Shivertongue

"Under the current administration, three times as many people have died to mysterious murders as did in the previous," Khamsi said, staring out at the townsfolk. She stood atop a thin hitch post in front of The Waffle House, balancing on one foot as spoke. "Now, with all due respect to the town fool, I don't think this is acceptable!" The fool looked up from his plate of pinecones and shrugged. "She's not lying," he said, and gestured with his spoon to the crowd. "I thought I was the one without wits, and then you all went and made me your leader. What's that make you?" She crossed her ams behind her back, walking along the other hitching posts. "Now, I may not have been in this town long. I may not have the connections the rest of you have to your fellow villagers. I may not have any idea what the driving force behind the economy of this town is. I may not even actually remember most of your names." Khamsi stopped suddenly, standing up straight and looking out into the crowd. A small breeze caught her cloak, causing it to flutter behind her. "But I do know one thing," she paused, then added,"well, I know many things, actually. I'm quite brilliant, after all..." she trailed off, then shook her head to recollect her thoughts. "Two important things I do know," She said, and suddenly spun around, jabbing a finger in the direction of Bela. "I still don't trust that horse. There was a Dragon's Fang on her post, and now everyone who spoke against her yesterday is now DEAD! Never trust an animal that's too clever. Never." "But more importantly, I also know, though, that while I may not be the best candidate for mayor of this fine town, I am the one with the least to do, and thus, the most time available to help grow and protect this town." She lowered he voice, glancing around. "Seriously, running this inn is so easy with no travelers coming through here. All I do lately is make waffles and sing songs and play cat's cradle with Rishi." "And," she declared, her voice carrying throughout the town square, "If that doesn't convince you, look what I can do!" A half dozen small colored ball suddenly leapt from her hands, forming a perfectly arc through the air. With dazzling grace, Khamsi juggled, sending the balls on mesmerizing trajectories. Then a seventh ball entered the mix, and an eighth, and a ninth. With seemingly no effort at all, the gleewoman kept them all going. "Vote Khamsi!" She declared, and the balls suddenly caught fire as they flew threw the air. A large banner suddenly unfurled at the entrance to the inn, declaring VOTE KHAMSI in large, elegant lettering. "Free waffles for all!" ---- Khamsi is running on a platform of waffles. Waffles and juggling. Two things that normally make candidates seem weak.

I cast half my votes in these games by flipping a coin. Sometimes when you're unsure, I find it best to just leave things to chance and see where they fall. Dovie'andi se tovya saigain. Like right now, I have absolutely no idea who to vote for. And so, I'm going to... wait. And watch.

