#lewin

[ummaidenn]

Hi love your art how about lee Kyren?

LEE KYREN !!

This is the first tk art i make after switching from my phone to an ipad so if it's kinda messy I'M SORRY

I have to admit that doing poses is so much easier now

ANYWAYS MY CUTE "I'm so serious and cold" BOY NEEDED TO GIGGLE !! And big brother is here to help EHEHEE

[asha-mage]

The costuming of each of Rand's ancestors is ALSO insane, each iteration of the cadin'sor a step forward towards the one we recognize on Janduin and the modern Aiel, and each reflecting the moment that ancestor lived in:

Charn has simple but well made work clothes that reflect his upbringing as someone form a culture that still practices agrarian farming in a sci fi utopia. It's simple brown that looks more rough and rustic standing in contrast to Miren's sleek white lab outfit, but still contains the hints of modern amenity: his over the shoulder cape, the buttons on his coat and shirt. This is someone who lives in a society where he could be wearing something more clearly modern, but deliberately choose something humble and simple.

Then you have Rhodric in a much sleeker and darker version: the rustic agrarian element has been traded for a straight lines. Everything is imminently practical, from the thick soled work boots, to the leather vest with it's own clip and zippers, to the trousers that allow for range of motion. Rhodric was living through a time of war and now apocalypse. Even his people, sworn to peace, have been altered by the realities of the world they live in, and what their role as servants to Aes Sedai, leaders in that war, demanded.

Centuries later, the cadin'sor has been entirely lost, and Jonai is in what we can recognize now as Tuatha'an style clothing, which makes sense since this is where the two cultures split. Gone are the sleek uniform lines Rhodric was wearing but the deliberate rustic vibe Charn had has not returned. Instead everything is clearly (and messily) hand made. Threads are hanging off a poncho that is clearly hard used. Everything is ill fitting- on Jonai and every one else in this scene. Adan's shirt hangs askew because it's to large while Sulwin's skirt drags in the skirt because it's to long. Their are all these efforts at bright colors and patterning- but their irregular and imperfect. The breaking is taking it's hold and exacting it's price.

Two generations later, Jonai's great grandson, Lewin and his fellows have something that that is first step towards modern Aiel cadin'sor. Everyone has adopted browns and grey, brighter color has been dramatically scaled back, and while stuff still isn't fitting great, it's fitting better. Practicality is back as the main focus, and we see sharp lines return as well. Lewin is the ancestor that most resembles Rhodric, because like with Rhodric he has had to make concessions in himself for the realities of a violent world. The veil appears for the first time, and the colors are now locked in: brown and grey, to match their desert environment.

Jumping forward centuries again to the pre-Clan Aiel, we get Mandein, a sept chief from right before the Aiel cultural identity starts to codify. He is wearing a leather cuirass over a simple linen shirt- the colors are consistent now. and everything is well fitted. The biggest difference is how his rank as a chief is conveyed: he is slathered status symbols, from his cloak, to his sea shell necklace, to his spear with special inlay- all things that demonstrate his singular importance in a society grappling with scarcity. Their is also no uniformity when we see the other sept chiefs during the meeting- everyone is styled differently, draped in different kinds of status symbols. The modern Aiel as a culture now exists, but a common cultural identity is still in the process of forming and getting locked in.

And then finally Janduin- post that cultural identity being codified for two thousand years. He and all the other Aiel warriors are uniform with a clear vision- and being influenced by aesthetic sensibilities that incorporate every step backwards through time. A curiass that seems heavily based on the vest of Rhodric and the others during the war period but with the clear underpinning of being real armor like what Mandein wore, a metal buckler strapped to his back right where the Aiel work hats used to hang during Charn's day, and of course, Lewin's veil but also his same basic silhouette and linens. The only one not represented here is Jonai- which makes sense since that is the lowest point in the Aiel's history, reduced to refugees being preyed upon without anything but their oath and each other to sustain them. Most strikingly to me is the complete absence of any status symbol- Janduin leads many many more people then Mandein but his spears are the same as his soldiers, and nothing marks him out as their leader even in the thick of combat...because such symbols are unnecessary. His right to lead, we know, is carved into his arm.

[rosered282]

Lewin choosing use the spear against those who would do him and his people harm not only because its a weapon, but because its also a tool. They can use it to hunt for food, its not just a weapon of violence

And Tam, a bladesmaster, choosing to only teach Rand how to use a bow, something he can use for hunting AND to defend himself with. The Two Rivers has the same air as the Three Fold Land but it looks different.

[paniramia]

We have been running a Star Trek Adventures campaign, so here is some lore art I made of my Vau N'Akat and Captain Xen!

