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Post by jliessa44 on Apr 22, 2016 22:31:23 GMT
Mil nodded. "I as well, but I suspect my brother will want to guard the hideout or summat. Right Dev?"
"I'm better suited for that over field work." Dev nodded, clearly unhappy with his sister being at risk in anyway. But there wasn't much he could do, so he didn't argue.
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Post by Dmitri Pendragon on Apr 26, 2016 2:05:20 GMT
"Correction," said Jeroam. He stood on a balcony at the rear of the building, his figure silhouetted by the sunlight, his shadow stretching toward the fiery globe in the distance. "I said I would meet with you when you were ready to speak to me." He turned as if looking in her direction, but the sun's brightness covered his face. "There are…cultural principles about such meetings. I would have expected you to send the maid." Kisma looked faintly embarrassed- I should've thought of that!- for a moment before resuming her usual stubborn expression. "If you like, one could say I'm a backwoods girl who's mostly unaware of that sort of thing." Which wouldn't be entirely accurate, and her tone suggested so, but given where she'd come from, no one would be surprised if it was true. "One could also point out that I'm not used to having someone to send, and that I am used to having to go to people myself." Or that I was impatient and forgot, besides those things . . . At a hissed reminder from Zahi, she added, in a slightly less defensive tone, "My apologies for the mistake. It will not happen again." "Hmm." The silhouette turned once more to stare at the setting sun, then stepped out of the light and into view. Jeroam had shed his armour. He was young, perhaps in his early or middle twenties. His eyes were a startling deep blue. When he clasped his hands in front of him, his fingernails flashed the same bright shade of blue. His shadow pointed toward the sun. Jeroam inclined his head. "Your apologies are accepted." He extended a hand, indicating a chair. "Please, a seat." "I didn't say I'd kill them," Gali muttered. "I said the inexplicable absence, which could mean anything. The Lord Ruler takes an interest in them and recalls them to serve in a better city. We dig up a bit of sludge in their pasts. If worst comes to worst, there's probably more than a few Allomancers in Urteau who have a grudge against Inquisitors. Like you. They're only Mistborn, after all."
"Bronze," Chazan said tersely. "How many Allomancers are there?" Too many to count easily, in fact—the pulsing of metal radiated from three distinct groups, one of them the band of Coinshots firing into the crowd. Chazan pushed open the door opposite the library—the other was pressed shut by the force of the crowd—and glanced back. Grim determination flared in his eyes. "I'm going to find Zalwen. If Steelrunners can make it out of this web, we'll see you in the carriage." In the blink of an eye, he was gone. ((Dmitri... Daradin is cracking me up. xD)) What she said was true--there were plenty of Allomancers who would love to be rid of the Inquisitors. Kell smiled wider. "I like it. And these particular Inquisitors have a particularly sordid past among the nobility. I was involved in the coverup. But I can be part of the exposé." ________________ "That's not true. You know that's not true." Brune stepped forward, unfazed by the knife. "She's probably alone, abandoned, imprisoned--darkeyes are cheap things during wartime." ________________ "Ha HA! To battle!" Jove sprung after Chazan. "My manful pride is delighted by such a challenge." Ollin tried to catch his cloak, but too late--her son was gone. Fear seized the old woman's heart. Daub is probably out there as well... she firmed her jaw, flared Pewter, and set off after them. ((Bwa heh heh. Spasibo.)) "Then it's a done deal? You get your obligator position back, I keep my mouth shut and go free with the information I came for?"
"You don't know either," Daradin shot back. "She actually defended the Shardbearer. She got you to turn back and retr—regroup. Wouldn't you say there's more than a bit of evidence for my…my theory?"
One of the Coinshots was digging pieces of metal out of a bag when a blur crashed into him. The unfortunate nobleman flipped backwards to sprawl on the cobblestones, his limbs bent in unnatural ways. The other Coinshots momentarily paused. Then their leader gave a cry. "Feruchemist!"
A coin dropped in front of Jove moments before a Coinshot landed atop it. The man flipped another coin in his fingers and snarled at Jove. "No one passes."
Chazan sped through the line of Coinshots, drawing speed at an alarming rate. Ahead a group of Allomancers—Thugs, judging by the powerful forms—crashed through the library's doors. Chazan drew more speed, accelerating himself faster than the eye could move, and raced through the group into the library. Thugs shouted. A few swung duelling canes at him, pitifully slow. One hit another across the shoulders, his cane cracking. Chazan skidded to a stop in the middle of the library and released his steelminds. His burst of speed had drained them nearly halfway. He took a deep breath, centring himself, and scanned the library for Zalwen. There. In the middle of a group of people packed together. Zalwen's young servant was there too. Chazan raced toward the group, this time without the aid of steel. "Good idea. I'll join that." Tally gave a decisive nod, defying anyone to argue- not that anyone would have much reason to. She would've found a way to try to stay close by even if someone hadn't suggested the perimeter. Mil nodded. "I as well, but I suspect my brother will want to guard the hideout or summat. Right Dev?" "I'm better suited for that over field work." Dev nodded, clearly unhappy with his sister being at risk in anyway. But there wasn't much he could do, so he didn't argue. "A perimeter is an excellent idea." Raul nodded to Rivven and scratched names on his pad. "Westing as bodyguard, first line of defence. Rivven, Tally and Mil on the perimeter, second line. Dev as hideout guard, third line." He glanced up. "I'll join your perimeter, Rivven. It's the best place for a hazekiller response. What about you, Pater?" "I'll loiter outside House Seldon." Pater shrugged. "Got me a legal begging permit. Keep a watch on you people going inside and warn the perimeter if there be trouble. 'Slong as there's no Seekers in House Seldon."
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Post by Leilani Sunblade on Apr 26, 2016 13:13:46 GMT
Kisma looked faintly embarrassed- I should've thought of that!- for a moment before resuming her usual stubborn expression. "If you like, one could say I'm a backwoods girl who's mostly unaware of that sort of thing." Which wouldn't be entirely accurate, and her tone suggested so, but given where she'd come from, no one would be surprised if it was true. "One could also point out that I'm not used to having someone to send, and that I am used to having to go to people myself." Or that I was impatient and forgot, besides those things . . . At a hissed reminder from Zahi, she added, in a slightly less defensive tone, "My apologies for the mistake. It will not happen again." "Hmm." The silhouette turned once more to stare at the setting sun, then stepped out of the light and into view. Jeroam had shed his armour. He was young, perhaps in his early or middle twenties. His eyes were a startling deep blue. When he clasped his hands in front of him, his fingernails flashed the same bright shade of blue. His shadow pointed toward the sun. Jeroam inclined his head. "Your apologies are accepted." He extended a hand, indicating a chair. "Please, a seat." Kisma studied him a moment, head tilted, gaze lingering a second longer on his hands and his shadow. Shadow towards the light, like Edesa said . . . Not comforting. But also not conclusive about anything other than what she already knew: that he was different- and dangerous. But without his Shardplate, he was probably less so than earlier. "Thank you." She sat, straight-backed, not touching any part of the chair but the seat, and glanced around the room again before her attention returned to Jeroam. "I don't suppose this is when you explain what exactly you want from me that's worth the bother of capturing me?" ((Re: Mistborn plot: Did someone bring up what kind of Allomancers House Seldon has? Because I thought someone did, but I can't find any mention of it.))
