Koloss17

So, I have been roleplaying a gold savant over in the Alleyverse forums (which if you like roleplaying and haven’t checked out, you totally should look at!), and I had to fudge some things. We have really only had two instances of A-gold in the books, and information on what exactly goes on is very conflicted (see the differences in the Ars Arcanum wording and the Coppermind wording). So, that got me thinking: how does A-gold work? Now, we have very little to go off of. But, let’s start with the basics. Gold is a temporal metal that shows you two alternate versions of yourself when burning it. Past that, it gets weird. These alternate selves don’t seem to be able to interact with you in any meaningful way, and don’t really exist. Now, you can sort of interact with them, as we saw with Vin reaching out to touch her gold shadow. Now, she also seemed to be controlling the shadows, in a way. Here’s a section from the book (chapter 27 for any of you keeping track): So there’s something weird there. The user also thinks through both thoughts, and intrinsically knows them. They can’t seem to communicate, but maybe they can see each other, given the whole touching thing that goes on in book one. It is very unclear. They also seem to no longer have their physical self anymore, as both of the instances seem to refer to splitting into two and being two people, not three. Do I have any idea how that would work if you are burning it for more that 15 seconds? Nope! But that’s what we have to work with Now that we sorta kinda get how the shadows manifest, let’s talk about the shadows themselves. In the two instances we see them, the shadows appear to be alternative present selves, like if you were to essence stamp yourself. Now, here’s where things get inconsistent. The Ars Arcanum seems to suggest that you see your, and I quote, “past selves or alternate present selves” which, given the wording, seems to imply that you can either see an alternate present self or an unaltered past self. But given that that would be really rusting weird, let’s just say you can access alternate selves. Whether or not they can be younger than you are is kind of unclear (I seem to be repeating myself quite a bit). So what of these alternate selves? Could they be anything? Theoretically, but with the stuff we have seen, they seem to be opposites of each other in some way, and seem to be very relevant to the moment. Vin saw a noble and a thief, Miles saw a vanisher and a lawman. Now, both of these people were very inexperienced with gold, so I’m sure you can stretch the capability of your shadows past just differences in currently relevant occupations. So, now that we’re sort of on the same page about what A-gold does, let’s unravel it a bit. Specifically, I will be looking at this from a lens of Intent, Identity, and Fortune, the three weirdest mechanics in the Cosmere. Starting with Intent. Could you be conscously aware of what shadows want to summon, or where they manifest positionally to you? Would you have the ability to move the shadows independently of yourself, or have three or one self (either just you physically present and seeing out of your own eyes or your two gold shadows and you) present? I would say with savanthood, anything is possible, but to what degree could a normal Augur that isn’t ashamed of their very existence pull that off? I don’t know. On to Identity. I think this is probably more relevant than Intent, as who you are affects what your shadows could be. If you are sure of who you are, the shadows would likely be less variable than if you feel that you are the way you are now due to pure happenstance. To take that a step further, let’s put F-Aluminum into the mix. What happens when an augur stores identity? Personally, I think it would increase the variability of the shadows. Maybe one of them wasn’t even born an Augur! Now what would happen if they have access to an unsealed identitymind? Well, then they could increase their identity. What would that do to the shadows? If storing increases variability, tapping would decrease variability. Eventually, maybe gold shadows wouldn’t even appear! The possibilities are interesting for sure. Now on to the last one: Fortune. Why do I bring this up? This is all about the past. Well, in a way, it’s about the future. The gold shadows seem to show people what they need to see, but what if you burn it for more than 15 seconds? What if you shadow up a fighter because you will be getting into a fight? This is certainly an interesting question. Personally, I think it is certainly plausible. Gold is really weird, and who chooses the shadows certainly isn’t the one burning the metal. Well, what are you folks thoughts? Is there more potential with being an Augur than just getting nausea on command? Could you manipulate this realmic power to your own desires?

That was exactly her thought. That someone in the Alleyverse had killed someone that she once held dear. Perhaps they had since died. Perhaps…they were still waiting for her. Clotho didn’t think this man was quite aware of himself. He might be good at killing, but he’s clearly not good at dealing with people when he’s not slitting their throats. ”Look. Scadrial is hardly an option. How many others have left the Alleyverse and come back? How many of those have actually returned even close to their current present? Given how sparingly little I know I’d the Alleyverse, I doubt that’s an easy thing to do. And if we can just pop through time, what’s to stop us from retiring to the Alleyverse to a time before we even left? I know very little of this place, and frankly, I doubt you do either.” Clotho, cooling down a little, said “Unless you would like me to find a specialist in these matters, and have me introduce you to them, I doubt that visiting Scadrial is much of an option.”

