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           “Semantics,” said Kelsier. “Nice rag, but I’m more interested in what you took from me.” He paused, sizing up the young man before him--matter of opinion, really, since he doesn’t look much younger than Kelsier was when things got complicated. “Or how about this... you seem like you’re a man who’s keen on exchanges. In exchange for whatever you pocketed from me, I’ll give you this back”--he waved the scrap of fabric, grasped between his index and middle fingers--”and take you for a drink, and you can tell me more about the sort of work you do.”

“Ah, but mate, that’s the point,” Wayne said, digging through his duster pockets and coming up with a nice-looking scrap of fabric. “Up till the wedding night, she’s purer than Harmony Himself.”

He placed the floral cloth in Kelsier’s outstretched hand. It was definitely worth more than the metal vial he’d just traded for it (that fabric’d make the softest handkerchief in the entire Cosmere), but it was still a fair deal, on account of how Wayne hadn’t blown his nose in it even once.

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          Well, he was a tall fellow, wasn’t he? Kelsier liked to think he was on the taller side, but this young man was something else entirely. That frown-- familiar in some ways, like a brother he’d left behind on a green world covered in mists, undying, unchanging. His fault, of course, but then, many things were.

          Kelsier’s smile did not falter, but edged into amusement as he cast a cursory glance down at the spear--now pointed at him.

          “Kelsier, although that won’t mean much here. I was bored. Do you usually act so apathetic toward people who tell you they’ve died once?”

Kaladin froze, grip on his spear tightening as he spun around, aiming the tip of the blade at the newcomer. He met the other man’s smile with a stern frown, eyes narrowing suspiciously. Strangers didn’t often just appear at the outskirts of the warcamps so, there was plenty of cause for trepidation.

“Good for you. Who are you and what are you doing here?”

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          The stranger stuck out like a gold nail in a vial of steel shavings, which meant he was one of two things: an easy mark, or a dangerous opponent. Considering his clothing (rapidly devolving into the same murky grey soot colour), his location (not the best Luthadel had to offer), and the fact that he just started talking to himself (if he was expecting the skaa to answer, he was sorely mistaken), Kelsier was betting hard on the former.

          Kelsier didn’t like making bets he couldn’t win.

          He decided to have pity on the poor sod--if pity was in Kelsier’s vocabulary for the day.

          (It wasn’t, but he was a good enough conman to manage a convincing approximation, at the very least.)

          “You’re not going to get much out of them,” Kelsier piped up, putting on his second-best smile, the one that was a little less sharp at the edges. “You look like you’re a little turned around, sir. Need a hand?”

          If the fellow didn’t have anything worthwhile to add to Kelsier’s repertoire--money, knowledge, influence--well... Luthadel wouldn’t miss one more nobleman.

@hathsinned

Storming damnation.

Adolin Kholin - cousin to the king, heir to the Kholin Princedom - had absolutely no idea where he was.

He might have guessed that he’d somehow ended up in Shadesmar if it wasn’t so utterly unlike everything Shallan had described to him. The sun was out, bright despite being hidden behind thick clouds; there was no sea of spheres in sight, no floating light of living souls. Everything was oddly heavy, and yet at the same time the air felt somehow… thin. This was despite the fact that, against all reason, there was ash was falling from the sky.

Am I in a… a city? Adolin could barely see a distant fortification wall that rose on the horizon, but it was hard to make out past the tightly-packed buildings - none of which were tilted to take the brunt of storms! Some - more elegant than others and made from proper stone - rose above the rest, but one stood out above all others, a massive edifice of dark spires that reached towards the dull sky like shards of jagged carapace.

Those people that passed by him were grime-stained and hunched, either ignoring Adolin entirely or skittering clear of this obviously strange man that stood out as an infused sphere among dun - easily head and shoulders above the rest in his proud coat of blue-and-white.

Well. Blue and quickly-becoming-grey.

“You know,” he said to no one in particular, squinting up at the sky as the dark ash fell around him, “I think I might actually be in Damnation. Where it is storming. Does this count as irony?”

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@storms-honor.

          “Nice spear. You know, I was killed by one of those once.”

          Arms crossed, sharp, easy smile cutting across his lips, Kelsier finally made his presence known, his voice echoing strangely in the unfamiliar landscape.

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          “I don’t suppose you know what happens after the wedding, then, do you?” Kelsier cocked one eyebrow, a grin slanting over his face. He held his hand out expectantly. “The sleeve trick won’t work on me, either.”

