I think I am here.

I think this is the first time this thread has been ‘hot’ in like, six months? Exciting stuff! New Alley-magic, a DA Cold War (maybe the department heads realise that going all-out is just going to be way more unpredictable with no clue who’d win - mutually assured destruction?), and some really cool interactions between Forgery and spirit-webs.

Hi Thaidakar! Sounds like a super interesting idea for a book or rpg, though to be honest, I think that if physical/mental disorders aren’t RP’d with proper sensitivity to the real people who have them, it can cause issues around other RPer’s comfort. If you want to test him out in the Alleyverse, maybe an easier solution than him having both DID/chimerism is to have him Hemalurgically spiked with his brother’s soul? You still have a two-in-one person (with obvious trauma from the spiking) but don’t have to worry about heavy research and representing mental/physical disorders that people actually have. Other than that, the character looks great

Pretty sure it’s a reference to this. Basically TFA made him a leader of a particular ‘chapter’ section of the GBs, since Thaidakar made a GB thread without already realising we existed. Ergo, we sort of assimilated him and he’s the leader of his part. Or at least that’s what I understand, anyway.

The bouncer talking to Cole continues patrolling the tables, his sleeves rolled up to reveal pewter braces on his arms. He crosses a table and freezes when he sees Aderet crawling out from beneath another one. Instantly he’s kneeling by her side, taking in her crumpled dress, her frail voice, the way her tears muddle up her makeup slightly. He listens to her words with wide, grey eyes, his face contorting in anger. The last thing Aderet feels as she faints is the bouncer catching her and gently laying her down, then yelling for a healer. From Cole’s vantage point on the stage, he’s able to see everything that happens next with surprising detail. The bouncer he was just talking to stands up from the fainted noblewoman, and with one hand — his previous regard for neatness gone — he grabs the table she was under by the rim and flips it over, his muscles beginning to expand. Glasses of half-completed drinks bounce, then shatter on the floor, and the the tablecloth flutters to the ground beside the overturned table. There’s someone else beneath the table, someone in a shirt and dark pants right next to the same dark coat and hood the assassin wore. With a start he gets up, points something at the bouncer’s leg. There’s a glint of metal before the bouncer collapses on the floor with a crunch, screaming and clutching his knee. The assassin points the metallic tool he holds upwards and the lightbulb above him shatters, darkening the venue slightly and sending shards of glass across the floor. The screams of the civilians start again. The bouncer claws at the floor. Blood pools from beneath his leg. The assassin turns on the crowd, pointing the tool at them but not yet firing. “Get out of the way!” He yells, gesturing with his other hand for the crowd to part. People begin to rush and move, terrified.

The assassin looks up when he hears the footprints as well, then glances in the same direction Aderet’s looking. He rips off his bandanna and stuffs that in his pocket as well, revealing freckled cheeks and a nose that’s been broken before. When he speaks, his voice is clear, but distant all the same. “Just another metalborn out of his depth. Thought he could poke the whitespine and get away with it.” His eyes snap back Aderet, trying to read her. “Kinda like you.” He offers up the metallic tool, then snatches it back before she can get close. A glimpse of a logo of some sort is embossed on its surface, but he rips it away too quickly for a better look. “And you’re delusional if you think I’m handing this over, even to you. You’ve got enough power in that vial of yours. So, instead…” As he talks, the assassin flips up his hood and shrugs off his dark coat on the timber flooring. The shirt underneath is dark green and made of some coarse material, and light brown hair hangs over his eyes. He looks slightly older than Aderet. Footsteps sound off again and he moves closer, lowers his voice threateningly. “Here’s how it’s going to happen. We’re going to get out from under this table. If anyone asks, you’re going to tell them I’m your brother or cousin or something. You’re a smart lady, figure it out. When we get outside, you walk a hundred paces down the street and forget any of this. How does that sound?” He takes out the metal tool again and points it at the ground in front of them, watching it vibrate but not yet glow. The footsteps are practically right outside the table. “Or maybe you’d like me to see how destructive this thing can really be.” His eyes are harsh, but he doesn’t meet Aderet’s gaze. “How many people you think I could take out? Ten? Fifteen? Not like any of this is going to matter anyway. You really want that?” “Rumours?” The bouncer said, moving between the tables. “There’s enough rumours goin’ around in this city for a few to be true. Wouldn’t surprise me. Also wouldn’t surprise me if this was a standard spiked-psycho or Ghostblood job. Usually, they’re more subtle than this, though.” The bouncer shrugged, moving further down the tables but still keeping an eye on Cole. A few others also turned to look at him now that he’d stepped onstage. Discarded brass instruments laid motionless on the stage. At the front, still clutching the microphone, was the body. On a closer look, the corpse seemed to not match the rough setting around it. A golden watch lay on the man’s pale wrist, and he wore one of those fine-quality coats you’d only find sold in Shadesmar, the ones with more pockets than most men ever found a use for. A smooth, reflective puddle of blood pooled from the man’s neck, where something sharp protruded. Very faintly it pulsed light, sending a thin gold sheen along the surface of the blood.