[dinthoqaf]

The Mind Expands and Contracts

( Story point aimed to be before the current raid events, as this is during The Voidspire's assault and ending. ) Dinthoqaf stood upon one of the floating Silvermoon Terrace's, looking out over the vast city towards the Voidstorm. The look upon his features was one of heavy concentration and turmoil. What was going on up there? Only so many knew that were on this side of the storm. Many could guess, many had ideas, but how do you articulate the viewpoints of hundreds of people all at once? You could sit with a hundred scribes, each writing everything out all at once, and not come close to what The Defiler was currently screening out from the rest of his flock. The Nameless were up there along with some of his Anointed, fighting back the Storm and Devouring Host in some effort to try to escape, to pull back before the Voidstorm potentially snapped shut, or worse, erupted with an outpouring of such energy that the Devouring Host would live up to its name. The interference from The Void and Sunwell was playing havoc with The Sanguine. His connection was going lax and then snapping tight as it'd reconnect across the differences. People would disappear and then reconnect, some of them during something only veterans of horrific wars could recount in some fueled drinking session at the bar, recounting violent episodes of PTSD driven carnage. Monsters, Animals, Void-Amulgamations and Aberrations, Cultists, Ethereals. So many different creatures and enemies in this place coming from under the ground, from the 'Sky' (if one could call it that), and every other direction on foot. His Nameless were being slaughtered just trying to fight back the Voidstorm's mind-destroying influence and all these images rushed into The Defiler as some of them pleaded with their 'God' to save them, to make their death have meaning amongst the order to retreat. All he could do was cradle their consciousness in their last moments, sever their abilities to feel pain, to give them some moment of bliss as he led their last thoughts to their children, their spouses, to whatever memory made their minds slow and hearts calm. A horrific trick of illusion and mental tamperance, some would say, but what can a God do for a follower beyond making their final moments as peaceful as possible? They all knew that their children in the Academy would be tended for, and The Weaver ( @zalilirah ) was already on the path of making preparations to move those children elsewhere if it somehow became breached or under threat. The generations beyond would be protected as best they could, as was his promise made to each Nameless who swore their loyalty and faith.

The Prophet was already scouting secondary fallback positions in case Silvermoon was overrun and the elves were pushed out due to the Devouring Host or fallout if the Sunwell went supernova. The White Rose ( @vyvienne ), The Vile Shadow, Lewin, and so many others were on the other side of that portal into the Storm. People, Pieces, that could not nor would be replaceable, no matter who or what came after.

Nezzok was preparing Zul'Mashar in the event of a complete and total loss of the Region and Caer Darrow was being prepared too as a final fallback. He could not nor would not depend on the success of a group of elves who historically couldn't work together without in-fighting and he wouldn't be caught unprepared. How many people from Silvermoon would be displaced? How many would lose mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, or even children, because of everything currently going on? Even now, amongst the calamity, opportunity was being prov-.. Dinthoqaf hisses as his hands come to press against his temples. Another wave of connections reestablished as his Nameless were torn apart. Willpower came to push it back, to release the pressure to give him his train of thought. He needed his people out of there, but could not run the risk of The Sanguine being overloaded by walking into the Storm himself.

An exhausted sigh slips free. The weight of leadership had its gravitas, and this was one of the moments where the chains hung heavy. A chuckle comes free. Don't you remember when things like responsibility for others wasn't a concern?

"Yes, yes. I remember my days as The Seether. You ask this as if I'm as old as that scrote, Velen." A deep chuckle rumbles up from within but never leaves.

"Responsibility comes when we earn the position and have people looking to us for answers. Guidance. I am not Deathwing, Ragnaros, or any other of the hundreds of others who led their flocks and followers to their deaths without a care on what remains if they fail, let alone what remains on if they succeed. I need the Nameless and all of my Sanctum to remain as intact as possible if we manage to accomplish what I desire and to keep our grasp upon it. We cannot afford short sighted sprints; you should know this more than most after what? How long has it been now? Two hundred years? How many host bodies have we jumped between now too? Four? Five?"

Including your son's body that you took for yourself?

"Now you try to bring ethics into this?"

Quiet came back to his mind. A stalemate made or perhaps points by each side as the two refused to budge. Dinthoqaf was not alone anymore, or rather, he was never alone, but a voice that had once been lost now returned.

You realizes you can speak to me without opening your mouth, right, or have you forgotten?

"No, I didn't forget but it makes me feel less insane to converse verbally."

It certainly doesn't help in the appearance however...

It wasn't wrong there.

"We have other things to concentrate on; such as preparing teams for healing our Nameless once they come back, while minimizing our presence or being caught by the Army Remnants. We have to acknowledge that this may be what shows The Sanctum off to The World."

[ofthebrownajah]

Loving the concepts for all of Rand's ancestors Davina LaMont posted on her Instagram:

I love the show's dedication to "we have to give the book Aiel rattails a cameo somehow."

The result of course is that it makes Josha look even more like Anakin Skywalker than he already did

[themoonglitch]

Jayne and Lewin Moss-Ross

[markantonys]

link post type is not working for me once again, but: new fic!

The Dedicated

relationship: lewin/alijah, lewin/alijah/morin (bookverse aiel history character who i repurposed for this showverse aiel history fic) rating: T length: 5k, complete summary: Every night for the first week, Lewin cried himself to sleep, or else Alijah did, or else they both did. For warmth as well as comfort, they always slept close together, curled up and pressed into each other until they managed to drift off into restless sleep.

They didn’t talk much, just sat together by their fire at night and followed the wagons during the day, from a distance. Watched them, hoping somebody would come over to them and tell them all was forgiven and they could return home.

Nobody ever came.

And so they began to turn their thoughts towards the future. It was time to accept that they could not go back to the way things used to be—so what new path would they forge?