Myungjun stepped out of the perpendicularity — and into a blazing riot of color.
There was color everywhere. On every building. People’s clothes were all shades of color and some Myungjun might not have imagined before. Was it dye? Was it from many-colored plants? Were humans here capable of having hair blue or green? The crowded city square was decorated with random statues of soldiers. Each of them was unique in face and form, frozen mid-strike or mid-march. Though the statues were of stone gray, they had all been adorned with colored scarves and shawls and swathes of cloth. Some of them looked silly, as a result. Others were sweeping and dramatic. An ordinary foot-soldier had been turned into a commanding general with the addition of a long, fluttering cape.
Another soldier’s spear had been turned into a pennant, a length of light cloth tied beneath the spear tip and floating in a breeze.
No one had noticed Myungjun’s entrance because everyone was trying to be noticed. Men and women alike wore outlandish hats and headdresses and hairstyles. There was no unified fashion sense, not like the high-collared dresses that noblewomen wore on Roshar, or the tattered streamers of mist cloaks on Scadrial. Some people wore vests and shorts, some long dresses, some trousers and blouses. One woman wore what was pretty much a single length of cloth with a hole in the middle for her head. It was belted at the waist and showed off everything down both sides.
Myungjun supposed if he’d had such fantastic curves he’d wear an outfit like that too.
But he had no such curves.
And he was wearing the double-breasted jacket of a Rosharan military officer, which probably didn’t look out of place at the moment, but as soon as he interacted with a local, they’d notice something was amiss. He didn’t understand the fashion codes here — yet.
But he needed to learn, and fast.
Because he had to enter the Court of Gods, and he had to find Vasher.
Myungjun shrugged off his jacket and draped it over one shoulder, and he stepped into the flow of foot traffic. He had to use his Connection so he could understand the local language.
Unsurprisingly, it was full of colors too.
Literally.
“By the God of Colors, how could he do such a thing?”
“Poor thing, she’s a dun now. All her color’s gone. But it’s for the good of her family, isn’t it? To be blessed by gods so.”
“ — Palaces are an absolute masterwork of color. I know, it all seems like red to you, but once you achieve the right heightening you’ll be able to see that the outer colors are a perfect combination of shades in fifths. Seeing them is like music to your ears. Or, well, eyes.”
“By the Iridescent Tones, could she be any more maddening?”
“He represents all colors, not just one, unlike the other gods.”
Myungjun filed that away. He knew on a superficial level about Biochromatic breaths and how color could be fuel for doing seemingly magical tasks on this planet, but it hadn’t occurred to him that colors would be part of the religion and worship.
It should have been obvious, he supposed. Peoples across space and time used religion to explain what went on in the world around them, especially things that seemed supernatural. Sucking all the color out of a piece of cloth to animate another piece of cloth surely seemed like magic.
The best way to get information, Myungjun knew, was to play dumb. He cast about for what might be a local watering hole and saw, on a sign, a picture of something that very much resembled a lobster. Given that there were tables scattered around the establishment near the sign and everyone was eating, Myungjun was confident that this planet — or at least this society on this planet — had the economic robustness to afford restaurants.
People were always more tractable with food and drink in them.
Now, what constituted currency around here?
Myungjun would have to earn some.
He’d do what he did best — sing. After all, he was a Worldsinger, and a Worldbringer — and a Worldhopper. He had songs no one else had ever heard. Time to see if the locals would find them beautiful.
And if busking was a thing here, too, because the last thing he needed was to get arrested.
Although that would get him a meal.
So. Myungjun reached into his pack for his small lyre, and he climbed up onto the plinth of one of the statues, and he began to play.
Fill: Astro, Myungjun, Cosmere fusion
There was color everywhere. On every building. People’s clothes were all shades of color and some Myungjun might not have imagined before. Was it dye? Was it from many-colored plants? Were humans here capable of having hair blue or green? The crowded city square was decorated with random statues of soldiers. Each of them was unique in face and form, frozen mid-strike or mid-march. Though the statues were of stone gray, they had all been adorned with colored scarves and shawls and swathes of cloth. Some of them looked silly, as a result. Others were sweeping and dramatic. An ordinary foot-soldier had been turned into a commanding general with the addition of a long, fluttering cape.
Another soldier’s spear had been turned into a pennant, a length of light cloth tied beneath the spear tip and floating in a breeze.
No one had noticed Myungjun’s entrance because everyone was trying to be noticed. Men and women alike wore outlandish hats and headdresses and hairstyles. There was no unified fashion sense, not like the high-collared dresses that noblewomen wore on Roshar, or the tattered streamers of mist cloaks on Scadrial. Some people wore vests and shorts, some long dresses, some trousers and blouses. One woman wore what was pretty much a single length of cloth with a hole in the middle for her head. It was belted at the waist and showed off everything down both sides.
Myungjun supposed if he’d had such fantastic curves he’d wear an outfit like that too.
But he had no such curves.
And he was wearing the double-breasted jacket of a Rosharan military officer, which probably didn’t look out of place at the moment, but as soon as he interacted with a local, they’d notice something was amiss. He didn’t understand the fashion codes here — yet.
But he needed to learn, and fast.
Because he had to enter the Court of Gods, and he had to find Vasher.
Myungjun shrugged off his jacket and draped it over one shoulder, and he stepped into the flow of foot traffic. He had to use his Connection so he could understand the local language.
Unsurprisingly, it was full of colors too.
Literally.
“By the God of Colors, how could he do such a thing?”
“Poor thing, she’s a dun now. All her color’s gone. But it’s for the good of her family, isn’t it? To be blessed by gods so.”
“ — Palaces are an absolute masterwork of color. I know, it all seems like red to you, but once you achieve the right heightening you’ll be able to see that the outer colors are a perfect combination of shades in fifths. Seeing them is like music to your ears. Or, well, eyes.”
“By the Iridescent Tones, could she be any more maddening?”
“He represents all colors, not just one, unlike the other gods.”
Myungjun filed that away. He knew on a superficial level about Biochromatic breaths and how color could be fuel for doing seemingly magical tasks on this planet, but it hadn’t occurred to him that colors would be part of the religion and worship.
It should have been obvious, he supposed. Peoples across space and time used religion to explain what went on in the world around them, especially things that seemed supernatural. Sucking all the color out of a piece of cloth to animate another piece of cloth surely seemed like magic.
The best way to get information, Myungjun knew, was to play dumb. He cast about for what might be a local watering hole and saw, on a sign, a picture of something that very much resembled a lobster. Given that there were tables scattered around the establishment near the sign and everyone was eating, Myungjun was confident that this planet — or at least this society on this planet — had the economic robustness to afford restaurants.
People were always more tractable with food and drink in them.
Now, what constituted currency around here?
Myungjun would have to earn some.
He’d do what he did best — sing. After all, he was a Worldsinger, and a Worldbringer — and a Worldhopper. He had songs no one else had ever heard. Time to see if the locals would find them beautiful.
And if busking was a thing here, too, because the last thing he needed was to get arrested.
Although that would get him a meal.
So. Myungjun reached into his pack for his small lyre, and he climbed up onto the plinth of one of the statues, and he began to play.