Wayne grinned and held his hands up to show how empty and innocent they were. “Didn’t take nothin’ today, old man. Virtuous as a lady on her wedding day, I am.”

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Don’t joke about murder. I was murdered once and it offends me.

Jake Chambers (via incorrectdarktowerquotes)

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           “You’re going to have to try better than that, my friend,” Kelsier said, a sly twitch of amusement curving his lips. “I’ve pocketed a few coin purses with that trick back in the day.”

open

Ah. There. A familiar face.

Wayne navigated through the busy street, his new hat tugged down to hide his face. He bumped his shoulder into them roughly and said, “Oi. Watch where you’re going, stranger.”

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guess who’s back suckaaaaas

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It’s okay. Everyone’s survival looks a little bit like death sometimes.

Andrea Gibson, Angels of the Get Through (via wanheda)

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Kelsier can’t help but smile as something in her wary look reminds him faintly of Vin, that long-ago night when he told her to jump off a wall. Of course, he can’t ask the same of Marasi, but there are options.

“I’m not precisely a stranger,” he says, not bothering to hide his amusement; she’ll know who he is soon enough. “But if it’s proof you want”—he begins burning pewter and takes a step towards her, holding out his hands to demonstrate the lack of weapons—“I’ll ask you to try to refrain from shooting me just yet.”

With that, he extinguishes his tin in anticipation of a vocal protest, flares his pewter in anticipation of a physical one, drops a coin to the ground, and scoops her up as he Pushes off into the night.

And if a flight through the mist-free night, with the city and then the countryside rushing past below them, isn’t impressive enough…well, he has another destination in mind.  

          Marasi doesn’t leave.

          She is not a woman drawn in by simple promises or empty interest, but she is an investigator, a scientist, one who seeks answers whatever their source. Whoever he is, he’s the first to mention Trell so readily who hasn’t attempted to kidnap her or blow her to hell immediately, but there’s something she can’t quite put her finger on, something that unnerves her and calls for attention. 

          “I’m beginning to suspect your mother never gave you the talk about following strangers,” she said, maintaining her best unimpressed expression. She’s had plenty of time to perfect it, dealing with Wax. “This isn’t exactly calming my misgivings, so allow me to be blunt. Who are you, and what do you know of Trell?”

          On more than just this world? What did that mean? A tiny spark of something strikes within her–hunger for knowledge, for the thrill of seeking and finding answers. For two years now, the answer to Trell has eluded her. This man isn’t much, but it’s a lead she’d never had before.

          Damn. She’s intrigued.

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the magician, death, justice (WOW THE IRONY OF THOSE THREE IN CONJUNCTION)

The Magician: What would your muse draw if given paper and markers?

He’d probably hand them to Mare and let her draw her flowers. He might keep one for himself, to write a letter that will destroy readers’ hearts, because this is Kelsier after all.

Justice: What’s something your muse has been dying to admit or confess?

You’d have to ask Vin. she��s probably the only one he would ever tell.

Death: If your muse had to change something about themselves, what would they change?

“Do better, Kelsier.” There are so many things they say he should change. “The hearts of men are not your toys.” So many fracture lines, so many scars. “Ah, Kelsier, you have a lot to learn about love.”If he were different, if he changed “I don’t think you understand it”would they still have left him?  He held his daughter close against his own broken soul. Would he still be the Survivor, “please. Don’t go. Stay. With me.” watching as they dance into death’s warm embrace?

But if he were different “you are a great man, and should be proud of what you’ve done” how could he have done it all? “Everything I’ve done - the fall of the empire, the power I’ve given up - that was all about love” …wasn’t it? Or was it only possible “you do love, I know you do” because of that broken soul? “But to do the things you had to do, to save the world, you had to become something” He knows the answer. 

How much was about us? And how much was about you?Just as he knows, watching them vanish into the peace that will never be his (he didn’t feel abandoned, but he did feel alone, the last witness of eras) that just as Vin - a glorious, radiant spear of power; controlled, loving, compassionate, but unyielding - was the only one who could have played her part, “what nobody else could have done. You gave yourself up” he is the only one who could have done what he did. A pretend god. What needed to be done. “I am hope.”

Let them see my weakness. Let them see me overcome it. Let them see me use it, hone its edges, shape it into a weapon. Survive. He would change nothing. 

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|| The Hierophant, The Chariot, The Lovers ||

The Chariot: If your muse ruled the world, what would they change first?

