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A WHEEL OF TIME COMMUNITY

Mashiara Sedai

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Everything posted by Mashiara Sedai

  1. Hahahaha. That exchange from the new prologue is hilarious! I bought "From the Two Rivers" when it first came out just so I could read the prologue. It's also neat to see artwork from their past and their present. Good job, Peregrine!
  2. Haha. What a cool test! I was a little afraid I wouldn't get White Ajah, but I did! White Ajah: 9 Green Ajah: 4 Brown Ajah: 4 Gray Ajah: 3 Yellow Ajah: 3 Blue Ajah: 2 Red Ajah: 0 Yay! ~Mashiara
  3. Very beautiful! I love your attention to detail, like the herb pouch at her belt and the fringe on her Yellow Ajah shawl. Her expression is very Nynaeve-ish. Good job! (Nynaeve's my favorite character!) ~Mashiara
  4. Here's what they look like on my car. They are AWESOME! ~Mashi
  5. Hahahaha. Mat's inbox was hilarious! I love how the important ones (from Rand and Perrin, etc.) are still unopened. Great job finding that one, Peregrine!
  6. I just bought Wheel of Time car decals off Etsy. They look SO awesome! http://www.etsy.com/listing/86600334/aes-sedai-vinyl-decal-ajah-shawl?ref=cat_gallery_14 http://www.etsy.com/listing/91243580/wheel-of-time-vinyl-decal-chapter-icons?ref=cat_gallery_9 ~Mashiara
  7. I would suggest writing the outline down on paper first. That way, you get the ideas out; perhaps they feel jumbled because they are all stuck inside? I personally feel that having an outline written helps immensely. That way, even when you hit a snag, you can look back and see exactly how the scene plays out. I agree that names are a hassle. I have a word document that I continually add names to when I think of good ones. But, Brandon Sanderson's podcast "Writing Excuses" talked about the topic of picking names in season 6. Here's the link to that episode. http://www.writingexcuses.com/2011/07/31/writing-excuses-6-9-microcasting-2-electric-boogaloo/ In the notes, they have a link to a name generator. I haven't looked at it yet, but it's supposed to be really good at generating names based on the requirements you want (ie: Asian sounding names, etc.). I also struggle to sit down and write sometimes. I think you just have to force it. It'll get easier the more you do it. Try just writing for ten minutes at a time and I'm sure you will feel more comfortable getting your ideas out of your brain. ~Mashiara
  8. Luckers, you're so cool! I agree about Brandon's writing style. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE Brandon's books; I have read all of them and own most of them. His writing style is just a bit... juvenile, I think. It works well in his books, but feels just a bit off in Wheel of Time. People seem to roll their eyes a lot in tGS and ToM (which isn't a common habit through the other books). Some scenes, though, were perfect. I loved Egwene's attack on the Black Ajah and then the defense of the Tower. All I know is that I'm so grateful he is even completing the series.
  9. Yikes, that's a tough one, but sounds awesome. Honestly, there's not a lot in the way of Wheel of Time merchendise. The Dragonmount store has jewelry and Taveren Tees has shirts. Other than that, there's nothing I've been able to find. If you're set on trying to get them anyway, I would suggest making them yourself. Charis Sedai has a great tutorial on how to etch glass on the Crafter's board. http://www.dragonmount.com/forums/topic/67738-february-ccc/ It might be worth it to try and etch an Old Tongue phrase, or something else, into the toasting glasses. Hope that helps. ~Mashiara
  10. Yay, I've completed another week! This is only my second attempt at a mozaic. It's not as good as I had hoped. Either way, it's the rising sun of Cairhein. ~Mashiara
  11. Malveth, thanks for posting this story. You are a truly gifted writer. Your writing style just dazzled me! I love the formal speech the characters use. It sounds wonderful and makes the dialogue flow so smoothly. There were a few errors I noticed. The first is that you used "waste coat" instead of "waist coat" to describe the Night Folks. Also, you compare Shadowtail's wings to Chinese fans; since this is a fictional world, there's probably no such place as China. Also, when speaking of the Twin-River's history, you call the house "House Two-Rivers." I wasn't sure if this was the name of the House, or if you meant Twin-Rivers instead. For the scene when Kes is telling Blackhorn about his past, I would suggest using a flashback. That way you don't have to put the whole dialogue in quotes and it gets rid of so much first person speech. After that scene was done I was a little startled to remember the story was written in third person; it was just a bit confusing. Other than that it was wonderful! I hope you will post more. ~Mashiara