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Post by Dmitri Pendragon on Apr 30, 2016 3:41:09 GMT
Kisma studied him a moment, head tilted, gaze lingering a second longer on his hands and his shadow. Shadow towards the light, like Edesa said . . . Not comforting. But also not conclusive about anything other than what she already knew: that he was different- and dangerous. But without his Shardplate, he was probably less so than earlier. "Thank you." She sat, straight-backed, not touching any part of the chair but the seat, and glanced around the room again before her attention returned to Jeroam. "I don't suppose this is when you explain what exactly you want from me that's worth the bother of capturing me?" ((Re: Mistborn plot: Did someone bring up what kind of Allomancers House Seldon has? Because I thought someone did, but I can't find any mention of it.)) (( Leilani Sunblade: heedtheprophecies.proboards.com/post/37815/thread Here's the post that gives the most explanation. House Seldon has three Allomancers, one of whom is Nenva. The other two are Mistings whose metals have not been revealed.)) Jeroam fingered a talisman about his neck. Its spheres trailed Stormlight about his fingers like mist. "You have an ability, an ability that the legends teach disappeared hundred of years ago." He turned and paced, his face taut. "Adherents of Vorinism believe it was all a trick, an inflated legend by which the lands were enslaved. Now your ability shows them to be in the wrong. That the Knights Radiant truly did exist." He spun to face her. "You are a Surgebinder, Kisma. You have bonded with a spren. You wield the ancient powers of the Knights Radiant."
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Post by jliessa44 on Apr 30, 2016 5:32:13 GMT
"So when do you plan on this happening?" Beck leaned half forward in his seat, tapping his thumb against his scar. "If we take too long setting it up, we're setting ourselves up to get caught. If we don't take long enough, the whole thing is going to fall apart. And you all seem like really nice people, but I can't say I know you well."
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Post by Leilani Sunblade on May 1, 2016 2:17:22 GMT
Kisma studied him a moment, head tilted, gaze lingering a second longer on his hands and his shadow. Shadow towards the light, like Edesa said . . . Not comforting. But also not conclusive about anything other than what she already knew: that he was different- and dangerous. But without his Shardplate, he was probably less so than earlier. "Thank you." She sat, straight-backed, not touching any part of the chair but the seat, and glanced around the room again before her attention returned to Jeroam. "I don't suppose this is when you explain what exactly you want from me that's worth the bother of capturing me?" ((Re: Mistborn plot: Did someone bring up what kind of Allomancers House Seldon has? Because I thought someone did, but I can't find any mention of it.)) (( Leilani Sunblade : heedtheprophecies.proboards.com/post/37815/thread Here's the post that gives the most explanation. House Seldon has three Allomancers, one of whom is Nenva. The other two are Mistings whose metals have not been revealed.)) Jeroam fingered a talisman about his neck. Its spheres trailed Stormlight about his fingers like mist. "You have an ability, an ability that the legends teach disappeared hundreds of years ago." He turned and paced, his face taut. "Adherents of Vorinism believe it was all a trick, an inflated legend by which the lands were enslaved. Now your ability shows them to be in the wrong. That the Knights Radiant truly did exist." He spun to face her. "You are a Surgebinder, Kisma. You have bonded with a spren. You wield the ancient powers of the Knights Radiant." Be careful what you wish for . . .
"You're mad." Kisma stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out when exactly this had turned into some sort of ridiculous dream. " Mad. Or joking. You have to be." But she was awake; she wasn't dreaming; he'd really said that. "You can't really think . . . you can't be serious." And yet he looked and sounded like he believed what he said. She'd demanded explanation. Again and again, she'd asked him what was going on. And now that she finally had the answer, she half-wished she'd never asked. Be careful what you wish for . . .
Kisma stood, looked Jeroam in the face- storm subservience; she was trying to make a point. "Sir, I am a surgeon's assistant. Not some hero of legend." And they weren't even heroes, not properly- the ardents taught that the Knights Radiant had betrayed the people. "I do not have special powers, and just because I happen to see and occasionally communicate with an odd spren does not mean I am- what you say I am. It doesn't make sense." Except, besides the part about the Radiants' abilities not being real, it did make sense. It explained Zahi; it probably explained the occasional oddities that happened around her. But that didn't mean it was real. She very deliberately did not look at Zahi. Not at all. She didn't want to see him confirm whether Jeroam was or wasn't right. Be careful what you wish for . . .Jeroam had to be wrong- whether he was mad or joking or just incorrect. He had to be. And yet, she'd prayed for something like this, long ago, when she was much younger. She'd pleaded, even begged for a way to help others, to care for those who had been forgotten, to make sure they didn't have to go through the same kind of pain she had. Hundreds of prayers she'd burned. And then she'd found her place with the surgeon and she'd thought that was the answer. But now . . . what was she supposed to make of this? It could be another answer. Or it could be madness. Be careful what you wish for . . .
Carefully, she sat back down, forcing herself to speak more calmly. "I still don't believe you, sir. But . . . if you're right . . . how would you- or I- know? What would it mean?" ((Danke. That's what I found, but I wanted to double-check to make sure I didn't miss/forget something.)) ((Quoted posts in spoiler so I can reference them but they aren't taking up a ton of room.)) Westing raised a hand. "Thug, here. Like we already said, I can pass for a noble." He glanced down at Tally, who was still trying to memorize Raul's appearance. "Tally's a coinshot, but I'm not sure how well she'd do as a noble." He caught her elbow as she jabbed it at his ribs again. "Not to mention that her grumpiness would scare off whoever we met." In a lower voice, he added, "Calm down, Tal." Tally huffed and gave him a "don't talk about me like I'm not listening" look. "I could pass for a noble just as well as you can, or better. Probably. If I wanted to. But I'd rather be on backup." That wasn't entirely true. If she was on backup, she'd worry after Calden and possibly Beck and maybe, just maybe Westing too, while they were somewhere she couldn't get to. But if she wasn't on backup, she'd still worry, so what was the point? Rivven suppressed a smile. It was refreshing to collaborate with other Mistings--skaa crews were easier to work with, but never understood the mechanics of Allomancy. "I like Raul's idea. House lords never travel without bodyguard, and Nenva might be suspicious if we appeared with a few... but what if we took it a step further? What if we had a second line of defense? A perimeter of sorts, to keep trouble away while the nobles negotiate?" He shrugged. "As a Lurcher, that's probably where I would be the most useful. Out in the open, where there's room to maneuver. Mill, Dev, Tally, you're welcome to join me." "Good idea. I'll join that." Tally gave a decisive nod, defying anyone to argue- not that anyone would have much reason to. She would've found a way to try to stay close by even if someone hadn't suggested the perimeter. Mil nodded. "I as well, but I suspect my brother will want to guard the hideout or summat. Right Dev?" "I'm better suited for that over field work." Dev nodded, clearly unhappy with his sister being at risk in anyway. But there wasn't much he could do, so he didn't argue. "A perimeter is an excellent idea." Raul nodded to Rivven and scratched names on his pad. "Westing as bodyguard, first line of defence. Rivven, Tally and Mil on the perimeter, second line. Dev as hideout guard, third line." He glanced up. "I'll join your perimeter, Rivven. It's the best place for a hazekiller response. What about you, Pater?" "I'll loiter outside House Seldon." Pater shrugged. "Got me a legal begging permit. Keep a watch on you people going inside and warn the perimeter if there be trouble. 'Slong as there's no Seekers in House Seldon." "So when do you plan on this happening?" Beck leaned half forward in his seat, tapping his thumb against his scar. "If we take too long setting it up, we're setting ourselves up to get caught. If we don't take long enough, the whole thing is going to fall apart. And you all seem like really nice people, but I can't say I know you well." "I haven't heard of any Seekers in Seldon," Westing offered. "Could be wrong, though." Calden nodded agreement with Beck's question. "A good question. It'll take time to figure out who exactly we're impersonating and figure out how to approach Nenva to offer her our deal. That'll be almost as tricky as actually meeting with her to sell the atium- maybe more so. If we send her a message from one of the Great Houses asking her to meet quietly somewhere, we'll run less risk of exposure from others, but she'll be more suspicious. On the other hand, if we meet first with her in some public setting and hint that whichever House we're 'representing' has reconsidered on the atium, and maybe she'd like to meet later, in private, to discuss it, we run the risk of someone unrelated realizing we're not who we say we are."
