have it actually be _good_. It doesn't have to be incredible, just good enough that people who read it nod and say "You know what, that wasn't bad. I enjoyed that. You had some neat ideas and took the story in a cool direction that I wasn't expecting." If I'm going to invest more time into this, I would definitely not be messing around writing fan fiction, I'd do something original. Fan fiction has the problem in that you are writing about copyrighted characters and so you can never become too successful or the lawyers will have to shut you down. If anyone has any suggestions for how I can move forward (slowly) to achieve my dream, let me know. Maybe some kind of online writing group of people who go really slowly (ie are adults with kids and don't have much time) ?

Chapter 2 Taravangian hobbled out of the meeting room, his stomach in knots. The fearspren that had initially been drawn to him were now replaced by angerspren that seemed to nip at his heels. Storm it! Where had that man, Dalinar, obtained that Artifact? And how had he managed to assemble it so quickly? I will not let him undermine my plans. Taravangian almost collided with a corpulent oaf of a man who was walking down the hallway opposite to him. “Out of my way, you wart-hog faced buffoon!” he croaked, side-stepping the fool in annoyance. “That may be the first time a man has dared insult me,” the figure declared, his voice a mixture of awe and insult. “It won't be the last,” Taravangian vowed, hobbling away toward his quarters in Urithiru. Taravangian thought he recognized the voice of the obese man. What was his name? Sebariel? Ah yes, that lazy waste of flesh that spent his days in gluttony. Taravangian already felt his overall intelligence level dropping several notches for having conversed with the man. Why he had taken the time to visit the spectacle of Dalinar playing with a child's toy was beyond him. Today he was not only smart, but brilliant. He should be closeted in a room studying the Diagram. But he had first had to fool his handlers into thinking that he was not dangerous. Therefore, he had intentionally failed the Tests and stepped out to 'socialize' in order to let them give him the control he wanted, no the control he needed, to save his people. After a painfully long time, he finally staggered through the doorway to his own quarters. That chull-like cretin of a man, Mrall, rose from a sitting position and saluted awkwardly. Taravangian dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “I need something to write on!” he croaked, hobbling to his room, the one where he liked to work. “Vargo?” Adrotagia asked, her voice like wood scraping sandpaper. She looked like a corpse of an axehound that had rotten in a field for a hundred years. Taravangian inadvertently cringed as he kept walking. “Paper!” he barked again. “It is something sometimes used to write on, often produced from trees.” Adrotagia and Mrall shared a look, then both looked at Dukar, who shrugged. “You did administer the Tests, did you not?” Adrotagia asked Dukar, slowly. “Storms, woman!” Taravangian bellowed. “I need to be alone, with the Diagram, and with paper, and with a writing instrument. Dalinar has uncovered something which supersedes the Diagram in importance!” “What did he uncover?” Mrall asked, slowly. “I could either spend my time and infinite intellect capturing the essence of what I have learned about the Puzzle or I could spend it trying to explain sophisticated concepts to your idiotic brain! One use of my time would be successful while the other would be a waste of time so colossal that it would be amusing were it not so tragic!” Mrall cocked his head, his eyes vacant. “Dalinar discovered a Puzzle earlier today, managed to assemble it, and he will discover its true meaning in approximately 3 weeks, 2 days, and 7 hours!” Taravangian shouted, a bit of spittle escaping from his lips. “I want a duplicate made, a forgery.” “Of what?” Adrotagia asked, her face similarly vacant. “Of Dalinar's Puzzle, of course! To swap with the original!” “Won't he notice a forgery?” Adrotagia wondered, her voice worried. Taravangian paused. “Why, thankyou, Adrotagia,” he mused. “I would not have been able to conceive of such a possibility had you not so kindly pointed it out to me. Furthermore, I need you to find me new associates because I was obviously too stupid when I chose the current lot!” When