For anyone curious, this has been doing the rounds on social media: http://tvwriting.co.uk/tv_scripts/2021/D...gPMi9pk0HY

It's an early script (2018) for the pilot.

After reading that I'm really glad we saw a different part of the women's ceremony -- I wonder how much they filmed of it, since we've seen Egwene and the paint. I've also seen something that looks like the badger convo, so maybe we'll get deleted scenes in the future (or an extended cut, that would be awesome). What's with the lamb though?? That felt very not WoT to me. There are some things I wish they had kept (like the rider glimpses; it certainly adds more tension to Lan's first appearance), but it's interesting to see the evolution, and it makes more contextual sense of some of the scenes that stayed in. Glad they decided to go the way of implied sex, two pretty explicit scenes in the opening episode would have set it on a very GoT path tonally I feel. Also glad someone must have pointed out that there's no way Egwene would eat a raspberry that had been sitting in Rand's pocket all day. Because gross XD

I liked the extra bits to the battle here, which I imagine were trimmed for time (that Mat fights and Egwene goes to find Moiraine because she realises an Aes Sedai is the only one who can help) and I also MUCH preferred the actual leaving scene. I can't remember if Moiraine says "if even one of you stays they will come for you" in the actual episode, I think she didn't but it was my least favourite scene so I might be remembering it wrong. I wish they'd kept that phrasing -- it's much more powerful than "one of you is the dragon reborn" because it plays so much on doubt; it doesn't matter if Moiraine is wrong or crazy, they can't take the chance. Perrin's resignation, Mat's "fuck me", Egwene's determination to do the right thing, and Rand's promise to come back all flowed better imo. At least on the page. Moiraine's speech seemed less cheesy (since she didn't have to explain the dragon prophecy, because we already saw Gitara's vision), and I liked that she gave it while Lan was organising the horses rather than that awful jump cut to just being on them lol. Also thought the fact the kids' families were all busy was a better touch rather than they all stood around and stared while Moiraine just absconded with their children. 

I wonder why they decided to change the cold open.

https://screenrant.com/which-wheel-of-ti...diac-sign/

I'm Nynaeve. That tracks XD

The Shining City.

Althor clopped along sedately, led loose on a gold-chased bridle worked with bells. His red coat gleamed, the caparison across his back sewn in myriad rainbow colours, all of them deep and luxurious. Another cloak hung from the shoulders of the tall man leading him, patched from the same elaborate fabrics. His bronze skin was almost as exotic and deeply shining as the horse. Dark tousled hair framed warm eyes, which saved the features below from being too sharp. But it was the hint of a rakish smile which tugged gazes back for a second look. Men and women both.

The thoroughfare was bustling, and even such an unusual pair did not naturally part the busy market crowds. A few shoulders bumped gentle in the tide; inevitable really. After a moment Zahir glanced down at a leather-worked pouch in his gloved hand, testing its weight before he spun suddenly, and waved a companionable arm at a man already beginning to disappear into the crowd.

“Ho, friend! You seem to have dropped this!”

When the surprised man turned, Zahir threw the coin pouch back. A confused hand brushed to find emptiness at his hip. Then he blinked and saw the patches, of course. Zahir grinned.

By the time he picked the first night’s tavern, there was already the low hum of a buzz around his arrival. A soft cushion of rumour was how he preferred to make his entrances. Tar Valon was a harder city to work than most, when its denizens were even somewhat used to the rarity of Ogier along their wide streets. A Gleeman was not quite the symbol it would have been elsewhere. Though, quite aside from his illustrious reputation, Zahir spent enough time on and off the circuit pursuing other ends that his name was one of diamond and golddust when it uttered on expectant lips. As it should be. So it wasn’t that hard.

After the performance that evening, he lounged wreathed in fragrant pipesmoke, copious glasses of proffered drink, and good company. He was vocal about his plans to compose the next great epic; about his desire to pick one sister in particular for the honour, once he’d chosen the perfect one from the worthy. It was met with some amusement, of course, but it was only important that people knew where he was going. Complicity smoothed the lie; made it harder to disappear in that viper’s nest. Though he was not without skills of his own. And it wasn’t even a true lie.

