Quiver

of Hoids flute.

That had belonged

Doors passed by (Never let it be said I do not rise to a dare!)

that the Dor

I believe I remember a Word of Brandon on this; that there was a scholar who made a comment that the feminine arts could be performed with only one hand, leading to the whole safe hand thing. I'll try and find it. As for how arbitrary some of the roles seem... Hm. I wonder if the divide is meant to be an echo of Honour and Cultivations roles on Roshar. Besides, just because those are the rules, it doesn't mean all the people follow it. I doubt if Darkeyed women have the time or means to segregate meals in their families, and I don't see Lift with a safe hand.

How about a love square, with Adolin, Renarin and Jasnah competing for her heart? That Shallan has a way with the Kholins... More seriously, I think this means that Adollan (Shadolin) won't be the final pairing. Leaving Shallarin more likely. A net gain for the Lady Feather!

It would be a neat trick if the Everstorm was in the first five books. I don't think Roshar will skip ahead centuries like Scadrial does, but getting a few books to explore the aftermath would be interesting. Mistborn was "What if the Dark Lord won?". It'd be cool is Stormlight was "What happens after the good guys win?"

So many doors

I have to admit that calling on Grayv to be voted out did not do my image any favours. I have to re-examine everything, supposing I survive the night.

An update on my progress (and a cry for attention): I've started working on world building according to what you have suggested. I'm doing a series of short stories to practice my actual writing, so I thought I'd put the ideas I've been thinking of here. Any thoughts, revisions or modifications to suggest? I realise this is maybe a bit of a summary, but I wasn't entirely sure how to structure this so it was all relevant, so I apologise if it's all a bit chaotic. The stories I've been thinking of have all been a pre-Stain Tamith, which is why there's so much emphasis there, and nothing on other places. I've been really interested by the idea of a chi romantically friendly society, and that's harder to picture after tactile mind control.Actually, I'm wondering whether to pull a Mistborn and set the whole story in one location. My reaction for epic fantasy is to go big though. EDIT: Thanks Edgedancer (below). I thought it was better to just edit this rather than post, since, honestly, one of the reasons I posted to begin with was to try and draw some attention. I'm still sort of playing and shifting with stuff. I keep going back on forth on religions; while I kinda like the idea of them, having them be really Indistinct from each other is probably a bad idea. I'm also worried this is too Elantris. As stated, I've never actually read it, but that just makes me more conscious of inadvertently stealing from it.

Oh. damnation. Entirely inadequate given the situation, but... damnation. Sorry Grayv. Please don't haunt me? Quinn was leading the cheering as the veteran was beheaded. He waited for the proof of his success with a smug expression, his arms folded over his chest in self-satisfaction. They fell when Durnam announced there were no spikes. "What? But that... Look again! You didn't do it right!" He was left gaping open mouthed as the crowd disappeared to bury the thoughts of the dead. "Well, it could have been him," he mumbled, fidgeting with his cloak. "You all thought so too. It could have been him." He stood by the chopping block, wringing his hands. Finally, he turned and left to find a drink.

It was the

As much as I enjoy being cited as an authority, I disagree with the second part of your post.Say I'm a coinshot. I could admit to being a Coinshot here. So I could tell everyone "Hey, there's a one in sixteen chance I might kill you tonight". A spiked person then knows what I am and what. I could do. Hell, a non-spiked person might decide I'm a risk and swing the vote my way, because I can kill people as I please. Or, I can say I'm a normal visitor, in which case I have no night time powers and the only thing I can do is day time phase. That makes me a lesser target, since I only have power in the group, since I need a majority vote. So, less important target. EDIT: damnation. All my comments come back to mob rule.

Alright, here's my two cents for clues. Judging by meta's narrative, I guess there are at least two spiked characters. A lot of people are jumping on Mat, but until we get another narrative piece, I'm not prepared to base my thoughts on that. Instead, I find not voting more suspicious. Voting is the only way we can kill someone, while they are almost guaranteed a kill a night. I see the benefit of not voting when we lack evidence, but I'm prepared to risk killing an innocent here to get said evidence. So sorry, Grayv, but my votes for you.