A cool breeze swept across her face, the scent of the sea caressing her cheek and upper lip in a way that never failed to stir a shiver within. Aesalyn smiled, closing her eye as she enjoyed the sensation. The prow swayed ever so slightly beneath her, but she held her stance with practiced ease, shifting her body weight in minute ways. Tightly-sealed jars jangled at her waist, and the numerous vials chimed within the small pockets of her jacket. She could hear Silari now, the great port city that ran along the only livable stretch of land along the edge of the Great Wander. Ships casting off and coming in, fisherman boasting and threatening, dock rats rushing about for something to steal, or, rarely, honest work. She smiled, opening her eye and taking in the city in all of it’s cobbled-together glory. “It’s been a long time,” she said softly. She squashed the slight pang in her chest at the thought, without even knowing what it was about. “HEY!” Aesalyn glanced over her shoulder, flashing a pretty smile at the sailor that showed off brilliant white teeth and prominent canines. The wind pulled loose a lock of strawberry hair, and she neatly tucked it back between her ear. “How did you get on this ship?” The sailor demanded. A blocky elven man who looked as though he juggled oxen in his spare time. Behind him, half a dozen other sailors had noticed the commotion, and were forming up behind him. “How long have you been here?” “Long enough,” Aesalyn said, smiling wide enough for the dimple to pop beneath the cherry-red patch that covered her left eye. “Long enough to know, for example, that your captain spends half the ale budget on ladies at the Golden Rose whenever he’s in port. You might want to turn that anger on him, rather than little me.” “Stowaway,” a short woman in the back hissed. Aesalyn sighed; it probably wasn’t worth the effort to fight with them, and she didn’t have Zeith’s silver tongue to talk her way out of it. They began to close the distance between then, anger in their eyes. With a flick of her wrist, a small vial slipped into Aesalyn’s hand. She bit the cork out, spat it aside, and threw the vial to the ground. There was a blinding burst of orange light, and then black-violet smoke began billowing from the bursting point. The sailors cried out in confusions, attempting to disperse the smoke with waving arms and blades. At least, that’s what Aesalyn assumed they were doing. She’d gone overboard the moment her little surprise had hit the deck. She hit the water with all the grace of a brick, gasping as pain swept through her. Shaking her head, she popped another vial from her glove and down the contents. The pain faded a moment later, a sigh slipping from her lips. The empty vial went back into her glove, secured. What- “Shut up,” she growled as she began swimming toward the docks. “I’m busy right now.” * * * * * Dripping wet, Aesalyn ignored the looks and leers as she pulled herself out of the water. Shaking her head, she wrung the water from her hair as she began walking with no specific direction in mind. There was always work to be found in Silari, and it mattered little where you went. Walking past a deserted alleyway, she suddenly flinched, as if an insect had landed on her face. “No!” she snarled under her breath. The hells! You’ve had three weeks! The voice was like an echo inside her mind. An insistent, annoying echo. “Because you get seasick!” She flinched again; gritting her teeth, Aesalyn cast an eye around herself, then ducked into the alley. She leaned against the cold stone wall and squeezed her eyes shut as the flinch turned into a throb. Doesn’t matter. The echo said. It sounded closer now, the cultured dialect of Manisha becoming prominent in the clipped words. Aesalyn sighed. She grit her teeth again, and then released. “You KNOW this is a terrible idea. You don’t make friends in Silari.” It began at her forehead, an almost imperceptible ripple. The smooth face lost it’s delicacy, becoming harder, jawline filling out, skin darkening from milky white to light copper. Full lips thinned ever so slightly. Her hair shrunk as if being sucked back into her scalp and turned a midnight black. Her vision began to fade, and she had the sensation of falling backward. As the ripple moved downward, her body blurred and shifted in a manner she always thought looked agonizing, despite the lack of pain. Moments later, the ripple faded, and a tall young man stood in her place. A crooked smile slid upon his face as he looked himself over, a bare hand brushing some non-existent dust from the sleeve of the black longcoat that had replaced the dyed leather alchemist’s jacket. Dark grey slacks replaced the red leather trousers, vials and jars and bottles no longer hanging from the belt. "I make friends everywhere, Aes," he