Swimmingly

No. I didn't actually think of that until now. It must have been subconscious. I was just thinking for slightly haughty and condescending words for themselves the magical community might use, and that came out. Should I change it?

Or maybe they were arrayed on different sides of a conflict.

So maybe steel does perception as well as physical speed then

I'd put Shardbearer over Returned in terms of freedom and actual power.

He...was tapping a bit too much electrum and storing a bit too much zinc. And Breeze was in the corner fiddling with his emotions.

I wonder if maybe zinc works entirely differently than we think. Like, maybe instead of slowing down perception, it means that you can think of the solution to a problem the moment you think of it - not exactly intelligenc, but making you slower to come to conclusions and less leaps of intuition when storing and the opposite while tapping.

Eh, just because you're the guys the cannon fodder feels sorry for doesn't mean you have no value.

Of course, syl is basically the definition of flighty and whimsical, so it could be poetic license on her part.

Disclaimer: Any cosmere swears are produced by the site swear-censor. Please ignore them. I drove an old red Ford pickup truck, my brother Henry in the passenger seat. He was invisible, but I could feel the salt dissolved in his blood pulsing in a kind of warm current. I was covered in a layer of dense, compact salt about an inch thick, myself. It padded everything except my face and forearms, and I held it there with an effort of willpower that had become practically automatic. "So why do I have to join your crem dung secret magic society, exactly?" asked Henry. "If you don't, Richard will probably send someone out to take you down when you inevitably start screwing with people." "You're saying that I can't control myself?" Henry asked. "I'm saying that when you do, we can pull you in for lessons rather than beat you up and drag you in for lessons if you join now." "You don't think I can do a storming thing for myself, do you?" "I think I'm doing my responsibility. Just give this a try, OK?" "I'll give it a try. Nothing more." "That's fair," I said. We pulled up to the curb about a block away from the Potter and Pauper.The pub served as a chapterhouse for the Community, and Richard kept some good beer on tap. I was seventeen and didn't have a fake I.D, so it was about the only place that would serve me alcohol. In that, as in most things, the Community and other magic-affiliated groups operated in the very gray areas of the law. Henry blinked out of the car without bothering with the door, and I stepped out, holding myself about a foot above the ground with the salt. My shell flowed down and covered my hands, and up to shield my face except for slits over my eyes. My ability was odd, compared to many of the privileged. It wasn't as rigid as Henry's - I could even do a few basic spells. I would never be a wizard, though. Over a certain threshold, spells just didn't work for me. My strength was in my instinctive ability, what you might call a power. I could manipulate and sense salt, as well as do a few little tricks with it that I kept up my sleeves. I walked down the block towards the Potter and Pauper. We got some odd looks from passersby, but most people treated magic like they treated gangs and homelessness: it happened to other, less lucky people, and as such could be safely ignored. "So," asked Henry, "what am I supposed to do?" "Not much. You just have to swear into the Community, meet the leadership, and decide how much you'll be involved." "Involved?" "You know how I come home at two thirty am sometimes, or disappear for a few days for 'work stuff'?" "Carl, that is really, REALLY sketchy." "It's part of the lifestyle." "And the 'swearing in'?" Henry asked. "You swear not to harm the Community, you swear to learn to use your privilege, and you swear to support the Community if you need to." "Doesn't sound like something I want to be stuck with." We were getting closer to the pub, a squat brick building that sprawled quite a bit further in the back than you'd expect. It had been foggy the past few nights, but somehow it seemed more so around the pub, hiding the way the walls just kept going back. From experience, I knew the building was actually about fifty metres long, with a basement the same size beneath. It had a spring, kitchens, living quarters, and a "war room" we used to monitor our territory. "Trust me, Henry. Just try it. Remember, if anyone in there has a mask on, your name is " Ghost" and mine is "Saline"." We pushed open the dark wooden doors with an effort - they were reinforced with steel - and entered the pub. The main dining room was long and low, with a small stage on one side halfway down and a bar facing it on the other. A crowd milled inside the room, moving between booths as conversation demanded. At the bar, a group of six or so men wearing business suits and ornate, full-face masks in various colours talked to each other and to the barkeeper, Richard. Despite serving the drinks, the big black man had an undeniable presence. In actuality, he was the leader of our chapterhouse; the masked men were ambassadors from other Chapters. Except for Richard and a few of the less involved locals, everyone wore some kind of mask. A waitress walked up, a set of protective runes drawn in magic marker on her hand and a submachine gun on her hip. It was Sara: A friend of mine who had been working here a couple years longer than me. She wore no mask. "Hey, Saline," she said, "who's this with you?" She could see him? I turned. Henry shimmered somewhere in the realm of translucency, with his face completely invisible. It was an impressive effect, especially considering how little time he'd had to practice. "You can call me...Ghost," Henry said in a deep voice. Then he started giggling. I shot him an annoyed look. "My brother. Can we get a booth?" We sat down in a booth right next to the bar, where I could keep an eye on the ambassadors. "Ghost, is there anywhere I can take you where you won't make an idiot of yourself?" He laughed. "Come on. I've got superpowers. Let me show them off!" "That was Sara, so it's OK, but you could really ruin your reputation with some of the more traditional locals." "You're a real spoilsport, Salty." "For the last time, my name is Saline." "I don't really see why I can't call you mmghphbleh!" He spat out the salt that had leapt into his mouth. "You call me Saline here," I growled. I didn't want to scare him, but Community business could get serious. "It's to protect relatives and friends. You can handle yourself here. If they want leverage on you, they will examine every word you or I say, and they will find our family and friends." For a moment, Henry's invisibility flickered, and the look in his eyes for that split second was pure horror. "This is some stormed up rust, Saline." "If we swear you in, we can protect you." "What about those guys," he said, pointing to a group of unmasked locals, "or the bartender, or Sara?" "Some people are bit players, unimportant. Sara's Richard's adopted daughter, and Richard runs this whole thing." "Your king is the bartender?!" Henry asked, dumbfounded. "'King' is pushing it. 