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Post by jliessa44 on May 1, 2016 2:30:47 GMT
Beck swallowed nervously, thinking of his brothers. "I'd prefer less public rather than more. But if we're careful the second option might be better."
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Post by Lylyss on May 2, 2016 11:09:17 GMT
((Bwa heh heh. Spasibo.)) "Then it's a done deal? You get your obligator position back, I keep my mouth shut and go free with the information I came for?"
"You don't know either," Daradin shot back. "She actually defended the Shardbearer. She got you to turn back and retr—regroup. Wouldn't you say there's more than a bit of evidence for my…my theory?"
One of the Coinshots was digging pieces of metal out of a bag when a blur crashed into him. The unfortunate nobleman flipped backwards to sprawl on the cobblestones, his limbs bent in unnatural ways. The other Coinshots momentarily paused. Then their leader gave a cry. "Feruchemist!"
A coin dropped in front of Jove moments before a Coinshot landed atop it. The man flipped another coin in his fingers and snarled at Jove. "No one passes."
Chazan sped through the line of Coinshots, drawing speed at an alarming rate. Ahead a group of Allomancers—Thugs, judging by the powerful forms—crashed through the library's doors. Chazan drew more speed, accelerating himself faster than the eye could move, and raced through the group into the library. Thugs shouted. A few swung duelling canes at him, pitifully slow. One hit another across the shoulders, his cane cracking. Chazan skidded to a stop in the middle of the library and released his steelminds. His burst of speed had drained them nearly halfway. He took a deep breath, centring himself, and scanned the library for Zalwen. There. In the middle of a group of people packed together. Zalwen's young servant was there too. Chazan raced toward the group, this time without the aid of steel.
"A perimeter is an excellent idea." Raul nodded to Rivven and scratched names on his pad. "Westing as bodyguard, first line of defence. Rivven, Tally and Mil on the perimeter, second line. Dev as hideout guard, third line." He glanced up. "I'll join your perimeter, Rivven. It's the best place for a hazekiller response. What about you, Pater?" "I'll loiter outside House Seldon." Pater shrugged. "Got me a legal begging permit. Keep a watch on you people going inside and warn the perimeter if there be trouble. 'Slong as there's no Seekers in House Seldon." (( Pozhaluysta. ;) )) They probably won't restore my position... Kell's smile faded. But what does it matter? Even if he didn't help Gali, he couldn't hide forever. Not from the Steel Ministry. "Let's shake on it." The obligator sighed, then offered a hand. ((Remind me... what did Gali tell Kell that her name was? Lol.)) __________________ "A threat?" Jove's eyebrows leapt into his hairline. "You will find that my courage is an ironclad corselet." He drew his dagger and took a gallant sweep at the Coinshot, cloak fluttering the wind. __________________ A small figure soared down from the ceiling, landing softly beside Chazan. It was Ollin. The elderly Mistborn ground her teeth in frustration. She was burning Pewter at an alarming rate--after the battle, withdrawal would be crippling. Supposing she lived that long. "You take Zalwen," Ollin said between pants. "I'll look after his servant." She flare Pewter once more and dove into the crowd, searching for Nathin. "I haven't heard of any Seekers in Seldon," Westing offered. "Could be wrong, though." Calden nodded agreement with Beck's question. "A good question. It'll take time to figure out who exactly we're impersonating and figure out how to approach Nenva to offer her our deal. That'll be almost as tricky as actually meeting with her to sell the atium- maybe more so. If we send her a message from one of the Great Houses asking her to meet quietly somewhere, we'll run less risk of exposure from others, but she'll be more suspicious. On the other hand, if we meet first with her in some public setting and hint that whichever House we're 'representing' has reconsidered on the atium, and maybe she'd like to meet later, in private, to discuss it, we run the risk of someone unrelated realizing we're not who we say we are." Beck swallowed nervously, thinking of his brothers. "I'd prefer less public rather than more. But if we're careful the second option might be better." Rivven nodded to Mil and Dev. Pewterarms were always an asset, and it would be comforting to have somebody stand guard over the lair. "I'm partial to the second option as well." Rivven refilled his cup of tea. "While Calden is right about the extra risk, Pater can warn us about incoming trouble, and the backup team is top-notch. I'm confident we can escape if something goes wrong--which is unlikely." As for when they would approach Nenva... Rivven took a thoughtful sip of tea. "I think there's a ball at House Seldon in a few days. Perhaps we can start then."
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Post by Leilani Sunblade on May 2, 2016 13:30:14 GMT
Tally scowled at Rivven. "You know you just guaranteed something'll go wrong, right? More you say something risky'll go right, the more likely it is to go wrong. It's practically a law."
Calden frowned slightly. "A few days? That doesn't give us much time to prepare."
"But we can manage, can't we?" Westing glanced at Calden. "We don't have to have everything in place by then. Just your identities and a few preliminary things like that."
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Post by Leilani Sunblade on May 8, 2016 2:07:41 GMT
((Sorry for the double-post. But, I decided to write up a summary of the Roshar plot so far (or, most of it- up to where I felt there'd be a pretty natural chapter break) and figured I'd post it here in case anyone needs to reference it later. Our story begins in one of the Alethi border-war camps, where Daradin Seles, a lighteyed conscript soldier, is informed by his captain that an enemy division- potentially including Shardbearers- is trying to take the Brazen Hills. The captain sends Daradin to join a scouting detachment warning the villages of the Brazen Hills of their impending doom. Daradin grumpily limps off to obey his commander’s orders and sets off to the scouting detachment.
In one of the villages the detachment has been sent to warn, Brune Kathir, a lighteyed merchant, is going out of business for the twelfth time. He has a brief conversation concerning this with a windspren in the shape of a young girl.
Daradin reaches the village and gives his dramatic warning in the market square: Brightlord Javavoh’s forces are approaching and the villagers need to flee. The villagers are unimpressed, and Kisma Laskamon, darkeyed surgeon’s assistant, asks Daradin how far away the army is. Daradin, between flirting remarks, informs her that he doesn’t know details, but lets slip that there are Shardbearers among the approaching army, though he has no idea why they’d be here.