  12. Ohhhh... I love your poem wottom! Fantastic! I also skipped week one, but here's a start of a new story for week two. For week three, I'd like to try something different. We'll see if I really will, though. This story doesn't have a title yet. 2,300 words; I hope that's not too long to post... The common room was filled to bursting. Markle was squished into a table with four other men, their bodies packed together like sardines. There was barely enough room for his plate in front of him. He and the man sitting beside him had developed a sort of complex system. One had to eat while the other drank and then they alternated because there wasn't enough room for them both to lift their hands at the same time. This meant that his smoked fish was cold by the time he finished eating it. Still, the meal was delicious and made up for the lousy dining arrangement. A heaviness hung in the room from all the people pressed so close to one another. It created an atmosphere that was companionable and annoying at the same time. If he had been back home, the people around him would have been his friends or his brothers; the closeness wouldn't have bothered him in the slightest. These men were strangers. They included him in their discussion and treated him cordially, but there was still an emotional distance. He had a slight desire to retire to a room upstairs but the effort of pushing his way through the crowd to reach the stairs seemed too daunting. It would clear out before midnight; most of these men would have to work in the morning. Once Markle's meal was done, he ordered another mug of ale from the barmaid and sat back to enjoy the entertainment. While he ate, a man juggled ten colored balls. It had been interesting to watch during the stints when he was forced to keep his hands still while his neighbor ate. Now, a group of four women played musical instruments. The lead held a wooden lute with eleven strings instead of the usual fifteen. The instrument was missing two courses; Markle hadn't seen one like that before. The shape of the lute was similar to those he played at home, except it was a bit longer in the neck. He wondered where she had gotten such a thing. The other players had a flute, a tambourine, and a small drum. They were decent, and Markle tapped his foot in time to the music. When their song ended, there was a scattered applause. Most men didn't have an ear for music. It was considered a woman's art. Markle had learned how to play many instruments from his mother in place of sisters—since he had none. His four older brothers filled out their father's fishing crew; there was no room for Markle to accompany them. Fishing boats in his town were family operations and no other boat would have him. So, his mother had passed on to him her woman training and he had no choice but to learn. That was how he knew exactly which spices had flavored his fish and how he knew the cut and cloth type of all the outfits in the room. It was really a source of embarrassment for him. His mother was very fond of telling the story of his life to anyone who would listen. After her fourth son was born, she wanted a daughter. She and Markle's father had gone to the village's herb witch and asked for a spell to have a girl child instead of a boy. The witch did so and Mother became pregnant right away. The only problem was that Markle had been born a boy, not a girl. The family had no need for another boy, so Markle felt like the outcast of the family. He had to place within its structure and no purpose to his life. Markle sighed, remembering his childhood. The things his mother taught him were enjoyable enough. He liked to cook and play the lute. He enjoyed having deep conversations with her while they darned Father's old shirts. Still, she treated him like a daughter and it had made him increasingly uncomfortable as the years progressed. That was the reason he was in this town right now. He couldn't stand living with his family anymore. His parents hadn't really objected when he told them he had to leave. Father understood that he had no place among the fishermen and Mother knew that he wouldn't be able to find a man willing to marry him, though she had tried to talk him into trying. There was no choice but for him to move on. They gave him what money they could and sent him to their cousins who lived in a farming community about 500 miles to the south. He had been traveling for ten days and probably had another ten to go. The women on stage bowed and the crowd clapped; Markle had the feel it was only out of politeness, though. As the group of women left the raised platform another woman took their place. She was very pretty and wore a dress design Markle had never seen. Her long black hair was pulled into two tails on either side of her face. The cloth of her dress was spun wool, in a shade of red that was nearly black, but the material clung to her tightly, and only flared out after her hips. Women usually didn't wear such snug garments for comfort sake, his mother had said. It looked incredibly uncomfortable to him, but the other men at his table had their eyes glued to the woman's curve that were accentuated by the dress. Slowly, the woman