Hm. I suppose it depends on if Meta decides to incorporate how we play the characters into the narrative. Of course, since we only have one example to go on, I doubt if we can tell, unless we get a WoM. I'm still considering who to vote for at this point. "What did I say? Didn't I say this would happen?" Quinn stood in the town square. The bell he should have been ringing lay at his feet- but everyone knew what had happened already. The town herald was just taking the chance to crow. "You know what has to happen don't you," he added to anyone who might have been listening. "Whoever did this has to be strung from the roof as a warning to his friends. Are we just going to take this lying down?" An in-narrative excuse for how the votes kill. I think I just called for mob rule.

To return this topic to it's original intent, I wish to propose a toast. Dedicating it to the Lady Feather would be obvious, given her works, but I wish to direct it to her followers, whether they be Feathertips or Featherblades. When I first posted here, 'twas in an attempt to socialise and get to know people. I shan't say whether or not that has been a success, but the welcome I received here has helped direct my actions. For pointing towards the Cosmere Fandom Monsters works, and for helping me to become more used to the forum as a whole... I simply wished to take a moment to express my gratitude and thanks.

I see. I am most grateful for the insight, Lady Tumblr. And since I can't comment properly in lorde, I won't bother trying. As I said, I like hearing insights into how artists work. My problems always been a case of tunnel vision. If I get an idea, I develop it very badly. It's a habit I want to break. I feel guilty for asking this in a thread that's focused on you, but would you mind having a look at a story I wrote? As I've said, I really enjoy your work, so I'd really appreciate any advice you could give.

Sabotage? Quinn shook his head over his drink at the words. The tankard was only half-full, but he still felt clear. Clear headed enough to be shocked at the reactions of the town at least. "The entire world is falling apart," he said; it wasn't clear if he meant to speak loud enough for the others to hear. " Haven't you heard me before? Everything is falling to pieces. What made you think the town wouldn't?" He shook his head, and rose to his feet, nearly knocking the table over in the process. "If you ask me, we should be grateful it's just been shoes and walls that are broken. It could have been something important, like me."