said. Fine, Zieth, you can have the body FOR NOW, Aesalyn said, her voice an echo in the back of his mind. But once you get into trouble - and you WILL get into trouble - you’d better ripple back to me. “Of course, of course,” Zeith said smoothly, pulling out a hand mirror and checking himself over. Her carefully shifted a loose strand of hair back into proper alignment. Flashing himself a grin, he slipped the mirror back into his pocket and stepped out of the alleyway, turning - - and stepping directly into path of a muscular woman. Zeith sighed, looking up at the woman who towered over even his tall frame. “Scat,” he cursed as she looked down at him, her mouth twisting into a wicked and altogether unpleasant smile. “Sallna, a pleasure…” “Zeith…” the woman growled, and he flashed her one of his best smiles. “Momma will be so happy to know you’re back.” 77 seconds, Aesalyn said, and he could almost hear her shaking her head. I TOLD you you should have come out on the ship, get a little bit of bad built up before we got here, but no, you’re tender wittle tummy just couldn’t handle the big bad boat. “Not helping!” Zeith hissed, dropping down as a massive fist filled the space his head had once been. He sidestepped another blow, grasping onto the forearm of the woman. Deftly, he pushed himself into the air, flipping over her head. She turned, and Zane placed a hand on the top of her head and spun back the direction he’d started. Pushing in her back, Sallna howled in fury as she went face first into the ground. Zeith tossed a wave over his shoulder as he bolted down the street. Where- “Gate quarter!” Zeith interrupted, darting into an alley between two tall buildings. There was a wall at the end, but he pushed himself off one of the buildings, shooting upward and clearing the wall. “Momma’s Little Girls won’t go into Ssvarssii’s turf, and I was friendly with the lizards the last time I checked.” * * * * * I thought you were ‘friendly with the lizards’?! “Not. Helping.” Zeith growled, leaping over the charging slyssin. He pushed his feet into the lizardman’s back, grunting as a small shock went through his legs at the impact with the hardened scales. It was enough to get him into the air, though, and he reached out to grasp the overhanging lamppost. He felt the twinge before it happened, and groaned. His fingers clasped around the pole, and his grip failed utterly, slipping right off. Zeith grunted as he landed hard on his back with a hiss. Majestic Formula, just let me out already! Aesalyn insisted yet again; he wanted to swat that voice into the ground. You don’t have the luck for this! He ignored her, again. It was easy, when an angry lizardman was holding you by the collar four feet off the ground. Even easier when you were suddenly flying through the air toward the main window a dusty tavern. Tucking into a ball, Zeith crashed through the glass, grimacing as he felt a chunk slice into his cheek. He heard several patrons cry out in surprise as shards rained down on them and he flew overhead, his momentum apparently unimpeded by the window. Which meant the wall was really going to hurt. It did. Zeith slammed into into the thick wooden wall. He screamed as a splitting sensation tore through him, the scream in second joined by a higher, feminine one. Two bodies crashed to the empty table below. “That was not what I wanted…” Aesalyn growled, pulling herself up, then roughly yanking Zeith to his feet. “Oh, whine, whine, whine,” Zeith said, rolling his eyes. He swiped a vial from Aesalyn’s jacket - ignoring her protests - and downed it, his bruises and scrapes fading rapidly a moment later. It did nothing for the pain in his back, but that could be taken care of later. He glanced around the tavern, taking in the numerous weapons, magical tugs, and altogether quite dangerous looking people. Mercenaries. Perfect. His luck twinged. The lizardman leapt into the room, hissing, tail lashing against the floor. He grimaced as he felt the tug, and knew without looking that the same expression was on Aesalyn’s face. Lovely. It was a short split. They didn’t have much time. “Before you get angry at me,” Zeith said, shooting a wink at the pretty women in red at the back of the bar. He stepped forward, making sure to remain within reach of Aesalyn, and turned to the bartender. “I would like to bring your attention to the fact that I did NOT want to come through your window.” He gestured to the lizardman. “That was his idea.” ------ ------ Okay. That turned out longer than I'd planned. Lemme know what you guys think. In short - I will make a post going into more detail on this later, if people wish - Aesalyn and Zeith are cursed to share a body. Impacts, like the one in the bar, can temporarily split them apart, but they have to remain close.