began to dance. There was no music. Her feet were bare and the skirt flowed back and forth over them. She kept her arms by her side and began to swivel her hips. Markle realized that this was probably the reason it was tight around that area. The graceful motions she made dazzled him with their suggestions. The room had fallen into a hushed silence; even the other women's eyes were glued to the dancer. She took a step forward and began to shuffle her feet in time to the rotation of her hips. Then, she added in gentle and delicate hand movements. She was like the wind, floating rose petals in a soft breeze. She was the ocean's wave during the calm after the storm. She was beauty and nature all wrapped up in an incredibly tight dress. Her movements, which had been slow and deliberate began to gain speed. As she did so, her gestures became wild, like the fury of the storm unleashed. Her long tails of hair swung around her with reckless abandon. The skirt of her dress swirled up around her as she spun precise circles. When it looked like she had gone as fast as she could, she increased her speed. Her feet flicked in and out of her skirts, kicking high into the air and landing with perfect timing. After several minutes her tempest slowed. She let her hands drop, moving only her feet and hips. Then she ceased her shuffles. For two more heartbeats she swung her hips from side to side. Then, she stopped. Markle felt as if he had come out of a daze as he stared at the woman on the stage. The whole performance had been like magic. She had captivated him and filled him with so much longing and desire he could hardly keep himself from running towards her. Then he realized that every other man in the room looked on the point of rushing her too. She hadn't been dancing for me, he thought, feeling his face blush with embarrassment. Why had it felt like she had? There was only a few moments of silence before the room erupted in cheers. The woman smiled widely, bowed, and then jumped off the stage. The men closest gathered around her, complimenting her beauty and her skill. Markle felt an inkling of jealousy that those men were able to say everything he was thinking. Then he berated himself. She was not an old woman, but she looked older than him by a good many years. So, she had danced beautifully; that was no reason to fall head over heels for an older woman. Suddenly feeling grumpy because he had been hoodwinked like the rest of the fools, Markle got to his feet and pushed his way through the bodies to the innkeeper. The room had become noisy once again so he had to shout to get the man's attention. "I'd like to be shown to my room now, if you please," Markle said. The man looked at him and nodded. "As you wish, young Master. However, please forgive me for this, but we require all payment in advance. I mean no disrespect, it's just we have to be careful, you understand?" "Of course," Markle said. Most inns had required the fee up front. Untying his belt pouch, Markle reached in for a handful of silver coins. There was nothing there. He stretched his fingers further. Still nothing. He glanced down at the pouch and pulled the opening wide to peer inside. It was empty. Earlier today he had five gold coins and thirty silver left in his pouch. He had only spent one silver coin on the meal and ale. It was impossible for all his coins to be gone. "Is there something wrong, young Master?" the innkeeper asked. His tone was still polite, but his eyes had narrowed. "My pouch is empty," Markle told him, his voice breathy and unbelieving. "It was full when I sat down to dinner. I had paid one of the barmaids but there was still more in here." "Did someone have access to your belt while you ate?" "Of course not," Markle said. "We were all jammed in so tight no one could have touched it without me noticing." "I am sorry, young Master, but if you don't have the coin, I cannot give you a room." Markle blinked in confusion. What was going on? There was no way those coins could have just disappeared. He had paid for the meal, felt the rest of the coins in the pouch, watched the juggler, ate his fish, drank his ale, then watched the last two performers. It was completely impossible for him to lose his money while sitting in a crowded inn. "But I had some," Markle told the man. "I'm not lying. I had at least thirty silver coins and five gold. Where has it gone?" "Does your pouch look like it's been cut from the bottom?" Markle felt along the seam of the leather pieces. He had sewn this himself and knew the stitching was excellent. His fingers felt the stitches; all were in place. No one could have climbed under the table to cut a hole in it anyway. Not even a child could have squeezed through that confined table. "No, there's no hole," he said in amazement. "I am sorry," the innkeeper repeated. "If you have no more coin, not even for ale, I'm afraid I must ask you to leave, young Master." "But I—" What else could he do? There was no logical explanation for what had happened; the innkeeper