A few people both came and drifted away from the table as the night wore on, lured by the talent amongst them. Zahir’s was the type of charm that left none to escape in the shadows. When one woman in particular approached, however, he paid attention. An elaborate braid worked around her crown and fell heavy down one shoulder, her clothes elegant but simple, not unlike many patronising the various tables. She did not have an ageless face, nor even a ring on her finger, but he knew who she was. And what. 

“For the gleeman,” she said, brandishing a coin and a slim smile.

Zahir offered an easy smile in return, ready to accept and dismiss in the same breath as his raised palm. Though when she had the temerity to raise her chin and sniff, the winds changed and his grip snatched to capture her slender wrist instead. They always thought they were something more. Perhaps if they were, they could be trusted to sort their own affairs. Zahir’s hold tightened, drawing her in, but with a wayward crook of his lips he only lifted her hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss there. “My thanks to the beautiful lady,” he said, voice deep and melodic; enough to make most women sigh. A flash of something unpleasant met her startled gaze, though he only let her hand slip free when she pulled back.

He’d never seen one of them walk so fast to get away.

Laughter erupted, and Zahir joined them. He palmed the folded note alongside the coin into an inner pocket sewn inside his jacket. “Alas, my charm proves too potent. Did you see how she blushed?”

The names he would peruse later.

And tomorrow, he would ascend the steps of the White Tower.

Noémi worked long hours, often staying beyond her prescribed shift to finish up a task to her satisfaction, else to prepare solid foundations for tomorrow’s work. She did that without being asked to, or requiring acknowledgement for it, but because of an insular pride and dedication that touched everything in the management in her life. Today in a rarity she was punctual leaving, though. She stopped by her tiny apartment to change from her work garments, shedding them with the careful precision of a mask; clothes neatly folded or hung away, jewellery returned to its box. Both things still felt too fine to really be hers. Like a costume.

The majority of her own wardrobe was carefully thrifted; refined in taste still, with a preference for clean lines and classic pieces dotted with unusual detail or embellishment: a subtle catch to the eye, not overbearing. Before her new job at the Consulate and the necessity of being presentable in a certain way, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d bought something new though. The coat she donned last was vintage, her mother’s originally, in a dark blue wool that nipped in her waist. A buttery satchel found possession of her camera and notebook before it draped her shoulder, the leather softened by use long before it had ever belonged to Noémi. She liked things with history. 

On the way back out she ran a light touch along the edge of a cold black petal, as she often reached to do when she passed the arrangement. The feelings stirred were both mournful and longing; a seed discarded in the dark, where it bloomed tenacious nonetheless, and all the stronger for the quiet shelter of its shadows.

Some time later the tube train plunged into darkness, and she watched her reflection distort in the windows. Delicate fingers balanced the weight of her chin. The scent inside her wrist lingered, a sensation that sometimes felt more like touch for the way it made her skin tingle when she caught it. She wasn’t a dreamer. She entertained no visions of a future, even a whimsical one steeped in nothing more than heady, private fantasy. It was backwards her thoughts drifted, as like something once captured and long ago lost.

She was halfway across the city when Rafael’s alarmed message suggested he had forgotten their meeting entirely. Amidst a slew of apologies he offered another location, which she accepted with an assurance he need not worry. They were not friends, exactly; Noémi had little time for a personal life. But they were long time acquaintances. She remembered him young and fresh-faced when he’d begun to work the bar circuit, with a cap full of blonde curls and an angel’s name to match. He should have been a performer, with the exquisite transparency of his emotions and the way they rippled across his face like shine upon water, but he’d always been a people person. A storyteller. Beautiful to photograph, either way.

Though she moved in different circles now, these old ties did not vanish, and if Noémi felt like she fit in neither sphere completely, the shadows were still a more familiar home than the light to which she reached. Her roots were made in poor soil; she grew upwards despite it, determined, but not because she wished to forget from whence she came. When she one day fell, which seemed an immutable fact to one such as she, it would be that same dank earth to which she returned. It was wiser not to forget.

