Ravenclawjedi42

Szeth in TWoK and WoR:

14. WIB’s main exports are rice and wheat, and other agricultural products to a lesser extent.

“Turn off cell phone? Like, what does that even mean? Nobody does that! What kind of dork actually turns off their cell phone?” Said very loudly. WTWTTS while playing a concert?

use the bathroom. This backfired

and asked where the restroom

Yes, it’s a short story he wrote in 2011. No, not yet. There will eventually be some by Issac Stewart and Dan Wells, though.

It said “books,” and there is both the short and extended versions…and many people haven’t read it…

“My parent’s are expecting me. And I’m already too late. Sorry!” He was still smiling happily.

Naharn Palep Carekt (NPC), ILLUSIONS Я US, Mistwarrens That storming spren was talking again. When would that cremling realize that she didn’t storming care? “Naharn,” it said, “you must speak truth. Mmmmmm. Speak your truth. I came to you for a reason.” It really was beautiful. A mess of twisting lines, waving, looking like a pile of worms in a good way. “Shut the storm up,” Naharn hissed to the spren under her breath. A customer walked in with black curly hair and light skin. Scadrian, or maybe Shin? She wasn’t sure. He slouched slightly, but his clothing was of fine make. Somebody familiar with the underground, but somebody with spheres. She’d take them. The man walked up to the counter, revealing bright green eyes. Damn lighteyes won’t leave us alone, she thought to herself. But I’ll take his money all the same. “I need a library burned,” the person whispered in a raspy voice. “Corner of Zinc and Emerald. And I need it to look like he,” the man took out a poster of one of those things with the eye piercings that must hurt a whole storming lot to get and looked creepy, “did it.” “Burning, eh?” Naharn replied. “We can do it, but it’ll cost you extra.” The man nodded. “Also important, the owner of the library must see you, as this person, light the flames, but he cannot die in the inferno. He must survive. But try to destroy as many books as possible.” Nahran licked her lips and stuck her hand out. “Hundred boxings.” Surprisingly, the man didn’t try to haggle, instead dropping the money into her hand. She counted it, suspicious, but all seemed to be valid and there. Although it was hard to tell with these storming coins. It would just be so much easier with spheres…. “I look forward to seeing it done,” the man said, and walked out.

Shalash?

Sunny Bob kept smiling. “Anyway, I had best be on my way. I hope to see you two around.” Sunny Bob walked away, heading towards his house.

You got it!

“Just…think about it. I think you’ll find that there in more sense than you think, if you just look for it.”

We don’t know for certain that it isn’t…

“It makes sense. If I want to be happy, then I will be happy, and nobody can stop me!” Sunny Bob was in many ways lucky. He had seen firsthand the grief that Punchy Bob had felt when Dumb Bob died, Scary Bob when Smart Bob killed himself, and when Punchy Bob died Gooey Bob had just ran away. Nobody knew where he was. But Sunny Bob had always had the opposite problem. Whenever somebody died, he didn’t struggle with depression, didn’t lose his joy to grief. No, he always felt stupidly happy, even in the face of death. Sometimes he loved it. Sometimes he hated it.

I was reading the old pages of this thread, and for some reason I’m guessing the next one will be: I Hate Dragons Hunger Games.

“If we stop smiling, it lets them have more power. If we—even me, without an ounce of capital blood in me—defiantly keep smiling, it shows that our emotions are still our own. “Also, smiling is great fun!”

No to all of these. 1. This person is not from Roshar 2. This person is from Sel. 3. This person is Teo.

“Don’t we all, friend. Don’t we all.” Sunny Bob is still smiling, a stupid grin on his face.

then pass out on the

“Because they’re bad people,” Sunny Bob said, perhaps a little too loudly. But he was friends with the guy who had named this district! He’d probably be fine.

Lady Prunella von Bläart Ertyuytfrdefcvbhjiytg of the Woodchair Lightgift Yew VI opened her eyes again, still grumpy at nobody getting her tea. She sat up, saw that she was alone, and snapped her fingers twice. An entourage of servants came in. “Orders, m’lady?” the leader of the servants asked. “Ge’ me the coffee ou’ of ‘ere!” Lady Yew barked at him. Two of the others took her hands and stood her up and led her out of the room. Lady Yew couldn’t remember their names, but called them Right and Left. They helped support her weight because she didn’t like carrying herself around. One, called Fan, fanned her from the back. One, called Carolina, held the many layers of dress that trailed behind the Lady—they had a name, but Lady Yew had never bothered to learn it. Christopher, their leader, the only one whose name Lady Yew actually learned, supervised the others. One, called Babyhead, ran ahead to prepare the carriage. One, Chair, picked up Lady Yew’s chair and carried it behind her. It was a very nice chair, even if she was stealing it. Two, Annoyance and Cutie-pie, just stood there, not doing anything. They didn’t have any work to do right now. Annoyance was her dresser, tooth-brusher, foot-massager, and was more powerful than most people thought, and Cutie-pie was kept for…other reasons. The last of the servants, nicknamed God, pushed a cart around that had mugs and tea leaves and bags and hot water and milk and biscuits. He was Lady Yew’s favorite, as he made her tea. She called him God because he was, to her, God. Ironically, he was very religious, and hated his nickname even more than Cutie-pie.

What’s a “bird?” Chickens are chickens. Tea tastes beautiful.

tons of cream cheese, even

“I am…incredibly lucky. It took me a while to realize that.” Do I sound too entitled? Too bratty? Am I too entitled?