“I have certainly considered leaving Alleycity to return, but I never felt that the risks it presented were worthwhile. I had brought everything about who I was and what I had done with me, or at least I assumed I would. Yet the majority of my documents were stolen from me or destroyed on the trip here. If that happens again, I would be back at square one. Though it could be a large step forward, it would be too dangerous.” Clotho had considered it many times, but never pursued that avenue. Not only did she not know if she could return to her time, she didn’t know if she could come back to the Alleyverse. And what if things went wrong? Though Alleycity was an unstable place, at least she knew that she wasn’t going to lose everything easily here. She had no such assurances with traveling back. ”As for why I have come, I don’t know. My suspicion is that I was to avenge someone. In my alternate histories, someone almost always dies. I react differently, of course, and it is never consistently the same person. But death and my past seem to go hand in hand.”

Me? On a post titled “Overthinking F-Tin”? I would never. in regards to your other mentions, I think that’s a relatively fair ruling. Now, I’m not 100% sure what exactly would qualify as a sensory organ, and how minute you could get that to be. Could you store specific color receptors? And could you store specific pain receptors? Where would Intent factor into this? (Yes I know factoring Intent into this question is hardly fair, but it’s got to happen).

At first, I was hesitant. However, many people have an unconscious feeling of sadness when others get sad. It isn’t a conscious thing. Now, is that what we would qualify as a sense? Anything that is intrinsically done by the brain without conscious intervention? Maybe. It seems to make sense, but that opens the floodgates. Would fear count as a sense? Well, it is something that you just…do. If that’s fair game, what of language? You don’t think about speaking, you just do it. So would you be able to learn another language? Maybe. Now, is the idea of senses all about getting information? Do they all have to be informational in nature? If that’s the case, then sense of direction (where you are, and how to get somewhere) wouldn’t really count.

Certainly! But what of a regular old Scadrian? Where are their limits? Without any other allomantic metals, that is.

This man… Of course she needed someone else to look over it. She had gone at this for 5 years, and failed to provide anything of use. And no, she didn’t want them to analyze this in the same way. She needed a new pair of eyes. Yes, she gets two new pairs every day, but they are not enough. Her secrets remain locked to her, lost by time. People she knew… Well, she was with someone who had spent years in the Alleycity underground. They would have plenty of names, but she was unsure if they would be alive or useful. She searched through her personal diary about the events she had had. She kept daily logs, and the especially long entries would be where she had left her house… Within about 20 minutes, she had created two lists. One has lists of the people that she had met and why, and the other who her alter ego had met. Her own lists included her semi regular contacts, such as her gold provider, her grocer, and the people she went to occasionally for writing supplies and repairs. There were plenty of names, approximately 30 people long. Clotho wasn’t sure how many of them were useful, however. Her other selves’ list was much smaller, with close to 15 people. They were much more relevant, however. Crew leaders, team members, even a few friends. Not all of them had names, as names were easy to forget. Her other self seemed happier, free. They had a life, and had made use of her flaws. Their life was dangerous, and they were far from living a good life, but at least it was something. Her own life felt so dull in comparison. “Here is your lists. One shadow that I am with has spent years in Alleycity as a thief, and they have become relatively connected. However, I would not have much faith in the usefulness of the people she had met. Some of them might have died, some might not even exist. None of them are people that I have personally met in this life.” ”Has anything caught your eye?”