She knew which church Raffe had named. It was large and dilapidated, as much in this part of the city truly was, though it was still nothing compared to the ruins of home. The intricate images in the arching stained glass windows were still whole, the graffiti on its walls recently scrubbed almost clean, but its roof was missing tiles, and while the doors were presently open wide, they were grilled with bars. Noémi found calm and silence in these hallowed spaces, though she had never practised as her mother had, like bookends to the tragedy of her life; first when Noémi was small and they struggled for food and shelter, and last when illness robbed her of future and security. God never answered that Noémi saw, but there was peace there all the same. In the belief beyond. A faith that comforted. Promises could be warm even when the hope they gave was cruel.

Inside the pews were over full, but not with the praying. There was an acrid hint of smoke in the air, as pervasive as the damp had been in her childhood home; clinging to the buoyancy of hope, making sure it never soared too high.

“Oh, mon Dieu, Raffe.” He caught up to her just within the threshold, smiling like the sun, but it was the scar she saw first, ugly across his throat. She touched her own, eyes wide in shock before the emotion settled. It pulled a little at her mouth, but she accepted how the underworld devoured. Even those who deserved it least. His grin only took a rueful cast, indomitable as ever, and he leaned to kiss her cheeks.

“I’m fine,” he assured, though his voice sounded charred in a way that only deepened the tragedy for him. She squeezed both his hands as he slipped away.

“Qu'est-ce que c'est?” she said instead. “Why are all these people here?”

“Evacuation. Sort of. No one’s hurt or anything.”

“From the undercity?” she realised.

“I couldn’t just do nothing,” he said. The harsh whisper made it difficult to hear him, and he spoke then as to himself. His brows knit, his jaw flexing. He had a phone in his hand, wrung as though it were a talisman. Pain marred his expression, and he didn’t cover the flash of it very well, but he carried on despite it. “Ezekiel is here.”

She nodded, lightly. “Another fire?” She could make a call; someone would be at the office still, and she was not sure Alexandrova ever really slept. But Noémi understood the blood of these people. They would not want the sort of magnanimous charity the Custody might choose to impose on a crisis, and this was not a throng of thousands as had been caused by the gas leak. A lighter touch might be needed. Especially with Ezekiel. “Tell me how I can help.”

[[This thread runs concurrently with the events of Into the Darkness]]

Merry Xmas to all of you and Happy Holidays for all who celebrate this time of year. 

I thought we could play a fun game. Post what (if any) holiday your character would celebrate this time of year and how they would celebrate it.

I'll go first! 
Valeriya and the Khylysty probably have an annual celebration that they don't know what they're celebration. Although I don't know how they would keep track of annual time. So maybe there is some like thing that happens in the cave on a regular basis that sparks them to celebrate.

Rune would celebrate xmas for sure. She and her uncle would go to a diner every year on xmas and have chocolate chip pancakes with all the toppings.

Spectra I dont know. 

Elke celebrates a very minimal xmas.

Spoilers for Episode 8 

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I'm mostly still processing, but thought I'd lay out some initial thoughts. 

Overall, I really enjoyed it. There were times when I was smacking the couch and cheering. When I saw the "3000 years ago" I squealed. I really, really liked seeing the AoL. I was too engrossed to really process what the Latra and LTT said to each other, but the scene was beautiful. LTT just seemed like a normal guy.  The aesthetic was really beautiful. The formality between the two of them, even as they disagreed, was really noticeable. It felt civilized and like from another age (pun intended). And the clothing. I am really loving the clothing of the AoL style. It felt so futuristic and modern yet not like current Earth either.

I really enjoyed the architecture of the wall blocking the Gap. Those arrow slits with crossbow bolts flying out of them was sick. When the trollocs climbed the walls, all I had in my head with the climb of zombies in World War Z. I thought it was a pretty clever way for the trollocs to get over the wall. Lord Agelmar was a favorite of mine, when he gave the speech to his sister about buying time for the other cities, it was very moving. I really enjoyed that scene. 

