Mashiara - Discussion & Chat

Pretty nice

You're the expert when it comes to the GORy details of fantasy ... so I bow to your expertise.

HvB wrote:For those that wanna read themself:

...

Robert Jordan - The Wheel of Time (Series of books)

Mashiara means 'My Lost Love' in Old Tongue (a fictional language in this books)

Sorry HvB,
but the part Mashiara read was the scene when Lan (al'Lan Mandragoran, the King but also last of the Malkieri) gave his kingdom ring to Nynaeve (Nynaeve al`Meara) because he had to left (in the first third of "The Great Hunt" iirc). He called her Mashiara (means: beloved of the heart, but a love lost) when he left.

Safe from his eyes, she studied the length of him, leaning against the stone and fingering his chin as he
studied what was going on below. He's too tall, for one thing, and old enough to be my father, for another. A
man with a face like that would have to be cruel. No, he's not that. Never that. And he was a king. His land was
destroyed while he was a child, and he would not claim a crown, but he was a king, for that. What would a king
want with a village woman? He's a Warder, too. Bonded to Moiraine. She has his loyalty to death, and ties
closer than any lover, and she has him. She has everything I want, the Light burn her!
He turned from the arrowslit, and she whirled to go.
"Nynaeve." His voice caught and held her like a noose. "I wanted to speak to you alone. You always
seem to be in the women's apartments, or in company."
It took an effort to face him, but she was sure her features were calm when she looked up at him. "I'm
looking for Rand." She was not about to admit to avoiding him. "We said all we need to say long ago, you and
I. I shamed myself - which I will not do again - and you told me to go away."
"I never said - " He took a deep breath. "I told you I had nothing to offer for brideprice but widow's
clothes. Not a gift any man could give a woman. Not a man who can call himself a man."
"I understand," she said coolly. "In any case, a king does not give gifts to village women. And this
village woman would not take them. Have you seen Rand? I need to talk to him. He was to see the Amyrlin. Do
you know what she wanted with him?"
His eyes blazed like blue ice in the sun. She stiffened her legs to keep from stepping back, and met him
glare for glare.
"The Dark One take Rand al'Thor and the Amyrlin Seat both," he grated, pressing something into her
hand. "I will make you a gift and you will take it if I have to chain it around your neck."
She pulled her eyes away from his. He had a stare like a blue-eyed hawk when he was angry. In her
hand was a signet ring, heavy gold and worn with age, almost large enough for both her thumbs to fit through.
On it, a crane flew above a lance and crown, all carefully wrought in detail. Her breath caught. The ring of
Malkieri kings. Forgetting to glare, she lifted her face. "I cannot take this, Lan."
He shrugged in an offhand way. "It is nothing. Old, and useless, now. But there are those who would
know it when they saw it. Show that, and you will have guestright, and help if you need it, from any lord in the
Borderlands. Show it to a Warder, and he will give aid, or carry a message to me. Send it to me, or a message
marked with it, and I will come to you, without delay and without fail. This I swear. "
Her vision blurred at the edges. If I cry now, I will kill myself." I can't. . . . I do not want a gift from you,
al'Lan Mandragoran. Here, take it. "
He fended off her attempts to give the ring back to him. His hand enveloped hers, gentle but firm as a
shackle. "Then take it for my sake, as a favor to me. Or throw it away, if it displeases you. I've no better use for
it." He brushed her cheek with a finger, and she gave a start. "I must go now, Nynaeve mashiara. The Amyrlin
wishes to leave before midday, and there is much yet to be done. Perhaps we will have time to talk on the
journey to Tar Valon." He turned and was gone, striding down the hall.
Nynaeve touched her cheek. She could still feel where he had touched her. Mashiara. Beloved of heart
and soul, it meant, but a love lost, too. Lost beyond regaining. Fool woman! Stop acting like a girl with her hair
still not braided. It's no use letting him make you feel . . . .

What a delightful bed-time story from Mashiara ... I think ...

Sadly, I was asleep before it finished ... .

A white angel flies through the night and directs the show
in her own marvelous way.

Not a copy of Scarlet show, not a copy of Ammy show.

The Mashiara show.
Hot scenes, super atmosphere in the nice new studio and a lot of alternation.
Athina, Kristina, Penelope, Tia super and Mashiara and Ammy at best.

@HvB

Thank you to post he story.

Mashiara stay as you are

That one was exactly what I found when I googled for "Mashiara" at one of first times she appeared.