wouldn't believe his coins had just vanished. Grimacing, Markle nodded. "Thank you for your hospitality." Markle went back to the table he had shared with the other men and grabbed his traveling pack. It contained a few days change of clothes as well as his other necessities. Down at the very bottom of the pack was his handmade lute. He kept that hidden at all times, unless he was alone. He said quick farewells to the men there, though their attention still seemed to be on the dancer. Well, at least he had been polite and kept to the formalities. Outside in the dirt street, Markle looked around. Hippshaw was a coastal town, and like all the others before it had the smell of the wind, waves, and salt in the air; that made him homesick. Full night had already fallen and a three-quarter moon was rising over the ocean to the east. He would have a hard time finding a sympathetic person in the dark. Most families wouldn't even let a stranger in during the daytime. Baffled by the whole event, and cursing his bad luck once again, he began to walk south through the town. A few nights he had been forced to sleep under trees off the dirt path; what was one more night? He had a blanket in his pack so he wouldn't freeze. But how was he to get to his cousin's farm if he had no money? Once past the last house of the town, Markle began to look for a nice place to set up camp. If he was lucky, he would be able to find some dry branches and start a fire. A presentable place appeared not a mile outside the town. It looked like it had been a campsite before. There was even a stone circle for a fire pit. He found a handful of branches suitable for a fire and used his flint stone to get one started. Before long, he had a nice sized fire blazing in front of him. The nights chill vanished slightly and Markle sat down in his blankets and stared at the flames. The bizarre events of this evening ran through his mind. When had there been an opportunity for someone to steal my coins? The pouch strings had been tied tight when I approached the innkeeper. There was not a single second out of the day that he could not account for. It didn't make sense and the strange feeling the situation gave him kept him up most of the night.
  13. This may be the coolest thing I've ever seen! Good job. It looks fantastic! ~Mashiara
  14. Wow! That looks awesome Kathleen! Since you gave me permission, I think I will use it. Yay! ~Mashi
  15. I just finished my short story! I titled it "Purity of the Flame." I hope it isn't too long to post here. It's a little over 2,000 words. Purity McGrory stared at the billowing flames of the large fire in front of her. The heat from the blaze was intense; she could feel it licking at her flesh even as far back as she was. The center of the flame was the palest, prettiest shade of white she had ever seen and it wavered slightly as the gentle wind blew past. Built from more than a hundred wooden logs, the fire stood nearly three feet above her head. She stood naked, beside a dozen other girls named Purity. Each family would name at least one daughter after the Goddess of Fire in order to beseech her blessing. On top of that, only girls named Purity could choose to go through the Fire Ritual, which would select a new temple Priestess. It was a great honor to have a Priestess in the family. Of course, anyone who failed the Ritual was killed. It was the price the family paid to have the blessing of the Goddess. Purity knew that if she failed today and was killed, her parents would name their next daughter Purity and try again. The full moon was just beginning to rise over the ocean. Even its vibrant light was made wan by comparison to the fire burning on the sandy beach. All the onlookers, gathered in a semicircle further back than the girls, kept their eyes to the flames. Because their attention was focused so directly on the fire, Purity didn't mind her nudity. No one, not even her own parents and siblings, would take their eyes from the inferno to look for her. Purity, likewise, had her eyes glued to the red-orange flames. Tears welled in her eyes from the brightness. "Who will be first?" intoned the old Priestess, her voice clear and deep despite her age. She had been serving as Priestess for over fifty years and was nearly eighty years old. After a new priestess was chosen tonight, she would be laid to rest in the roaring fire, the Goddess' protective powers no longer in her possession. A few girls to either side of Purity moved their feet, but no one stepped forward. Despite their love of the Goddess and their wish to be her Priestess, it was scary to think of entering the flames. Purity was trembling with fear, though she kept her muscles clenched so it wouldn't show. For the process of the Ritual, each girl would walk into the flames. It was said that the Goddess knew who she wanted as her next Priestess and would put her protective arms around the girl she chose. All other girls to enter would be consumed alive by the burning embers. It was a horrible way to die, yet, it