La Pierre de Tear fait peau neuve ! L'aventure continue sur www.pierredetear.fr !
L'ancien site est a présent archivé pour la postérité et en mode "lecture seule". Vous pouvez consulter l'ensemble du contenu et des anciennes discussions du forum,
mais plus créer de nouveaux topics ni écrire de nouvelles réponses.
Tu plaisantes!!! A part Elann, je ne connais personne qui connaisse La RdT aussi bien que toi, tu connais forcément l'étendart de la Malkier. Quand Lan arrive à Fal Dara, les guerriers du Shienar n'arrêtent pas de lui demander si la Grue dorée va reprendre son envole.
Wahooo, pour une fois Elth' tu fais de la performance !!!
Sincerement bravo, c'est bien joli Au fait maintenant je pose ma question...
Les Aiels comme chacun le sais, ne forment pas, une seule nation. Pourtant, a un moment dans l'un des tomes, un Aiel evoque un etendard qui pourrait appartenir au peuple Aiel tout entier... Lequel ?
Non, ce n'est pas Moiraine. Bon comme personne n'arrive à trouver je vais vous donner la solution avec la preuve indiscutable.
[spoilers5]
Après de longues nuits blanches de dure labeur passées à lire et relire les 10 tomes de WOT, je n'étais parvenu à rien de concret. Je décidai alors d'aller faire un tour sur Internet, et me rendis compte que je n'étais pas le seul à chercher une solution à cette énigme. Je me rendis aussi compte, après maintes recherches infructueuses, qu'aucun homme vivant sur Terre n'était parvenu à la résoudre. Découragé et démoralisé, j'étais sur le point d'arrêter tout et me mettre à lire Harry Poter, quand je suis tombé sur une interview de Mr Bob dans laquelle il disait "[it is] intuitively obvious". Quelque chose me disait que le secret était dans ce bout de phrase. Je me lancait alors une fois de plus dans d'interminables nuits de relecture... et la solution me sauta finalement aux yeux. C'était tellement évident ! Comment ai-je put ne point l'avoir vu ? Alors que c'était écrit noir sur blanc.
Voici donc le paragraphe où l'hommicide eut lieu :
Tucking his harp under his arm, Asmodean drifted away from Mat and Aviendha. He enjoyed playing, but not for a pair who did not listen, much less appreciate. He was not sure what had happened that morning, and not sure he wanted to be sure. Too many Aiel had expressed surprise at seeing him, had claimed they had seen him dead; he did not want details. There was a long gash down the wall in front of him. He knew what made that sharp edge, that surface as slick as ice, smoother than any hand could have polished in a hundred years.
Idly – but with a shiver, too – he wondered whether being reborn in this fashion made him a new man. He did not think so. Immortality was gone. That was a gift of the Great Lord; he used that name in his head, whatever al’Thor demanded on his tongue. That was proof enough that he was himself. Immortality gone – he knew it must be imagination, yet sometimes he thought he could feel time dragging at him, pulling him toward a grave he had never thought to meet – and drawing the little of saidin he could was like drinking sewage. He was hardly sorry Lanfear was dead. Rahvin either, but Lanfear especially, for what she had done to him. He would laugh when each of the others died, too, and most for the last. It was not that he had been reborn as a new man at all, but he would cling to that tuft of grass as long as he could. The roots would give way eventually, the long fall would come, but until then he was still alive.
He pulled open a small door, intending to find his way to the pantry. There should be some decent wine. One step, and he stopped, the blood draining from his face. “You? No!” The word still hung in the air when death took him.
Après avoir laborieusement analysé ce passage grace à des techniques révolutionnaires de récursivité transitionnelle assistée par ordinateur (technique dont j'ai bien entendu pris la peine de déposer un brevet), j'étais finalement parvenu à trouver la solution. Pour vous présenter le résultat de manière lisible, j'ai pris la peine de mettre en gras pour vous les passages intéressants.