Well, here I am again, praising F-tin from the rooftops. I often spend too much time wondering what senses can be stored from other sources of magic (lifesense, allomancy, whatnot), but I really haven’t soent much time wondering how many senses a regular Windwhisperer ferring could store. So let’s find out, shall we? Obviously, you have the base 5 (sight, hearing, feeling, taste, and smell). We also know for sure that we can store pain separately, so that makes 6. I would say it is fair to say you can store your sense of balance, sense of temperature, proprioception (knowing where your body is in relation to itself) quite well. To add on to that, I would add sense of gravitational direction (whether you are up or down) and sense of being in motion as separate enough to count as it’s own sense for tinminds. I would also count sense of dimensionality (if something is 3d or not) in this category as well. Now, on to the stretches. Sense of Time. This one I feel is not that bad, but at what point do we determine cognitive processes are their own senses? Another similar sense would be internal Sense of Direction. Knowing if you’re pointing south or west, or where you are in relation to an object or place. We also have some extensions of other senses. Color recognition: is this sight? Not quite. But is it different enough? Sense of Pitch: same thought as color recognition, but with hearing. I would argue that since we have identified that pain can be stored separate from touch, that these two can be stored separately. So thus far that is 16, which is a number I would be very happy staying at. However, I’m certain there is more. Well, we do have internal senses. Sense of hunger, thirst, and bladder needs. Perhaps you could even count internal pain, such as head or stomach aches as separate from other sense of pain. To take it even further, what about sense of light? Could you gain night vision using F-tin? Maybe! Some of these are stretches, and some of them are quite reasonable. Where would we draw the line? Are we going to chalk it all up to Intent, and decide that if the Windwhisperer thinks it’s a sense, then it can be stored? That would certainly make sense (no pun intended), but then how overpowered could a Windwhisperer truly be?

15 minutes. It always felt like an eternity, but never gave quite enough. Perses usually stored one at a time, but with a crew this large, and a mission this tinmind intensive, he felt the need to store everything. “Do we have any idea what will happen if we leave the confines of the mansion? Will we even be able to get back in?”

Clotho sighed. She had hired a thug to do scholar’s work. “I don’t need every memory. Most people don’t even remember everything. What I mostly need to know is this: I have been sent here to do something. I didn’t just fall into Alleycity. I trekked here, for a few years it would seem. For an isolated amnesiac to decide to risk their life to go here of all places, I would need to have one hell of a reason.” ”I could certainly leave this place, and give up on whatever I care here to do, but something, in the back of my mind, knows that I need to be here. I just need to know why.”

“Oh, Preservation, no. These are only a synopsis of my notes, the ones that specifically pertain to things that might help in this particular issue.” If Clotho had only kept this many notes in the span of 5 years, she would be much further behind than she was now. Setting them down, Clotho gave descriptions. “This is a journal of all of the connections I have made. A summary of sorts. Within it, there is a rough timeline of all of the facts about my life that I am near certain of.” ”This is a journal containing the memories that I myself have remembered. Without help of other selves. These are the most concrete pieces of history I have.” ”these other books are shortforms of all of the selves that I have documented over the last 5 years. They by no means contain every bit of data about them, but they contain the pieces of information that I believe to be most relevant.” ”and this,” Clotho said, “is a collection of the remaining notes from before I arrived in Alleycity. Sparingly little survived, as many were stolen or damaged on my way here.” Clotho felt that this would be a good start for this particular problem, but she doubted it would be enough. There were countless pieces of information, and there was certainly connections she had failed to make. Fillfully erasing memories? She…couldn’t fathom why. Sure, neither seemed particularly helpful, but what if there was something useful there? ”Do what you wish. I do not think I am the one to tell you what to do with your own memories.”

This man was…something all right. It’s never too late to back out. No, it really is. “Wait in the den while I find some notes. There…should be an open seat.” Preservation’s Shadow, was she really doing this? She has her selves. They are specifically built for this. They will help. Leading Tysan to a den, which felt empty and unused. In reality, it was where she often transcribed, with pencils and papers carefully stacked on a side desk. There was four unused chairs, with a table in the center. While they were occasionally used, they looked…barren. This was the saddest noble’s mansion she had seen. As she made her way over to her notes, she found herself checking for metal. As a noblewoman’s house, it came with quite a few portraits and candles, all cast in some sort of bronze of brass. There was doubtlessly countless secret compartments and entrances to this mansion, but Clotho had never bothered to look. Grabbing a transcribed copy, which was surprisingly legible, she made her way back. Should she bring more? How many visits away from this guest would she want? Grabbing a few more books, she continued back.