'Leader', maybe." "And you think I might want to join this thing - this stormed up Magic Mafia?" "It's an option. If you want, you can just say the oaths and stay hands-off." "And is not getting involved in this crap an option? At all?" Henry asked. I couldn't see his face, but I felt the blood pounding through his veins. Salt beaded on his skin, invisibly. "No. If you do, you'll have to stop using your power or other organizations will see the chance to snap you up. You'll be possibly tortured, made a soldier. Mom and Dad might get involved. You're privileged. It's not a fact you can avoid, short of swearing off your power forever." He let his head flicker into visibility as he shook it. "So how will this help?" "You'll get the protection of our Community chapterhouse. You'll be able to travel and use your power without worrying about abduction. If something does happen, we'll declare war and take you back." He began blinking back and forth along his side of the booth absently. "I'll swear the oaths, but I want as little to do with this crap as possible." I nodded. "That works. If you choose that, remember to tread carefully regardless. Agreeing to not provoke people means you have to not provoke them. If you do, you'll get dragged in whatever you do." "Yeah..." he said. He sounded hesitant. "I guess I'll get it done, then. What's the ceremony like?" "It's easy for you. All you have to do is agree. Richard and I do all the talking." "OK," he said, sounding relieved. "So does this pub actually serve anything?" "Just ask Sara for a menu, maybe go meet some people. Even if you don't want to get involved, you should get to know the Community. You can show off as much as you want, too," I said. "I'll do that. What are you doing?" "I have to take care of some business," I said. "Sorry." "It's OK. I can order alcohol, right?" "Welcome to the Community, Ghost. Things are different here." I got up, then and took a seat at the bar, next to the blue-and-white masked Montreal ambassador - his name was Martin, though I guessed that was probably a pseudonym. Fair enough, when I was under one as well. "Salut, Martin," I said. "Salut, Saline," he answered. He had a reedy, thin-sounding voice, but he could shout to match a hurricane when he needed to. "How's Montreal been? You've still got that weretiger contained?" "Yes. It's been difficult keeping drill down guarded all the time, though. We don't know the mechanism or pattern behind his transformations yet," Martin answered. "It's frustrating." "Have you considered rigging an election to take him out of power? I'm sure he'll be easier to guard once he's lost mayoral duties." "It's crossed our minds," Martin said. "We're grateful for your help." "Any time. What brings you to Brooksville?" I asked. "Trade deals, defense treaties, the usual. I won't bore you." "Well, I wish you luck with that, though I'll side with Richard," I said. "Of course. The chapterhouse comes first." "Enjoy your stay," I said as I left. I did the rounds about the room, greeting locals and visitors, before I got back to the bar. The ambassadors were talking among themselves, so I leaned over and gestured to Richard. The bearlike bartender served as our house wizard and troop coordinator, and negotiated deals with the gangs and other chapterhouses. He lived in the Potter and Pauper, and maintained the spells on our borders. "Any news?" he asked. "Not a lot, it seems. Some people asked about bringing privileged relatives in to the chapterhouse." "If we can get more foot soldiers, we'll have more people free to train them. I think it should be fine, so long as they understand the risks," he said. "That brings me around to my brother," I said. "Ghost?" "Yes. He's getting sworn in tonight, but he doesn't want to get drawn into any wars." "His power makes him a very valuable asset." "I understand that, but...just, don't make him do anything he doesn't want to. He's only fifteen." "You started here at fourteen." "Please, Richard." "I'll see what I can do," he relented. I was a little relieved - not enough, though. The ceremony was held an hour later, around ten pm. I stood on the stage with my salt armour pulled into ornate spikes, and Henry stood next to me doing the translucent flickering thing. I began the ritual. "I, Saline, of the Brooksville Chapter of the Community, introduce Ghost to our Chapter. I say he is inducted in full, I say he is a member! Does anyone dispute?" Richard began the next step. "I, Richard of the Brooksville Chapter, dispute! I say he has no privilege! He has no patron! He has no oaths nor bonds!" I answered, glad I'd traced the words in salt on a table. They flared in my mind, like they were written in burning magnesium."His privilege is his power! I am his patron! His bonds are thus: Ghost, do you swear to secrecy what is discussed in our meeting places, unless permission otherwise is granted?" "I do," he said in the same deep voice he'd used with Sara - less ridiculous, now. "Ghost," I began, "do you swear to defend our Chapter and the Community against strife and oppression?" "I do." "Ghost, do you swear to respect the sanctity of our chapterhouses and meeting places as halls of asylum and discussion, and to attempt no harm within them or to them?" "I do" I turned to Richard, and shouted. "Is this accepted?" "This is accepted," he called. "Then I, Saline of the Brooksville Chapter of the Community, introduce my ward Ghost to our Chapter and to the Community! I say he is inducted in truth and a member of the Community! Does anyone dispute?" Silence rang for exactly ten seconds, then everybody spoke as one. "Welcome, Ghost!" I took Henry around and introduced him to my Community friends. Sara, he already knew. I showed him to Louis, an expert in crafting complex enchantments; to Mirage (also known as Margaret) who, underneath the warped haze of light she used as a mask, was a middle-aged illusion specialist; to Joan, a precognitive who's range went from seconds to days with little way to tell the difference; and to more. I'd built connections here, and Ghost would need a leg up. When people had begun to drift off, a few to the quarters behind the pub, more to their homes elsewhere, Richard came out from behind the bar and called me over. The six ambassadors had gone to their hotels, and the only ones left were locals drinking and telling stories. Henry trailed behind me, translucent. I let the salt flow off of my head, and Henry took the cue to go opaque. Richard made a hand gesture, and I threw Henry the keys to the car. "You can drive, right?" I asked. "I'm 15, Carl." I shrugged. "That's not an answer." He smiled a little. "I guess I can always just blink out if I'm about to total your truck, can't I?" "Try not to," I asked. "Please." I threw him the keys, and he walked out, looking more satisfied than he had looked for the entire evening. I turned back to Richard. "You wanted to see me? I was just about to go on patrol," I said. "It's about that, actually. We've had some reports of Spectre's gang approaching the west border, and I have a trainee I need to get some field experience. I want you to take her on patrol and show her the route." "Now, sir? When it's more dangerous, if anything?" "Every time we've clashed with Spectre in the past, they've been disorganized and poorly trained. I trust your ability to protect her - and she's not weak in any sense of the word herself," Richard answered. "Where is she, then? I leave soon." "Clara!" called Richard, beckoning. "Over here, please!" A short woman, maybe 25 years old, stood up from where she'd been talking to Joan. She still wore her mask - a ski mask, from the look of it, with the Brooksville blue and bronze painted in a double stripe down the side. Richard gestured again - how the hell did manage to say so much with a twitch of his hand? - and she pulled it off. She wasn't exactly pretty, with a hatchet nose and thick eyebrows. At the moment, she looked vaguely annoyed. "Clara," he said,"meet Carl, also known as Saline. Carl, meet Clara. This is who you'll be taking on patrol." Clara looked at me, thick eyebrows raised. "You're Saline? A bit young, aren't you?" "Three years of experience. A little better than you?" "Got me there." She shrugged. "I only found out last month." "How?" "I guess Joan had a vision of me burning down my apartment, because broke into my apartment and made me stick my hands in cold water for three hours at gunpoint." "And?" "Turns out my feet do it too." She held up a hand, thumb towards me, and focused. It burst into pale blue flame. She relaxed, then, and it froze and faded away, like an afterimage disappearing. "I did set the carpet on fire. We had a bucket of water on hand, though, so it turned out all right. How about you?" "McDonalds. I made everything in there with a salt content higher than blood levitate by accident," I lied. Richard shot me a look but didn't say anything. "Wow." "Yeah." "So I'm supposed to train under you," she began. "I'm not totally sure what I'm training for." "You're learning how to do a patrol, now. Normally, your patron would help you with this. Joan doesn't do field work, though, so it falls on me." "I was talking to Joan about that. She said we're