Tucking his harp under his arm, Asmodean drifted away from Mat and Aviendha. He enjoyed playing, but not for a pair who did not listen, much less appreciate. He was not sure what had happened that morning, and not sure he wanted to be sure. Too many Aiel had expressed surprise at seeing him, had claimed they had seen him dead; he did not want details. There was a long gash down the wall in front of him. He knew what made that sharp edge, that surface as slick as ice, smoother than any hand could have polished in a hundred years.
Idly – but with a shiver, too – he wondered whether being reborn in this fashion made him a new man. He did not think so. Immortality was gone. That was a gift of the Great Lord; he used that name in his head, whatever al’Thor demanded on his tongue. That was proof enough that he was himself. Immortality gone – he knew it must be imagination, yet sometimes he thought he could feel time dragging at him, pulling him toward a grave he had never thought to meet – and drawing the little of saidin he could was like drinking sewage. He was hardly sorry Lanfear was dead. Rahvin either, but Lanfear especially, for what she had done to him. He would laugh when each of the others died, too, and most for the last. It was not that he had been reborn as a new man at all, but he would cling to that tuft of grass as long as he could. The roots would give way eventually, the long fall would come, but until then he was still alive.
He pulled open a small door, intending to find his way to the pantry. There should be some decent wine. One step, and he stopped, the blood draining from his face. “You? No!” The word still hung in the air when death took him.
La reconstitution de ces lettres choisies minutieusement selon l'algorithme que j'ai mis au point (et dont je détiens aussi bien évidement le brevet) nous donne la phrase suivante : "Graendal did it".
Graendal a tué Asmodean. La preuve est indiscutable.
Pour ceux qui ne seraient pas encore convaicus malgré ma démonstration infaillible, voici des preuves supplémentaires.
Tucking his harp under his arm, Asmodean drifted away from Mat and Aviendha. He enjoyed playing, but not for a pair who did not listen, much less appreciate. He was not sure what had happened that morning, and not sure he wanted to be sure. Too many Aiel had expressed surprise at seeing him, had claimed they had seen him dead; he did not want details. There was a long gash down the wall in front of him. He knew what made that sharp edge, that surface as slick as ice, smoother than any hand could have polished in a hundred years.
Idly – but with a shiver, too – he wondered whether being reborn in this fashion made him a new man. He did not think so. Immortality was gone. That was a gift of the Great Lord; he used that name in his head, whatever al’Thor demanded on his tongue. That was proof enough that he was himself. Immortality gone – he knew it must be imagination, yet sometimes he thought he could feel time dragging at him, pulling him toward a grave he had never thought to meet – and drawing the little of saidin he could was like drinking sewage. He was hardly sorry Lanfear was dead. Rahvin either, but Lanfear especially, for what she had done to him. He would laugh when each of the others died, too, and most for the last. It was not that he had been reborn as a new man at all, but he would cling to that tuft of grass as long as he could. The roots would give way eventually, the long fall would come, but until then he was still alive.
He pulled open a small door, intending to find his way to the pantry. There should be some decent wine. One step, and he stopped, the blood draining from his face. “You? No!” The word still hung in the air when death took him.
Lanfear did not do it Rand did not kill him [/spoilers5]
Si vous n'êtes pas convaicus, toutes mes condoléances.
Pour quelqu'un qui n'a pas su répondre à une question après s'être vanté d'être LE plus calé de toute la rdt, je trouve que tu nous prends bien de haut, Elann....
Je n'aime pas me faire insulter, alors garde ta langue si tu ne veux pas la perdre
Narishma en tous cas c'est grand ! Bien joué !
Je trouve que ta methode d'analyse est revolutionnante. A quand la roue du temps decrypté comme la Cabale ?
Tu plaisantes!!! A part Elann, je ne connais personne qui connaisse La RdT aussi bien que toi, tu connais forcément l'étendart de la Malkier. Quand Lan arrive à Fal Dara, les guerriers du Shienar n'arrêtent pas de lui demander si la Grue dorée va reprendre son envole.