HvB wrote:For those that wanna read themself:

It's all Greek to me

For those that wanna read themself:

Lynne pulled her cloak closer around her as she hurried down the snow-covered street of Cairhien. In her hurry, though, she failed to see the man coming up the street in the opposite direction. Nor did he, deep in thought, see her.

They collided, and fell in the snow.

"Oh!" Lynne exclaimed, blushing. She tried to stand, and slipped again, blushing deeper. The snow was knee-deep, to her. With a smile, the tall man offered a hand to help her up. "Thank you. I am sorry."

"No harm done," he said, "it was as much my fault as yours. But may I know your name, my lady?"

Lynne blinked, then looked down at her fine clothes. Of course, he took her for nobly born. Well, there was no harm in him thinking that for a while. "Lynne," she said, smiling up at him.

"And I, Darian." Still holding her hand, Darian returned her smile. She was a remarkably pretty woman, he found himself thinking. Around twenty-five, a few years younger than him, she had creamy skin and big dark eyes. Her cheeks were pink from the cold and from blushing, and a few tendrils of black hair escaped from the hood of her cloak. Remarkably pretty, indeed.

She was studying him just as frankly. He was head and shoulders and more above her, lean, with fair hair and a face made sun-dark by the recent long summer. His eyes were brown-gold, with a glint in them that she liked. His coat was good green wool, too fine for a servant, but not fine enough for a lord. "And what brings you to the City, Darian? It's clear you're not Cairhienin."

"From Andor," he said easily, which was the truth. "I'm visiting friends who live not far away." Which wasn't, or not exactly. "You live here?"

"I was born here," and she laughed, changing the subject. "Are you going to let my hand go? Or are you coming with me?"

"That depends on where you're going," he returned, holding her hand firmly in his.

"The Royal Library?"

"Oh?" Darian was interested. "You're a scholar, then?"

"Of sorts. Well, are you coming?"

No, Darian intended to say, but something - perhaps it was her smile, perhaps just his curiosity, perhaps something else - changed the word on his tongue before it was spoken. "Yes."

It was Lynne's turn for surprise. She had just been teasing, not expecting for a moment him to come with her. Still, it was an equal surprise to her when she said, "Come on then, if you're coming. It's cold out here."

Linking arms, they walked down the street to the Library. Inside, servants moved quickly to take their cloaks, offer hot towels and mugs of steaming wine. They wore the same dark livery as Palace servants, but their badge was a book worked in gold and silver thread. "They know you?" Darian asked curiously, glancing around.

"I come here often." Lynne wasn't worrying; nobody here knew her as other than a frequent visitor. She shrugged out of the fur cloak, handing it to a waiting maid. "The books I'm looking for are on the top floor, I think; would you help me find them?"

Darian looked at the long list she took from her belt pouch. "This might take a while." His gaze sharpened as he read some of the titles. "Men of Fire and Women of Air. A Study of the Breaking. Men, Women, and the One Power Among Humans. You're interested in odd things."

"I am interested in everything," she replied calmly. "I make a study of odd things. Right now I am studying this." She looked at him sideways. "If the topic makes you uneasy, you don't have to stay."

"No, I'll stay," he said slowly. It was an odd topic to be studying, but he had met men and women at the new School of Cairhien who were interested in odder. And he supposed, especially this near to the Black Tower, people would want to know about men channelling. "Besides, you'll never carry all these by yourself. Fourteen books on your list I count, and I doubt any are small."

"Probably not," she agreed with a wry grin, looking around at the shelves of leather-bound volumes. "All right, shall we start?"

They found eleven of the books on the shelves, and the head librarian promised to send a message when the other three were returned. Darian carried most of them as they left the Library, although the librarian had offered to send a servant along to help. "Can I see you again sometime?" he said as they parted outside Lynne's inn.

Now what did I say that for? he thought, surprised. He was trying not to be noticed. Well, it probably didn't matter. No one in the City knew him, after all, as long as he stayed away from the Sun Palace. "Tomorrow, maybe?"

"Why not?" she said. It would be good to have someone to talk to. "But not here. There's an inn opposite what used to be the Illuminators' headquarters. The Shooting Star."

"I know it. I'll meet you there at noon, then?"

"'Till then," and taking the books from him, she went inside. A servant scurried to carry them for her before she was more than a few steps into the common room.