maintaining the runes that anchor the Chapter's spells?" Richard nodded to her. "Yes. There are a lot of similarities between my brand of magic and yours, so you should be able to see if any thing's wrong." "You do magic? Beyond setting your hands on fire?" I asked. She shrugged. "Basic protection spells. Forcefields, wards. I did Sara's." I nodded. "That's impressive. I dabble a little in summoning, but I can't work with much power." "Is there much risk of trouble on patrol tonight?" Clara asked. Richard answered. "More than usual. Spectre's men, a rogue summoner, and I've getting tips about an entropic drain someone built into a junkyard to speed up degradation. Nothing you can't handle." "Should I bring a gun?" Clara asked. "If you know how to use it." Richard answered. "...and maybe something less illegal," I chimed in. She glanced downwards at her hands and set them on fire. "Is legality still a problem for us, now that...you know?" I didn't answer. That was a question I tried not to think about too much. "If you want something non-lethal, get a taser-staff from the armory on the way out," Richard said. "That'll work, I guess," Clara said. We walked through the door at the back of the pub room and stepped into the armory, a locked room off the narrow, wood-panelled hallway. Oak-and-aluminum taser-staffs sat in an umbrella stand, and a murder of guns hung on the walls. A very dangerous antiques' shop worth of swords, daggers, and amulets dangled in odd places between the modern weapons, and shields were slotted into racks. Though the front of the room was clean and bright, the back faded into dust and darkness. I grabbed a shield and a taser-staff, dropping the former onto my back for the salt to hold. Clara picked up a taser-staff and leaned on it nervously. "Is that armor really entirely salt?" she asked. "How effective can that be?" "Better than you think. Maybe Kevlar would be better, but then I wouldn't have as much material to work with. The salt works on slashes and bites, too, which is more than can be said for Kevlar." She nodded, tried swinging the staff, a bit awkwardly. Clara was not very good at it. Hopefully, she wouldn't need to fight anyone off. To be honest, my hand-to-hand was flimsy as well. Fights in the past had mostly involved me swamping the enemy with salt and smacking them with a taser-staff. "Ready?" I asked. Clara cracked her knuckles. "Let's go." The Back Door was pretty unassuming. It was an old metal door, paint flaking slightly, with a schedule stuck to the wall next to it with scotch tape. A pen dangled from a string beside it. I stepped to the side and let Clara get closer to the door. "Do you know how to use it?" I asked her. She nodded. "I use it to get here whenever I can get Richard to add me. He showed me how to edit the schedule myself today." Clara leaned in closer to the sheet. "It looks like I'm not compensated for on this thing. Give me a minute to fix it. You think Richard forgot?" I half-smiled. "That or he's testing you. It's hard to tell, sometimes." She chuckled, took the magic marker out of her pocket, and scribbled a few additions on the end of the rune. They twisted as she wrote them, weaving themselves into the rune that governed the door. Clara smiled. "I don't know how Richard manages this wide-area stuff. The terms on the spells make no sense unless they're explained to you." "I don't get any of this runic stuff, Clara. Summoning circles are a lot simpler." She frowned. "Seems kind of dangerous, to me." "At least you can fight off your mistakes in summoning. You mess up a teleportation rune, and you might not get to your destination in one piece." "Which is why I work with wards and shields." I shook my head and decided not to push the point. In my opinion, a lot of problems could be solved by setting a minor demon on them. Or smothering them in salt. It's always nice to have options. Clara put away the magic marker, pulled on her mask, and turned the door handle. There was a faint "click" behind the door, a shift in the light coming through the jamb, and the Back Door swung silently open. The scene on the other side wasn't anything like you'd find behind the Potter and Pauper. It was a view into a suburban night time neighborhood, wreathed in fog, across the parking lot of a strip mall. I pulled my salt into a full-face helmet and we stepped through. "Alright," asked Clara, "where do we go?" I pointed a salt-encrusted finger. "See those white signs? They're the markers for the boundary of Richard's domain spells. We go, check them out, and renew the runes if they've faded." An idea struck me. I let a centimeter or so of salt slough off from my armour, and formed it into a scoop shape. Clara looked at it, curious."What's that for?" "It's a seat. This will go a lot faster if I can levitate you between runes." She hesitated for a moment. "Are you sure? Seems like a lot of trouble for convenience." "Don't worry about it. If I need the salt, you can jump out. We'll go much faster this way." She shrugged again and hopped in. I focused, and I rose from the ground and ghosted across the foggy street with the sidecar following me. The first rune seemed normal, if a bit faded. "Clara," I asked, "could you refresh this one?" She jumped out of the seat and hurried forward, investigating the rune. She frowned. "It seems normal enough." "I just want you to get used to the shape. We may need to repair some later on." "I can do that when we get to them, Saline. Don't make me -" I cut in. "Clara, I know you're older than me. I'm the one training you, though, so listen. Just do what I say. You're the student here. " She rolled her eyes. "Yes, sensei." But she began tracing the rune, which was an improvement. The trip to the next rune was a quiet, if a bit awkward. Mist and fog rolled around us as we glided along Richard's invisible boundary. I always found humid air annoying, because I had to focus to keep the salt from dissolving in the moisture, and with two objects to keep track of, it was even harder than usual. Clara hopped off at the rune without comment and bent to inspect it. She took about two seconds to stare, horrified, before turning to face me. "Saline, you had better take a look at this." I dropped the chair into a pile of salt spread over the ground and glided forward, focusing on the sign.I noticed something strange immediately. A thin layer of dissolved salt clung to the surface in a smear. As I came close enough to see, my fear was confirmed: someone had painted over the border rune...with blood. "rust," I said, just before noticing a half-dozen salt-suffused bodies about thirty feet away coming from the same direction we'd been moving in. I dropped softly to the ground, and rolled into the ditch at the side of the road, gesturing for Clara to join me and laying my staff down. As she crawled into the slot, clutching her staff, I sculpted the salt on my chest to form letters. 6 COMING HIDE I WILL SEE WHO THEY ARE. She nodded and crouched down, drawing something on the back of her left hand with the magic marker. Clara held it up: WANT SHIELD? I nodded and wrote on my chest. STOP BULLETS/ARROWS. QUICK AS YOU CAN. Clara thought for a moment, nodded, and started drawing a circular, symmetrical pattern on her palm. As she worked, I shed a bit of salt and levitated it into something like a small cloud of salt crystals. I gathered it around my head as camoflauge and peered out of the ditch. The six men were only about twenty feet away, walking along the road. They wore leather jackets, shaved heads, broadswords, and guns, with an ornate blue band wrapped around their upper arms. Spectre's thugs. It didn't make any sense. In the past, Spectre had been a two-bit wizard outfitting a small gang on the border of Community territory. He specialized in enchanted blades, fairly simple things that could cut most supernatural things. The gangsters were mostly unprivileged, though hedge sorcerers and superpowers occasionally joined his ranks. These men, however, were organized, uniformed, and on patrol. They'd probably destroyed this rune on their last pass, and they'd be checking on the next one, freshly traced, if we let them go. Worst though, the trespassed on Community territory. This land