The assassin meets Aderet’s eyes with brown ones of his own, quietly taking in her words. Chaos still sounds off outside, but beneath the table it feels strangely silent. Again and again, the assassin’s gaze keeps switching from Aderet to the vial of cadmium in her hand, his posture tense. To his side, the metallic tool he holds begins to vibrate, Aons inscribed in its surface glowing. For a moment, the space beneath the table in bathed in subtle golden light. Then, his gaze flicks to the cadmium vial and then back to her. He curses, the golden glow fading. “Allomancers,” he spits. In his other hand, he clenches the ten-boxing coin in a fist and stuffs it back into his pocket. He tilts his his head as he hears the booming steps of bouncers nearby, and regards Aderet again with a cold stare. “What do you want, woman?” he asks. “Quickly.” There are many items the patrons leave behind in a rush; wallets, watches, or wads of cash left in abandoned coats. There’s even a red leather purse overturned on the floor. Nothing’s too fancy — this place is good, but it sure isn’t the type of high-establishment you’d find further down the city. A bouncer patrols the discarded tables, grabbing fallen chairs and righting them. “You!” he says to Cole, pointing with his index finger. The gesture morphs as the bouncer thumbs over his shoulder at the exit, where a crowd of people still try to shuffle frantically outside. “Bar closed, pickpocket. No stealin’ drinks you didn’t pay for.” Behind the bouncer, the body of the dead man still lies on the stage, blood pooling from beneath him. No one — not even the bouncers — seem to pay much attention to the corpse. Anyone who isn’t trying to leave is looking for the one responsible.

From outside the table, various sounds can be heard. The most obvious of these are the heavy footfalls of escaping guests, but when they bottleneck and crowd up against the small entry door, the scuffles of yelling and patron-elbowing-patron sound their way across the bar. There’s a commotion and another scream when a new set of steps clap against the timber floor, crossing the bar in seemingly seconds, the crash of glass and bottles trailing them. The footsteps grow louder as they near the table Aderet hides under before a figure suddenly slips beneath the tablecloth, panting. From outside, voices begun to be heard. “Gone!” “Where’d he go?” The figure - dressed in a dark hood and coat - continues catching their breath. When they’re done, they look around and suddenly jump when they see Aderet hiding next to them, as if just noticing her. Fumbling in their pockets, they take out a ten-boxing coin and hesitantly offer it to her. “I was never here?” A male voice asks, muffled under the mask. In their other hand, they hold a strange metal tool. Outside, the yells of bouncers looking for the assassin grow louder.