he saw Mrall begin to sputter, he added, “That was sarcasm, you nincompoopish cremling! I do not want to be disturbed until you have delivered my paper!” With that, he slammed the door to his work room. Chapter 3 Kaladin strode down one of the wide roads in a non-descript market in Urithiru. He had tucked away his Bridge Four uniform in his quarters and instead wore a generic coat favored by dark-eyed laborers. Around his head was a mask with only holes for his eyes and mouth. While not technically illegal, it did make him feel a little uncomfortable. Syl flitted nearby. “Kaladin,” she asked. “Why are you wearing that mask?” “Shallan thought that her light-weaving might not work on me, that people might still be able to see my brands,” he grunted, continuing to walk. “But why don't you want people to recognize you?” She appeared near him as a young woman, standing on a random staircase. “Because then they might not let me protect them if they know it's me,” he responded. Syl cocked her head. “Why should that make any difference?” “Storms, Syl,” Kaladin barked. “I don't know. Shallan seemed very insistent. She knows about things better than I.” When Syl stopped keeping pace with him, he paused. “Syl?” He turned around and noticed that her gaze was fixed on something they had passed. “Kaladin!” she hissed, staring at a nearby shop. He cursed and leaped into action, running toward the store where she was looking. Syl spun around him like a circle of light. He kicked down the front door of the shop and ran toward a patron who was lifting a large gooey something to his wide open mouth. Storms, I hope I'm not too late. Kaladin summoned Syl. She appeared as an impossibly long spear. Kaladin slammed the syl-spear into the object that the man had been holding. It sizzled loudly, then turned dark and crumbled to ash. Other people in the store screamed in panic. The man whom Kaladin had almost impaled was so startled that he toppled over in his chair, falling to the floor. “Thief!” someone cried. “Go get the watch!” “I'm no thief!” Kaladin growled, dissmising Syl. He stooped to attend to the man who had fallen. “I'm a surgeon,” he informed the man. “I'm here to rescue you.” “Rescue me?” the man fumed. Angerspren boiled around him as he dusted himself off. Kaladin was taken aback by this reaction. “And just what do you think you are rescuing me from?” Kaladin stood back up straight, then looked around at what the shop contained. “Calories,” he breathed, his voice ragged. All around the bakery were the most obscene forms of sweets. Crem-cakes, donuts, chull fudge, brownies, and sugar sweetened cremlings on a stick. The place was a constant danger to anyone who set foot within its doors. “Kaladin!” Syl shouted, her voice urgent. “Behind you!” Kaladin spun to see the most humongous cake he had ever beheld. It loomed upon a platter, like a voidbringer, its confection-infused threat like a Highstorm about to level a small village. Syl formed a shardblade in his hands, and he quickly dispatched the danger. The cake fizzled into black ash and collapsed, smoldering. “That was close,” he muttered. By this point, people were not only screaming but were pushing toward the exit. Kaladin nodded. “Go,” he pointed, gesturing with Syl. “Seek safety. I will protect you from this place. I swear it.” Suddenly, Aladar's troops burst into the shop, weapons brandished. “Peace!” barked Kaladin. “I am no enemy!” He dismissed Syl and held both hands to the side. “Show your face!” one of the guards ordered. Kaladin reached up and removed the mask from his head. Fearspren immediately appeared toward the guards and they began to scream. “Stormfather!” one of them wailed. They turned around and bolted out of the shop, leaving Kaladin nearly alone except for some quavering figures in corners. Confused, Kaladin turned to regard the large mirror sitting on the back of the shop. He staggered backward when he saw the disguise that Shallan had created for him. Staring back at him was a monster with three sunken eyes that oozed blood and puss. Where hair should've been, tentacles writhed instead. An oversized, bulbous nose covered with pimples crowned a too-small, crooked mouth with jagged, rotting teeth. On top of his head was a cone-shaped hat with a spinning miniature shard-blade. “By the Almighty,” Kaladin breathed, his voice hoarse and revolted. “Shallan, what have you done to me?”

