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In the land of Alethkar on the continent of Roshar, there are many stories of brave soldiers; light-eyed and dark winning Shards on grand battlefields; the only remnants of the traitorous Herald’s own Knights Radiant. Soulcasters able to change one substance to another, using stormlight gathered in gemstones to turn flesh to fire or stone to grain. Highlords and Highladies feasting in the finest courts and dark-eyed farmers scraping crem from their doors for another day of toil.
This story however, starts in a much, much lower place…
<span class="mu-s">SMASH
Your face made hard unforgiving contact with the still wet crem on the ground from the Highstorm. Blood pooled in the cremwater, gushing from your nose. Your limbs shook and your body trembled as the boys from your town laid the boot into your body.
Your mind fuzzed from the impact, pain spren like tiny orange hands crawling from the earth, clawing for your face. The metallic taste of stormwater filling your mouth; your hands dig into the earth and you feel it slip between your fingers.
“What are you doing boy? What did I tell you about this?”
Your father’s voice rings in your head. You do remember right?
>”Stand up boy, you’re better than this. Get up and storming fight!”
>”You’re better than this; you don’t need to fight them. They’re not worth it.”
>Write in?
You begin to focus once again, the buzzing clearing out of your ears as you stand up. The three boys from your town surround you, at the very least having the decency to let you get to your feet before they raise their fists again.
You look at yourself, getting a feel for your situation; your clothes are dirtied and your face bloodied but other than that; the damage is minimal; from your boots to your head you’re battered and bruised but not hurt.
One of the boys; Durl calls out from the small crowd; a boy taller than yourself and set much thicker; his dark eyes stared at you intensely.
“You think you’re storming better than us do ya?”
>”I’m a light-eyes, of course, I am!”
>”Of course not! I’m one you!”</span>
This story however, starts in a much, much lower place…
<span class="mu-s">SMASH
Your face made hard unforgiving contact with the still wet crem on the ground from the Highstorm. Blood pooled in the cremwater, gushing from your nose. Your limbs shook and your body trembled as the boys from your town laid the boot into your body.
Your mind fuzzed from the impact, pain spren like tiny orange hands crawling from the earth, clawing for your face. The metallic taste of stormwater filling your mouth; your hands dig into the earth and you feel it slip between your fingers.
“What are you doing boy? What did I tell you about this?”
Your father’s voice rings in your head. You do remember right?
>”Stand up boy, you’re better than this. Get up and storming fight!”
>”You’re better than this; you don’t need to fight them. They’re not worth it.”
>Write in?
You begin to focus once again, the buzzing clearing out of your ears as you stand up. The three boys from your town surround you, at the very least having the decency to let you get to your feet before they raise their fists again.
You look at yourself, getting a feel for your situation; your clothes are dirtied and your face bloodied but other than that; the damage is minimal; from your boots to your head you’re battered and bruised but not hurt.
One of the boys; Durl calls out from the small crowd; a boy taller than yourself and set much thicker; his dark eyes stared at you intensely.
“You think you’re storming better than us do ya?”
>”I’m a light-eyes, of course, I am!”
>”Of course not! I’m one you!”</span>