Unless she was traveling, Khamsi had never been a morning person. There was never a need to be. Entertainers such as herself made their livings in the afternoons, evenings, and into the darkest hours of night. The mere idea of rising with the sun was abhorrent, especially if a soft bed and an additional warm body was entered into the equation. Unfortunately, only the former was present now. What was fortunate was, when Khamsi sprang to a sudden and almost violent wakefulness, there was no one to accidentally knock out of bed. For a solid minute, she stared, unblinking, at the open window across from her. A bird fluttered outside, singing a song of the morning, but she paid it no mind. She barely noticed the morning itself. Her eyes glazed over slightly, looking inward. An idea, the barest seed, was forming in her mind; she knew not where it originated, nor even yet what it was. Except that it was beautiful. All but leaping out of bed, Khamsi shed her shift and pulled on a clean one. Giving herself a quick look-over and saucy wink in the mirror, she dressed in a clean pair of breeches and a fresh tunic before donning her patchwork cloak. Her mind was spinning as she worked through the idea, barely noticing the walk from her chambers to the common room. The world seemed to turn into a blur as she walked through the kitchen and into the pantry. A grin spread across her face as she examined the stock. Collecting everything she needed, she pushed the door shut with a swing of her hip and got to work. She sang softly to herself as she mixed and sifted and stirred, the music bringing a semblance of reality to the otherworldliness of her current state of mind. Cooking was not a specific talent she had, although she did well enough to feed herself. If this turned out to work, though, she would have to give it to Rishi and see what someone who knew what they were doing in the kitchen could concoct. The song was an old one, although since arriving in the village, Khamsi had been reworking the lyrics for her own amusement, replacing the characters in the verses with members of the populace. "Give me your trust, said the seller of dirt, I don't know much, but how could it hurt? Trust in my product to be soily and dark And I will assure this is not a lark But trust is the color of blood-stained earth, Trust is the color of what mud is worth, Trust is the color of a soul's last breath, Trust is the color of death..." Eggs cracked. Flour coated her arms to the elbows, the sleeves her beautiful cloak pushed as high as they could go. "Give me your trust, said the horse at her post On my back you can swagger and boast Trust in my stride and speed above par And I promise you shall journey far But trust is the sound of wolves in the night, Trust is the sound of a broken hoof's plight, Trust is the sound of a soul's last breath, Trust is the sound of death" The fires lit, burning hot and bringing beads of sweat to her brow. She frowned for a moment, staring off into nothing, then darting into the store room. A broad grin split her face as she returned, and got back to work. "Give me your trust, said the fool in his guise, For behind it all you will find I am wise Trust me to smile and to share and to give And I can assure that you will live But trust is the scent of the gorging crows, Trust is the scent of battlefield woes, Trust is the scent of a soul's last breath, Trust is the scent of death." She caught her breath as she waited, idly trying to work out whom she should use for 'the taste of death.' That thought brought a smirk to her face; the taste of death would be the last thing on anyone's minds if her vision proved true. She put that unfinished verse from her mind and moved to the last, which was her personal favorite. "Give me your trust, she said singing this song, I'm so cute and clever you cannot go wrong, Trust my stories, my fiddle, my flips, (And please do include some generous tips) Because trust is the touch of a warm inn's fire, Trust is the touch thrumming strings on a lyre, Trust is the touch of a soul without strife, Trust is the touch of life." Sure, it shifted the meaning of the song, but in such dreadful times, didn't the people need hope? Khamis let out a small cry of glee as she beheld the results of her endeavor. With a shaking hand, she cut into one of the squares, the section separating with little effort. She brought it to her mouth and with a moment of hesitation, took a bite. Tears nearly filled her eyes. It was beyond what she had ever imagined. It wasn't perfect - a little butter, something sweet, maybe sliced fruit of some kind... But that was for another time. Right now, she felt touched by The Creator himself. A sound at the doorway broke her from the spell, and she turned to find Rishi staring at her. "Mistress...?" The maid asked. "Rishi, darling," she said, crossing the room in a flash and holding the plate to her. She smiled warmly, wondering briefly why the girl took a step back at the expression. "Smell. Taste. Love." The girl stared at her for a moment before slowly taking a small piece for herself. As she chewed, a wonder filled her face, and they shared a gaze in which no words need be spoken. With a bounce of joy, Khamsi rushed from kitchen and out into the streets of Drell's Crossing. Tumbling and flipping through the throng of people, unthinking of why there was a crowd so early in the morning. "Villagers! Come one, come all!" Her voice shifted into her stage tone, commanding the ears of all around her. "I have created something new and wondrous and delicious! My waffles shall put the town on the map and bring Light and prosperity to all!" She didn't know where the name came from. She just knew that it sounded right. Then she saw the body on the ground. No... bodies. Plural. "Light," she whispered, the color draining from her face, "more?" She stepped closer, taking a moment to remember the faces of the men on the ground. In the back of her mind, she realized she would have to change the first verse now. * * * * * Khamsi has created waffles and written new lyrics to a classic song. But she has yet to rename the inn... Edit: to fix Rishi not actually staying at the inn that night before.