Well, here's my first story set in the world of chiromancy. Thanks again to everyone who commented in the magic system thread; I hope this piece at least gives you some optimism for what I can do in the future. I realise the chiromancy may be thin on the ground, but I sort of wanted to try and practice my prose and characters as well. Any criticism will be gratefully appreciated. EDIT Since posting my first piece, I've changed how I'm treating this thread. For the foreseeable future (or until I get bored) each piece I post here will be it's independent short story, focused around a different character, theme, location, genre, etc. Since I'm using this to make myself develop different things about the world, there will probably be changes from one story to another as I figure stuff out. As I build up things, it will probably become more consistent, so I apologise in advance for any unexpected changes in the meantime. Story One: Jaren Status: Complete The people of Tamis were nervous. You didn't need to be a Chiromancer or have someone's Prints to know that; Jaren didn't. He was a beggar, huddling swathed in a great big coat in the mouth where an alley between two buildings met the street. He was dirty, unshaven, and felt a churning in his stomach, but he could still tell. No one knows what's wrong. He shuffled the bowl that sat between his legs, rattling the handful of change within it. He glanced up and down the street. The people of the city were going about their business, stopping at stalls, speaking to friends, but it was forced joviality. They were tense, and the presence of the justices patrolling street corners wasn't helping. One of them turned, and Jaren was sure it was to look at him. He couldn't tell for certain, of course; the heavy masks that covered the guards face was only broken by slits for his eyes and mouth. He was too far away for Jaren to see his eyes, but he was sure they had settled on him. The justice probably thought Jaren intended on Printing someone, or stealing some food from a nearby stall. Well let him think that, he thought, wrapping his hands under his armpits. He had learned who to steal from and who to leave. The woman on the corner, for instance, grew ripe, juicy oranges in her gardens outside the city. When he went to peel the skins, he could read the time she had put into it, the pride she felt for a job well done, and her resolve to provide for her children. It made him so sick with guilt he almost threw the fruit away. And as for Printing, well... The justice, of course, was clad head to toe, without a patch of bare skin to grip. It wouldn't do for a thief to give them a moment of moral flexibility so they could escape. The jacket, pants and boots were designed to cover as much as possible, with a gauntleted fist resting on a sword. But now, they weren't the only ones who travelled the city concealed. Ordinary citizens had begun wearing clothes with sleeves that went to their wrists, and pants that went to their feet. Jaren couldn't help but think it strange seeing so many people so overly dressed. Even the children were wearing long sleeves, and more than one parent stopped to scold them for trying to roll them up to their elbows. He looked up at a nearby couple hopefully, smiled, and was unsurprised as they hurried on. He pinched his nose with two gloved fingers. It was beginning to get late. Suppose I'd better go before the justice decides to take me in. He reached into a pocket of his coat, and undid the draw string of a grubby bag. There were only three or four coins in the bowl. It was hardly enough for a decent meal, but they might have been good for his side-venture. But that was something to check at home; he poured them into his bag and pocketed it, before rising to his feet and heading further into the alleyway. It had been three weeks since the City Primarch had ordered the gates shut, three weeks since the justices (good little dogs that they were) had done it. But why they had done it, well, that remained unclear. Jaren had heard things, idle gossip in the street; that the Primarch had disagreed with the Hands and was preparing for war. That sounded ridiculous; even if Jaren hadn't attended in years, most of the citizenry were devotees of one sect or another. The Primarch would have surrounded himself with enemies inside and out. Actually, that sounded like something he might do. The dark-haired beggar laughed under his breath as he turned a corner towards the poor district. The more likely suggestion was far more unnerving. The city was being quarantined. After all, weren't the gates being closed to keep the sick out? Or is it to keep us in? He didn't like the thought, but it was persistent, and growing. Not long after the gates had been shut, the justices had rode their horses into the poor corner, a wagon hitched to mules trundling behind them. Jaren hadn't been there at the time, but he had heard the pronouncement from ones who had. Anyone who intended to go into the main squares were to wear what was in the wagon, no exceptions. Then they'd ridden off, leaving the mules behind, almost as if- some said- they had been afraid. What was in the wagon turned out to be clothes. Thick, heavy clothes. They were the clothes that Jaren, and hundreds of the poor throughout the city now wore. Thick, grey, lumpy jackets. Loose trousers. Shoes. Gloves, the sort with fingers on them. The message, to Jaren, was clear; they weren't to come into contact with anyone. And hadn't that couple in the market moved on, as if he were touched with a plague? A plague. It was a heavy, sobering thought, one that stopped Jaren in his tracks. He leaned against a rundown building and considered it. I don't feel sick. But would I? Could he have caught something from someone? No. He shook his head to dispel his thoughts. It's just that people don't like being made to think about going hungry. That's all. Still. The looks he had gotten in the square. And the coins. He shook the money bag absently. He had learned over the years that the ones who donated were the charitable, or those with a guilty conscience. And didn't the guilty give in times of distress? No. He shook his head again. It's only been three weeks. Is that how long it takes for people to stop trusting one another? It didn't seem right. He was just anxious. And hungry. And alone. He turned another corner, and found himself in the poor district. At least here there was some degree of normality. Yes, it was dirty. Yes, the buildings were falling apart. But it was also full of people, most of whom were wearing normal, sleeveless shirts. He waved a hand at some acquaintances as he walked the steps to his residence. The wood creaked beneath his boots, threatening (as always) to collapse. The door pushed open with barely a nudge. Inside, he could see scuff marks where someone else had taken the opportunity of his absence to get some sleep. All of it were comforting reminders of life. He found a space near the wall that wasn't being used, and undid the draw strings of the bag. He peeled off a glove, and felt the familiar breeze of wind on bare skin. He reached to dip his hand into the purse. The charitable. Or the guilty. For a moment, the thought stayed him. But does it matter either way? He reached in, and closed a fist around a coin. He felt a wave surge through him, a heat that began in his hand and spread up his arm. He leaned back against the wall, and smiled. It was the content smile, of someone who has done something for someone, and the person who has received it. It was the smile of someone in response to an act of kindness. The coin had a Print on it. It was faint. As Jaren held it tight, he felt his palm beginning to sweat. He couldn't squeeze the feeling, the connection he felt with whoever-this-was into him, and if he didn't let go, he might wash the Print away. But even if that happened, he would still remember it. Remembering the feeling, the surge, and the emotion. That, even in times of strife, someone had given him something of theirs. And despite the guilt, he felt grateful.