was all done in praise of the Goddess and was considered to be their duty. Not all of them had to enter, though. Only one at a time until a girl was selected. If it happened to be the first to enter, no one would have to perish. If it was the last, all others would be killed. Only a few moments had passed since the Priestess had called for a volunteer. If time passed too long, their families would begin to mutter about their lack of faith and love for the Goddess. It was considered very dishonorable to refuse to enter. So, a few places to her right, a girl stepped forward. Even if she died, she would still be praised for her courage at being the first to enter. "I will go," she told the Priestess. The girl's voice quavering just a bit, but her words echoed loudly over the gathered people. The Priestess nodded, almost a bow, and the girl stepped forward. The heat was frightful, even from where Purity stood; she couldn't imagine taking a single step closer to its source. But she would have to, unless someone was chosen by the time she was forced to go. The girl, her lower lip shaking, took another step forward. Purity could see her features scrunch up in a painful expression. Another step and another, and the girl let a soft cry escape her lips. Still, she pressed on. Oh Goddess, Purity prayed. Please let her be chosen. The girl had taken a handful of steps and was only two more from the fire. Her flesh was already melting and black fissures were running up and down her body. Her cries grew more and more desperate the closer she got to the flames. Now, she was screaming as loud as she could. Purity could see that the girl's eyes were shut tight as her hair caught fire; she took the final steps into the flame. There was a moment more of the shrill scream then all sound cut off. The girl's figure inside the flame had disappeared. Purity wasn't sure how long they had to wait to see if the girl came back out--the current Priestess was chosen so long ago, no one but the grandparents would remember. The legend said that the chosen girl would come out as unblemished as she had gone in. The old Priestess, standing to the side of the fire, sadly shook her head. "Who will be next?" she asked. Purity heard an audible gulp come from the girl beside her. No one wanted to go through that agony. But it's for the Goddess, Purity reminded herself. Another girl stepped forward and said she would go. Again, Purity prayed that the Goddess would choose this girl, than none of the others would be forced to go through the Ritual. The girl's face and body reacted the same as the first's, her flesh began to char and her hair caught fire. Her screams, as well, echoed loudly over the beach, reaching such a high tone that Purity winced. Please choose her. Please, Goddess. Once the cries of the second girl cut off the Priestess shook her head again. "Who will be next?" Purity shivered. This was barbaric. What kind of people would willing send their daughters into a fire to be burned alive? But it's for the Goddess, she repeated to herself. This is our act of worship, our act of praise, our act of obedience. Another girl stepped forward; the Ritual repeated itself with the same outcome. That was three, now, consumed by the fire, dead. Purity felt like she was going to be sick. If I wait too much longer, I won't have the courage. Their screams... I can't stand anymore screams. Purity stepped forward. It was not bravery that made her do this, only her cowardice. She would not be able to do it if she saw one more body burned alive by the Goddess' flames. "I will go," she told the Priestess and received a nod in return. Purity had to force her legs to move forward. What she really wanted to do was turn around and run in the opposite direction. Instead, she took a step towards the flames; the heat increased. She bit the inside of her mouth to keep her screams inside. She didn't want to scare the other girls who were still waiting. If she died, they would have to go next; she didn't want to make it harder for them. Another step and she had to bite down harder on her cheek. She tasted blood. Another step and the blood began to gush. It was all she could do to keep her mouth shut and the cries of agony inside. Her skin was beginning to boil; she could feel tiny bubbles begin to protrude all over her exposed flesh. Torturous pain filled her and she could hardly form coherent thoughts; all she wanted was to be free from the overpowering ache. With a final step, she placed her body into the open flames. She felt them leap out and consume her hair, caressing her scorched body with their tongues. Unable to keep the horrified sob inside, she let out a wail as it embraced her. Please don't cry, child, said a voice inside her head. Immediately, Purity stopped her screaming. Though she knew her whole body was being burned, she forced her eyes open and looked around. Instead of seeing the inside of the fire and the previous girls' bones at her feet, she saw a white hall filled with tall, fluted columns. The