belonged to the Chapter, and they sent armed patrols through it. Spectre was declaring war. A bit of rage began to burn. This was my land. I reached around behind me and pulled the shield off my back, letting all the salt slough off of me. It flowed like a tumbling mass of snakes in a circle around the thugs, and bit its tail before falling to the ground. I stood tall and spat out three Words. Clara and Richard used runes for their spells. Summoning circles were a kind of large-scale rune themselves one that most summoners had to set up well in advance. I, however, had my salt and my power. I might have been limited in the demons I could call, but I could sculpt a circle in moments. The final part of a summoning was the Word - naming the devil and calling it, opening its coming with a spark of power. I called three Words, and bound three demons into that circle. The first lurked quick and lithe in a cloud of ink-like darkness. The second looked like a rottweiler burning with pale green flame. The last was fat and bulbous, thick black wings heaving it into the air. I collapsed on the ground, suddenly exhausted, but my work was done. As I crawled back into the ditch, the demons attacked. The inky one streaked between the legs of the thugs, and they stumbled and yelled, unable to see. The burning Rottweiler barked, sharp and terrifying, and rushed them, slashing at the thugs with claws and jaws. The flying toad-thing rose into the sky and began spitting thick globs of mucus. For a moment, it looked like the fight was going our way. The thugs dove this way and that in terror, and the smoke drove them stumbling and blind. That changed when on finally managed to draw his sword, though. It expelled the smoke in about a three-foot radius around the hilt of the swords, and I lost the thug's position through my sense of salt. He slashed down at the dark, smoky imp, and it exploded into dust, taking the unnatural smoke with it. The others began drawing their weapons, too, and rammed a sword through the hellhound, sending it to dust as well. The toad fell last, shot out of the sky. Its carcass exploded into sand when it touched the ground. My sense of the men dimmed as they drew their weapons, until it faded completely. I was exhausted from the summoning in every way, but it looked like I'd have to keep going. I pulled my salt back to me and reformed my armor, peering out of the ditch to watch the thugs. They seemed confused, backing into a ring with their swords drawn - it didn't look like they were going to retreat, but they hadn't seen where we were hiding yet. They were all wounded from my attack, with acid burns on the leather coats, singed dog bites everywhere, and shallow lacerations on their legs. I looked back at Clara and wrote on my chest. HOW IS THE WARD? She rolled up a sleeve and scribbled on her arm. DONE. APRX 10 BLLTS, 4FT RADIUS. FOLLOW ME, I wrote. QUIET. I picked up the staves and handed her one, then grabbed my shield and held it in front of me. I trusted her shield-rune, but it didn't hurt to have backup. We approached the group of thugs, walking softly and very slowly. I shed some salt from non-essential areas and began squeezing it into a set of darts that hung in the air around me. Clara was breathing hard, and I could feel her heartbeat pumping the salt through her bloodstream at breakneck speed. About twenty feet from the thugs, we were noticed. "Show yourself, cremhole!" yelled one, sheathing his sword and leveling a gun. I stepped forward, Clara, and the rune cupped in her hand, close behind me. "My name is Saline, of the Community," I said. "I'm giving you one opportunity to surrender." "storm you!" He aimed for a second and shot me. There was a brief bark of sound and noise, a flash of light, and a much quieter "ping" a couple feet in front of me. I aimed and fired a single salt dart, hitting him in the hand he held the gun in. To his credit, he held on, gripping the gun with a single bloody hand and grunting softly. A moment later, he screamed, bringing his hand to his mouth. "You've poisoned me, you stormer! You've poisoned me! Auuugh!" Clara breathed out sharply, low and soft. "What the hell?" "Salt in the wound," I muttered, keeping my eyes on the ring of thugs. She shuddered. The rest of the gangsters looked at their friend. He was kneeling on the ground, tears on his cheeks. They clutched their swords like good luck charms. Given the way the swords worked, they had probably told that they were immune to magic when the had them drawn. In reality, it just meant I had to aim before I shot them. If they decided to rush us, though, we were finished. My armour would fall off and Clara's shield would fail if they got close enough, and then it would be six men with swords against two privileged without any power and little combat training. We were betting everything on a bluff. Another thug decided to try his luck. I caught him before he fired, this time, and he dropped the sword and his gun, screaming and clutching his hand. The sword lost power as soon as he let go. I could even feel some of the salt in his body, though he was partly eclipsed by the other Spectre swords' auras. "I said you had one chance," I called, "and you've used two. Drop your swords, guns, and armbands and I'll let you leave Community territory alive. This is your final warning." The thugs spoke to each other in low voices, keeping eyes on us. The two I'd taken down had managed to stand up, but they were shaking visibly. One, who I suppose was the leader, called back to us, voice strangely calm. "We accept your terms. We're all going to drop our swords now." There was a clatter of metal on the ground as the swords fell. Instantly, I could feel the salt flowing through their bodies. I pushed them around a bit, using it as leverage; I couldn't affect dissolved salt as well, but I could scare them. "The guns!" I yelled. The leader replied in the same smooth, calm voice. "Dropping the guns now. Boys, drop the guns in three, two-" And every one of the thugs drew their weapon and started shooting. The shield failed after about three seconds, but my then I'd already thickened the salt on the front of my body as much as I could, compressing it into a hard, white shell. I hauled Clara behind me and began retreating with the shield I'd taken from the armory held up. Bullets sunk into my shell, but for now just made me stumble. Spectre's thugs had called my bluff - but we could still survive if I separated them from their swords. I sprayed bits of salt off my armor and sent them down to grab the swords on the ground. They picked them up and flung them down the street in the direction we'd come, one by one. None of the thugs went for them. I guess they were too busy shooting me. We backed up to the ditch and Clara dove into it. I stayed still, bracing myself. Bullets whizzed around me, but my armor held. Exited shouts and gunshots blinded and deafened me, but I sprayed salt over the ground and used it to navigate. Then, I started walking. Slowly, bracing myself for each shot, I moved towards the group of trembling currents of salt that shot me. Each chunk of salt they blew off my armor, I shaped into a dart and sent back at them. I never missed. I controlled the salt crystals every inch of the way, from me to the targets. I was blind, but I saw the salt. The thugs dropped screaming. I hit them in the hands to stop them shooting, and then the legs to stop them running. The hail of bullets slowed, then stopped, and I walked forwards. Something bestial sounded in my voice, and I snarled in the sounds of fear and pain I had caused. "Run, cowards," I yelled. "Tell Spectre what happens when you try the Community. Tell him that he will be CRUSHED!" They limped away. Some of them, hardened gangsters, were crying. One had to be dragged by his teammates. Minutes later, everything was still. I could feel the salt that splattered the road - blood from the thugs. Clara walked up behind me and touched my salt-caked shoulder. There was something motherly in the gesture. "Carl?" she asked. "Are you all right?" I turned. My face felt stony, cold. I didn't want to think about what I'd done, but I knew I'd have to. "Call Richard," I said. "Tell him that we're at war."