The circle and the women burning out was incredible. I never ever got the kind of high stakes from the books about the dangers of burning out. Showing this was awesome. The burning from inside to crispy crisps was scary and awesome at the same time. Amalisa talking about the beauty and incredible senses that came with that amount of power was a great Easter egg to the lure, addiction, and intensity of the power. 

The Blight vines and whatnot was creepy and really showed what the infestation of the Blight is like. I really liked seeing the bodies taken over by the growth and how the plants were starting to cover Rand's hand as he slept. That was the kind of horror movie stuff I like. Could have used more with critters and monsters, but I understand there is only so many minutes and only so many CGI-dollars. And isn't that the rub, we can always use more.

Ishamael. Ishamael Ishamael. 
I've a huge villain crush on this Ishamael. The swagger and confidence and power. That little laugh at Moiriane when he shielded her. I was pretty apprehensive at first when I saw the casting, but putting the package together, it was great. 

The Eye aesthetic was really interesting adaptation. Afterward, I told manflesh about the Book-Eye and he agreed the show made the right choice in changing it. In his words, the book-eye sounded "cheesy". Rand's decision about "what about what she wants" was a great epiphany. 

Rosamund's performance at the end was outstanding. She is great as Moiraine. I can absolutely see her at the end, the very end of book 14 and stroking Rand's hair after the showdown with the DO and saying "well done, Rand. well done."

The 3rd Age, Arad Doman.



“Promise me you’ll sleep on it one more night,” Daryen told Trista, hands on her shoulders with the urgency of a plea. She agreed. Daryen finally retired to his own quarters afterward but only to pour over the details himself one final time.

The sun rose on the day that Daryen promised High Lord Sivikawa to have a response on their treaty. Daryen dwelled long into the night, toiling upon the stakes but again no new insight presented itself. He knew the Dragon and White Tower supported his decision either way. Neighboring Falme and Tarabon were already under Seanchan control. Altara was the seat of their power on the continent. In any other life, Daryen would want to see their homeland, if only to explore someplace that he didn’t know existed until their arrival. But this was not another life. It was his life, and he had to do the best he could. Ultimately, the decision, and the risk, was his. 

There was no trace of Trista when he woke. He hadn’t anticipated any different, but he scanned the room anyway. Inevitably, his gaze was drawn to the work from the previous night, and that chasm of indecision began to yawn once more until someone literally yawned. A hand lazily tugged him back to the pillows. Trust Jai to pull him from the quicksand of his own mind.  

But he resisted the pull, no matter how much he didn't want to. “Unlike you, brother. I cannot sleep all day,” he said only to get a kick on the shin in return. It was enough to make him laugh.

Sierra watched as they dove under the water and bit back her desire to hold her breathe until they came back up.  Who knew how long it would be.

She leaned back against the tree trunk and stoked the fire to a nice burn and then close her eyes while she waited.  Never curled up next to her, he awaited her in the dream

****

She opened her eyes in the same place.  But it was different.  It always was the same.  Never jumped and crossed her path with a wofish grin on his muzzle.  He loved the dream.  His images came across more like words now. 

So happy!  He danced.  Wish Bre could be here!

Miss pack already.  Soon?  He looked up hopeful.

"I hope so."

Sierra scratched behind Never's ears. "You were trying to say something before?"

But Never was bounding around the dream for the moment.  Sierra would have to wait for him to center himself again.  Or it might not happen at all today.  He was a still a pup eager as ever to explore.

[[Continued from Wanderlust]]

On the journey to the shoreline, Thalia asked Tristan about his life in Iceland. She had been to Reykjavik before, but only on a tourist excursion with her sister (a birthday present), and that many years ago now. She remembered the beauty, though. She spoke a little about her own home in Moscow, her work, and her sister. Asked Sierra where she was from, and inquired if the dog-not-dogs had names. She never pressed deeply for answers if they were reluctantly given, but was curious about both of their lives, and soaked in every detail they chose to give willingly. In the lulls she meandered tales of the island’s history and folklore (especially pertaining to the lake and rock), and spoke with the genuine awe and enthusiasm of someone charmed by life’s mysteries; who was naturally inquisitive about, well, everything. And sometimes she was quiet, too, distracted by the scenery and the beribboned totems that dotted the path. For all that she was happy to fill the silences, they didn’t seem to bother her either.