What do you mean, ‘if’? Once, his answer might have been ‘the absence of flowers’. Now...ruling the world was never the goal, and there are worlds, now. Worlds, and gods, and realms he never even contemplated before, and machinations on a scale larger than any single world could ever contain.

The Lovers: at what age did your muse first fall in love?

Canon is not specific on the age at which Kelsier first looked into a mirror.

The Hierophant: What is one rule or law your muse would never break?

“Survive.”

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Put a tarot card in my inbox and I'll answer the question!

The Fool: What is the stupidest thing your muse has ever done?

The Empress: What would your muse name their children?

Judgement: Would your muse ever go back to their most recent ex-lover?

The World: What has been your muse's greatest success?

The Sun: What was the happiest moment of your muse's life?

Wheel of Fortune: Does your muse believe in luck?

The Hierophant: What is one rule or law your muse would never break?

Strength: Name a time when your muse had to be strong in the face of danger or trouble.

The Star: If your muse had one wish, what would it be?

The Magician: What would your muse draw if given paper and markers?

The Emperor: Name a time your muse has broken the rules.

Death: If your muse had to change something about themselves, what would they change?

The Chariot: If your muse ruled the world, what would they change first?

The High Priestess: What is the smartest thing your muse has ever done?

Temperance: Would your muse remain calm despite the worst circumstances?

The Lovers: At what age did your muse first fall in love?

The Hermit: If your muse were trapped alone on an island, name three things they'd have to have..

The Moon: Has your muse ever had something unexplained happen to them? If so, what?

Justice: What's something your muse has been dying to admit or confess?

The Hanged Man: Name a bad habit your muse can't give up.

The Devil: What was the worst relationship your muse has ever had?

The Tower: What event would trigger your muse's breaking point?

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It would probably be easier to just tell her who he is, but there is no mist out tonight, nor so much as a hint of a riot or even mild unrest. It is not a night for dramatic revelations, and no self-respecting god would announce himself twice with nothing more than a sceptic look as an audience. Even Fuzz had done better than that.

“Reason to trust me?” he muses. He can concede that she’s not entirely wrong to doubt him there, though by her look of growing irritation, she finds it rather less amusing than he does. “I can’t claim to be a lawman, precisely, but I can honestly say I haven’t tried to scam an ordinary human in...oh, it must be weeks by now.” She still looks unimpressed, and Kelsier gives an artful sigh. “Fine, years. Gods, on the other hand...”

He pauses, studying her and thinking through the little he knows about her. Intelligent, certainly, but ambitious? Determined, at least. “It’s bigger than just Trell. How much bigger...” he spreads his hands and raises an eyebrow. “That’s where investigation comes in, on more than just this world. That’s where you come in, if you’d like. Of course, that might require at least a bit of your trust to demonstrate, so if you’d rather leave now...”

He hopes she won’t.

          That smile was growing increasingly infuriating, and the questions were only stacking on top of each other. Marasi’s eyes narrowed in a mixture of suspicion and annoyance. She could handle men waltzing up and claiming to be gods–absurd, to be sure, but she wasn’t here to question male egotism… just puncture it–but spouting off about Trell and perpendicularities and strange women was something else entirely.

          “ You’ll have to pardon my skepticism, ” she said, crossing her arms and appraising him. “ But you also happen to fit the bill of ‘asking several dozen questions full of words I’ve never heard before.’ While I’m eager to find any answers regarding Trell, I have no idea who you are and you haven’t given me any reason to trust–or believe–anything you’re saying. ”

          For all she knew, he was working for this ‘Trell’ character. He could be just as homicidal and misguided as Miles Dagouter, or just as corrupt as Lord Ladrian.

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“Only in the sense that it can provide access to things of value,” Kelsier says, a cryptic smile covering both the urge to laugh at the absurdity of her question and his surprise at its necessity. An intelligent and observant woman who knows enough to be seeking out information on Trell, but seems to have no notion of the wider Cosmere. But then, he thinks wryly, it took dying for me to figure it out.

More surprising, perhaps, is the apparent lack of recognition in her eyes as she watches him intently. He almost laughs at the thought that Marsh has somehow become the more recognisable brother. Briefly, he toys with the idea of revealing his identity to her, but if she hasn’t picked up on it yet, he’s curious to see how long it will take. The game will be up as soon as he has to burn more than one metal, of course, but the look on her face should be worth it.