It's a handy method of notation, though. It lets you use a noun as an adjective without confusion.

Cause batman never hurt anybody. With a gun.

Listing people's rep in a decreasing list

I will guess Tumblr. It seems like a thing that would start there.

I can't find the page with comparative rep anywhere...

Where did all the Eyes go? That's my main question. If they were destroyed, how and why? If they were lost, where and when?

And I have no idea on the length. Mostly, I'm making a fantasy kitchen sink world with a few basic rules that I can put anything into. I don't expect it to be any good. I do expect it to get me some practice with writing. It'll be the first project beyond about 5000 words I've ever done if I keep it up. Unfortunately, there may be some delays due to school things and my own inexperience with writing.

By the way, all weird swearing was the site's language filters. Ignore it, please.

I'm about 2500 words into a rewrite, trying to make the setting, concepts and characters more clear. It's alternate-earth, set in a town about an hour west Ottawa, though that's not clear yet.

Noted. My writing in the past has been characterized by monosyllabic dialogue, so I was trying to convey more with it. If you notice any more issues with the dialoguing, please note them.

Note to all readers: This is a soft and mushy magic system. Sorry. I am no loyal Sanderfan. The Potter and Pauper pub stunk, and was full of people wearing masks. A good thing. In this community, only two kinds of people didn't hide their identity when out-of-towners were present: those small enough to not matter, and those big enough to not care. There were many of the first and only one of the second here. The claustrophobia was made worse by the salt. I could feel it, vague rivers of saline distilled in the blood of the customers, filling up my attention. Couldn't close my eyes to escape it, couldn't dampen it. Sharp accents from the salt shakers at nearby tables, a huge amount in the kitchen, at the edge of my range, and of course the thick, crusty inch that covered my skin everywhere except around the eyes. A waitress, Sara, came by to take my order. She had some lightly invested runes on her hands drawn in sharpie, and a submachine gun at her waist. If I was any judge, the runes were forcefields, good for one hit of almost any kind of energy - and odd. They weren't really Richard's style. Still, they were useful things, though I didn't have the talent to make them. "Sir?" I stopped spacing out about the runes. "Two beers, Sara. Something dark, on tap. Whatever you'd recommend, please." She pursed her lips for a moment, then nodded and walked away, scribbling on a notebook. My guest -my brother - arrived, invisible. I felt his blood, carrying salt through his body. "Ghost. How are you?" "Pretty good, Salty. You?" "It's Saline, idiot." I felt his arm move, and a snap echoed out of the air. "Almost! Knew it was something like that! I don't see why I can't just call you mmphblehaghk!" He spat out the tablespoon of salt that had leapt into his mouth, blinked forward over the table and grabbed my shirt. "OK, what was THAT for, cremhole?!" "Just some brotherly love. Don't say my real name in here, Ghost. Not so long as anyone from out of town's hanging around." He backed off. "OK, OK, geez. I'm sorry, Carl-um, Saline." I sighed, hoping nobody had heard. "You suck at this," I said. "Least my magic's good for something." "Salt isn't useless, just unconventional, and I've gotten more use out of it than you've gotten out of yours. Besides, I can do spells too. Can you, Bedsheets?" He ignored the gibe. "You can light a candle at best. You're the magical equivalent of a model plane enthusiast." "And you're the magical equivalent of someone who doesn't know rust. Almost nobody with a power as rigid as mine can do any spells at all. Now, shut up. I need to introduce you to the Community." "What does that involve?" "You just need to swear secrecy, to defend the Community, and to respect the meeting places." "That all? Nothing about not robbing banks, looting stores, committing crimes?" Ghost (or Henry, as I thought of him) had a huge grin on his face; I could feel the blood in his lips stretching, though I couldn't see it. I raised an eyebrow, even shifting the salt to accent it. "The Community as a whole doesn't officially mind much..." "Sweet!" "...but certain members of it do, not to mention the police...and myself. I'm introducing you, little brother. Any help from the Community you get is coming through me. And while the Community is officially neutral on issues of crime, even criminals don't like new people moving in on their territory. If you screw up, I take a hit by association. And if you do anything stupid enough that it hurts me, you'll feel it too." I assume he rolled his eyes, though the saline solution in his eyes wasn't strong enough for me to pick out fine details like that. "So, the 'be a good boy' section is just implied? I can work with that." "Not being an cremhole is a rule that applies everywhere." "OK, OK, I get the idea." I sighed. "Let's get our beers, and I'll swear you in." Technically, neither of us was of drinking age yet, but belonging to the Community has benefits. Fifteen minutes later, we stood on a raised stage at the back of the pub. All eyes, even the hidden ones, were on us; Henry had let some of his invisibility fade. He was a faint, dark outline in the air. I knew almost everybody out there by name. Some unfamiliar faces leapt out: a 20-something woman wearing a ski mask, shifting uncomfortably; a few ambassadors wearing masks marked with identifiers for other Community branches. I started the ritual. "I, Saline, wish to introduce a privileged individual to our circle. His name is Ghost, and he has the privilege of invisibility and teleportation. I say he is inducted in full, and a member of the Community. Have any of you any complaints?" Richard, the bartender and house wizard, a beefy man with dark skin, spoke up with a clear voice. "I have a complaint!" The whole room replied at once. "Speak!" "He has sworn no oaths! He has no ties and no patron!" I replied, glad that I'd traced the words out in salt on a napkin on the floor. "I will be his patron, and his ties are that of privilege! His oaths are thus: Ghost, do you swear to secrecy what is discussed in our meeting places, unless permission is granted?" "Yeah," Henry said. "Ghost, do you swear to defend the Community