I read about five books at a time - three physical, one audio, and one ebook. I generally shift between them depending on the circumstances; one is my "before bed" book, and I only read it when I'm going to sleep. Another is my "out and about" book, which i take with me when I go places. Audio is for whenever I can't be reading actual words with my eyes. There are exceptions. For example, when I finally get Skin Game, nothing is taking me away from it. Some authors have earned my full and undivided attention. However, if one of those five books happens to suddenly grab me, I will set all the others (save for the audio) aside and focus entirely on that one. It is sadly rare for a book to grab me in such a way lately...

The common room was full. That was a good thing. The Borderlander, Erik - an odd name for a Borderlander if she had ever heard one - had claimed the largest table as a makeshift "command center." That wasn't necessarily bad, but Khamsi couldn't help but think having someone use her common room as a war center would be good for business. 'Then again,' she thought as villager after villager came in to report who they found most suspicious, 'it does have people coming in again...' And most of them stayed for a drink, some even ordering a meal. Her new girl, Rishi, was an absolute wonder; if she was needed in the kitchen, the girl could cook. If she was needed to serve, the girl could smile and titter and slap as well as any tavern maid Khamsi had ever seen. Her first day, and she already deserved a raise. It was a little disheartening, though, all the talk of Darkfriends. She didn't know of any Darkfriends who could tear a man apart like that - such a person would have been covered head-to-toe in blood, at the very least. She had thought maybe Trollocs, when she'd first seen the remains, but Trollocs didn't leave remains... She shuddered again, banishing that thought and discretely touching one of the knives hidden in her sleeve. Not that it would do much. No, a dead body was one thing - the murder of the mayor spoke of malevolent glee, someone who was having fun, someone who not only enjoyed delving into the darkness within, but lived there. She rubbed harder at the stain on the table. She did not want to think about what could have done that and enjoyed it. Sighing, she returned to the bar, disposing of the rag and filling two mugs of fresh ale. Humming, partly in an effort to announce her presence, partly in an effort to banish the thoughts she had been ruminating on earlier. Khamsi smiled as she approached Erik, setting one of the mugs down on an empty space of table. "On the house," she said, lifting hers in a facsimile of a salute before taking a pull. "I can't say I enjoy having a command center in the middle of my new inn, but you have been bringing in the customers, so I suppose it balances out." She let her eyes roam over the reports and notes the mad had scrawled and shook her head, crinkling her nose. "This whole lynching business is so odd to me," she said, attempting to make conversation; she'd be performing in about an hour, and had nothing to do until then. "Casting votes on who dies based entirely on suspicion... I have to say, though, that Jim Bob Dirt whatever is an strange one... My aunts always said, 'never trust a man who sells what you could get for yourself - he's taking no risk, and profits only from the wool-headed.'" So... there's my vote. Had to find a way for Khamsi to vote without actually saying she wanted someone dead. I was going to rename the Spruce Thicket in this post, but I think I'll hold off on that until my next post.

With no where else to go, Khamsi had returned to the inn, despite the owner's untimely demise. There had been nowhere else to sleep, and considering that the villagers seemed untrustworthy of even each other at this point, it didn't seem the best course of action to beg a room with one of them. Besides, the bed she'd slept in before had been so comfy. How could she give that up? It seemed somehow wrong, though, and as she looked out on the empty common room, she frowned. The Spruce Thicket had not had a large staff to begin with, and it seems with the innkeeper's death, what help had been here had run off. Running off seemed like a good idea; too bad she had signed that contract with the mayor the day she arrived, after a few too many pints to be able to read properly. Why he had included a clause about defending the village, she had no idea - what could he honestly expect from a gleewoman? Dazzle the Trollocs with juggling? Admittedly, her skills were very impressive, but she could eat fire, not breath it. While there was no way the contract could truly be enforced, especially with the mayor dead, if it got out that she had fled without providing the services she had promised, her reputation would be ruined. She wouldn't be able to perform in an empty field, let alone noble courts. Shaking her head, she sighed. She was a woman of her word, and would fulfill her contract. Light burn it. She ran a finger along the duty surface of one table, considering. Her eyes scanned the room again, feeling the emptiness. A place like this should not be empty.... Several moments passed, and then Khamsi nodded sharply. Heading into the back storage room, she rummaged around until she found a large board. Wiping it clean, she gave it a quick inspection, then brought it back up and into the kitchens. She stared at it for another moment, then fetched a piece of worn charcoal from a pocket within her sleeve. Several minutes later, a new sign hung on the door. Brushing her hands on her cloak, Khamsi stared at the sprawling calligraphy with pride, admiring the intricate and flowing design work done along the sides. She could have done more with additional time and materials, but not bad for a quarter hour and a single piece of charcoal. The Spruce Thicket - she wondered if she was allowed to change the name - was once again open for business. Someone, after all, had to get the townsfolk drunk. Khamsi has decided to take over the inn, because why not. This should have gone up much earlier, but an unfortunate power outage early this morning and a busy day prevented this. Just pretend this scene took place before the common was commandeered by Erik. I would have made a graphic for the sign, but too much actual paying design work to do at the moment, so just pretend it's super-impressive, k? Khamsi will vote later, if she votes; I just wanted to get this bit of RP up.

