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The Lord Ruler's perfect capital city, Luthadel, is doing the impossible: rebelling. Skaa half-breeds are being taught the power of Allomancy, something that the Lord Ruler's obligators said only existed in the nobility. The enslaved skaa, with their murderous benefactor, now fight back against a living god's oppression.

So, the Inquisition was formed. The nobles begin to fear assassination from all sides. The times of nobility Mistborn killing each other are over. The Steel Inquisitors look for aristocrat traitors and insurgent skaa, and the skaa try with all their strength to merely survive. The Lord Ruler's perfect Final Empire is slowly devolving into chaos.

Read the full prologue!

Topics on the forum will contain spoilers for the Mistborn Trilogy

Mistborn Series Brandon Sanderson
Allomantic Table, Symbols, and Cartography by Isaac Stewart
Luthadel Images: mking2008
Other Graphics: KChan at 17th Shard
Final Empire, Metallic Arts, and Style Guides by Chaos at 17th Shard
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Perrin's Photo


Member Since 13 Jul 2009
Offline Last Active Nov 14 2017 11:04 PM

Topics I've Started

Long Awaited Return

23 July 2017 - 05:17 AM

It had been far too long since the ball had ended, since everything had gone awry. Well, perhaps not everything. Maks locked the front door of the shop; the sun had set, the business day was done. A day that had dragged on torturously slow for the dressmaker. Why hadn’t anyone returned to the shop yet? He picked up a sewing kit that had been left at a work station and returned it to a shelf in the back room.

A frown was on his lips, as it had been since two nights prior. His stomach had been tied up in knots, and food didn’t seem appealing. Still, he found himself in the kitchens each night, hoping and waiting until he slipped into fitful sleep. Tonight would doubtless be any different. The cook had already gone up to bed, so Maks made himself a cup of tea, though it was not nearly as good as when old Agatha made it. He sat down at the table, rapping his fingers on the wood. If Perrin or Ignas didn’t return by the following evening, Maks would assume them dead. But what then? Maks didn’t have any other rebel cell locations; it was safer that way.

He sat for hours, tea barely touched, and the door remained closed. Maks’ eyes closed and his head slumped down.

The dressmaker jerked awake. What was that? He stood cautiously, eyes on the door. Had someone knocked, or was it just someone walking upstairs? Maks picked up knife from the table and moved to the door, opening it slowly.

Dim light from the kitchen bathed the cobblestones and an empty alley. Maks sighed, opening the door wide, further illuminating the misty alley.

“It’s about time, Maksy boy.” A voice said from the shadows to the side of the door. Not just -a- voice, but one that belonged to the only person that would call him Maksy.

“Perrin!” Maks dropped the knife and moved to the Mistborn’s side. He was obviously wounded, weak. “Lord Ruler.. I thought for sure you were dead!” Maks pulled Perrin’s arm up around his shoulder and helped him into the kitchen. “Natt! Agatha!” He called up the stairs as he moved to set Perrin down in the seat he had occupied only moments before.

Perrin smirked at him, his face bruised and bloody, “Thought I was dead for sure a few times as well.” He winced as he shifted in the chair, trying to get more comfortable. “I need some metal. Pewter.”

Maks nodded, hurrying to the store cupboard. Vials in hand, he returned to Perrin, “Is anyone else alive?”

The Mistborn shrugged as he downed the metal. He closed his eyes, relaxing a little, “I played my part in the attack, I’ve no idea where anyone else is…” He trailed off, “Wait, no one else has returned?”

Maks shook his head, “No one.” He frowned, “I was ready to give everyone up for dead and continue on here alone. But now that you’ve returned, we can contact other cells and find out what Ignas has planned.”

Perrin tried to sit up straighter, hissing in pain, “Do you think we can put off our daring plans until I’ve had at least a few hours of actual rest?”

The dressmaker hesitated, then nodded once. It was then that Natt and Agatha arrived in the kitchen. “Soup and more pewter for Perrin. Do we have his room still prepared?” Agatha nodded in response, busying herself with heating up some soup from dinner. Natt had retrieved a med kit to tend to Perrin’s most obvious injuries, which he allowed, though obviously grudgingly. Maks remained quiet for a short time, but couldn’t for long. “Why didn’t you return sooner?”

“I was only able to-- ah!” He pulled away from Natt, pushing his hands away, “I only shook the inquisitor off my trail this morning, but I couldn’t risk returning too soon. The people here are too valuable.”

“I suppose I should thank you for that.” Maks folded his arms. “You can sleep, but when you awake, we have work to do. I don’t know any of the other rebel cells, but Ignas gave you that list. You’re the only line of communication we’ll have.”

Perrin nodded, obviously tired and weak. He stood, wobbling a little in the process, “I’ll just get to that sleep you mentioned, then.” Maks moved to Perrin to help steady him on his feet, but the man waved him off. “Bright and early.. tomorrow afternoon? Think I can drag myself out of bed by then.”

Maks smirked despite himself and nodded. “Sleep well. I’ll make sure there’s plenty of pewter brought to your room.”

The mistborn nodded gratefully, then made his way up to his room, leaving the dressmaker behind with his tea. Maks returned to the backdoor of the shop that had been left open. He peered out into the mists again, hoping that perhaps Ignas would miraculously appear as well. It was a foolish hope, however, and so Maks shut the door.