“I was heading over to somewhere more central. Seeing if there would be those with more influence, perhaps the Scholar’s Guild, if they were still around. I have had minimal contact with others for close to five years. My plans were limited.” Clotho dropped the act. Mostly. This was business, and it felt…right, somehow. That was….her memory. That needs to be written down. Pulling out one of her notebooks, she took some quick notes. ”In regards to your other question, I remember sparingly little. If you’re talking about actually remembering, I remember nearly nothing. From my own past and memories, that is. Keep in mind, I have three streams of thought in my head at once at any given time.” ”However, I have pages upon pages of notes. Identities and histories of past selves, and occasionally, glimpses of my own memories.” Clotho held up the notebook she had just written in. ”I make sure to have backups, in case there something happens to the notes I carry on my person. Once I have taken and copied notes, I analyze. Search for clues in the various memories, and search for similarities. Every gold self has a break-off point. There are any number of differences from shadow to shadow, but there is always one event that changes their history. That means that if that is identified, everything before that break point is most likely tied to my own memory.” Sighing, Clotho continued. ”Due to this, I have gathered quite a lot of information. Memories, of a sort. I know my house name, the names of my family, that my family was quite influential, as well as a general timeline of events leading to my arrival. I have a whole journal of notes pertaining to my own tentative memories if you would like to see it. I also have a rough timeline, if you would find that easier.”

Clotho gave him a thieves’ glare* “Look, I’ll give it to you simply. If you get results, you get paid. You try anything funny, I’ll make sure you regret it.” Clotho wasn’t a crew leader, and doubted she ever was. But everyone she worked for knew not to backstab her. She wasn’t the greatest of fighters, at least not consistently, but she was never predictable. If this guy thinks that he can pull something on her, he’ll have another thing coming. Especially since most of her shadows have turned out to be fighters or assassins these days… No. Those are not my memories. That was always a possibility. Though, since she had not encountered any thus far, she doubts that if there are any, that they will be of any harm. ”Well then. Now that you know your job, let’s get to work. If you were to retrieve the lost memories of a gold savant, where would you start?”

“I need a sort of…detective. I am nearly constantly burning gold, which gives me incredible ability. Unfortunately there are…drawbacks.” Should she really be giving this much information to this man? If things go awry, he would have incredible amount of detail on her. But did that matter, really? She’s not influential, and nobody really knows her. She has no allies, but she doesn’t have any enemies either. Taking a breath, Clotho continued. ”Given the nature of my burning, I forget things. I forget what happened last week. I forget who I owe money to. I forget who I used to be. I don’t even know my own age.” ”I have tried, for years it seems, to retrieve my lost identity. However, it is clear that even with limitless expertise, I cannot unravel my past alone. I had hoped for a scholar, maybe a historian. Perhaps even an allomantic specialist. Though, a copper ferring might be of use.” ”Do you think you will be of any use, or are you a waste of coin?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” Perses had some balance stores up, and he rarely used them, anyway. He wasn’t the strongest, but he could climb a rope. ”How long was I out?” The maddening thing about storing senses is that if you store all of them, or even most of them, your sense of time is nonexistent. It is a maddening experience, but a necessary one.

So this guy was a psycho. However, he’s desperate. Desperation forges loyalty. I can’t believe I’m doing this. “The name is Clotho Renoux.” She said. “I’m a noblewoman from Scadrial and an augur. I’m not what you expect, and I never will be. Very few about me will be constant, but one thing is a certainty: I am the best Augur you will ever meet.” That was a very impressively delivered line, and it felt…instinctive. Interesting.

Perses stopped storing tin. The crew had come up with a plan. Getting up, almost groggily, Perses inquired. “What’s the plan? Sorry, I was storing.” Reaching out, careful not to expend much, he checked the surroundings. The creatures were still there. Of course they were.

A moment of confusion flashed through Clotho. She hid it immediately. This man was insane. ”Are you a rusting idiot? Did you not hear the scream? Did you cause it? Is there any reason in particular for it?” This was a bad idea. This man is not to be trusted. This man is dangerous. She had just given him iron. She…would need different selves. Clotho rarely changed selves voluntarily. Every time she willingly erased a past or present history, she missed the potential of discovering their branching point. What made them different from her, and, more importantly, what was the same. These selves were useful. She would not erase them yet.

