Swimmingly

It occurs to me that a Spinner could deal with a Seer by standing perfectly still and letting the Seer keep swinging and missing due to random arm cramps, blows glancing off hidden metalminds, confused pidgeons bouncing off his cranium, et cetera. The Seer would have no advantage over a stationary object, because it would have no shadows.

Thanks! In response to the bit about it seeming to YA, that's probably an unintentional effect of me falling close to that demographic. I was trying to show a use of a Charge that required a lot of concentration, rather than the instinctual battering we've been seeing so far with Tarbe's Charge - thus the "Hard Way" rather than the far easier "grab it with your hands" way. On the healing thing, I think I should either give him a clear, bloody cut or work a sort of "stone sense" that lets people nearby "hear" when your heartstone pulses. Maybe I should work it in that the stone pulses every minute or so as part of "maintenance" - giving a distinct advantage to the few born without a heartstone. I could even work the lack of a stone as an ability of itself in part. I also think I need to focus the system a bit, so that I can't just solve every situation with a new character equipped with a perfectly suited Charge. My worldbuilding so far has been pretty weak - I actually stuck them out on a prairie so I wouldn't have to deal with that. I need to design a city to examine the effects of Charges in a situation where they aren't that necessary. Anyway, don't worry too much about padding your words. I think I can take a little criticism for my errors - I'm very new to this kind of writing and every mistake you point out is one I'm less likely to make again. Thank you very much for you critique. And, yeah, hearthstone was a typo. Silly autocorrect, my words are REAL now.

Fair enough. I really want to see some Feruchemists using those Spiritual metals.

Her possession of the "fabrial" is fairly well-known, and, given the nature of the emergency, the closest Soulcaster was what they asked for, heretic and princess or not. I mean, it's well known enough for Shallan to have tracked her down across several kingdoms just to steal the thing - and, given that Soulcasting without a fabrial acts more or less exactly like that with one, it's a convenient disguise that lets her Soulcast whenever she feels like it, as long as she always wears the fabrial.

By the way, I love Shallan's expression in the picture of her next to Jasnah - from Jasnah's pose, I feel like she's smoking an invisible cigarette or something

My question is, can luck beat foresight? Luck implies manipulation of randomness, so would a seer be able to tell what a tapping Spinner was about to do?

I think it's just the non-sentient spren that are used in fabrials - I think. Maybe I'm wrong, though, and Navani is a war criminal responsible for binding hundreds of sentient creatures into a life of slavery.

Wear your RAFO like a badge of Honor, Moogle. Wear it with pride.

My google-fu is weak - and yet, I procured the link with three words and a smiley.

Ahem... Link please?

I liked them so much I began compulsively skipping through books to get back to their viewpoint, in fact.

Or already has.

"Hold things I tell you to hold please."".....OK."

Maybe a formal duel in Shardblade with Shardblades? That'd look pretty neat - also, you can draw each Shardblade entirely differently, given that they are individual and unique. How about the Purelake dude? He would make a nice portrait. Something focused on a Parshendi battle pair would be neat - I challenge you to show them as the heroes in that one. By the way, looks great! I wish I had talent anywhere near there.

Yeah... They really mean it when they punch the ground in frustration, don't they? It's almost like they think the can make it exploH CRAP!