Darian glanced up at the sun, briefly out from behind a cloud. It was about time to leave, if he wanted to be back before dark. Pulling his cloak around him again, he hurried up the street toward the City gates.

From her window, Lynne watched him go.

***

The Shooting Star was filled with talk and music and the smell of hot spiced wine. Lynne, entering, smiled. Darian was sitting at a table near the window.

"Hello, stranger," she greeted him, taking a seat opposite. He grinned back at her, hazel eyes sparkling.

"Hello, beautiful stranger. Have you any books you'd like carried, perhaps?"

"Not today. I'll tell you when I do." She signalled a young serving man, who brought two cups and a pitcher and set them on the table. The steam rising from the hot wine smelt of sweet herbs and spices, cinnamon and vervet and ginger. Lynne pulled off her gloves and tucked them behind her belt, pushed back her cloak. Her cream riding dress, although high-necked in the Cairhienin fashion, fitted her quite tightly, and she wondered idly if Darian had noticed.

Darian had noticed. His eyes sparkled even more as he regarded her over the rim of his cup. He wore the same green coat as the day before. "How are your studies coming, then?"

"Well enough," she said carefully. In truth, there was little in the books that she did not know already, and nothing at all of use. It seemed this was another vain endeavour. "The other three books should arrive before long. I was surprised they had been borrowed, though. Not many people want to read about men channelling."

"Nowadays..." Darian shrugged. "I suppose more people are interested."

"True." She laughed suddenly. "Perhaps someone from the Black Tower took them. Or the Dragon Reborn himself, for that matter. He certainly has a reason for being interested."

"Who knows?" He changed the subject quickly; this was not a topic he wanted to get into. "What else have you studied?"

They talked about books, and libraries. They talked about the countries each had visited, and agreed that Ebou Dari held the best festivals, that Lugard had the most thieves and that only a fool visited the Borderlands in winter. They laughed over Domani food and the difficulty of eating it. They talked about music, dreams, poetry, politics and the weather. It seemed so short a time that both were astonished at looking out the window and realizing it was nearly dusk.

"Tomorrow?" Darian said, looking regretfully at the darkening sky. It was a pity to have to leave.

"Tomorrow," Lynne agreed.

***

They met again the next day. And again, the day after that.

There was always a table left for them, the same table near the window. The cups of wine were brought as soon as they entered, and the plump innkeeper watched, smiling, from the counter.

She thought they were courting, Lynne realised, half-amused, half- embarrassed. Of course, what else would anyone think when they met so often? She liked Darian, maybe more than liked him, but - well, it was out of the question, in the circumstances. She blushed to find herself wishing the circumstances were different.

Darian had also realised, and wasn't sure what to do about it. Certainly, Lynne was his friend. And that was all it was, he told himself firmly, pushing down the daydreams that floated to the top of his mind. Anything more was impossible.

Maybe they should stop meeting, Lynne thought as the innkeeper continued to smile. Of course it was only friendship, but it might too easily become something more. She had her work to do, and she couldn't afford entanglements. And sooner or later she would have to leave Cairhien. It would be better all around for them not to meet again.

It was too dangerous to continue meeting, Darian thought, as he found himself continually thinking of Lynne as more than a friend. He was in no position to enter into any kind of relationship, now or in the foreseeable future. Yes, it would be best if they didn't meet again.

They continued meeting.

***

"Hello, stranger!" Lynne tossed aside her cloak and sat down beside him. Somehow, over the days since they had been meeting here, their chairs had moved closer and closer together. Now, when they sat down, their thighs were almost touching. Neither felt any inclination to move.

"Hello, beautiful stranger," Darian responded as usual, smiling. "Isn't the weather foul?" The snow had hardened to sleet, which was hurtling down in storms from a dirty grey sky.

"You're not joking." Lynne shuddered elaborately. "I nearly broke my neck, getting through those streets. I'm not sure which is worse, this or the heat."

"I'll walk you home," Darian offered immediately. The weather made travel through the city next to impossible, but two were safer than one.

"Thank you," but Lynne smiled wryly. "We need to talk, though, - and not about the weather. Darian, you must have noticed - I mean, I think a lot of you - I mean, we've become close and - Oh, this is impossible. Darian, as stupid as it may sound, I think I love you."

He stared at her, stunned, as words raced through his mind. What to say. How to answer. A thousand phrases tumbled over each other, and he didn't know which one was on his lips until he heard himself say it. "I love you too," he said, and knew as he said it that it was the right one.

