Hey ye scalawags, I'm lonely! someone come say hi! 

For entertainment, here is something funny: 

Hola Mishamigoes,

Nox is wanting a list of WoT lines for FAbot. 

Post your favs/noms here.

Egwene:  "Eff everyone, I'm going to save the world myself."

The Ascendancy assigned Jay to assist him.  At least it wasn't Allan.  Nox wasn't sure about Marcus Dubois, but at least he wasn't showing animosity towards him the whole time.  Nox wondered what happened to him since the last time.  Nox preferred the fawning to the attacks.  Not that the fawning had been desirable either.

Nox didn't care what happened to Allan as he left with the Ascendancy but he sent the HUDs to the three men leaving the fastest way out.  It was unfortunately the same way the Atharim would have fled leaving them in the Red Light District.  But that was for them to deal with.  He rearranged the packs he'd left -- taking the food and extra water and adding it to the packs he and Jay would take deeper into the tunnels.

The quiet drip of water falling in the depts below them was the only sound as Nox quickly rearranged.  Even the scratching was gone.  It was almost peaceful.  Except Nox knew that around the corner the horde pushed deeper into the bowels of the earth.  

Nox hoisted his backpack upon his shoulder and tucked the duffle bag into a better position.  The power at the ready and a unfinished directional shockwave in front of him ready to go if they needed it.  But their fight should be minimal as they trudged deeper into the depts of the underground.  The software would update Nox's map the deeper they went.  And Nox would mark where there had been nests that the horde cleared.  People shouldn't live this far down.  He could only hope.

He handed Jay a pack.  "If everything goes as planned enjoy the vacation."  In the deep dark tunnels below any civilization where the rocks could kill you just as easily as the beast around the next corner.

[[ @"Jay Carpenter" ]]

They left the bowels of the earth with the male gods behind them.  Zef hated fleeing, but there were five of them and only three of them in a crammed space.  It was not tactical to stay against five well trained gods.  

Her goal was not done.  She still had one avenue to persue.  She turned on the inquisitor once they were in the fresh air.  "What the fuck was that?"  She growled pushing the man up against the nearest wall.  "You led us into a trap?  With the fucking Ascendancy."

The inquistor pushed her away from him just as abruptly as she had assulted him. "I didn't know he would be there.  It was just supposed to be Durante."

"Why would he meet with you alone?  Specially after you tried to kill him."

((Continued from))

Nika was and then she wasn’t, simple as that.

Upon activation the tree birthed light that might have been seen from space if you were looking.  ...and the dense canopy didn’t make everything aerial impossible.  The obsidian egg absorbed it all as was its design and gifted it to the being inside.  Purpose served, the encasement’s shell parted into slats starting at the top, which then folded over and over itself until it was again contained within the small pack.  The form within shifted forward and once the egg no longer had walls, poured bonelessly onto the forest floor.

The defib activated and her heart remembered it had a job once.  The pump restarted merrily like a dumb yellow dog locating a ball lost in tall grass.

Doc Freeman and Hatch’s spaz dart saw to it that Nika remained…pacified…until the VR program was ready to run.

Jorge hooked in with her as a guide while Doc and Suggs monitored and manipulated the program and Nika’s vitals externally.  The program itself had been meticulously built using real body and helmet cam footage from the actual mission all those years ago.

"Button."

Nika blinked back with a short hiss of breath through her nose.  Her nearly black eyes took their time fine-tuning focus.  

“Now is not the time to lie on your ass.”  

The voice was one she’d not heard in a long while.  She swallowed around a dry throat and attempted to sit up but failed.

Fire.  Heat like she’d never known raced along her nerve endings.  Her vision briefly eclipsed before white suns alternated separate dawns.  She dared not breathe or make a sound.  In her head she screamed.  The wave passed as quickly as it appeared.  Bizarre.  The sensations left her breathless.

“We must move out of range!”  

The voice was urgent rather than mean.  He was right, she had to listen.  The warlord apparently had suicide drones, which were highly illegal, but then so was assassination.  

A massive weight exerted pressure, it seemed, over her entire form so that she could not localize anything.  Nika moved with great difficulty; every action was purposeful, deliberate and calculated.  Willpower alone forced her body to comply; muscle motor memory saw the movements actually happen.

The shocks came and went without warning.  Nika stumbled almost imperceptibly as the nerves in her knee flared to uselessness and her leg gave way.  The exoskeleton suit kept her from actually falling, taking up the slack when it sensed weakness.  The civilian version was worn by those with spinal afflictions; the military version kept a soldier mobile long after in-action wounds became incapacitating.  

Nika held her sidearm in a double grip both to support her weapon should one hand or the other fail and to give herself something to squeeze for the pain.  She was trying very hard not to crack teeth when the flares came…

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.