Daradin goes back to his horse to move on to the next village, but is interrupted by Brune panicking about how he can’t simply pack up and leave. Brune comes to the conclusion that, in order to save his livelihood, he needs to challenge a Shardbearer and win. Daradin comes to the conclusion that Brune is either a lunatic or an excellent actor pretending to be a lunatic, but tells Brune what he knows concerning the Shardbearers and the plans for the army. Then, realizing Brune might be a spy, he adds in some misinformation about a barrier of men near the village for the villagers to flee to. Brune asks to come with Daradin back to the camp to get armor and advice; Daradin refuses.
As Daradin is starting to leave, a Shardbearer appears and strides into the village. Everyone is understandably terrified, particularly after a slightly-braver-than-the-rest farmer dares ask what the Shardbearer is doing here and is killed for his trouble. Daradin rethinks his reluctance to help Brune, who seems to be the only one crazy enough to take on a Shardbearer.
Meanwhile, Kisma is helping her master pack up the surgery and arguing with a vine-like spren called Zahi when she hears the screams. She rushes to the square to find the Shardbearer there and the farmer dead or dying. When she goes to check on the farmer, he dies, with an ominous Death Rattle for last words. Zahi fails to remember things. Kisma briefly considers confronting the Shardbearer, but then thinks better of it. Before she can leave, however, the Shardbearer notices her and corners her against a house. Daradin gives Brune a sword and tells him that he has ten heartbeats to kill the Shardbearer before he has to deal with a Shardblade.
Kisma asks what the Shardbearer wants. The Shardbearer informs her that he wants her, and when he asks why, looks straight at Zahi. The Shardbearer demands Kisma come with him, and after some discussion, including a warning that yes, the Shardbearer will kill more people if Kisma doesn’t come willingly, she agrees.
The two leave the village and find the Shardbearer’s Ryshadium waiting outside. Kisma asks questions, doesn’t get answers, and is told to shut up. As the Shardbearer is getting Kisma in the saddle, he notices Daradin coming around at an angle to distract him from Brune’s approach. Brune attacks the Shardbearer; the two fight. Miraculously, Brune doesn’t die in the first five seconds, or even after the Shardbearer summons his Blade.
Kisma decides she’d better do something, but realizes she doesn’t really know what “something” is. She walks off to talk to Daradin, who has been thrown by his horse, about it. The two end up annoying each other more than getting any useful done. Daradin refuses to help, and Kisma admits that his choice is actually a fairly sensible one.
Kisma returns to the battling Brune-and-Shardbearer. During a brief pause, she manages to get in between them and suggests that they resolve this in a civilized fashion, with a compromise. The Shardbearer does not concede to demands, but orders Brune and Daradin, respectively, to go back to the village and out of his sight and tells Kisma to get back on the horse. Brune demands to know what the Shardbearer wants with Kisma first, then forces himself to surrender and beg mercy when the Shardbearer re-summons his Blade. He retreats- excuse me, makes a tactical withdrawal- to the village, hoping to regroup with Daradin and make a new plan. Kisma and the Shardbearer get on the Ryshadium and they ride away, headed for the Shardbearer's camp. Also, a note for Dmitri Pendragon , as there's nowhere to comment on the Archives of Copper site: Kisma's last name is pronounced "las-KAH-mon" (or possibly "las-KUH-mon"), not "las-KAM-mon." It's the same sound as in "Ah, I see," or even "Uh, I don't know what to say" rather than the sound in "camera." Or that's how I pronounce it in my head, anyway. (It's closer to the "Uh" than the "Ah" one, but putting it that way annoys me because there's an A, not a U inthe name.) Not that it matters, but I was looking at the site today and noticed it and yeah. And on a note for anyone who cares: there's now a table of contents on the first post, listing the page number on which each subplot starts. If anyone dislikes the names I came up with, they're free to suggest better ones. Finally: I've noticed a theme with the four most significant characters in the Roshar plot (Brune, Daradin, Kisma, and Jeroam): each has been called crazy by at least one of the others of the four. And of the three main characters, each one has called or thought of the other two as crazy. (Most of them for good reason, but still.) I found that interesting. And now I'm wondering why Roshar apparently breeds a high amount of insanity. xD))
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Post by jliessa44 on May 8, 2016 2:15:11 GMT
Beck winced lightly. "That is soon."
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Post by Dmitri Pendragon on May 9, 2016 6:15:24 GMT
(( Leilani Sunblade: I posted your summary on Archives of Copper as well. My one comment about the subplot titles is to make up your mind for the second one about Shardblades or Shardplate. )) ((Funny story: I was writing Chazan's post and started to subconsciously hyperventilate and take on his emotions. My mother, who happened to be sitting near me at the time, asked me what was wrong. Apparently I sounded angry. Heheheh.))
Be careful what you wish for . . .
"You're mad." Kisma stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out when exactly this had turned into some sort of ridiculous dream. " Mad. Or joking. You have to be." But she was awake; she wasn't dreaming; he'd really said that. "You can't really think . . . you can't be serious." And yet he looked and sounded like he believed what he said. She'd demanded explanation. Again and again, she'd asked him what was going on. And now that she finally had the answer, she half-wished she'd never asked. Be careful what you wish for . . .
Kisma stood, looked Jeroam in the face- storm subservience; she was trying to make a point. "Sir, I am a surgeon's assistant. Not some hero of legend." And they weren't even heroes, not properly- the ardents taught that the Knights Radiant had betrayed the people. "I do not have special powers, and just because I happen to see and occasionally communicate with an odd spren does not mean I am- what you say I am. It doesn't make sense." Except, besides the part about the Radiants' abilities not being real, it did make sense. It explained Zahi; it probably explained the occasional oddities that happened around her. But that didn't mean it was real. She very deliberately did not look at Zahi. Not at all. She didn't want to see him confirm whether Jeroam was or wasn't right. Be careful what you wish for . . .Jeroam had to be wrong- whether he was mad or joking or just incorrect. He had to be. And yet, she'd prayed for something like this, long ago, when she was much younger. She'd pleaded, even begged for a way to help others, to care for those who had been forgotten, to make sure they didn't have to go through the same kind of pain she had. Hundreds of prayers she'd burned. And then she'd found her place with the surgeon and she'd thought that was the answer. But now . . . what was she supposed to make of this? It could be another answer. Or it could be madness. Be careful what you wish for . . .