It was hard to keep it all down. Hard to push his feelings back where they came. Rob felt even more of his emotions seep into the dark sphere, feeding whatever was inside. It could take his anger. Take his sadness. Take his pain. Again, he felt the cool sensation of numbness creeping over his body. Not calmness; calmness itself was an emotion. It was a void of feeling, one that hadn't consumed Rob yet, but one he welcomed all the same. "Aren't you tired of 'talking', Cassie?" He suddenly snapped at her, the mask slipping for just a second, before he stood up straight and let his anger flow back into the sphere. His next words were cool as ice. "All we do is talk. Talk to Doc, talk to each other, talk to the Voidbringers. We discuss plans and strategies and half-hearted promises to be better, but what's the use? When has diplomacy ever worked for us anyway? Does anyone ever try to talk to us?" He tried to continue but James started talking and Rob turned to him, took in the words. James, of all people, was standing against him. Rob watched him glow with stormlight, listened as his words seemed to echo through the room. An Ideal. And it was sworn in opposition to Rob. "Don't you dare use my ideals against me," he said, stepping back, another flame of feeling bursting through his words, then shut down again. He was slipping. The mask was crumbling. "I am loyal. I am dependable. I stand where others fall. Even if it means I do the things everyone else can't. Take the burden so none of you have to." He looked desperately back to Cassie. "You agree, right?" he asked. "You don't think I'm wrong, do you?" @AonEne @Wyndlerunner

It's a quiet night in Alleycity. For the last few months, all it's been are quiet nights. The days of heroes fighting spiked demons and ancient abominations are over, and the heroes won. New guilds have sprung up where the old ones fell, and the Big 3: the Ghostbloods, DA, and TUBA, remain ever-present in the public consciousness, working in the background, never drawing too much attention to themselves. And why should they? Times are good. The economy is booming. And for once in its tumultuous history, Alleycity seems to be at peace. Good for you. You were always someone who stood out from the rest, either through your Investiture, your tools or your personality. In a world of NPCs (), you itch for adventure, wish that you hadn't been born too early to fight evil. Maybe it was the drinks that attracted you. Maybe it was the thought that you'd meet a special someone. Or maybe you just had nothing else to do on this quiet night. No matter the reason, come midnight and you find yourself in one of Alleycity's many entertainment venues, surrounded by bustling nightlife chatter, the clinking of bottles and the deep bass rumblings of the jukebox in the corner. Maybe you're seated at the bar trying to con a mark, or perhaps you're watching the live-entertainment from an out-of-the-way table. That's when it happens. "Oh - hey!" "What's he doing?" "Get off the stage!" A thin man with wide eyes clambers onto the stage and lurches for the head musician's microphone. There's a high-pitched squeal from the speakers as he snatches it from the singer and tweaks the setting. The music abruptly stops. People start yelling at them. The man ignores them and grasps the microphone with trembling hands. "I - I need to warn you," he says, his voice amplified by the mic. "You have no idea what's coming. Please! I need to say this before they -" The bouncers begin climbing onto the stage, but their work is cut out for them when something small flies out of the shadows and into the man's neck, dropping him. A figure clad in black can be seen in the corner, holding some sort of ranged weapon, and they run to try and escape the building. Screams begin to erupt, and some people begin to rush out of the building. To them, their bubble of safety is popping. For you, however... maybe this a chance to be like the heroes you once heard about. To utilize your skills, to have an adventure, and - if you fancy yourself good enough - to solve this midnight mystery. Once and for all. Now... what do you do next?

“Find the Voidbringers who keep ordering attacks against us and kill them,” said Rob without a second’s pause. “Stop waiting for them to attack us, and take the first step.” He stopped, hesitating for a moment. “There’s another Radiant group,” he said, looking to Cassie. “In Seattle. They were in communication with Doc, asking if he had any Radiants he could send over. A whole other group. And they’re going out of their way to hunt down Voidbringers. Not just hostile Voidbringers, but ordinary ones too. Going about their lives, just like we do.” He paused to let the words sink in, then continued. “There are Voidbringers who want to continue the war, and then there’s this second group of Radiants. If we want peace, we have to eliminate both groups. No discrimination.”