against strife and oppression?" "Yep." "Ghost, do you swear to respect the sanctity of our meeting places as halls of asylum and discussion, and to attempt no harm within them or to them?" "Sure." "Then know that, beyond these walls, the Community will not exclude you for your actions, if those actions cause no harm. Know that belonging here will not save you should any of our members harm you beyond these walls." "I get it." "Then be welcome." I raised my voice again. "I, Saline, say that the privileged Ghost is inducted in full, and a member of the Community. Have you any complaints?" This time, the whole room spoke again. "None," they said. "Welcome, Ghost!" I jumped off the stage and floated to the ground in my suit of salt. Henry blinked in behind me, and I grabbed his arm and started introducing him to people personally. We met psychics, werecreatures, minor sorcerers, supers, and the house wizard, proprietor, and barkeep, Richard. The stronger supers kept themselves masked, though fewer sorcerers did. I introduced Henry to Sara, the submachine-gun toting waitress - even though she wasn't privileged, she was an honorary member of the community. He was visible enough that she saw his double-take at her gun. And pulled an "eyes up here" joke while she was at it. Introductions finished, I towed him back to our table. He blinked into his chair from a few feet away, and I settled into mine. "So, what's with all the cultist crem dung?" he asked. "It's a remnant of when the priveleged got burned for their magic. Everyone's got to stick together, and tradition's a part of that. Mostly we just use it as a venue for discussion. If anyone tries to go too far, we reign them in. If anyone starts pulling magical crap, we take them down or induct them." "That's a bit stormed up. It's cool, but stormed up." I nodded. "It is. But it's the system we have." "I had no idea the magical side of things was so organized before today, honestly. I knew you were mixed up in some weird rust, but this is kinda creepy." The "magical side of things" was a weird place, legally. It had been illegal to practice until the early 1900s, when abilities started getting leveraged for WWI. Not openly or anything, but a bill was slipped by in the United States making it permissible, and the rest of the world followed. By the second World War, governments were using the Community as a source for black-ops operatives. That's when we put our metaphorical foot down. The Community started actively resisting being co-opted by any government, and anybody serving for any country without the local Community's approval was shunned everywhere. Now, the Community was a self-policing society with self-proclaimed authority over the privileged in any given area. The police didn't screw with us because our illegal stuff kept the peace, and we had police officers in our ranks. Hence the secret society crem dung. "It's weird, I know. You're gonna have to get used to it, and you're gonna have to make a bit of choice before we go home tonight." "More of this crap, Carl?" "Call me Saline here, OK? And not exactly. It's not set in stone, but it's something you should bear in mind as you go." "What?" "You've got a rigid privilege, kind of like mine. You're limited in the applications of your power. That means they you'll have to decide if you really want to be part of the Community. If you choose, you can promise to be discreet with your magical business, not storm with normal people too much, and walk out of here knowing that you're not going to get much in the way of knowledge or connections - you can visit any time, but unless you change your mind, you'll just see the outline of what's going on. And probably sneak into the girls' washroom with that invisibility, you little pervert." "I wouldn't do that!" "Really?" "...sure. What's the other option? More of the cultist crem dung?" "More or less, yeah. You take a role in the Community, you meet representatives from other Communities and see the business the Community does. You might even get a title and a salary, like I do." "You get a salary? How much?" "Depends on the job and our Community finances, plus commission. For example, I get two hundred bucks now and a cut of your pay as long as I'm your patron, if you do choose to work for the Community." "A cut of my pay? That's crem dung!" "So you'll do it?" "I might...what about school?" "Take it up with Mom and Dad. If you want to be part of the Community, consider this an apprenticeship." "...this is why you're so cagey about your job with Mom and Dad? Cause you're part of the Magical Mafia?" I winced. "There are kinder ways to describe it." "crem dung," he said, and faded from view. I felt the salt in his blood leap across the room in a series of blinks. He appeared just long enough to give me the finger from the door. I sighed. Little brothers are a pain. Plus, now I had to pay for his beer. As the Community members drifted off, the induction ceremony over, I walked over to Richard. The big black man was the owner of the Potter and Pauper, the usual barkeep, and was the local Community's strongest wizard. He'd taught me a few tricks with magic, though my strength lay elsewhere. Though he maintained the pub, his real business was the de facto leader of our Community branch. "Congratulations on the induction, Carl. The boy wasn't looking too happy as he left, though." I winced, a little, and let the salt flake off my face until it was just a thin mask. "Sorry about that, sir. He's a bit of a rebel. I may have presented him with an employment option. He reacted poorly. Besides, he's my brother." "I may have overheard the 'magical mafia' bit." "It's a way of looking at what we do." "I suppose. Anyway, I have a favour to ask of you." "What is it?" "You're patrolling the borders tonight anyway, and it's been quiet. I was wondering if you could take a trainee?" "Their patron isn't training them?" "Her patron is a precognitive - Joan, I believe you know her. Clara's abilities are similar to yours, but with less of the instinctive magic you use and more spells. She has some instinctive flame magic, but her gift lies with protective runes." "Sara's? I noticed them earlier." "Yes, you have a good eye for this sort of thing." Richard's own spells focused on boundaries and relocation. He could monitor nearly the entire area claimed by the Community from the pub's back room, and teleport you to certain points he kept running. More abstract