Swimmingly

I love it. Forget Tim Burton, Danny Elfman's a virtuoso.

I like it, Chrono. Concise and understated. "There is a deep irony in Trush's work, and it lies in the fact that he lives in Russia, a country where many people will tell you that it's impossible to live without breaking the law." The Tiger, by John Vallant Hmmm... As I am not (yet) Russian nor in the practice of breaking laws casually, this worries me. Let's move one book over on the shelf. "And she said that if I sat an A level I would have to have a member of the staff looking after me on my own in a separate room." The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, Mark Haddon. I don't even know. "For each, the past obeys, as shadows must." The Devil Delivered, Steven Erikson. Now that's more like it. Vague, dark, and awesome. I'll take it.

So you just reviewed the fact that someone reviewed us reviewing a review, then reviewing each other's reviews of the review?

Build a fortress into the side of a mountain. I can keep the walls strong by eroding tunnels back into the stone and using the energy to repair the front. Figure out how to flash-heat huge amounts of metal to liquid temperature, then keep boulders of the stuff strapped to the top of the walls. Research spericides and contraception very carefully.

The packs from Vernor Vince's Zones of Thought series are remarkably inhuman - composed of a composite soul, mortal in every way but duration, unable to mingle without losing their minds.

So, if a firstborn child of a manipulator is miscarried or dies in childbirth, that strain is forever lost? Are the lines renewed often? Does the ability crop up in people other than the main lines? Because, otherwise, this ability must be very new in the population, within only a few generation.

In my experience, more or less any thread can get off topic as possible until an exasperated sharder steps in and makes a new thread.

That would be an interesting novel. Or at least short story.

By the way, I haven't mentioned this yet, but feel free to do what you will with Saluard, Marie, and Bent. If you really must kill them, I suppose you could, though it should be for a good reason.

Hate Everything.

I think that's just Hoid being ridiculous.

Welcome to the 17th Shard! I hope you enjoy our little corner of the Internet - once you get over the amoral dictatorial overlords, it's really quite nice!

Arbitrary abstract concepts. They're three for a dollar

That could have some worrying consequences considering the rate of infant mortality in the kind of setting you describe. What happens if you die while possessing the ability? Does it shift to the next heir? It occurs to me also that if, for example, the ability somehow became deadly a la Shaod, it would eventually kill off every person in the world in a stable population.

I'm pretty sure the bit about Syl is just her emotion bleeding over the Nahel bond

Sell. Underneath his disguise of loving it, he'll pretend to hate it when speaking to Wax and Marasi. Underneath that, he will have never heard anything so beautiful, and will fall in love.

Plus, I don't think Shardblade kills your soul immediately. It seems to be more like cutting a major nerve, except the damage moves across the entire soul, not just from the damage down, and it leaves your body to die. If you heal the body and the soul with ReGrowth, which can probably be done, then immediately piecing together the damaged soul and healing the damage to the body works.