Rob watched the two of them in silence. Division. Darker places. At James' words, he silently let go of the Stormlight, letting it seep from him in thin, wispy lines. Something had been different about all of them these past few days. The air was tense and silent, as if preparing for a storm. He turned to Cassie and spoke coldly to her. She didn't deserve that, but for some reason Rob couldn't feel anything else. "Doc lied to us. Shana and I wanted to know the truth. Why this war hadn't ended yet. The only way to get answers was to enter his room." He glanced back at James. Ever the diplomat. Framed with the window behind him, it almost looked to Rob as if he had a halo of light around him. The Bondsmith. The one who was supposed to unite them all, when more and more things felt like they were coming apart. "This... it's all going to end," he said to Cassie and James. "I will not stand back and let new Radiants come as old Radiants die. I will not let the cycle replay itself while no ground is gained, remaining static until we either die or delay the issue for the next generation." He paused. "There's no need for division or dark times. We're still a family, and I know that you can't be blamed for what's been happening. But now that you know, you have to see the truth. We have to..." He faltered, unsure of how to explain himself, but Shana's words echoed in his head and for a moment that was all he could see. Shana in front of him, eyes burning bright with drive and ambition, their minds linked a joined cause only they could understand and no one else. True warriors. True Radiants. "We have to change the board. End it for good." @AonEne @Wyndlerunner

Something alive in the sphere. Meaningless lies, thrown out with the same ease Doc had lied to them all. With the same ease everybody lied to each other, patting themselves on the back for doing nothing but going to school and killing just enough Voidbringers to never make a difference. He felt a knock on the door behind him and suddenly had the urge to punch straight through it, to channel what he felt into some sort of tangible effect. But he pushed the feelings into the sphere, and watched another crack creep down its surface. Cassie. James let her in the room. Rob stood still, not bothering to hide the Voidbringer’s sphere he still clutched in his hands. “Hi, Cassie,” he said tersely, inhaling a sphere of stormlight almost instinctively. Defensively. .@AonEne @Wyndlerunner

Sure

James sank to the ground and Rob remained standing only through sheer force of will. He’d be weak if he collapsed, weak if he gave in. He’d risked that, looking weak, here, with James. He’d - barely - been able to open up to someone who was supposed to help him. Who was supposed to be able to help him grow, by removing his issues. But James was on the floor and Rob felt a burst of emotions hitting him all at once. Desperation. Sadness. Anger. He’d helped out so many times, he’d helped fight Voidbringers, had even opened up and James couldn’t even do the one thing Rob asked of him? The thoughts swirled and boiled in his mind until — “James,” he spat out resentfully, preparing a yell. “YOU —” And then it was gone, the anger ripped from him Rob shot his eyes towards the dark sphere in his hand, which now was ice cold, painfully so. He raised it up and and saw a long crack running down its surface. His thoughts were in a mess, and his emotions still ran rampant... but something had happened. He still felt like a bucket full of emotions he didn’t want, but he didn’t feel like he was overflowing anymore. At least, not yet. You’re welcome. He regained his composure quickly, the hate he’d felt at James gone, the emotions no longer clouding his actions. He stared at James, the Bondsmith who’d warned him about his sphere. But it had helped him. “I... am sorry,” he said, for once perfectly monotone. Now it was him who rested a hand on James’ shoulder. “I should not have disturbed you.”