Carefully, she sat back down, forcing herself to speak more calmly. "I still don't believe you, sir. But . . . if you're right . . . how would you- or I- know? What would it mean?" Jeroam slapped his hand against his thigh. "Don't play games with me!" He spun on his heel and faced her. "I am not mad. I am not a joker. I am more serious than I have ever been with you." He crushed his fists together. "I am fighting for the greatest stake of all." At her calmer response, some of Jeroam's intensity faded. His blue eyes remained on her face, steady and piercing. "If I am right, it means many things. Some will laud your reappearance. Others will oppose you, perhaps seek your very life. But if I am right, you must make a choice sometime in your future. That choice is whether you will choose to speak the oaths and accept the trials or suffer eternity in ambivalence." (( Pozhaluysta. )) They probably won't restore my position... Kell's smile faded. But what does it matter? Even if he didn't help Gali, he couldn't hide forever. Not from the Steel Ministry. "Let's shake on it." The obligator sighed, then offered a hand. ((Remind me... what did Gali tell Kell that her name was? Lol.)) __________________ "A threat?" Jove's eyebrows leapt into his hairline. "You will find that my courage is an ironclad corselet." He drew his dagger and took a gallant sweep at the Coinshot, cloak fluttering the wind. __________________ A small figure soared down from the ceiling, landing softly beside Chazan. It was Ollin. The elderly Mistborn ground her teeth in frustration. She was burning Pewter at an alarming rate--after the battle, withdrawal would be crippling. Supposing she lived that long. "You take Zalwen," Ollin said between pants. "I'll look after his servant." She flare Pewter once more and dove into the crowd, searching for Nathin. (( Lylyss : Amaray. She gave no last name. You also missed Brune, I believe.)) Gali raised an eyebrow. "You know you just offered not to stab me in the back." She reached out and gripped Kell's hand. "Shaken. Done and done."
((What kind of dagger does Jove have again?)) The Coinshot barked a laugh. "I'd like to see you in an iron corset." He Pushed on the coin, sending it spinning toward Jove's chest. At the same time he Pushed on the coin between his feet, launching himself into the air.
Raul had said what he needed to. Now he sat back and listened, scribbling plans and ideas on his pad. Every meeting needed a scribe. Every idea needed its consummation in paper and ink. Eventually he'd transfer the ideas to larger sheets, organise them and draft the plans for each member of the party. Well, that was the ideal world.
"Take him out the window," Chazan hissed to Ollin before she sped away, indicating the large stained-glass windows at the other end of the basilica library. He cast a look over his shoulder at the approaching Thugs. They moved with preternatural speed and grace, their attention concentrated on the same place as his. Chazan's mouth formed a thin line. We've done this before.He'd faced this dilemma before. Run or fight. Last time he'd chosen to fight, Abokai had killed dozens. Chazan gritted his teeth, turned his back on the Thugs and raced toward the crowd once more. He tapped steel and iron. Suddenly his form became a blur to all watching. As he hit the crowd, people fell away from him like dominoes.
The crowd muttered curses and jostled Ollin as she passed through them. Nathin's eyes fixed on Ollin as she drew closer. His mouth formed an O, but he didn't speak and quickly cleared the expression from his face. Instead he turned to Zalwen and whispered a few words. Zalwen started. He looked up and met Ollin's gaze.
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Post by Leilani Sunblade on May 10, 2016 1:37:42 GMT
(( Leilani Sunblade : I posted your summary on Archives of Copper as well. My one comment about the subplot titles is to make up your mind for the second one about Shardblades or Shardplate. )) ((Funny story: I was writing Chazan's post and started to subconsciously hyperventilate and take on his emotions. My mother, who happened to be sitting near me at the time, asked me what was wrong. Apparently I sounded angry. Heheheh.))
Be careful what you wish for . . .
"You're mad." Kisma stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out when exactly this had turned into some sort of ridiculous dream. " Mad. Or joking. You have to be." But she was awake; she wasn't dreaming; he'd really said that. "You can't really think . . . you can't be serious." And yet he looked and sounded like he believed what he said. She'd demanded explanation. Again and again, she'd asked him what was going on. And now that she finally had the answer, she half-wished she'd never asked. Be careful what you wish for . . .
Kisma stood, looked Jeroam in the face- storm subservience; she was trying to make a point. "Sir, I am a surgeon's assistant. Not some hero of legend." And they weren't even heroes, not properly- the ardents taught that the Knights Radiant had betrayed the people. "I do not have special powers, and just because I happen to see and occasionally communicate with an odd spren does not mean I am- what you say I am. It doesn't make sense." Except, besides the part about the Radiants' abilities not being real, it did make sense. It explained Zahi; it probably explained the occasional oddities that happened around her. But that didn't mean it was real. She very deliberately did not look at Zahi. Not at all. She didn't want to see him confirm whether Jeroam was or wasn't right. Be careful what you wish for . . .Jeroam had to be wrong- whether he was mad or joking or just incorrect. He had to be. And yet, she'd prayed for something like this, long ago, when she was much younger. She'd pleaded, even begged for a way to help others, to care for those who had been forgotten, to make sure they didn't have to go through the same kind of pain she had. Hundreds of prayers she'd burned. And then she'd found her place with the surgeon and she'd thought that was the answer. But now . . . what was she supposed to make of this? It could be another answer. Or it could be madness. Be careful what you wish for . . .
Carefully, she sat back down, forcing herself to speak more calmly. "I still don't believe you, sir. But . . . if you're right . . . how would you- or I- know? What would it mean?" Jeroam slapped his hand against his thigh. "Don't play games with me!" He spun on his heel and faced her. "I am not mad. I am not a joker. I am more serious than I have ever been with you." He crushed his fists together. "I am fighting for the greatest stake of all." At her calmer response, some of Jeroam's intensity faded. His blue eyes remained on her face, steady and piercing. "If I am right, it means many things. Some will laud your reappearance. Others will oppose you, perhaps seek your very life. But if I am right, you must make a choice sometime in your future. That choice is whether you will choose to speak the oaths and accept the trials or suffer eternity in ambivalence." (( Danke. And oops. xD I laughed enough at my mistake that my mom and sister- who were upstairs at the time- later asked what I found so hilarious. But it's fixed now.)) She shouldn't play games with him? He was the one insisting she was some sort of hero of legend. But . . . Kisma couldn't convince herself he was gaming with her, not really. He was serious. Possibly a lunatic, despite his assistance to the contrary. But he believed what he was saying. Believed . . . Believed the world was at stake, if she guessed correctly at the meaning of that last statement. And believed she was a Surgebinder, a hero, or that she would be, anyway. Could be. Storm it all. She might've asked for a way to help, might've asked for answers- but she hadn't asked for this. Kisma could no longer meet Jeroam's gaze, though she felt it and the weight of all his insane belief with it. Instead she stared out the window, watching the darkening sky. "If you're right. You could be wrong. I said already, I'm not a hero. Just a surgeon's assistant. Just a girl." Zahi, twined around the back of the chair with his face on level with hers, caught the corner of her vision. His face bobbed in a manner she'd learned to recognize- he had something to say and he didn't think she'd like it. That seemed to be the theme of the day so far . . . She gave him a look of "Fine, spit it out." He did, not meeting her eyes any more than she could meet Jeroam's. "He's not wrong. What he said is . . . familiar. I don't remember much. But I don't believe he's wrong" He's not wrong. No, Zahi didn't think he was wrong. Zahi could be wrong too. It was possible. But possible didn't always mean likely. "You and I are going to have a long talk later," she muttered. Then she turned, still not meeting Jeroam's gaze but looking instead at the pendant on his chest. "Did you hear him? What he just said?"
