[H]

- If someone with TJE could provide me with quotes about Nonmen being unable to see paintings and a description of the fallen chandeliers in Cil-Aujas.

I think these are what you were looking for.

"Everything..." she said in a wistful tone. Her eyes seemed to track the passage of ghosts.

"Everything what?"

"The walls... The ceilings. Everywhere, limbs and people cut out of stone—images atop images... Think of the toil!"

"It wasn't always such. The Wolf Gate is an example of how they once adorned their cities. It was only when they began forgetting that they turned to this... this... excess. These are their annals, the accounting of their deeds—great and small."

"Then why not simply paint murals the way we do?"

Achamian found himself approving of this question—another long-dead habit, tingling back to life. "Nonmen can't see paintings," he said with an old man's shrug.

A frowning smile. Despite the anger that always seemed to roll about the nethers of her expression, her skeptical looks always managed to promise a fair accounting.

"It's true," Achamian said. "Paintings are naught but gibberish to their eyes. The Nonmen may resemble us, Mimara, but they are far more different than you can imagine."

"You make them sound frightening."

The ruined cemetery of Cil-Aujas.

Great ribs and sockets of living stone ravined the ceiling. Hanging from its contours, hundreds of ancient chains cluttered the open reaches, some broken midway to the floor, others still bearing the bronze lantern wheels that had once served as illumination. The floors beneath stretched for what seemed a mile, white with illumination and dust, puckered and furrowed by the long wandering lines of ancient dead. In the distances behind and to either side of the company, walls had been hewn from the scarped confusion, gaining heights easily as great as any of Carythusal's famed towers. Tombs pocked them, row upon row of black holes framed with graven script and images, lending them a wasp-nest malignancy. Immediately before the company, however, the enormous sheaves of debris continued climbing and climbing, sloping up to the very ceiling... Some kind of catastrophic collapse.

Sorry, my page numbers are all jacked up, but both quotes are in the latter half of Chapter 14.

[Madness]

Yeah, that's awesome, thank you. I'm going to add the pertinent bits to the Notes post.

[Aural]

That was great. Hearing the perspective of someone who hasn’t participated in the online discussions for years is refreshing.

[H]

- If someone with WLW could provide me with quotes about the 'military squares' in the First Battle of the Horde; I think it's an omnipresent war POV, not Sorweel's POV as I said in episode.

Is this what you're referring to?

What Sorweel had feared had come to pass: the Scions had in fact stumbled across a Sranc host shadowing the Great Ordeal. They only glimpsed it a few times, from what rare heights the landscape provided: a column of vast squares marching in perfect formation. Twice Eskeles had cast an air-bending spell that allowed them to scry the host in greater detail. While others busied themselves counting heads, Sorweel watched with breathless wonder: the tiny figures become liquid and large, executing soundless errands utterly oblivious to the Scions and their sorcerous observation.

I haven't had a chance to listen to the cast, so I don't understand the context, but there are other references to men fighting in squares in other places too.

[Madness]

That was great. Hearing the perspective of someone who hasn’t participated in the online discussions for years is refreshing.

Agreed by all of the Cast regulars.

- If someone with WLW could provide me with quotes about the 'military squares' in the First Battle of the Horde; I think it's an omnipresent war POV, not Sorweel's POV as I said in episode.

Is this what you're referring to?

What Sorweel had feared had come to pass: the Scions had in fact stumbled across a Sranc host shadowing the Great Ordeal. They only glimpsed it a few times, from what rare heights the landscape provided: a column of vast squares marching in perfect formation. Twice Eskeles had cast an air-bending spell that allowed them to scry the host in greater detail. While others busied themselves counting heads, Sorweel watched with breathless wonder: the tiny figures become liquid and large, executing soundless errands utterly oblivious to the Scions and their sorcerous observation.

I haven't had a chance to listen to the cast, so I don't understand the context, but there are other references to men fighting in squares in other places too.

Thanks but no, it's not that one. Hmm... it actually might be Eskeles Scrying the Ordeal after they get ahead of the Ten-Yoke Legion and are being chased by it instead (if that's a scene). I'm looking for the description of the Ordeal as fighting squares beneath the Swayal.

[Wilshire]

That was great. Hearing the perspective of someone who hasn’t participated in the online discussions for years is refreshing.

This 100%. Anything from anyone that we haven't polluted is typically golden.

[H]

Thanks but no, it's not that one. Hmm... it actually might be Eskeles Scrying the Ordeal after they get ahead of the Ten-Yoke Legion and are being chased by it instead (if that's a scene). I'm looking for the description of the Ordeal as fighting squares beneath the Swayal.

It might be this, although I couldn't pin-point exactly:

The Men of the Middle-North raised their shields and spears against them.
So did the Horde crash against the Army of the Middle-North. The dead could scarce fall, so packed, so violent was the melee. Men grimacing in thrusting panic. Nonman faces squealing and snapping. Sranc, crushed by the heave of their countless brothers. Sranc, their every bestial instinct bent to ferocity. Men cringed from their eye-blink speed, gasped against their gut-twisting stink: the rot of fish mongers clothed in fecal rags.
But the Shining Men stood their stubborn ground. Heavily armoured, stout of heart, and mighty of limb, they knew that flight would be their destruction. Torrents of arrows and javelins blackened the deranged vista, falling upon the ranks in a soundless clatter, but only those foolish enough to raise their faces were wounded or killed. Heeding the lessons of the ancients, they fought in deep phalanxes, arrayed so that those forward could brace their backs or shoulders against the shields of those behind, so that the entire formation must be clawed like a burr from world's hair before moving. The Galeoth and Tydonni wielded their thrusting spears and nansuri, short-swords designed for close-quarters fighting, to great effect, stabbing at the abominations pinioned against their shields. The Thunyeri, who were weaned on the blood of Sranc, used the hatchets long favoured by their fathers.
The host's bowmen maintained their positions immediately behind the common line, loosing shaft after shaft on shallow arcs over the heads of their countrymen. All of them, even the famed Agmundrmen, fired blind, knowing their arrows killed and yet despairing the insignificance of their toll.
For the knights and thanes stranded on their ponies behind the common line, it seemed a kind of mad performance, like those staged by the great troupes of dancers who frequented the courts of kings. For weeks they had skirmished with the Sranc, had grinned the pulse-pounding grin of the chase and kill. But now they could only watch in astonished frustration, for the Sranc had swallowed the very ground they would ride. Hundreds abandoned their mounts, hoping to shoulder their way to the fore of their men-at-arms, but the Judges stayed them with threats of doom and damnation, reminded them of the Aspect-Emperor and his Martial Prohibitions. For each phalanx was a kind of abacus, and each man a bead bound by strict rules of substitution.
Earl Hirengar of Canute spurned the Judges. He was one of those belligerent souls who could not abide watching while his lessers fought, let alone consider the consequences of his acts. When the Judges tried to seize him, he killed two and grievously injured a third. Then, because no signal could be heard above the clamour, he rode unopposed into the phalanx of his countrymen with his thanes in grim tow. His company managed to hack their way some thirty yards beyond the common line, great-bearded Tydonni, their mouths howling inaudible war-cries, their swords and axes swinging on wild arcs. But the Sranc engulfed them, climbed the backs of their brothers, leapt to tackle the hapless knights. Hirengar himself was dragged from his saddle by the beard. Death came swirling down.
Dismayed and disorganized, his kinsmen faltered. But even as panic leapt like wildfire among them, four Nuns floated above, their billows flaring golden, their sorcerous mutter fluting through the ringing deafness. Hanging as high as treetops, they decimated the Sranc with scythes of crackling light, and so provided the Canutishmen a desperate respite.
Wherever Men faltered, the Swayali witches were there above them, their silk billows cupping the light of their dread dispensations, glowing like jellyfish in the deep. Their mouths flashing lanterns. Their hands working looms of killing incandescence. After the initial shock, the Men of the Middle-North embraced their training, realizing with a kind of wonder that this was what they had prepared for all along. How to yield ten paces whenever the dead piled too high. How to draw their own wounded and dead through their line. Even how to fight the sky, for in their frenzy, the Sranc would claw across the backs and shoulders of their brothers and leap over the forward ranks.
Battle became a kind of dread harvest. Sranc died burning. Sranc died punctured and trampled. Sranc died scratching at shields. Yet they came and they came, surging beneath the witches and their comb of brilliant destruction, a shrieking chorus that wetted ears with blood. Men who faltered for exhaustion rotated with men from the rearward ranks. Soon gored figures could be seen stumbling behind the common lines, crying out for water, for bandages, or simply crashing to the dust. The Judges paced the line, their gilded Circumfixes held high, their mouths working about exhortations no one could hear. Hell itself seemed to churn but a keel away. And they wondered that mere Men could hold such wickedness at bay.

Thats before the scrying though, late in Chapter 7.

[Somnambulist]

Just listened to the cast, and it made my work morning go by super quick!  Thanks, guys, really enjoyable as always.  I had one clarification on Cleric's size.  I remember reading this recently, so thought I'd mention it.  The scene where Akka and Cleric are walking side-by-side toward the Coffers, Akka thinks to himself he's 'shoulder to shoulder, or rather shoulder to elbow' (paraphrasing) with the Nonman, giving a pretty strong reference to their relative sizes.  Akka's shoulder was apparently level with Cleric's elbow, making Cleric pretty tall, but not too far over the 6' mark (maybe 6'6"?).  Additionally, in TJE, Cleric sat at a table with Kosoter and Co. in the tavern, and Akka didn't acknowledge (from his POV) that he was significantly larger than anyone else.  It took him a few minutes to even figure out he was a Nonman.  If he was huge (Prometheus-like) it would have been immediately apparent he was a Nonman.  Also, let's not forget Akka wore Cleric's nimil armor after the Nonman's demise.  It was overly large on him, but still wearable.  Two cents spent. 

[Madness]

Lol - thanks for the ups, Somnambulist.

We're like a regular radio show at this point (as our last two were exactly a month apart). I'm always surprised at how fast the Cast seems to go by when recording.

Oh, and, H, thanks but that's not it either .

[Wilshire]

Thanks Somna. You need to do one

Regular radio show? Don't those happen like... every day?

At any rate, I think we could do them more often if we had more topic suggestions. (then, you know, spend some time editing/polishing them, and release them on a schedule, higher quality, more consistency, more member spotlights/participants...)

[H]

Oh, and, H, thanks but that's not it either .

My search-fu is out of gas, not sure which part it would be then, 

[kellykellhus]

Do you have the podcast episodes posted anywhere besides Soundcloud so I could download em to listen to on my MP3 player?

[Garet Jax]

I think there is a box.com account, but I am not sure if all of the casts are in there.  That question might have to be answered by our fearless leader.

[H]

tSA Cast #9: The Long Meandering Path (AKA The One Where I ramble A Lot)

New cast is up!

[Somnambulist]

Just finished listening to the latest cast.  Wanted to say 'thanks' for taking the time and effort to birth yet another enjoyable round of discussion and speculation.  Yatwer will gather you to her bosom in the Outside.