He couldn’t help him. James was his only hope and he couldn’t help him. The the rest of the words blurred together and Rob only caught a few of them, the world seeming to spin. Journey, destination, support, friends. He felt like a knife had been rammed into his throat as James walked forward, placed a hand on his shoulder again. He saw the mouth move but all he could hear was a distinct buzzing in his ears. He felt weak, weaker than he’d ever felt before. “James,” he whispered, trying so hard to remove the tremor in his voice but failing. He stared intensely at the Bondsmith, screams and cries all at once wanting to escape but being held back, visible only through a slight misting of the yes. He gestured to himself. “James, look at me. Look at me.” He bowed his head, staring at the floor, wanting to ask again although he already knew what the answer was going to be. James would deny... but Rob had to ask again. Once more, for final. He was shaking ever so slightly. “Please... please. I’ll do anything.”

“A crush,” Rob repeated, then heard a sneeze from downstairs. Was Ashlyn here? Now? He watched James sit back in his chair, the gentle smile, the hand that and been in his shoulder, the hug. It all seemed — for a moment — that he truly understood Rob, with the soft words about change, about how it could be good. Could it? Maybe for others, but not for YOU, came the response, from somewhere within him. You’re a Stoneward. Shana fights for us because she is a Dustbringer. It is her role. And YOUR role is stability. If a STONEWARD cannot be trusted to be stable, what can? An eroded rock is a weak rock. “An eroded rock is a weak rock,” he whispered to himself and shook his head, glancing back at James. “You care for me. And I appreciate your words.” He paused, and only now could his feelings, like a boiling ocean, be slightly visible underneath the surface. A slight shake in the voice. A light tremor in the hand. “But, respectfully, James... I didn’t come here for words.” If he’d wanted encouragement and support, he’d have gone to Shana. Instead, he was here because James was a Bondsmith, nothing more and nothing less. He stepped forward, tried desperately to hide the feelings despite how they seeped out of his every action. “I came here for you to fix me. To... take it all away. You can do that, can’t you?”

Jassir stood on the spot in front of the King, and his costume shifted to match the drawing, making the design canon instantly, because it was that good. Ah, he thought. That’s better.

Jassir watched the commotion with wide eyes, seeing Lady Hvenkar being escorted away after yelling at the Raveness. She really had nothing to lose, did she? Nothing to lose, but all to gain. Spotting the King in his throne, Jassir jumped and cartwheeled over to him, landing in front of his Majesty with a flourish. “Your Majesty, not keen for a dance?” He glanced towards the King’s betrothed, being offered a dance by another noble. “Not even with your bride-to-be, at your own ball?”

Triple Phoenix! Triple Phoenix Tessellation!

Rob couldn’t stop himself from tensing slightly when James hugged him. He stared blankly at the wall in front of him, unsure what to say or how to react. The experience was so... foreign. More so than even fighting Voidbringers. He had to admit it. He had to tell James what was bothering him. “I’m slipping, James,” he said quickly and bluntly to get it over with. He continued staring at the blank drywall of James’ room, somehow finding it easier to talk that way than when facing someone. “It was easier in the beginning. When I could feel whatever I wanted but keep a blank face. Be sad and not cry. Be angry but not yell. Be happy but not smile. That’s who I was when Doc let me in here, and that’s who I am now, and for most of my life it’s worked perfectly. Without fault.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “But these days... I don’t know what’s happening. I get... tired of school, and almost frown. I get happy at winning a battle and almost smile. I get angry and feel like a pressure cooker about to explode, barely under the surface. With Ashlyn... I feel happy, but it becomes so much harder to hide it when she’s around. Why can’t I hide it?” His voice was still monotone. “I know to you, it probably doesn’t seem like much. And I want you know I never judged you, or Ben, or any of the other guys for expressing their feelings. This is just who I am, who I was raised to be. So why does it feel like it’s collapsing over me? The more time I’ve been here, the friends I’ve made, the battles I’ve fought... it’s all make it harder for me to keep it all in? Even now, speaking to you. It’s harder to stay impassive then it ever used to be. One of these days I’m... I’m...” He forced himself to spit the word out. He’d already said to much to James. “One of these days I’m scared I’m going to smile, or laugh or show something. And then everything’s going to flood out.”