enchantments defined the pub as safe ground and attracted supernatural visitors to it before they ended up somewhere dangerous. "Clara, you said?" "Yes, she's over here." He waved someone over, the 20-something in a ski mask that had watched the induction. I began to cover my face again, but Richard gestured to stop. "I can vouch for everyone here, Carl, the ambassadors are gone. You can give her your real name." "I have misgivings with that, sir." "It's your choice. I'd ask that you do unmask if she does, however." I raised my eyebrows, but nodded. Clara approached, pulling off the ski mask as she did so. I shot Richard a look, but did the same, salt from my head merging with the coating on my body. "Clara, Carl. Carl, Clara. This is who you'll be mentoring." Clara was a bit older even then she'd looked with the facemask; she was plain-looking, with a round nose and a suspicious twist to her mouth. "You're mentoring me?" she asked. "I know he looks young, but he knows some spells and focuses on his instinctive abilities, and has three years of experience with us," Richard said. I didn't like having to be defended because of my age, but it was a valid concern. Better to let it slide, then, and go on with what I was supposed to do. "May I ask how much experience you have?" "A month or so." "How did you find out?" "My neighbor, Joan, ran into my apartment and made me stick my hand in a bucket of water for three hours at gun point. When my hand caught on fire, she dropped the gun, hugged me, and dragged me to this place. I've been practicing with Richard since." "That sounds like Joan, yeah." I turned to Richard. "How did I miss that?" "You were playing ambassador to Montreal for that weretiger situation?" "Oh, yeah." I looked at Clara again. "So what can you do?" She held up a hand, rolled up her sleeve, and focused. A moment later, it burst into pale blue flame. "I can do that with my hands and feet. I know some basic runes and some more advanced shielding spells." She blew on her hand, and it went out. "I saw your work on Sara. Nicely done." She smiled. "Thanks, Richard had me do that as a project. Took me all afternoon, and Sara wasn't too happy with it either." "Good to know. You understand our duties on patrol?" "Check boundaries, maintain a presence." "We get to do a bit of vigilante work, too, if we need to." Clara frowned. "That wasn't what you told me..." she said, turning to Richard. Richard, however, was gone. I sighed. "He does that, sometimes. He's a leader and figurehead. Technically, the Community is only supposed to work against magical threats, and of those only large-scale ones. Some of them do. Most do a bit of peacekeeping on the side, however. That's what leaks out to the public. Richard can't really tell us to do that without overstepping his authority. He can turn a blind eye to it." "Superhero stuff?" she asked. "No, not really. We're more of an unofficial police force. Anybody asks, we're on Community business. Anyone with magical connections can contact us directly, anyone else can tell the police and they get ahold of us. Just don't do anything too illegal." She frowned. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this." I shrugged. "It is how it is. You've got some shield runes on you?" "I can survive one, maybe two gunshots." "You'll be fine, then. Gunshots are a worst-case scenario. I've been shot at once during three years of patrols." She still looked skeptical, but followed when I walked towards the back door. The door was old, metal and rusty. A sheet of paper was taped next to it, a marker on a string taped besides. I looked at the sheet, a list of names and dates with checks beside them. A hum of magical energy resonated in the entire business. I stepped back, let Clara in. "You know how to use the Back Door?" I asked. "Richard showed me, " she answered. She checked today's date with my name written next to it, then added a complicated little squiggle. "The spell was primed for one crossing," she explained. "I just tapped a bit of energy to allow two." "I swear, that guy turns everything into a test," I grumbled. "This was a test?" she asked. "That or he forgot to prime the portal." "Well, it's working now. We're going to the west border?" "Yeah. Watch your step." The door opened onto a foggy residential boulevard, a row of trees down the middle. It was around 10 pm at this point, and the streetlamps were all on, casting cones of yellow illumination downwards in the fog. Small white signs flashed along the far sidewalk - boundary markers for Richard's domain. "This is where it ends?" Clara asked, rolling up her sleeves. "Not exactly. This is the hard limit of the main detection and protection spell Richard's got on our territory. We'll do a sweep along the border and maintain the posts, but our main work is going to outside of the limits Richard can work in directly." I focused on the salt crusted on me, and about half sloughed off, collapsing on the ground before rising into a sort of scoop-seat. I gestured at it. "My control isn't that fine, sorry, and I don't have much to work with here. Have a seat if you don't feel like walking." "And you?" "I can fly, sort of, if I'm covered in salt." "No offense, but that's a really weird power," she said, sitting down. "It is. Useful, though. All sorts of side benefits you'd never expect." I started drifting slowly, picking up speed, pulling the chair behind me. We slowed next to the first of the boundary flags, and I knelt to check the rune on it. It seemed fine, though a bit faded. "Clara, if you wouldn't mind touching up this rune?" I asked. She walked over and traced it with her sharpie. "We have to do this for every single one?" "No, not really. I'm just getting you used to the shape. Usually there are a few damaged that actually need repairing, though." She nodded and got back in the seat. As we drifted towards the next one, I began chatting. "So, Joan's your patron in the Community, then?" "Yeah, she got me contacts with some friends, set me up with Richard, all that. I've been getting a wage for helping Richard with his projects. He says I'm a bit of a prodigy with runic magic and shields, close to his own stuff." "That's good. Richard's probably the strongest wizard for a hundred kilometers; he'll be a good teacher." "Did he teach you?" Clara asked. "Some. Most of what I know comes from a summoner that died last year. Shaun Crane." "Sorry." "It's all right. It was old age." There was an awkward