That's great BT, and it leaves something to be discovered about the sword. I suppose it can be fully drawn at a properly dramatic moment. I like the Nightelf origin, maybe we can explore that later as well. Mat, would you mind using commas and quotation marks in your posts? It kind of gets hard to read, without punctuation. Once everyone's ready, we can decide where we want to go with this RP. Are we going to take to the seas, striking the invading navy from behind? Travel into the desert to recover a lost artifact of power? Dive back into the city, conquering the invading force with subterfuge? Strike at the source, far across the ocean? Any ideas would be great. "...slower than it is," Mat was saying. He looked a mess, hair mussed, eye missed, and his ribs apparently a mass of pain. Korb could sympathize; he felt the bruises on his back and face keenly, and the swelling had begun to close his left eye. The last time he'd seen Mat, the boy had just been woken up from a hard blow by several slaps and a pint of cold cider to the face. "I'll see what the good lady can do," Korb answered. "I don't honestly know her skill with herbs. Marie!" At the sound of her name, Marie came meandering over, rubbing the hilt of Barb distractedly. "M'lord?" she asked, eyes wandering up and down Mat's battered form appreciatively - then, noting the missing eye and the bruises, a touch sympathetically. "Do you, perhaps, have any skill with medicine and physicking?" Korb asked her. "Me ma showed me a thing or two; I expect I remember enough for Master Cauthon here." She could see where this conversation was going, apparently. "Excellent! Would you be so kind as to wrap his ribs, then? He took a hard blow back at your tavern." "Ain't my tavern no longer," she protested, but she was already towing Mat towards her sack of belongings by the arm. "I'll see what I can do for you, then." Mat stumbled away, expression torn between interest and prudent wariness. The way that Marie kept stroking Barb with the hand she wasn't holding him with probably had something to do with it - but he didn't seem the type to be scared off by a woman who knew her way around knives, and Marie probably didn't even know how to use the thing. Curious, Korb slowly drew his sword - he really should name it one of these days, considering that it was enchanted and all. The night grew brighter as the sword came out further, and the ghosts started appearing. Korb pulled it a bit further - further than he ever had before, just at the edge of his tolerance - and watched the images wrap around Mat. He was a huge, indistinct bird, feathers black and blue with bright white markings. Looking closer, the markings seemed square, with black tufts flickering in and out of existence like pips on a die. The motion of the bird about him left a strange trail, as if the ghost was leaving ghosts of its own, and they had flickering feathers too, in the shape of dice and cards and turning wheels. At the boy's ankle, a chain was tied, floating as if underwater. The chain degraded as it stretched further back, little necklaces and knots of cord dangling off of it like feelers on a root, but most notable was a brittle shard of metal welded in a few feet behind. Only the gemstone in the pommel was intact, and that glinted with a ruby light. Korb tried to imagine what it meant - had the boy been attached to a dagger in the past? Was that why he found Marie's fixation disturbing? A problem for another time. He sheathed the sword, the white light and ghosts fading to a simple grey in the night. Korb kept his hand on the hilt, for now, though he knew he probably shouldn't come to depend on the assistance. Still, in the company he was keeping, a little supernatural ability was practically required. Korb turned back to his books - he had sorted through them well enough. They lay on the ground in two rough stacks - the ones he'd decided were useless, and, more neatly organised, the ones he thought he could use on the journey. Out of these, he picked four: A heavily annotated merchant's atlas, probably sold off by a retiring trader after, if the density and content of the notes meant anything, a long and less than legal career; Surviving for Idiots, a frank and practical manual on common sense; A Brief History of the Night-Elves; and the necromancers' biography. The last he'd rationalized as useful against a necromantic threat. Honestly, though, he just liked it - it was well written. They still made a seven- or eight-pound pile, but Korb could bear it, so long as they might come in handy. If worst came to worst, they'd have something to start fires with. Saluard limped over with the help of his cane. He'd been managing the people as they arrived, but nobody was coming through the gates right now. "May I ask what this madness you're attempting is?" he spoke in a low voice. "M'lord?" "A business venture, Captain," Korb answered. "One I happen to be leaving on." "With this crowd of ruffians? They're hardly a cohort of bodyguards - they'll worry about their own safety before yours." "Saluard, old friend, trust me on this. These gentlemen are Heroes, with a capital H. They might not follow conventional morality, or military tactics, but they have a remarkable ability to do what they set out to - which, in this case, includes protecting me." "And if they slit your throat as soon as you've handed over a bank slip to fund them?" "They won't, my dear fellow. I know it." "How?" "Because you'll be coming along, of course." Saluard glared, and the silence stretched out like taffy, thick and dark. "I'm crippled, M'Lord," he said, finally. Korb shook his head. "Not good enough, friend. I know it doesn't pain you anymore, and you move faster with your good leg and that cane than many with two strong legs. You know how to train people, and it will be your personal duty to whip me, Marie, Bent, and anybody else that asks for it into fighting shape, as well as being the only person I'll be able to trust completely." "And do I have a choice in this matter?" Saluard asked. He seemed resigned. "Of course, Captain. But we both know what you'll chose, anyway." Saluard sighed and nodded. "I'll see about getting you three proper weapons, then." And with that, he turned and limped back to the mansion, using his cane like a third leg. He stopped halfway and gave a servant some instructions; the man walked over to stand guard by the gates and direct everyone to the pavillion. Korb began to follow Saluard. He would need to start the servants working on assembling supplies for the adventure from the pantries and storehouses, and the sooner, the better. They would be off before the sun fell again.

You know, this would mean that, given a few bright manipulators/inventors with manipulator friends, once you got over that little bump of discovering electricity, you would have virtually unlimited amounts of any rare metal you might need - neodium, uranium, ytterbium, etc.

Yeah, given to an author already firmly entrenched in the genre, the review seemed a little...snobby. And I think that the fight scene in TES flipped it firmly into the fantasy side of magic realism vs.