roof was peaked into a magnificent archway and beautiful statues of marble sat atop stone buttresses all around. "Who are you?" Purity asked, amazed her ruined face could still make her mouth move. Her eyes, no longer filled with pain, glanced around the room, looking for the speaker. I am the Goddess, named Purity. "Goddess!" Purity exclaimed, then fell to her knees in reverence. She still wasn't able to find where the Goddess was, but she didn't dare stand in her presence. Please rise, child. There is no need for you to do this. Purity did as she was told and stood to her feet, but kept her gaze at the swirling marble tiles under her bare toes. As she stared, she noticed her skin was whole and pale; no trace of the black, scorched skin remained. "Have I been chosen to be Your Priestess?" Purity asked. That depends, child. Answer my three questions without lying and I will grant you back your life. Do you understand? "Yes, Goddess," Purity replied, her eyes still on the floor. Good. First question: Do you wish to serve me as my Priestess? "No," Purity said, shame burning her cheeks instead of fire now. She hadn't had the desire to be a Priestess before the Ritual started; after she had witnessed the burning of live bodies, she had been disgusted and wanted to be a Priestess less than before. That was an honest answer, the Goddess said. Second question: do you wish to die rather than serve me? Purity had to think for a moment. Could she, after what she had seen, serve this Goddess? Could she devote her life to a creature that sent girls into a fire to be consumed alive by it? Could she get over her revulsion at the barbaric practices of their religion? On the other hand, did she wish to die? "Yes, I would rather die," Purity said, knowing the Goddess would smite her for such insolence. She braced for a blow, or for the fire to eat her once more, but nothing happened. That was also an honest answer. Final question: if I choose you, regardless of your wish to die, would you serve me faithfully? "I would," Purity replied. She knew if she was left alive, that she would be in the Goddess' debt and her service. Purity was sickened by this Ritual, but the Goddess was still the Creator, the giver of life. Purity could not defy her in any way. I see, said the Goddess. Then, you are selected to be my Priestess. "But why?" Purity asked, daring enough to raise her face from the ground. Her eyes fell upon the Goddess standing in front of her and all the emotion inside her vanished. The Goddess was in the physical form of a small dragon. Her body was covered with bright and shiny scales in all the colors of a sunset. A long, broad snout poked out of her head and steam rose from each nostril. Eyes, shifting through every shade of red, stared back at the girl. The dragon's body stood no taller than Purity, though its wingspan, if extended, would be twice her size. On the marble floor, a pointed tail curved around clawed feet. Why would I choose you, if you would rather die than serve? the Goddess asked. Because I seek someone who is pure in spirit and heart. No one can watch this Ritual and not be disgusted by it; that is, no one who is worthy of being my Priestess. You are what I need to serve my will to the people. Please accept. "I accept," Purity said, taking her eyes away from the creature in front of her. "I will do as you command." Thank you, child. Purity was suddenly surrounded by the roaring fire again. This time, the flames did not hurt or sting her flesh. The embers danced merrily along her skin, frolicking along her flesh. She held up a hand in front of her face and saw her pale skin from before. She was not burned at all. Raising her hand to her hair, she felt her thick locks falling to her shoulders. Even her hair had been restored to her. Purity walked the rest of the way through the fire and reemerged among her people. There was a collective gasp from the onlookers and then the Priestess said in a loud voice, "A new Priestess has been chosen." Then, without another word, the old woman threw herself into the flames. No scream escaped the woman's lips and in her head, Purity heard the Goddess whisper words of greeting. Welcome back, my old friend. From that day, Purity lived in the Goddess' palace, on the top of the cliff facing the sandy beach where the Ritual took place. Every day, she would bathe in flames and commune with the Goddess, hearing her wishes and her commands. The fire used for these meetings was not the same as the fire for the Ritual. The Ritual fire was a sacred thing, where a person's whole soul would be joined with the Goddess. In the palace, Purity had need only to speak to the Goddess, who already knew her spirit. The flames were smaller, confined to five candles spread around the room. As the embers danced across her skin, tickling her with their playful wisps, Purity was glad she had been chosen. She understood now the need for the Ritual and knew her whole body and soul had been purified by her embrace with the sacred fire. ~Mashiara