“There is someone who might have a few answers,” he says instead. To questions about more than Trell, he doesn’t add. “The trick is finding her. I don’t suppose you’ve met a woman with dark hair in braids and a tendency to ask several dozen questions full of words you’ve never heard before, have you?”

          A crease settles between Marasi’s brows, lips pursing slightly at his questions. The first indicates at least some level of familiarity, if only in passing, and the second… Perpendicularity? An odd word, and not something she’d encountered before, either during her schooling or her research into Trell.

          She crosses her arms and examines the man before her. The research has been largely fruitless–nothing solid, nothing but murmurs in the mist, whispers spoken in secret. For all that Harmony had professed that every religion had its merits, Trell’s followers were frustratingly absent from her readings. 

          “ To your first question: not much besides mentions in passing, ” she says carefully, “ and to your second, no. Is that a shop? ” Marasi gauges his expression, searching for any sign of hostility. She’s all too aware that the last few people she encountered who knew of Trell are now buried six feet under–one riddled with bullets, and the other blown to bits. Despite her time with Wax and Wayne, she doesn’t much fancy ending up the same way.

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Kelsier had only half-expected to find his own worshippers scattered throughout the crowd surrounding the strange new preacher of whom the rumours spoke, but he was not disappointed. He listened for a few minutes – the man knew how to speak to a crowd, Kelsier acknowledged – and thought he recognised the general outline of a religion he remembered Sazed telling him about, long ago. As he had hoped.

Kelsier rolled up his sleeves, pushed back his hood, and burned zinc.

Preservation’s last words still echoed in his mind sometimes – the hearts of men are not your toys – but these had handed him their hearts freely, in prayers whispered to the Survivor, and who was he to refuse such an offering?

Besides, he was hardly toying with them. They would leave this gathering with the whispers of a mist-shrouded miracle on their lips; an apparition, a visitation, or perhaps a hoax in the minds of the uncertain. He was giving them a story, or maybe even hope, and they were giving him the dramatic touch he needed for his introduction to this strange – otherworldy, unless Kelsier  missed his guess – preacher. Smiling, Kelsier strode through the crowd, the rising mists eddying softly around his feet.

“Sorry about them,” Kelsier lied, waving a careless hand in the direction of those who had recognised him and spoken his name in awed whispers. “I’m sure they mean no disrespect; it’s complicated, but I’m sort of their god. I was wondering, though, if you could introduce me to yours?”

     In many things, Hrathen was an unparalleled expert. Logic and rhetoric, theology, swordsmanship…but he chiefly prided himself on his oration.  The ability to turn a crowd to Jaddeth, to measure them and deliver them the exact speech they were ready for. One part tuned showmanship, one part easy logic, and one part basic theology, Hrathen blended the components as a master. There was no use for humility - he had practiced and trained at the best schools and monasteries, and his skill was no result of luck or pride. 

    He spoke freely as a warm spring breeze fluttered through his cloak, paying only the faintest attention to his sermon. It was one he knew well, and while he did change it in places to fit the current audience, he didn’t need to focus on it. After all this time, it was almost simple. Hrathen rolled on, his voice falling quiet as he went over topics of obedience, the Great Chain, and personal role –    The rhythm of the speech ground to a halt with an interruption. He hadn’t seen the figure that had spoken - the words had been quiet, almost murmured, but he had heard a voice. The results of this wretched place, apparently. He frowned, his dark eyes intent as he searched the crowd for the culprit.     “Excuse me?”

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“I’m not sure I’m on speaking terms with Saze this week,” Kelsier quips, trying to cover his surprise at the other name she has spoken. Trell. Surprise and frustration, he admits privately; he has heard that name whispered in tones he recognises all too well, but has found little in the way of answers, in this realm or the Cognitive one. Sazed had told him of a religion called Trelagism, once, but he has learned too much of gods since then to believe the answer is that simple.

He pauses, considering the woman in front of him. By all accounts she’s good at puzzles, if unfortunately fond of the law. Still, someone like that could certainly be useful.

“What do you know of Trell?” he finally asks. “And do you know where to find the nearest perpendicularity?”

          Marasi jumps, not expecting company. She takes a moment to parse the fact that someone is suddenly lingering in her doorframe and slowly wets her lips, “I imagine you would know better than me,” she replies coolly. “I can’t say I’m on speaking terms with Harmony, though if you know how I can contact Trell, I’d be more than willing to test it on him.”