Wise words, mylady, though that tumblr post bodes my efforts methinks. I was reluctant to press upon your time without first seeking approval. Now that you've granted it, Most Benevolent Worldflutterer, I trust you shall grant me a moment to elaborate. For some time now, I've been tinkering with a magic system for a fantasy story. Scarce few days ago, I submitted my thoughts to the 17th Shard, and received an unexpectedly enthusiastic response. One of them, ser Gamma, suggested I should provide some in-world writing. A reasonable enough call, and one which I plan to answer. However, during our discussions, it has become clear to me that the setting I had originally intended for the tale is widely inappropriate. Guided by their responses, I have begun the task of rebuilding the world, the first being far too generic; a typical medieval fantasy setting. Which brings me to my query. I realise, Devourer of Sanderfiction, that eloquence of prose can only be obtained through practice. After spending the past week critiquing your works, I admit anxiety at 'putting my money where my mouth is' as they say. I was, however, wondering if you could provide any insights into the task of world building? The magic I have chosen to implement has rather elaborate consequences for society, and I thought that, given your role as world builder and interest in race creation, might be able to provide some suggestions on how to proceed. (My word, ye olde lorde does not give itself well to short replies.)

Ah, sweet Siren of the Cosmere, your praise and forebearance are gratefully treasured. In the face of such generosity and goodwill, your humble follower wonders if he may, perchance, seek a boon. Perhaps 'tis something best asked in the creative corner, but if I did so there, I would feel compelled to address you in normal form, rather than ye olde lorde. Brightness, reading your fiction has reignited an old flame in my breast. I have spent the past number of days passing ideas regarding a fantasy work, and received a surprisingly warm reception. I had intended to try and create a short story of my own, as the first step in exploring the world. Alas, my talents pale in comparison to your own. Can thou bestow any advice upon this neophyte, Quillhand? (I am dead serious. I am gonna post in ye olde lorde and give you titles from now on here. Because quirky(Unless it bugs you, in which case I, uh, won't.) But I am serious about the writing advice as well. Is there anything you can suggest?)

I read his first two laws after I finished all his books, and at the time, the third law wasn't up yet. Since you mentioned it, I've had a look at it, and it (and you guys) made me realise how badly I was breaking it. Printing isn't really a magic system. It's a shift in how human beings operate as social creatures. But I hadn't really considered that and was just plugging into a bland setting. Again, thanks for providing ideas for improvement. The money thing. You know, I actually had thought of using real life currency as a way to illustrate what I meant, but I didn't even consider in-world stuff. Now that it's been mentioned, I can't believe I overlooked it. I have to say, I kind of like the idea of a society (or at least a nation) where the introduction of currency has actually made people more open and sociable. By all means, hijack away, and I hope you don't mind if I use some of these. Edgedancer, I was planning on saying that that was what I had initially thought of, but on reflection, it's not. At least, not in the details. I had thought of using the imprint of a Dark Lord. The reason I mentioned coloured in my opening was because I pictured it leaving something like the black spot, which I called the Stain. The idea was a pitch of "What if the One Ring still worked after Sauron died?" or how a political text can continue to influence people down the centuries. I liked the idea of an evil which is dead and gone, and still influencing the world. How do you fight that? Problem was, I couldn't think of a way to do it without seeming contrived or hand waving, especially since I had the antagonist start at the bottom. I know it's fantasy cliche, but I like the suggestion of having this power already set up, and I like the idea of it being more morally grey. I am a tad nervous about stuff like that ("Remember kids, the moral is, a perfect society is one in which we are all slaves to the overlord!") but the concept itself is so extreme that political wrangling sounds like looking for trouble. As I've said, I'm really grateful and surprised at how much support my hokey setting/system is getting. Writing would definitely be a way to start exploring this stuff, besides which I need some heavy critique anyway. I'll try and get a short story (or at least the rough draft of a first draft) up in the next couple of days. It's a good thing your enthusiasm is leaving me with no pressure lol. Thanks again to everyone whose replied here.

Oh dear. How unfortunate that the first post of 2014 is a less positive one. Lady Feather, I apologise for my somewhat unflattering review of Cursed Sun. I appreciate your patronage, and enjoyed aspects of it, but I felt you deserved a sincere reaction, rather than blind praise. I hope you will not take this as a slight, against either your esteemed person or your work, but I am prepared to resign my commission if you so wish. Even if doing so robs me of a good excuse to speak in this manner. (I do believe I mentioned my inclinations towards chattyness and silliness, O Plumaged One)

The cognitive aspect

I wish I had my copy of Warbreaker right now. I was under the assumption that Returned did have memories of their mortal life, but hazy ones,maybe only of people who were important to them. We don't get any other Returneds perspective, but I imagine Calmseer must have remembered her daughter to an extent. Unless she believed that her goal as a Returned was to heal this random person she didn't know.