As this Tysan went away, Clotho pulled out her notebook. And with who knows how long, she took notes. Portfolios on her current selves first, and then an entry on this conversation. Everything was crucial if your memories fade at the drop of a clip. Then, Clotho heard a scream. From the direction of the shop Tysan had entered. What in Harmony’s name? Heart pounding, Clotho pulled out her cane. As she did, Tysan came flying towards her with a murderous grin. Ruin. Minds reeling, Clotho had to think fast. Metal. The only metal she had on her person was the boxings that she held with her, in her front purse. She dropped them to her side. She was standing in front of her manor. There were metal objects, but none, she thought, near the entrance. The handle was made of wood, and the lock made of… aluminum, she thought. This was an expensive house, and with it came safety. Where were glass knives when you needed them? In a haste, Clotho evaluated her options. She could certainly fight, but she was more of a thief than a fighter. She could run, but that wouldn’t get her far. There seemed to be only one option, and it was not a great one. “What in the Ascended Savior are you doing?” @I think I am here.

This man really was desperate. But with desperation comes loyalty… A jolt of memory shook through her. Sister, dead. A house on the brink of collapse. Her, taking up the mantle. Clotho, growing to become the daughter her father always wanted. If only he knew how flawed she really was. A tear ran down Clotho’s cheek. So that’s your story. Wiping the tear away, she refocused. A clear lie, but one that she knew was going to be on his head rather than hers. Rolling her eyes, she pulled some boxings* out of her purse. Given that she had been away from the world for so long, she estimated what she thought would be about right. “This should buy you the vials you need, and then some. Just know that there is more where that came from, but only if you prove your worth in the task I need you to complete. Now go buy your vials; I have notes to write down.”

Well, she couldn’t expect someone to figure out what she was that easily. He clearly tried hard, and with his current state, what he came up with seems to indicate some amount of skill. Though Clotho was still not sure how much skill there actually was. That made Clotho pause. A copper ferring? Nearly exactly what she needed for herself. But would that help regain the lost memories within herself? It wouldn’t hurt to give this man a shot. I shouldn’t trust this man. Once again going against her less trusting selves, Clotho decides to give it a shot. ”Well, I suppose I can give you a day or so to prove your worth. You’re hardly in top shape anyway.” This is a bad idea ”I suppose iron must be acquired. Where do you get your vials?”

Where are my house servants anyway? If she needed a house servant, Clotho sure wouldn’t need to ask the likes of him. Though he would be cheap labor, money was never the problem. Well today, so was she. Less the killing part, but if she had a dagger, she could certainly put up a fight. So she wasn’t with a killer today? That’s nice. She doesn’t seem to encounter all that many selves that have killed, and most of them were accidental. That gave Clotho pause. Good at finding things? She was in need of a detective…of sorts. I’m sure I can find better than someone who just threatened me. Can we? ”Well, given your detectiving skills you have shown thus far, it seems that you’re not very good at it. Anyone could figure out that I’m alone in this manor. I’ve lived here for 5 years. Ask anyone nearby and they will tell you that I live alone.” While nothing there was technically a lie, it wasn’t the whole truth. Her house had…moved. Changed. That was all in the past now, though. “Unless you can give me something other than stating the obvious, I doubt your ‘skills’ will be any use to me.”

well he clearly looks like one, she thought. Unfortunately, she was looking for someone to hire. Against her own urgings, Clotho responded. ”What type of job are you looking for?” This man was certainly not the scholar or refined but somehow sympathetic noble she was looking for. Do you really think we’ll find anything better? The Alleycity she knew was not a place where you can get much better than this without selling your soul to Death himself. But the Alleycity you know might not be my Alleycity, she thought. Keeping up the powerful facade that she was trained to pull off wonderfully, she looked at the lurcher distastefully for a response.

Clotho was taken aback. This man…was surprisingly okay for someone that just fell—close to two stories, at least, from her estimation. She had seen this type of thing a few times before, from common thugs. Trying to be tougher than they actually were. ”Listen here mister” She said, adopting a role she has gone into a million times. “You may have the rights to the skies, but you have no right to crash onto my doorstep.” He seemed a bit shaken, and didn’t seem to be properly hearing things. Which isn’t that surprising, given his current state. “I have iron, but nothing pure enough for you to use. Do you seriously expect me to have Allomancer’s iron lying around?” This man seemed to be as smart as a brick, but he was still in pain, even though he wouldn’t show it. ”Look, other than iron, what can I give you? I’m already running late, and you dying on my porch will not make things go any faster.”