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Post by Dmitri Pendragon on May 10, 2016 7:13:25 GMT
(( Danke. And oops. xD I laughed enough at my mistake that my mom and sister- who were upstairs at the time- later asked what I found so hilarious. But it's fixed now.)) She shouldn't play games with him? He was the one insisting she was some sort of hero of legend. But . . . Kisma couldn't convince herself he was gaming with her, not really. He was serious. Possibly a lunatic, despite his assistance to the contrary. But he believed what he was saying. Believed . . . Believed the world was at stake, if she guessed correctly at the meaning of that last statement. And believed she was a Surgebinder, a hero, or that she would be, anyway. Could be. Storm it all. She might've asked for a way to help, might've asked for answers- but she hadn't asked for this. Kisma could no longer meet Jeroam's gaze, though she felt it and the weight of all his insane belief with it. Instead she stared out the window, watching the darkening sky. "If you're right. You could be wrong. I said already, I'm not a hero. Just a surgeon's assistant. Just a girl." Zahi, twined around the back of the chair with his face on level with hers, caught the corner of her vision. His face bobbed in a manner she'd learned to recognize- he had something to say and he didn't think she'd like it. That seemed to be the theme of the day so far . . . She gave him a look of "Fine, spit it out." He did, not meeting her eyes any more than she could meet Jeroam's. "He's not wrong. What he said is . . . familiar. I don't remember much. But I don't believe he's wrong" He's not wrong. No, Zahi didn't think he was wrong. Zahi could be wrong too. It was possible. But possible didn't always mean likely. "You and I are going to have a long talk later," she muttered. Then she turned, still not meeting Jeroam's gaze but looking instead at the pendant on his chest. "Did you hear him? What he just said?" "And you think they were any different before they were called?" Jeroam shook his head, but his eyes never wavered from Kisma's face. "All you see of them is what they became. What they were made to be. And all you see of you is what you are…the beginning." He took a long breath and let it out, finally releasing Kisma from his gaze. "I heard him. Your spren is remembering the old days. The days when Knights Radiant walked upon the earth and flew among the storms."
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Post by Lylyss on May 11, 2016 9:48:21 GMT
Tally scowled at Rivven. "You know you just guaranteed something'll go wrong, right? More you say something risky'll go right, the more likely it is to go wrong. It's practically a law." Calden frowned slightly. "A few days? That doesn't give us much time to prepare." "But we can manage, can't we?" Westing glanced at Calden. "We don't have to have everything in place by then. Just your identities and a few preliminary things like that." Beck winced lightly. "That is soon." ((Funny story: I was writing Chazan's post and started to subconsciously hyperventilate and take on his emotions. My mother, who happened to be sitting near me at the time, asked me what was wrong. Apparently I sounded angry. Heheheh.)) Gali raised an eyebrow. "You know you just offered not to stab me in the back." She reached out and gripped Kell's hand. "Shaken. Done and done."
((What kind of dagger does Jove have again?)) The Coinshot barked a laugh. "I'd like to see you in an iron corset." He Pushed on the coin, sending it spinning toward Jove's chest. At the same time he Pushed on the coin between his feet, launching himself into the air.
Raul had said what he needed to. Now he sat back and listened, scribbling plans and ideas on his pad. Every meeting needed a scribe. Every idea needed its consummation in paper and ink. Eventually he'd transfer the ideas to larger sheets, organise them and draft the plans for each member of the party. Well, that was the ideal world.
"Take him out the window," Chazan hissed to Ollin before she sped away, indicating the large stained-glass windows at the other end of the basilica library. He cast a look over his shoulder at the approaching Thugs. They moved with preternatural speed and grace, their attention concentrated on the same place as his. Chazan's mouth formed a thin line. We've done this before.He'd faced this dilemma before. Run or fight. Last time he'd chosen to fight, Abokai had killed dozens. Chazan gritted his teeth, turned his back on the Thugs and raced toward the crowd once more. He tapped steel and iron. Suddenly his form became a blur to all watching. As he hit the crowd, people fell away from him like dominoes.
The crowd muttered curses and jostled Ollin as she passed through them. Nathin's eyes fixed on Ollin as she drew closer. His mouth formed an O, but he didn't speak and quickly cleared the expression from his face. Instead he turned to Zalwen and whispered a few words. Zalwen started. He looked up and met Ollin's gaze. ((Dmitri: Lol. xD Your Muse sort of took over for a minute, huh? Jove's dagger is made of obsidian, although I imagine it more like a meat cleaver than a dagger. Amaray. Right. *mental note* :) )) "I know, it's short notice. But I think we can do it." Rivven looked from crewmember to crewmember. "Besides, this is the best opportunity we're going to get. Nenva's brother is out of town... and he's a Seeker. Something of a legend among bronze-burners, I might add. Probable best to strike while he's out of the way." ________________ " Corselet! Corselet, fiend." Thanks to his mother, Jove was familiar with the various ways that one could weaponize pocket change, and pivoted away from the oncoming coin. "Perhaps I should have used a simpler metaphor. One that would appeal to a pedestrian such as yourself." He ran after the Coinshot, then leapt into the air--gracefully, toes poised, like a ballet sissone--and took a swipe at the legs of his adversary. ((I wish there was a way for Jove to meet Daradin... :P Imagine the melodrama.)) ________________ Kell laughed. What else could he do? He had just agreed to conspire against the Steel Ministry. The Steel Ministry. "Very well, Miss Amaray. Just tell me what to do, and I'll do my best." ________________ "I'm taking the boy!" Ollin shouted above the crowd. "Zalwen, go with Chazan." She grabbed Nathin by arm and tried to drag him toward the window, glancing over her shoulder for signs of pursuit. ________________ "No." Brune ignored the part about retreating. Regrouping was completely different. Especially if it was tactical, if you planned to sally forth from a stronger position. "She was just trying to make sure that nobody got hurt. Storms, man! For all your talk of knights and gallantry, you're willing to abandon a damsel in distress."