She paused briefly once the broad, bright surface of the lake first came into view beyond the trees, much as she had done her first day here. Then she followed the incline down to the shingled beach. A few tourists milled, but it was early and peaceful still. Thalia let the others choose a sheltered spot before she dropped her bag from her shoulder. Perhaps it was just that the sun was barely up, but it was not as warm as yesterday, the wind biting a little bitter as she wiggled out of her borrowed garments. She envied the dog-not-dogs their thick pelts of fur. Her swimming costume beneath was still a little damp, though she had rung it out in the cabin, and it felt not exactly pleasant now the cold took nibbles from exposed skin. She folded Sierra’s clothes more carefully than she would have her own, and placed them with her things. Though she had left most of her belongings at her homestay in the village, everything important was in that bag; her wallet and money, her pens and sketches, and the pinecone in its burn box.

“Will you wait here or return to the cabin?” she asked Sierra. She was not quite sure if the woman actually disliked her, and it made her deeply uncomfortable as a possibility; especially as, whatever the other woman’s true feelings might be, she still made the effort to be kind. Thalia was warm in return, and perhaps a little more obviously so in fear of that rejection. She sat with her for a moment longer, staring out at the water, her hand snaking up over her shoulder where the first poppies bloomed a large design down her back. The voluptuous figure inked amongst the flowers there was an exorcism at the time, but it had been a beginning not an end. Not for the first time she wondered where Yana was now, or if it was just the point at which she’d left reality and never returned.

“There are more drawings of the Tuuru creature in my sketchbook,” she said eventually. “You are welcome to look, if you wanted. Maybe you will understand more of it than I did.”

After that she stood, and waited for Tristan to lead them on.

[[continued from Da Capo]]

A hint of laughter. “Don’t forget: you followed me.”

Natalie claimed to hate the game and play only by her own rules, but she still played. Adrian claimed patience. Not a man for undue risk or rashness. That was useful to know, but not necessarily what she had been looking for. She could not sway him with the recklessness of her cause, nor entice him with insinuations of power (and nor would she have been content with the latter; this wasn’t about power). Desire was easy to manipulate; everyone had a price they paid willingly for the things they most wanted – Natalie included, of course. Moving people into advantageous places was helpful, and often it was easy, but it was also a soul-destroying sort of tiring. She’d treated Evelyn like a piece on a gameboard, but what she’d truly wanted at the time was an ally.

Time forged that, and little else. But the foundations had to be laid somehow. He didn’t salivate at the thought of Brandon’s praise, or wasn’t willing to admit to it anyway. Since it was hardly a question she could ask outright, that would have to be enough.

“You’re right, I do.” She shrugged, and ignored the apology offered. She didn’t ever speak of her father, and she wasn’t about to start with a stranger. Even Jay didn’t know the half of it, and she was uncomfortable enough with what even he had seen of that particular demon. Adrian wasn’t actually asking though; or, at least, she did not think he truly cared for gossip half a decade old. Natalie’s expression had retreated into habitual stillness, second-nature reflex by now whenever it came up, but otherwise she might have smiled slyly at the tactic. She was too jaded to consider the chivalry truthful, even if it was.

“Some wrongs can’t be forgiven,” she agreed. Natalie’s was an enduring loyalty, more enduring than was probably good for her, but when betrayal severed those ties, they were severed forever. Her reply held a note of that truth, in warning or acknowledgement. She didn’t know what caused him to turn away from his family, after all, and she would not ask now, though she did drop her gaze to the ring for half a moment. He was seeking commonality not sharing secrets. “Perhaps we have something in common after all.”

By now darkness had plunged outside the car, the lights of civilisation dotted fewer. A rougher road began to grind under the car’s wheels, until it finally pulled to a stop. Little could be seen out of the windows anymore, just the reflection of their own faces.