Many thanks! I actually got inspired after reading your contribution The idea of Dalinar uniting a bunch of beds into a massive framework of bunk beds had me laughing out loud. I really think that some of stuff in this thread would be appreciated by a larger audience if they knew about it As for what is on the Puzzle, I may have to write a few more chapters. <evil grin>

Dalinar stared at the wooden box that had been delivered to him moments before. Plain in appearance and unassuming, it had come from the bowels of Urithiru, in a hidden chamber, along with a number of other curious artifacts. The person who had brought it to him bore a solemn look and had left quickly with little explanation. Might it contain something important? Could it help him to end the war? He reached a hand toward the dusty lid, then paused. He heard Navani's soft footfalls behind him and felt her hand rest on his shoulder. They were alone in a large chamber normally meant for meetings. People weren't necessarily forbidden from coming here, but people seemed to avoid him these days for some reason. All except Navani. “Dalinar?” she asked from behind. He gritted his teeth, then tore the lid from the top of the box. A cloud of dust billowed from within. He caught site of a number of small objects, like blocks sitting inside. What by the Stormfather's forked beard were those? He overturned the box into the large table that he was seated at. No... no, they weren't blocks. There were thousands.. and thousands.. of flat wooden pieces. Were these... were these puzzle pieces? Unite them! Of course. It suddenly all made sense. All of the dreams, all of the visions. He wasn't supposed to be uniting Roshar. It wasn't about that. It had never been about that. Navani squeezed his shoulder as he began sorting the puzzle pieces on the table, turning them face up, looking for the edge pieces. It had been a long time since he had done one of these. Could he still solve one on his own? Unite them! The puzzle pieces felt too small in his hands and some clattered to the table as he tried to organize them. Were his hands.. shaking? Was he too old to master a work of art like this? And then he felt it. Like a haze of red misting around the corners of his vision. Like an old friend that had never been good for him but which he lusted after. He knew it as soon as he felt its passionate embrace. The thrill. This puzzle belonged to him. He owned it. Anticipationspren began drawing toward him as he worked. He lost track of time. He vaguely was aware of Navani pacing behind him or sitting in a chair next to him. She never spoke and respected his concentration. Others came and left the meeting room. Some stayed, whispering quietly. He ignored them. He had only one objective. Hours passed. A plate of uneaten food sat next to Dalinar. His stomach burned with hunger, but the thrill drove him onward, drove him to complete what he had started. He would not be denied now. A large crowd had gathered, some of them bridgemen, some of them nobility.. storms, he thought he may have seen a few High Princes and Azish ambassadors in the group. It didn't matter who was watching. Nothing mattered except the end. The thrill would accept nothing less. Finally, he could see the end in sight. His heart beat like a thousand drums and sweat ran like a river down his forehead. With a triumphant thud, he slammed the last piece of the puzzle into place. Gloryspren burst all around him as he stood up from his chair. They encircled him like brightly glowing yellow globes. He.. had.. won! Awespren shown above the members of Bridge Four, the High Princes, and the Azish. Was that.. storms.. even Jasnah had a single awespren above her. Dalinar grinned, accepting a towel from a nearby attendant. And then he saw it. Was it... yes... it was unmistakable! Taravangian stood in the back of the room. He was surrounded by... fearspren...