"You don't know how relieved that makes me." Lynne toyed with a strand of her ravens-wing hair, still not quite meeting his eyes. "I was afraid I was making a total fool of myself. Darian, there's still something I haven't told you about me, and I think you'd better know before you make a decision."

"You don't know everything about me, either," Darian said quietly. "I've been keeping a secret from you, too, and it's the reason I haven't spoken before." He looked outside. It was still grey and sleeting, but a crowded common room was no place for saying what he had to say. "Shall we go outside?"

Lynne nodded. "There's a garden behind the inn. It'll be cold, but at least there's some shelter, and there'll be nobody out there." She was just as glad not to speak here, although no one would hear them over the music. What was this secret of Darian's? Was he going to tell her he was married? Light, she hoped it wasn't that.

They stood in the shelter of a nearly leafless beech, the snow a thick carpet at their feet. "Mine, first," Darian said. He wondered what Lynne's secret was. Light, he hoped she wasn't married. It couldn't be as bad as his - could it?

It was best to be blunt. Say it straight out. "Lynne, I can channel. I am an Asha'man at the Black Tower." It was out now, for better or worse. What would her reaction be?

She stared at him, and all the colour slowly drained from her face, her dark eyes huge against the whiteness of her skin. "No. Oh, Light, no, not that!" His brown-gold eyes no longer sparkled; they were wary, watching her. "Light, oh Light, no. Irony, sweet irony, it'll kill me." She shook her head, half laughing, half crying.

"Lynne -"

"No." She stepped back sharply. Truth would out. "I, too, can channel," she said flatly. "That was my secret. I was raised last year to the shawl and the Brown Ajah."

There was silence. Darian looked as if she had struck him. For that matter, Lynne thought, she couldn't look much better. Drawing a breath, she went on. "I left Tar Valon when the Tower broke. I came home, here. With the rumours of the Black Tower, I thought it was only wise to find out all I could about the madness. Especially, to see if there might be a way of healing it." She shook her head wearily. Irony.

"I love you," Darian said, and knew it was still true. He shook his own head. "But how? It can't be."

"There are some things love can't conquer," Lynne said bitterly. "There's a word, Darian, they use in the Borderlands. Mashiara, love lost."

"Mashiara." He touched her cheek gently. "Lynne my love, my lost love. Remember me. That's all I ask. Will you remember me?"

"Always." Tears were brimming in her eyes. No, she thought, no, I can't cry! "Kiss me, Darian. One kiss for remembrance."

Their lips touched, lightly, a feather-touch. And then they were in each other's arms, clinging as if for dear life, weeping a storm of tears. "I can't bear it," Lynne whispered, and felt her words echoed by Darian. "I can't bear it." Love should be sweet, should be like the embrace of the Power, but stilling could not be worse than this! "Remember me." And she was not sure which of them had said it.

They stood close together, though no longer touching. "I won't come back," Darian said. "You won't see me again. I'll stay outside the City."

Lynne nodded, tiredly. It didn't matter. Even if they did see each other, each would have to pretend the other didn't exist. Aes Sedai did not know Asha'man, Asha'man did not know Aes Sedai. So life was, so life would ever be. "Goodbye, Darian."

"Goodbye, Lynne."

As Lynne watched him go from the garden, she saw his head turn back, and saw the word upon his lips. And silently, her lips formed the same word.

Robert Jordan - The Wheel of Time (Series of books)

Mashiara means 'My Lost Love' in Old Tongue (a fictional language in this books)

karimi wrote:next week Mashiara one night(monday)

It will be as same as one year

Next Monday she's back in night show. and Sunday evening before.

It's a fault by boomtown rats "...tell me why I don't like Monday's" right is "...tell me why I like Monday's"

O.K. that's another story, and the chance for other models to perform a hot show.

Mashiara stay as you are

Mashiara is very exciting!!!
She has the perfect ass...!

next week Mashiara one night(monday)

iirc did she say something like "telling a secret"
which would mean a show in the Amy style, a personality show.

Sorry for Amy lovers but I preferred Scarlet show better (I guess its also important who is the director behind the scene) so I really hope that Mashaira will follow Scarlet and not offer us "this is my life" type of show

Yep, it will be.
And if I understood correct, it will be more in the style of the Ammy show than in the Scarlet style.

It seems from a couple of replies last night from Mash that Monday night will be her show in the manner of Scarlet and Amy. It certainly is not receiving the same publicity.