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Post by Leilani Sunblade on May 11, 2016 23:08:45 GMT
(( Danke. And oops. xD I laughed enough at my mistake that my mom and sister- who were upstairs at the time- later asked what I found so hilarious. But it's fixed now.)) She shouldn't play games with him? He was the one insisting she was some sort of hero of legend. But . . . Kisma couldn't convince herself he was gaming with her, not really. He was serious. Possibly a lunatic, despite his assistance to the contrary. But he believed what he was saying. Believed . . . Believed the world was at stake, if she guessed correctly at the meaning of that last statement. And believed she was a Surgebinder, a hero, or that she would be, anyway. Could be. Storm it all. She might've asked for a way to help, might've asked for answers- but she hadn't asked for this. Kisma could no longer meet Jeroam's gaze, though she felt it and the weight of all his insane belief with it. Instead she stared out the window, watching the darkening sky. "If you're right. You could be wrong. I said already, I'm not a hero. Just a surgeon's assistant. Just a girl." Zahi, twined around the back of the chair with his face on level with hers, caught the corner of her vision. His face bobbed in a manner she'd learned to recognize- he had something to say and he didn't think she'd like it. That seemed to be the theme of the day so far . . . She gave him a look of "Fine, spit it out." He did, not meeting her eyes any more than she could meet Jeroam's. "He's not wrong. What he said is . . . familiar. I don't remember much. But I don't believe he's wrong" He's not wrong. No, Zahi didn't think he was wrong. Zahi could be wrong too. It was possible. But possible didn't always mean likely. "You and I are going to have a long talk later," she muttered. Then she turned, still not meeting Jeroam's gaze but looking instead at the pendant on his chest. "Did you hear him? What he just said?" "And you think they were any different before they were called?" Jeroam shook his head, but his eyes never wavered from Kisma's face. "All you see of them is what they became. What they were made to be. And all you see of you is what you are…the beginning." He took a long breath and let it out, finally releasing Kisma from his gaze. "I heard him. Your spren is remembering the old days. The days when Knights Radiant walked upon the earth and flew among the storms." Of course he heard Zahi. And now it seemed the two were ganging up on her. "But-" But I'm not a hero? Never could be a hero? We already discussed that. And, if she was being honest, what Jeroam said made sense. "That's not-" That's not possible? That Zahi remembers the time of Radiants? Why shouldn't it be? Spren were spirits, ideas- they couldn't really die, could they? And if they couldn't die, then of course they'd have been around since the beginning of time; it made sense . . . Kisma slumped slightly. If she hadn't known better, she'd say insanity was catching. Since she did know better, she had to admit that she'd run out of arguments. There probably was still one, somewhere- but she was trained in medicine, not debate. "All right. Fine. I'll admit that perhaps there's something in what you claim, Brightlord." She could give that much; she could admit that perhaps she was being called to something, crazy as it sounded. But a call could be refused . . . "What are these Oaths, then, so I have some idea what I'm potentially being pulled into? Or are they one of those things that one has to discover oneself if one is to fulfill one's destiny?" Despite her efforts to sound respectful, skepticism crept back into her last sentence. Zahi twined his way onto the arm of her chair- apparently, he was taking proper part in the conversation now. "The Words . . . the first was common to all, I think. The others, not so." Tally scowled at Rivven. "You know you just guaranteed something'll go wrong, right? More you say something risky'll go right, the more likely it is to go wrong. It's practically a law." Calden frowned slightly. "A few days? That doesn't give us much time to prepare." "But we can manage, can't we?" Westing glanced at Calden. "We don't have to have everything in place by then. Just your identities and a few preliminary things like that." Beck winced lightly. "That is soon." Raul had said what he needed to. Now he sat back and listened, scribbling plans and ideas on his pad. Every meeting needed a scribe. Every idea needed its consummation in paper and ink. Eventually he'd transfer the ideas to larger sheets, organise them and draft the plans for each member of the party. Well, that was the ideal world. "I know, it's short notice. But I think we can do it." Rivven looked from crewmember to crewmember. "Besides, this is the best opportunity we're going to get. Nenva's brother is out of town... and he's a Seeker. Something of a legend among bronze-burners, I might add. Probably best to strike while he's out of the way." "Well. That is a good reason to move quickly." Westing uncrossed his arms, sitting up straight. "How long'll this brother be gone, do you know? If we can get the whole scheme through before he gets back, that'll be best for us." Calden nodded gravely. "Westing is probably right . . . And that means the sooner I can start figuring out who I'm going to be, the better. Unless there's anything else to discuss here, I'll go make a start on that now.
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Post by jliessa44 on May 12, 2016 1:06:51 GMT
Beck looked over at Calden. "Do you mind if I join you? It'd be best if our stories corroborated."
Then he had to cringe. Really, how many skaa used the word corroborate. He needed to get better at fitting in and stop relying on soothing to avoid suspicion. At least now he had the excuse of passing for nobles before.
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Post by Leilani Sunblade on May 12, 2016 1:10:41 GMT
"I hoped you would." Calden nodded, then stood, though he didn't yet leave, waiting for Rivven's confirmation that they were done here.
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Post by jliessa44 on May 12, 2016 1:46:37 GMT
Beck stood as well, waiting for permission.
Meanwhile Mil leaned forward. "And is there somewhere we can practice and train?"
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Post by Dmitri Pendragon on May 16, 2016 8:12:06 GMT
"I know, it's short notice. But I think we can do it." Rivven looked from crewmember to crewmember. "Besides, this is the best opportunity we're going to get. Nenva's brother is out of town... and he's a Seeker. Something of a legend among bronze-burners, I might add. Probable best to strike while he's out of the way." ________________ " Corselet! Corselet, fiend." Thanks to his mother, Jove was familiar with the various ways that one could weaponize pocket change, and pivoted away from the oncoming coin. "Perhaps I should have used a simpler metaphor. One that would appeal to a pedestrian such as yourself." He ran after the Coinshot, then leapt into the air--gracefully, toes poised, like a ballet sissone--and took a swipe at the legs of his adversary. ((I wish there was a way for Jove to meet Daradin... Imagine the melodrama.)) ________________ Kell laughed. What else could he do? He had just agreed to conspire against the Steel Ministry. The Steel Ministry. "Very well, Miss Amaray. Just tell me what to do, and I'll do my best." ________________ "I'm taking the boy!" Ollin shouted above the crowd. "Zalwen, go with Chazan." She grabbed Nathin by arm and tried to drag him toward the window, glancing over her shoulder for signs of pursuit. ________________ "No." Brune ignored the part about retreating. Regrouping was completely different. Especially if it was tactical, if you planned to sally forth from a stronger position. "She was just trying to make sure that nobody got hurt. Storms, man! For all your talk of knights and gallantry, you're willing to abandon a damsel in distress." Meanwhile Mil leaned forward. "And is there somewhere we can practice and train?" Raul scowled at his notes. So Nenva's brother was a legend among Seekers, huh? He chafed on the inside but wrote it down anyway. It wouldn't hurt to probe the man's mind if he could get him alone and unwitting. Test his abilities. Figure out what he could do and how he could do it. He raised his voice loud enough for Mil to hear. "If you need people to test your edge against, I can't help you, but this safe house has plenty of space if that's what you need."
From his closed hand the Coinshot sprayed coins at Jove from point-blank range. He Pushed off the nails in a house across the street, edging himself out of the way of Jove's strike, but the massive dagger still slashed through his tunic and drew a line of blood from his leg. Grunting, the Coinshot Pushed off the coins scattered across the ground and whirled high into the air. He unsheathed a wooden duelling cane from his side as he rose to the top of his Push, then let go, diving toward Jove like a lightning bolt from heaven and bringing down the cane toward Jove's head. At the last moment he Pushed on the coins on the ground, slowing his fall enough to land safely.
Gali hunched into the corner and pulled her ash-stained tunic about her shoulders. "I haven't been in Urteau for a long time, but I know a few noble houses with bad feelings toward the Steel Ministry. House Trevion lost their house heir to Inquisitors for some reason I'm not aware of. We need to approach them, solicit the help of their Allomancers. Then there's House Sela, from whom the Steel Ministry confiscated a few barge loads because they were smuggling contraband. House Venture is a newer noble house in this area, but I know they provide Allomancer mercenaries for those with the right contacts." She paused and eyed Kell. "Of course, if there are any in the region, a kandra would be useful too."
Nathin shook off Ollin's arm but followed her across the room, matching her pace. "What's your name?" Zalwen scowled, a scowl suddenly cut off as Chazan stopped directly before him. The elder Terrisman stared at Chazan with thunder on his brow and lightning in his eyes. "Why are you of all people here?" "Because you are," Chazan said. "And because no matter our disagreements, I care about what happens to you." Zalwen grasped Chazan's forearm. "You're a fool, but you're also a sight for sore eyes." He pressed his walking stick into Chazan's hand. "Nathin knows what to do with this. If I can't get out, don't come back with it." He hurried after Nathin and Ollin, enhancing his speed with steel. Chazan gripped the walking stick and glanced over his shoulder. The Thugs picked their way through the people he'd knocked over, their speed breathtaking to watch. He turned and sped toward the windows, easily catching up with Zalwen. His steel was running low. They'd have to get out quickly.
