Swimmingly

I assumed that referred to Taln getting extra torture after his buddies left him dead in hell.

Soulcasters keep turning the ball into smoke!

Why the peaks, though? I want to see Rock walk into his hometown clad in Shardplate like a boss.

Or she just chooses not to, because it makes it pretty obvious that you're doing something weird.

Fair enough. I guess he has a "I'm already damned to the second-lowest level of hell, blasphemy time!" attitude at this point.

Lift shoots... Lift scores! "YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-CRASH!"

Doesn't mean he does not hate literally everything else and wants to be the only conscious being in the Cosmere at the end of it all.

You may have been spending too much time on the forums, Dar... Haha we all know there's no such thing

That sounds right. It looks smoky, it's crystal, it says "smoky quartz" in other translations. It. Is. Smokey Quartz."

Actually, I think she'd need Preservation's Investiture for that - but she could probably get a message over to big S if she wanted to and ask for a bit of help.

They will act like the Big S tells them to. For example, those earrings that Pathians wear open them to suggestion every time they wear them. Hemalurgical creations did not necessarily try to destroy unless ruin started telling them to.

[rant]I'd like to get something straight: Even without a SINGLE surge, inhaling stormlight makes you a badass. A man who can use stormlight gains an instant healing factor, sped up senses and reactions, and increased strength and skill. So what if you're an aging lightbringer without the knack for illusions or a good opportunity to Soulcast? You're still a nigh-invincible glowing supersoldier! Go shove sharp implements where your enemies don't enjoy them![/rant]

That's the difference between a Surgebinder and a Windrunner?

Tarbe was out on a summer stroll, breathing in the warm air with a practised manner. He might be going on ninety, but no one was going to keep him from his walks in the red Orra but the old reaper himself, no sir. Out of Quarrystown, toward the college, the smoke of the village became a barely visible plume behind the hills. The college itself was hidden over a rise, and the sparring grounds in the pit were always deserted at this time of- His thoughts were cut short by a flurry of jade missiles that arced haphazardly out of the pit, shining even in the midday light and spraying white mist behind them. Tarbe ducked for cover, though the green flares came nowhere near, and, against his better judgement, creped closer to the pits. Peeking over the top and getting his own Charge ready - just in case - Tarbe watched the duelers below. One boy stood in the centre of the large, irregular patch of sand - he was tall and stringy, wearing a reddish brown shirt, and the green flashes that had arced out of the pit earlier gathered around his right arm like fireflies, buzzing off toward his opponent every few seconds. In his left arm, he held a staff coming up to his chest, and every so often, a pulse of deep red light would run along its length, bouncing off the ends before soaking back into his skin. The lights flashed off of the stony, dusty walls of the sparring pit. The other boy was shorter, but thicker, with a head of dark hair, and he dashed around the outside of the yard, trailing smoke and blazes of blue and orange from his weapon. The staff was held two handed, and he used it like a vaulting pole, sending blue down it to blast him away from whatever it touched and orange to anchor it when he should have gone into a skidding tumble. Sand rolled around him as he sprinted, including a few puffs he launched himself to act as a smokescreen. Tarbe grinned, remembering his own duels in that very pit as a young man. His Charges were similar to the fast one's, but more of a general deflection away and a drawing towards, and much weaker. Still, he could pull the salt to him from across the table, and that boy would have to touch something to affect it, from the look of it. It had made him a devil to hit in close quartets, but a caster like the tall one could have taken him down easily. Tarbe squinted closer. The tall caster was Bird, one of the Malk's. The short one, the one running like a rabbit with its tail on fire, would be his brother, Derek. Derek had spiraled in close enough to make a pass at Bird now, and he rammed his staff into the ground with a blue flash. It catapulted him sideways, and he soared towards the middle position Bird had taken, pulling his legs up into a tight, swift ball, ready to knock him over. The caster was calling green flashes more and more quickly, using the staff now to aim them, until the air flashed with green lightning. Derek had already swung his feet up, however, and they soaked in to his legs and shins as he flew toward Tall. Tarbe winced - if he remembered right, Bird had a Stunning Charge, more commonly known as Snakebite. Tarbe did not envy Derek. Which was why he eased his old back down and watched in rapt fascination, of course. Had to make sure they wouldn't get hurt. Bird backed off cautiously, movements sharp and flickering with red light. Derek shoved himself to his feet, leaning on his staff as his legs recovered from the missiles. His heartstone healed him a few seconds later, and he dashed forward, staff charged blue from his right hand. The staves descended, and each clack of wood was punctuated by a harsh blaze of blue, staggering Bird backwards. For the moment it gave him the advantage, but the counter to Tall's missiles -the red charge he had been using earlier - must have sped up his reactions enough that he could block each charged blow, evening the field. A moment later, the combatants drew apart again, settling into formal fighting stances. Bird fell into Boar stance, low and cautious, while the attacking Derek took the aggressive Bear stance, staff held higher and slightly to the side. They circled for a moment, then Derek leapt forwards, staff shimmering blue. He swung at Bird in a series of quick blows from the sides, breaking his defence with charged strength, before switching into a brutal set of overhand blows. Bird's left arm blazed crimson as he drew all he could from it, boosting his reflexes to supernatural speeds for an instant. As Derek brought another glowing blow down toward Bird, Bird reversed his grip and planted his staff in Derek's chest with a thump. He sent one last pulse of green brilliance through the staff, falling backwards from the effort, just as Derek reacted, grabbing the offending staff and pulsing blue into the taller boy's gut with a shove. The two charges washed over each other, eddying and losing some power from the contact, but still connecting. Tarbe watched in morbid fascination as Bird flew backwards with a sharp crack of concussed air - or bones - and Derek fell over, spasming and unconscious. They both landed with puffs of sand, out cold. Tarbe hurried down, as fast as his old bones would allow. Derek would almost certainly be alright, as Bird's snakebites shouldn't be lethal, but Bird might be in trouble if Derek's charge had hit anything vital. As far as he could tell, though, he was lying as still as a corpse, face towards the sun. Tarbe craned his neck as he got closer, trying for a look at Bird's face. It seemed fine, but was he breathing? A second passed, then two, as Tarbe watched his chest for signs of life - what would he tell Derek?

Also one of the Ten Essences.

Technically speaking, the muscle you gain displaces the air directly.

Of course, this is all presented in world, by Brandon's notoriously unreliable expositors, and they have other abilities, like the shapechanging, that are poorly understood in-universe.

Sorry, how can i read this?

For me, close is within 10 - 20 feet or so.

Still close range - they were in a group, and one was close enough to touch. If she'd Soulcast those men into exploding chlorine gas, the shockwave would have ruined her makeup for sure.

I can imagine isolated temples where masters of controlling emotion teach their students to change their emotions with pure willpower, driving them through torturous regimens whereby they must be able to summon the emotional strength to feel delight while being beaten with a bamboo cane, or switch from pure hatred to genuine respect to terrified confusion within a second. They are taught an open-handed fighting style. The result? A bunch of grown men slapping eachother, then crying, falling down, screaming, or laughing randomly - and they are the most feared warrior-monks of the realm.

Good point. He was getting pretty incredible with that spear of his. I wonder if he's going to meet anyone from his old crew in Amaram's army at any point?

[*spoiler*]Remove the stars, and this becomes forbidden knowledge. [*/spoiler*]

Except that every Surgebinding we've seen done so far has been at close range.

He attracted Syl when he refused the Shardblade. She took a while to show herself. Like, 8 months and several escape attempts.