  16. Hello all! DM Name: Mashiara Sedai Interests: Fiction writing Email: Mashiarasedai@gmail.com I just changed my major to English-Creative Writing, so I figured I best get involved in some writing groups. I've been a member of Dragonmount since 1999 but I've never ventured much into any of the groups (besides RPing in the White Tower Org back in '99.) I'm very much looking forward to being active, so I hope there's lots to do around these parts! Thanks! Mashiara
  17. I agree that Nynaeve would win between those two. Even though Moiraine has more experience in years with the Power, Nynaeve has more ability. Even Egwene and Elayne are more powerful than Moiraine--even with her angreal I think she was only slightly stronger than she was originally. So, Nynaeve should still be much stronger. Also, Nynaeve trained with one of the Forsaken and knows more about battle weaves, I would think. ~Mashiara
  18. Yay! I love NaNoWriMo! It's thanks to Dragonmount that I even heard about it two years ago. Thanks for that Dragonmount! http://www.nanowrimo.org/en/participants/mashiara ~Mashiara
  19. It's an odd thought, but from the exchange between Perrin and Tam in Knife of Dreams, it seems Tam doesn't have any clue that Rand is the Dragon Reborn until Taim goes to the Two Rivers to collect men who can channel. P. 694 Paperback version "Taim said Rand sent him. He said Rand is the Dragon Reborn." There was a touch of questioning in that, perhaps a hope for denial, perhaps a demand to know why Perrin had kept silent. ... "Nothing to be done about it now, Tam." ... Sadness entered Tam's scent, though he let nothing show on his face. This sounds as if Tam had not even suspected that Rand would have been the Dragon, which seems odd. As said in the podcast, Tam is obviously a traveled and semi-cultured man. Finding a baby on the slopes of Dragonmount should have been a clear sign to him. I wonder why it wasn't. ~Mashiara
  20. These are very good. Although I personally like the fairy tale-type theme, I agree that it's not particularly fitting for the Wheel of Time. Even so, the rest of the pictures are amazing! I love Fan Art Friday! ~Mashiara
  21. I hadn't thought of this but I really like the idea. Mat is casually strolling the corridors when the Seanchan attack which just goes to show he can't get away from battles no matter what he does. The Seanchan are collaring people and Mat shows up with the Horn and says "Stop that and bloody well come with me". The shocked look on Tuon's pretty face... That would be hilarious! I don't think there's time for another Seanchan attack, though. ~Mashiara
  22. I've always wondered about this too. I was under the assumption that ta'veren are very rare. Siuan is only a little past 40 years old. How is it that a ta'veren would have been born with those 40 years, and then 3 now? It seems like too many in too short a time. But, your theory about the Murandian lord seems likely. However, if he *was* ta'veren, how could he have been killed by a farmer so easily? The pattern should have preserved him, not let him die. Also, Siuan tells Moiraine about it, like Moiraine didn't know Siuan could see ta'veren. If she knew when they were younger, wouldn't she have told Moiraine about it sooner? Does that imply that it was recent--since she and Moiraine hadn't been seeing a lot of each other--that she discovered this Talent? Maybe there is some sort of test with the Power to see if you can see ta'veren... I think if she just discovered it after seeing Rand, she would have said something like, "Apparently, I can see ta'veren," instead of, "It is one of my Talent, seeing ta'veren. A rare Talent these days, even more rare than ta'veren..." (TGH P.68) If the Talent is rarer than ta'veren and we know of three Channelers who can see ta'veren (Siuan, Logain, Nicola), then maybe there was another ta'veren close by in this time frame. In all likelihood, RJ just included it without really thinking it through. It was early enough in the series that some of these plots might not have been fully formed. ~Mashiara
  23. I loved listening to the Dark Tower series when Frank Muller was the reader. They were fantastic. You're right about how he got each voice just right! I think he has been the best reader I've ever heard--and I've listened to many audio books. As for Wot, I also couldn't stand how Kate Reading read Tam as "Tom." I think it's due to the fact that Lan is pronounced "Lon." I think some even pronounce Lanfear as "Lonfear." Also, the voice she used for Min in Towers of Midnight was just awful. And I like Kate Reading; she did a fantastic job reading Jim Butcher's Codex Alera series. It was just this past book that Min sounded off. ~Mashiara
  24. The picture of Leane is stunning! It really shows her Domani side. Elaida also looks very good; I think it captured her meanness. Its funny to remember that Liandrin is a beautiful woman. The picture does a good job of reminding me. Very nice all around!
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