Derek woke to a sharp, bruising pain in his ribs. His head pulsed like a bad hangover, and the early afternoon sun pried into his eyes with glee. The pain faded as his heartstone kicked in. Whack! It returned, sharper now - someone was beating him with a staff in the ribs. Derek rolled away, smacked the ground with a glimmer of blue, and was sent catapulting to his feet. He crouched into Crab, and shot up a set of blurring punches, loaded with blue on his right hand. A very old man somehow ducked away from the right hand, probably with a Charge, then caught the left, uncharged hand directly in the jaw. He staggered back and sat down in shock. His heartstone pulsed a moment later, healing him. Derek's headache came back with a vengeance and almost fell. He dove for his staff - the old man had dropped it when he'd been hit - and levered himself up on it. Derek tried to figure out what had happened. Bird must have stunned him; that had a tendency to leave you aching and amnesiac. And then there was the old man. Why had he been stabbing Derek with the staff? It made no sense. Derek stared, and the old man stared back. Suddenly, it hit him. It was Tarbe, it had to be - the old man had occupied the exact same spot every time Derek had gone into Quarrystown, curled up in the corner of the general store. Sometimes the only evidence he wasn't stuffed was the cup of tea he clutched in the cold months. Evidently, he got out sometimes. He didn't look happy, now that he had. "Idiot boy! I was waking you up, and you come up fighting like I've branded you with a hot iron! Perhaps I should, since you seem about as smart as an ox anyway!" Derek blinked. Tarbe had never said a word to him in his life. "Don't look at me like some kind of imbecile - just because I never had anything reasonable to tell your ugly mug before doesn't mean I couldn't!" Tarbe waited a moment, as if for a reply. Derek's mind suddenly registered his headache, and he just about managed to drop his jaw without drooling. Snakebites did that to you. The old man stopped waiting and snapped, impatiently. "You've knocked your brother twenty paces. He's hurt. Help me." Tarbe lurched off, his gait unsteady. Derek kept staring for a moment, but he composed himself enough to follow. The scent of roasting almonds still hung in the air, aftermath of the fight, and the sand slipped under his feet. If Bird had tagged him, his heartstone was going to be less than useless in banishing the headache - he'd need Bird's red charge for that. A gangly lump on the sand, a short distance away, resolved into Bird. He lay in an awkward, slumped half-roll, and he didn't seem to be conscious. Tarbe knelt down, and beckoned in Derek. "Sir," asked Derek, a little hesitantly, "did you see what happened?" "You don't remember? You should, given it's your fault." "Not if he tagged me, sir. Birds snakebites do that." "Well, let me sum it up: You, an ox-headed moron, knocked him, an unlucky moron, from there," he indicated, " to here," he jabbed toward Bird with a wrinkled finger, "with a charged staff. What do you have to say for yourself?" "I'm sor-" "Tell him, when he's conscious and alive later! Derek swallowed. "Yes, sir." "Now, what will you do?" "I should... get someone to help carry him somewhere safe?" "Finally! A worthwhile thought! Go, shoo, I'll watch him!" Derek made a decision. It was much better to be away from this caustic old-timer than close to him, especially if it helped Bird. He grabbed his staff, drew a charge, and sprinted for the adademy, vaulting huge leaps every few steps. Bird woke slowly, and he regretted it instantly. His neck ached, his head ached, and his arms hurt. He managed to shift his eyes a fraction, enough to glimpse a stooped silhouette standing a short distance away, before his ribs registered. The other aches disappeared, candles in a forest fire, and it felt like someone was trying to sculpt his breastbone with a chisel. Bird screamed. That hurt more, and then everything went black. Tarbe rushed over when he heard the scream, slowly. His heartstone had handled Derek's attack well enough, but he fancied he could still feel a tingle where the blow had connected. Besides, he was old, and time wasn't an issue. He still rushed, of course, for the look of it. Tarbe just did it slowly. Bird was unconscious again by the time he got to him - from the expression on his face, probably from the pain. He was jackknifed in such a way that his arm was putting pressure would be on the broken rib. Moving the arm would probably just make it worse, if the rib was touched. The hard way, then. Tarbe sat down in the warm sand and drew on his right-hand charge. A navy light pulsed into his palm, where he held it steady. If he was trying to block something, he'd go faster - but concentration was what mattered here. He took a deep breath, than exhaled - as his lungs emptied, the sphere expanded, and it slid over Bird's body, a small wave of rustling sand in front of it. The colour dimmed to a faint tint by the time the bubble was four paces wide. Tarbe carefully considered the angles, the hunkered down and pushed against Bird's body with the sphere. It rolled in, focusing and lifting his arm slowly, taking the pressure off the rib. The arm shifted over, and another push set it on the ground, no longer pressing the wound. Only thing to do now was wait. Derek came back from the academy with Mara in tow. The training facility, used to train elite soldiers and bodyguards, dealt with broken limbs on a regular basis, and Mara was often the one to tend to the injured. of course, as hand-to-hand combat trainer, she was occasionally responsible for the pain in the first place. She jogged over to Bird where he lay on the ground. Derek saw Tarbe still sitting next to Bird, and opened his mouth to explain. "Good afternoon, Mara," Tarbe said, beating him to it. "This ox-skull has broken his brother's rib. Can you fix it?" "Probably, if his stone's working." She rolled up her sleeves and touched the injury with the tip of her left ring finger. Mara's skin pulsed turquoise, lighting up briefly. She frowned and stepped back. "He's overdrawn. I'm going to have to wait a couple hours before trying again - if he starts healing, I can knit it well enough for him to walk." "Can we carry him back?" asked Derek. "Not without hurting him." Derek sighed. Heartstones could take anywhere from hours to days to recover after being used too much - and the afflicted had to deal with every pain from that period practically the whole time through. Without a heartstone, you could barely heal at all, and you got sick incredibly easily. On top of that, the headach Bird had given him with his snakebite wasn't improving. A heartstone only worked on physical ailments; the headache was entirely mental and so would require a booster like Bird to fix. Which couldn't happen, anyway, until Bird could draw again. It was going to be a long afternoon.

There were very few changes there. I'm working on a follow-up. Also, in response to your question - heartstones essentially replace the immune system in this world. There are biological mechanisms to fend off disease, but they won't keep you going for more than a few months, tops. This is in part to the fact that, as a baby, your heartstone inhibits normal gut microbes and small infection that would normally prime your immune system. The exception is those born without heartstones - they're perfectly fine, usually, though this culture doesn't have a concept of bandages or even first aid for those with any injury less than a break. Painkillers are basically arcane, and are reserved for those rich and badly injured. On Tarbe's age, the fact that even centagenarians never get muscle ache or bruises means that there are a lot of very fit old people. Healing Charges are weird, by the way. There are several types, some can dull pain, undo damage caused by Charges, or boost a subject's own Heartstone. They cannot heal directly.

The fact that he did that suggests that he's pulled off others.

I didn't have the Aimians even pegged as human, given the whole "centuries-lifespan, shapeshifting, cursed-race" thing

To my eyes, they seemed too prepared to be initiates - unless they had served in a different military and were only now becoming Surgebinders. Dalinar's host seemed like he was the only newbie in the group, based on the other's reactions.

There was the whole saddle gag. He's paranoid for his life; is it possible that he's attracted the ire of someone(s) powerful and can't tip anybody off? He's the son of an assassinated king, and he's being oppressed by his well-intentioned but overbearing uncle. EDIT: Awesomeness Ninja'd

Perhaps Truthless were the pre KR surgebinders, who can manipulate Stormlight genetically or as a result of a ceremony not involving spren. Maybe the short Shardblades predate the Nahel Bond, and allow their wielders to inhale Stormlight?

I wonder if every galaxy in the Cosmere has it's Adonalsium and it's Shards? Perhaps he wishes to wage perpetual war with the rest of the universe.

While they're holding them, no less....

All falcons are hawks, but not all hawks are falcons. Or the other way around. Regardless, we're bickering over a silly metaphor.