Yeah, I do that.

The cloaks are made with a special ter'angreal in the White Tower. As all the channelers in this are Wilders... yeah, not like to have the ter'angreal

Small towns were the worst venues. Many thought differently. The man she'd apprenticed to, many years ago now, had insisted that small towns and villages were the bread and butter of the gleeman's trade. 'Smaller communities do be craving entertainment, girl. They may no pay as well in coin, but will give you all you do need in exchange for a few nights of simple entertainment.' There was definite truth in that, Khamsi knew. Just last night she had gotten a free room and a hot meal for a few songs and stories that had the entire inn - as packed as the village could manage - dancing and laughing and spreading coin as they demanded more and more. No, it wasn't because they paid poorly that Khamsi privately disliked small towns. It was the type of entertainment they wanted. Songs they all knew the words to, but never requesting anything that required any skill to play - or Light forbid, something original. The classic stories everyone knew but only a gleeman could truly tell - but always in Common, rarely in Plain Chant, and never in High (the way tales were meant to be told). Simple feats of juggling and tumbling. Her act last night had been the exact same, note-for-note and word-for-word and tumble-for-tumble, as she had done in the past six identical villages she'd visited. It was getting dull. Khamsi awoke at a proper hour - well past noon - and dressed slowly, humming a small, wordless tune to herself. She had the best room at the inn, with a large feather mattress, a small desk, and dressing table with a built in mirror that was fit for a minor noblewoman. A minor, Murandian noblewoman, but beggars could not be choosers. Sitting down in the small stool, Khamsi examined her face for a moment, smiling at the soft curves and planes that greeted her eye. With practiced ease, she set down her paints and began applying subtle color to her eyes, cheeks, and lips. Her mother and aunts had taught her well, although she knew they never expected her to use the knowledge in this line of work. She was supposed to have become a merchant, leveraging her beauty and allure to bewilder men for greater profit, and make them happy to lose the coin. She had been well on that path, learning all the tools and tricks of the trade. Until a tall Illianer with a twinkle in his eye and a cloak of colored patches sauntered into a party at her aunt's and suddenly commanded the room. She had been entranced by his every word and every movement. The way he held the attention of everyone present. Her aunts were amateurs next to this man - his ability affected everyone, regardless of sex. She'd spent hours talking to him that night after he was finished. And the next morning, when she had rode out of Bandar Eban after him. Eyeing herself in the mirror, Khamsi nodded and flashed a smile that could - and had - stop men in their tracks. Satisfied, she slipped on her cloak and, giving it a flourish just for herself. She checked that all her props and tools were in place, then left her room and the inn, stepping into the town for an afternoon of wandering and mingling. That had been the plan, at least. "I see," Khamsi said, pausing to wet her lips as she took in the throngs of shouting and glaring at each other people, "that the day has not been as idle as I have..." She watched all of this for a moment, then turned toward a random villager. She flashed a bright smile as she spoke, "Excuse me, but could you tell me what's going on? Is there a reason that horse is wearing a mayor's sash?" Khamsi doesn't know what's going on. Khamsi, for now, votes no one for anything. The Random person Khamsi asked for information can be anyone - first person who wants to be the random villager gets to be the random villager, and explain everything, and possibly influence Khamsi's vote. xD

Sorry, lost power last night due to a tornado, and then haven't had much chance to be at the computer today for related reasons. I'm working on an in-character post, though, and should have that up as soon as I can.

Crap, that means I have to find the awards I made for the Great Reread...

Awards were a thing we had with previous versions of the forum software, given for certain things, usually a "service" to the site. Things like transcribing interviews, doing large amounts of wiki work, stuff like that. Unfortunately, there's been a problem with the award system since a previous upgrade. As far as I know, we haven't been able to re-implement it. Eric would know more on the specifics of that.