Adolin Kholin's hands tightened around the back of the sturdy wooden chair that sat in the bedroom that he and Shallan shared. His heart seemed to be beating faster than normal, and a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. Light streamed in from an open window, and a cool breeze ruffled his black and blonde hair. Shallan hummed from the other room, seemingly oblivious to maelstrom of emotions surging inside of him. Adolin had tried to hide his inner conflict when she was near, adopting a forced grin when she asked him if everything was alright. He had even pushed himself to go out drinking routinely with the men of Bridge Four, and had tipped extra gems to the dark eyes who worked there. People seemed to like being with him, but he couldn't escape the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that the easy-going manner of his friends might be as forced as his smiles. Did they all secretly view him as he viewed himself? As a fraud, who only took the role of High Prince because it was expected of him to do so? Because he was the son of the Blackthorn? Shallan sauntered into the room lazily, still humming. Adolin instinctively stiffened. That wasn't Shallan. It was Veil. The one who preferred to be with Kaladin. Or was it? He could never really tell and that made him nervous. Perhaps she was walking normally and he was being paranoid? “Adolin?” Shallan asked, hesitating. He tried to give her his trademark goofy grin, but felt insincere. His tried to relax his posture. He was a High Prince now. He needed to learn how to hide his emotions at certain times. She placed a hand on his shoulder. He tried to relax, but felt tense. Could he ever fool her? He had tried but she seemed to be able to read him so well. Storms, what was he doing married to her? She was a storming Knight Radiant! “Shallan, I...” He licked his lips. You married a fraud even after I tried to warn you. “I...” “You are bothered by what Ialai Sadeas said, aren't you?” She folded her arms, and the corner of her mouth turned down. “Yes! Well, no. I mean... she had every right to say what she did.” When Dalinar had published to the world that the murderer of Ialai's husband had been found and that it had been his son, the Alethi High Princes had reacted poorly. Those who had tended to support Sadeas in the past had used this as an excuse to further divide the tender Alethi bond. Dalinar's position and influence had been severely weakened. Ialai had publicly demanded for Adolin's imprisonment and Dalinar had instead given up a vast amount of his house's property and holdings as 'compensation'. Adolin had offered to go to prison instead, but Dalinar had refused, saying that it would serve no useful end. But a part of him wondered if Ialai was right. Could he truly command respect of his subjects if he didn't obey his own laws? “You're doing it again,” Shallan observed. “Oh, Adolin, you know said yourself that he needed to be killed. Sadeas left you and Dalinar to die on the Shattered Plains!” “We should've had a formal trial. Or maybe gone to war. Or.. I don't know.” And he didn't. He had never been good with figuring out the best solutions to his problems. Including his problems with relationships. He sighed. “Perhaps the best solution is to finish what you started,” she shrugged. “I don't know what that means,” he admitted. “Maybe Ialai needs to be eliminated too so that our problems finally go away for good.” “Shallan!” “Sorry,” she grinned. “I don't know where that suggestion came from.” She tried to look innocent with a hint of a smile. Then she became more serious. “Storms, Adolin. I must be losing my touch if I can't make you laugh at that! What thundercloud is looming over you today?” “I... well let me show you,” he lamely replied, stretching out his hand. He made sure to do it away from Shallan so that she did not feel threatened. Not that she would anyway. She could heal herself from practically any wound, after all! After ten heartbeats, his shardblade misted into his hand. He gazed at it for several moments, working up the words that he had prepared to say but now which seemed inadequate. “I need to give her up,” he whispered, his voice sounding more hoarse than he expected. “What?” Shallan demanded, her voice rising. “Why?” “Because I don't want her to be in pain anymore every time that I summon her!” He waited for a quick reply from Shallan but when her mouth opened, no words came out. She hesitated. “You saw what she looked like when we were in Shadesmar. Broken, thoughtless... dead. What if she suffers every time I use her to burn out the eyes of my enemies?” “What if summoning her is the only way for her to feel slightly alive again?” Shallan countered, in a small voice. Adolin stared at the blade, considering these words. Could he find a way to save his spren? To make her alive again? Would giving up the blade give her the peace that he wished for her? Or would it simply prolong her agony? She deserves to live again, not be a dead eye. A knock at the outer door to their chambers interrupted his thoughts. “Come,” Adolin commanded, wincing as his voice cracked. Storm it! He quickly dismissed his blade. A messenger stumbled into the room, panting, with sweat running down her forehead. Adolin frowned. “Sir,” the messenger panted. “Word from the oath gates sir. Ialai Sadeas has returned to Urithiru. And she didn't come alone.”

Just finished listening to Oathbringer. Awesome! This is something subtly mentioned during the book which I never saw explained (perhaps I missed it). When Kaladin was first approached by the wall guards in Kholinar (sorry if I misspell, I listened to the book on audible so have no idea how some of the names are spelled), they saw his slave brand even though Shallan had supposedly hidden them. I was expecting Azure to have provided some kind of mysterious power to uncloak disguises but she apparently isn't that special. Was this ever explained?