Daradin slapped his palm on Windrunner's saddle, making the horse startle. He bit back a curse and spun to face Brune. "Okay. Fine. I'm with you until we've rescued your girlfriend. What's your plan?" ((Oh yes. Daradin and Jove would make a great duo. A pity they're separated by worlds.)) "And you think they were any different before they were called?" Jeroam shook his head, but his eyes never wavered from Kisma's face. "All you see of them is what they became. What they were made to be. And all you see of you is what you are…the beginning." He took a long breath and let it out, finally releasing Kisma from his gaze. "I heard him. Your spren is remembering the old days. The days when Knights Radiant walked upon the earth and flew among the storms." Of course he heard Zahi. And now it seemed the two were ganging up on her. "But-" But I'm not a hero? Never could be a hero? We already discussed that. And, if she was being honest, what Jeroam said made sense. "That's not-" That's not possible? That Zahi remembers the time of Radiants? Why shouldn't it be? Spren were spirits, ideas- they couldn't really die, could they? And if they couldn't die, then of course they'd have been around since the beginning of time; it made sense . . . Kisma slumped slightly. If she hadn't known better, she'd say insanity was catching. Since she did know better, she had to admit that she'd run out of arguments. There probably was still one, somewhere- but she was trained in medicine, not debate. "All right. Fine. I'll admit that perhaps there's something in what you claim, Brightlord." She could give that much; she could admit that perhaps she was being called to something, crazy as it sounded. But a call could be refused . . . "What are these Oaths, then, so I have some idea what I'm potentially being pulled into? Or are they one of those things that one has to discover oneself if one is to fulfill one's destiny?" Despite her efforts to sound respectful, skepticism crept back into her last sentence. Zahi twined his way onto the arm of her chair- apparently, he was taking proper part in the conversation now. "The Words . . . the first was common to all, I think. The others, not so." "Life before death. Strength before weakness. Journey before destination." Jeroam paced. "The meaning of which you must discover for yourself, or as your spren guides you." He paused, closed his eyes, tightened his fists, and finally loosened again. "But what I am more interested in is the circumstances of your calling, and how it coincides with my own presence here." He moved to a small stand on one side of the room and picked up a scrap of parchment, which he cradled reverently in his hands. "Does the Sword of Shadesmar mean anything to you?"
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Post by Leilani Sunblade on May 16, 2016 13:02:29 GMT
Beck stood as well, waiting for permission. Meanwhile Mil leaned forward. "And is there somewhere we can practice and train?" Raul scowled at his notes. So Nenva's brother was a legend among Seekers, huh? He chafed on the inside but wrote it down anyway. It wouldn't hurt to probe the man's mind if he could get him alone and unwitting. Test his abilities. Figure out what he could do and how he could do it. He raised his voice loud enough for Mil to hear. "If you need people to test your edge against, I can't help you, but this safe house has plenty of space if that's what you need." "He's right." Westing grinned. "And if you're looking for someone to train against, I'm up for it . . . Though I hate to beat a girl too badly." He grinned, showing her he was teasing- mostly, at least. Of course he heard Zahi. And now it seemed the two were ganging up on her. "But-" But I'm not a hero? Never could be a hero? We already discussed that. And, if she was being honest, what Jeroam said made sense. "That's not-" That's not possible? That Zahi remembers the time of Radiants? Why shouldn't it be? Spren were spirits, ideas- they couldn't really die, could they? And if they couldn't die, then of course they'd have been around since the beginning of time; it made sense . . . Kisma slumped slightly. If she hadn't known better, she'd say insanity was catching. Since she did know better, she had to admit that she'd run out of arguments. There probably was still one, somewhere- but she was trained in medicine, not debate. "All right. Fine. I'll admit that perhaps there's something in what you claim, Brightlord." She could give that much; she could admit that perhaps she was being called to something, crazy as it sounded. But a call could be refused . . . "What are these Oaths, then, so I have some idea what I'm potentially being pulled into? Or are they one of those things that one has to discover oneself if one is to fulfill one's destiny?" Despite her efforts to sound respectful, skepticism crept back into her last sentence. Zahi twined his way onto the arm of her chair- apparently, he was taking proper part in the conversation now. "The Words . . . the first was common to all, I think. The others, not so." "Life before death. Strength before weakness. Journey before destination." Jeroam paced. "The meaning of which you must discover for yourself, or as your spren guides you." He paused, closed his eyes, tightened his fists, and finally loosened again. "But what I am more interested in is the circumstances of your calling, and how it coincides with my own presence here." He moved to a small stand on one side of the room and picked up a scrap of parchment, which he cradled reverently in his hands. "Does the Sword of Shadesmar mean anything to you?" That sounds like a maxim. Not an oath. But Kisma didn't comment on it, instead mentally filing it away to consider later. She leaned forward slightly as incredulity gave way to curiosity with the change of subject. "The Sword of Shadesmar?" She thought for a moment. "It sounds vaguely familiar . . . I'm guessing it's a legend of some sort? If it is, I might've read it once, but . . . not for years." Not not for half her lifetime, really. Not since she was a child sneaking volumes of adventure stories and myths from her father's ever-changing stock when she was bored and couldn't sneak herself out of the house instead . . . She glanced at Zahi, wondering if this comment too would jar his memory, but he was silent.
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Post by jliessa44 on May 16, 2016 15:23:04 GMT
Mil pouted at Westing as she stood. "You mean you won't go easy on me because I'm a girl?"
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Post by Leilani Sunblade on May 16, 2016 15:46:44 GMT
"I could, but I thought you'd rather have a challenge." Westing stood as well. "Don't think I caught your name, by the way."
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Post by jliessa44 on May 16, 2016 17:17:04 GMT
"I'd rather a challenge, but I'll settle for you." She grinned teasingly and held out her hand. "I'm Mil."
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Post by Leilani Sunblade on May 16, 2016 17:57:16 GMT
"Ah, you wound me! Maybe I won't regret trouncing you after all." Westing shook her hand. "Pleasure. Fairly certain you heard my name by now- if not, it's Westing."
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Post by jliessa44 on May 16, 2016 18:55:41 GMT
"Pleasure to meet you Westing. The man scowling at you is my brother Dev."
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Post by Leilani Sunblade on May 16, 2016 20:56:58 GMT
"Pleased to meet you too." Westing gave Dev a quick grin in exchange for the scowl. "And your brother as well, though I hope he's not going to give me that look ever time I say a word to you. Not that I mind, but sooner or later it'll stick and then what'll we do?"
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Post by jliessa44 on May 16, 2016 21:49:02 GMT
"I'm afraid it already might be stuck." She chuckled glancing over her shoulder. "He'll relax eventually though, once I've proven I can knock you out."
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Post by Leilani Sunblade on May 16, 2016 22:00:15 GMT
"Pity. He'll be scowling for a while, then." Westing lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "Unless you think he'd fall for me letting you win, just to spare everyone else that look?"
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Post by jliessa44 on May 16, 2016 23:00:59 GMT
"If putting it like that will smooth your pride when I win."
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