As Zakk, clad in worn-looking black leather, introduced himself to Saluard, Bent and Marie walked out of the dark street, looking respectively appriciative and suspicious of the estate. The larger man was carrying a pair of burlap sacks under his arms and still wore Korb's jacket, though he'd put a shirt on over the bandages underneath and had cut off the sleeves of the finer garment. Marie carried only a leather satchel and her jagged dagger, the latter unsheathed and hanging from her waist. Her serving girl's skirt had been replaced with a pair of thick trousers. Korb raised his eyebrows at the mismatched pair. "You have everything you need, then?" Marie nodded. "Clothes, bandages, some herbs. Bent's cudgels and Barb, here." She patted the dagger. "And your things," Bent added. He shifted the larger bag. Korb nodded. "Put that down somewhere and go to the pavilion, friend. We'll be meeting there." Bent nodded again, set the sacks down on the grass, and walked off, following Marie. Korb noted that she hadn't put down her dagger - Barb, she called it. He really should get Vhalin to show her how to use that thing. Come to think of it, he needed to learn how to fight - yet another thing to remember. Korb leaned over and undid the drawstring on one of the sacks Bent had brought back. After he'd spotted the army, he'd clambered down from the roof in a panic, yelling madly. The voice in his head had then sworn at him until he calmed down. Zakk had suggested they all gather their belongings and meet at his mansion, and Korb had given the address. Then he'd visited a few shops. Most of the shopkeepers he'd found at that hour had been either frantically packing their bags or soundly asleep, preparing to flee the city. The former had sold him anything he asked for for a fraction of its normal price, glad to have a lighter bag and heavier purse, and the latter had fairly quickly transitioned to other kind once he had Bent smash their doors open and wake them up. The result was this sack. It was filled, primarily, with books. Korb, Marie and Bent trailing behind, had dashed through several booksellers, grabbing anything on sight enchantments, enchanted weapons, maps of Silari, maps of the world, language manuals of every sort and a few oddballs suggested by the voice in his head, such as "Surviving for Idiots", "Turning in Their Graves: Collected Biographies of Noteworthy Necromancers (vol. XI)", and a self-help book that seemed to be about freeing and obeying your inner voice, complete with meticulous descriptions of every blood rite required. He couldn't take it all, of course, but one or two might have the information he needed. Korb had just started stacking them on the grass according to subject, touching the hilt of his cane occasionally to read titles in the dim light, when Zakk wandered over, looking curiously at what Korb was doing. "What's this then laddie?" Zakk asked. Korb looked up. "I'm simply trying to decide which to take," he said. "I would very much like to know what on earth is going on with my cane, but I honestly know nothing about enchantments or such." Zakk chuckled. "I know a wee bit about magic myself you know," he said, squeezing a fist. The temperature dropped a few degrees, then rose as he opened his palm again. Korb raised his eyebrows, then shrugged and handed the cane to Zakk. "Can you tell me anything about this?" he asked. Whatever properties you want to give the sword, BT, please don't give it any that are focused on combat - I want a tool that aids perception, not a weapon. Thanks

Go ahead, Lefty

What if you can only act on "pure" elements - molecules with only a single type of atom? Then, you can use certain things, such as O2 or pure carbon, but you can cascade a single lump of that across the periodic table to the desired element - once you stop and the free atoms feact with other elements, you can't affect them anymore, or can only affect them to move them, not transform them. Also, how are you dealing with molar mass? Does the extra energy come out of nowhere.

Easy - use minted coinage backed economically by some kind of rare wood - say, mahogany. Otherwise, you could add some 'sticking points' in the system - elements that arbitrarily require ridiculous amounts of power to change into.

I'd wouldn't mind it if Zeith knows exactly what he did to piss of Korb, but Korb remembers it as great fun - maybe a refreshingly original con scheme that Korb caught onto, then played along with just to see how it ended. He revealed that he knew exactly what was going on just before the payoff, and Zeith skipped town? How does that work? Also, yeah, let's get everyone to the mansion. We can do a little timeskip, assume that everyone has gone to get what they need. Finally, does anybody object to Bent and Marie staying on as cannon fodder/snarky henchmen for a while? Korb sat in the wicker chair, sipping from a glass of water and panting like a winded horse. Saluard sat in stony silence across from him, looming disapprovingly in his captain's uniform, hands clasped on the knob of his cane like a vengeful angel gripping a sword. "Well," Korb began brightly, "How have things been going at home?" Saluard's eyes glinted. He was a tall man, and though he was nearing 60, his hair was black as tar and unruly as a boy's, despite his best efforts. "My lord," Saluard began, clipping each syllable as if was pruning a branch, "I was awoken this morning by a serving girl who had brought you your breakfast at the normal hour only to find your bed empty. When I questioned the men under my command, they reported that you had jogged out the door, tipped them each a schooner, and asked them not to wake me on account of my health." He shifted his grip on his oak cane; the wood creaked. "That was at three hours past midnight." Korb grinned and nodded. "It's important that a man of your age gets his sleep, Captain." Sauard's cane creaked again, and Korb considered the amount of pressure one would need to elicit a response from an aged piece of solid oak. "Furthermore," Saluard went on, "I sent an entire cohort of your guard to comb the markets where you normally run. You were not there. I personally interview your tailor. You had visited him only an hour earlier. I sent runners to the nobility, and, of them, only Count Alucard had seen you, at the Gods' Vinery for a meeting." Korb shrunk, just a little. "I had the guards comb the area from there outwards, but they found nothing. Now, as the city comes under attack, you come sprinting through the gates, no doubt having charged across half the city." Saluard stopped speaking, but Korb could hear the silent question. What the hell happened? Korb drained the water. His legs ached pleasantly; he'd pushed himself hard to get here in time. He explained. By the time he got to the meeting with Zakk, Saluard's glare could have heated iron. By the time he finished, it could have melted it to slag. Saluard stood up. "What," he asked, voice shuddering with steely control, "is the point of a guard if you don't let me guard you?" Korb frowned. Saluard sat down. "I see your point, Captain. Now, would you care to tell me why none of the aforementioned guard was waiting at the gates when I walked in?" "I sent them to fight to defend the city, my lord," Saluard said. "As is your duty as a Duke." Korb nodded. "So how would you like to meet our companions?" Saluard frowned. "Where?" "Behind me a ways. One of them is named Zeith." The look on Saluard's face was worth the entire ordeal so far. Okay, so, notable features of the estates: No guards, has vineyards, white mansion, and the good Saluard. He never did like Zeith, and that was before he realised the man was conning them.