Not sequels to Mort, but I highly recommend Gong Postal and Making Money, two of my personal favorites. The latter is one that Brandon also highly recommends. The great thing about Discworld is, with some exceptions, you don't HAVE to read them in any order. You can start anywhere, and it's generally better to start at the middle and later books. They're all standalones, with some having callbacks to events in previous books, but you're not really required to read anything earlier to enjoy them.

I suppose I COULD be a nice guy and edit it... Edit: There, done. Also added Hoid. For funsies.

Fun fact: Originally, Khamsi was going to be a merchant, albeit a much more successful salesperson than these sad sacks. Then i realized nobody had made a gleeman yet, so I snatched up that idea. But yeah, there would have been three salespeople.

Yes, this should be a thing.

Ah, that's what it thought. I wanted to make sure, though. Thanks ^^

Question regarding this - So, once you use all five of the weaves, you become burned out. Can you use any of them more than one? Like, use Fire one night, then Air, then Earth, then Fire again, then Spirit, then Fire, etc, without burning out as long as you don't use Water? Or do you burn out after any combination of five?

Hm. Yeah, listen... we've been looking for that spike for a while now, so if you could just give it back, that would be terrific. Yeah, see, they're reserved for staff and higher, you understand. Terrific, I'll just pop that out for you... *yanks out the spike* We're going to have to get these washed now...

*raises an eyebrow* We have our own spikes. They never need sharpening.

A Wheel of Time game? I am so in. She sat cross-legged in the saddle of her dappled mare, a finely-crafted fiddle held firmly under her chin. Fingers flew in a delicate dance along the strings as she worked the bow with an ease borne of experience. Despite the jostling of her mount as it trotted down the hard-packed dirt road, the music never wavered, the sweet tone never faltered, and she never lost her balance. Her eyes were closed, a small, serene smile on her face as she played. One eye cracked open as she came closer to the village, her smile growing a fraction wider at the sight of the small crowd that had gathered, drawn out by the music. Smoothly, the motion like flowing water, she rose to her feet, standing on the back of her mount, the melody rising into a powerful crescendo as she did. A hush swept through the crowd, and she fought to hide her growing smile. The horse came to a stop several paces from the villagers, the woman's cloak fluttering out behind her, dozens upon dozens of patches catching the light of the late afternoon sun. She leapt from the horse, spinning through the air, a whirlwind of mesmerizing colors flowing around her. The music continued to fill the air, becoming almost a wall of sound by the time she landed gracefully upon a single slipped foot. The final note hung in the air for several moments, seeming to suspend time until she moved again. She brought the violin down, tucking it beneath her arm as she gave a wide bow. Dark brown eyes glittered as they looked out on the crowd, knowing half were staring at her distinctive patchwork cloak, and half at the beautiful copper-skinned woman wearing it. As anticipated. First impressions were so very important. "Khamsi Zareef," she said, bearing perfect white teeth in a dazzling smile. She brushed aside a lock of midnight black hair, tucking it behind her ear. "Can any of you lovely people direct me to an inn?" [for the lazy, here's the tl;dr: Khamsi Zareef, Domani gleewoman.]

Shallan, because... well, duh. Quick-witted, intelligent, redheaded artist. If I didn't know any better, I'd think Brandon wrote her just to taunt me... But yes. We would have so much fun... Oh, and welcome. Happy to have you, and all that jazz. Everyone else seems to have covered the other welcoming stuff, so I'll just add that we're happy to have you. ^^

The weapon itself was an ashandarei. It was not named ashandarei.

The Pirate Monkeys be sidin' with th' Pirate Monkeys. Th' Lord Ruler may claim to r'present chaos, but Cap'n Shiv be a true acolyte of her Lady Discordia. True chaos be havin' no agenda! *Cap'n Shiv stands majestically on the prow of the Prettiest Little Inquisitor, flagship of the Pirate Monkey navy. Long, flowing locks of glorious golden hair flutter in the breeze as he stares out at the horizon, a smirk playing across his lips. A small macaque wearing a striped shirt and an eyepatch hops onto his shoulder, passing him an unlabeled bottle, fumes rising from the neck and distorting the air. Cap'n Shiv takes a drink, then hefts the bottle to the sky, declaring in a voice that resonates through the air:* For the waffles! For the monkeys! And most of all... FOR OUR OWN AMUSEMENT!