silence as we got close to the next marker. Clara jumped out, knelt to check it. When she looked up, her face was white and terrified. "Come look at this," she said. I pushed myself forward, letting the chair collapse into a pile of salt on the ground. As I got closer, I could sense a thin coating of dissolved salt, clinging to the white sign. The rune was obscured by blood. It was dark brown, dried there, but it had to be less than six hours old; that had been the last patrol. I felt a flicker at the edge of my range. My head snapped up. Jogging down the street, edged weapons and guns at their belt, a crowd of six or so men moved toward us, only thirty feet away. They hadn't noticed us yet through the dark and the fog, but they would soon. I recognized the ornate bracelets they all wore, flashing in the streetlamps: the Spectre was sending his thugs through warded Community territory and destroying our defenses. He was declaring war. "Clara," I whispered, "don't look up. Now, how long will it take you to make a ward against bullets?" She jerked, startled, but started tracing patterns in the ground and whispering back. "Two minutes, I can make something that can take five shots or so. It'll be useless against anything but guns, though." "Do it." I felt for the currents of salt marking the position of the Spectre thugs, and shifted the salt on the street until it formed rings around the group - carefully, levitating it a centimeter above the ground as I did so to hide the sound. Then I spat out a Word. Some magic uses runes to pull forces into the world. Some magic uses objects and commands. Summoning uses circles, bindings, and Words. A cloud of smoke about three feet high and six feet long sprung out of the air in the middle of the thugs. Something slashed at them from within it, rolling smoke over their eyes and gouging at their skin. Clara was still focused on her ward, but she caught some of what happened. "What the everstorming storm was that storming thing?" she muttered. "An imp. It'll keep them busy for a moment." I was overconfident, unfortunately. One of the thugs drew a machete and slashed the imp with a sound like steam evaporating. Another swung a cudgel and knocked it backwards; it bounced off an invisible wall above my circle of salt. The black devil crumpled to the ground and disappeared in a puff of smoke, which blinked into nothingness itself a moment later. The thugs began looking around, shouting and searching, while I frantically pulled the dirty salt out of their sight and around between us. I levitated it into a shifting, white cloud that hopefully looked a lot like a dense bit of fog. "How much more?" I whispered. Clara grunted. The salt cloud obscured vision, but I could feel the warm currents on the other side. A few shots were fired, none coming near, and the thugs regrouped. I felt them leave my radius at a dead run, but I kept the cloud in case they looked back. "Done!" Clara whispered proudly. "How wide's the radius?" "Four feet. It's a dome, by the way, so duck." I did, pulling the salt cloud closer to us and opening a head-sized hole. The thugs were disappearing into the distance, running in a disorganized group. Clara was breathing hard, exhilarated. "Is this what it's like all the time?" "Not before. I think things are going to change." "What was that?" "The imp?" "The attack. That machete was treated somehow, wasn't it?" "Yeah. They were Spectre's guys. He's a wizard specializing in making cheap magical weapons. Usually, he keeps his gang out of Community territory." "I thought the Community was responsible for all this magical crem dung?" "We are. We just only have so many resources, and different Community branches might as well be rival gangs by the degree of cooperation we have." "Wow. Flawed system, huh?" "Very. Now can you fix that rune or do we need to write it off and get Richard to replace it?" While Clara worked on the broken rune, I got my phone out and called the Potter and Pauper. "Potter and Pauper, Sara speaking," said Sara. "Hey. Can I talk to Richard, please?" "Sure, Carl. He's in his office, I'll fetch him." Richard got on the line. He voice got deeper when he was worried. Right then, he could have been calling whales. "Richard, Carl here. We just scared off a patrol of Spectre's thugs, but they've defiled the runes on the border. How's the spell holding up?" "Are you sure it was Spectre?" "Yes." "You know what this means, then." "These next months are going to be hard on us, yeah. The monitoring spell?" "They smudged it, and I wasn't looking closely enough. How's Clara holding up?" "I think she finds it exciting. She built a bullet ward in a minute thirty seconds." "She has a gift." "What's the status of our patrol, then, sir?" "Stay put and defend your position. I'm sending you backup, and replacement runes. Mirage and Louis will come through the Back Door. Louis will join you and work on the runes, and Mirage will escort Clara back to the Potter. I'll phone the Williams brothers and see if they'll take their squad car by your position." "Thank you, sir." "Best of luck, Saline." I hung up and looked at Clara. "Any luck, there?" She shook her head. "The rune was obliterated by the blood. I'll need to start over." "Don't worry about that, then. We've got reinforcements on the way with replacements. I want you to focus on improving the protection ward." "Yes...sir," she said, a funny smile on her face. "Something funny?" "My hand lights itself on fire, and now I'm in a magical gang war? I remember wishing my life was more exciting the day before Joan made me hold my hand underwater at gunpoint. Maybe I shouldn't have said it aloud." "Focus on the rune, Clara. I'll try to hide us."

If you don't make any money, it's no worse than fanart in my opinion. Fanart is excellent. But the copyright rules might say something different.

OK, so pithy beautiful prose devolves into Rothfuss fangasm pretty fast.... Well, I have no problem with that.

Arguably the greatest 6-word story of all time is this: For sale: Baby shoes, never worn. It was written by Ernest Hemingway. What do you have? To start, Two lobsters paid for. One eaten.

The thing is, we don't know whether Adonalsium is a cosmic force independent of a holder, a metal derived from that cosmic force, a sentient entity, or what. We just know that the Dragon referred to it as God.

I think the drawing actually accelerated the recovery process, by locking his form into the Physical.