Внутреннее тестирование Вики/E-XI — различия между версиями

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Строка 48: Строка 48:
  
 
:''"I know, I know…. That's why I try to be patient. But if they don't change at eighteen, when will they?Anyway, let's get back to this race. You're building up a backlog."
 
:''"I know, I know…. That's why I try to be patient. But if they don't change at eighteen, when will they?Anyway, let's get back to this race. You're building up a backlog."
 
  
 
At these words, Xynala did some stretching.
 
At these words, Xynala did some stretching.
Строка 89: Строка 88:
 
:''"No, everything is fine. Thanks for your concern. And you, why did you stop running?"
 
:''"No, everything is fine. Thanks for your concern. And you, why did you stop running?"
  
:''"Because I stopped singing," his friend answered immediately.
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:''"Because I stopped singing," his friend answered immediately."
  
 
Belenor frowned. If he wanted to bounce back by asking her why she had stopped singing, he knew in advance that his answer would not suit him.
 
Belenor frowned. If he wanted to bounce back by asking her why she had stopped singing, he knew in advance that his answer would not suit him.
Строка 160: Строка 159:
  
 
The Fyrossa sighed and then returned the hatchet to Melkiar. Decidedly, this fight was going to be long.

 And indeed, the duel dragged on. Even more than the one that had opposed them the year before. If Melkiar always dominated his opponent technically and physically, Xynala showed a rage and an audacity to any test. A boldness that often gave rise to great moments of bravery, which the public loved. Thus, about thirty minutes after the beginning of the fight, the Fyrosse succeeded in tearing off the left hand of his fallen rival. It must be said that the two fighters seemed to reach their limits. Their armors had long since shattered and their wounds had barely closed. There was the limit of the homins: their incapacity to channel without slackening the Sap which irrigated them. If Xynala thought for a few seconds that this wound would signal the defeat of her rival, it was not knowing Melkiar's obduracy. Flouting all pain, the Fyros took advantage of his position to plant his valid hand in the gaping wound that scarred Xynala's abdomen. Out of strength, the Fyrossa let out a scream and dropped her club. Sensing his rival about to collapse, Melkiar infused all the Sap he could into his legs and leapt in the air. Landing on his knees on Xynala's shoulders, struck violent blows with his elbow on her bleeding skull. The Fyrossa staggered and bit the sex of his opponent, who pushed a howl. However, he did not break off, and continued to smash her skull. Finally, feeling the Fyrossa letting go, he struck a last elbow and rotated his pelvis with a sharp blow. A dull crack resounded in the Coliseum. If Melkiar fell with Xynala, he was the only one of the duelists to get up. Half-conscious, he staggered toward the healers to push them to intervene. He had broken his opponent's neck: paralyzed or unconscious, she would lose this final in less than ten seconds, he was sure. Magic amplifiers donned, the healers came running. Melkiar smiled, and to the cheers of the crowd, raised his stump to the sky. At the same time, a bolt of lightning pierced his back. Transi of pain, the Fyros turned around and put his hands behind his back. On the ground, a few meters away from him, Xynala was still lying on her stomach. She was lying on her stomach, her arm stretched forward. She had thrown a dagger at his back. The same dagger he had drawn and lost at the beginning of the duel. Melkiar fell to his knees and tried to pull out the murderous blade. It was in vain. A black veil blurred his vision and the warrior fainted.
 
The Fyrossa sighed and then returned the hatchet to Melkiar. Decidedly, this fight was going to be long.

 And indeed, the duel dragged on. Even more than the one that had opposed them the year before. If Melkiar always dominated his opponent technically and physically, Xynala showed a rage and an audacity to any test. A boldness that often gave rise to great moments of bravery, which the public loved. Thus, about thirty minutes after the beginning of the fight, the Fyrosse succeeded in tearing off the left hand of his fallen rival. It must be said that the two fighters seemed to reach their limits. Their armors had long since shattered and their wounds had barely closed. There was the limit of the homins: their incapacity to channel without slackening the Sap which irrigated them. If Xynala thought for a few seconds that this wound would signal the defeat of her rival, it was not knowing Melkiar's obduracy. Flouting all pain, the Fyros took advantage of his position to plant his valid hand in the gaping wound that scarred Xynala's abdomen. Out of strength, the Fyrossa let out a scream and dropped her club. Sensing his rival about to collapse, Melkiar infused all the Sap he could into his legs and leapt in the air. Landing on his knees on Xynala's shoulders, struck violent blows with his elbow on her bleeding skull. The Fyrossa staggered and bit the sex of his opponent, who pushed a howl. However, he did not break off, and continued to smash her skull. Finally, feeling the Fyrossa letting go, he struck a last elbow and rotated his pelvis with a sharp blow. A dull crack resounded in the Coliseum. If Melkiar fell with Xynala, he was the only one of the duelists to get up. Half-conscious, he staggered toward the healers to push them to intervene. He had broken his opponent's neck: paralyzed or unconscious, she would lose this final in less than ten seconds, he was sure. Magic amplifiers donned, the healers came running. Melkiar smiled, and to the cheers of the crowd, raised his stump to the sky. At the same time, a bolt of lightning pierced his back. Transi of pain, the Fyros turned around and put his hands behind his back. On the ground, a few meters away from him, Xynala was still lying on her stomach. She was lying on her stomach, her arm stretched forward. She had thrown a dagger at his back. The same dagger he had drawn and lost at the beginning of the duel. Melkiar fell to his knees and tried to pull out the murderous blade. It was in vain. A black veil blurred his vision and the warrior fainted.
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Melkiar et Xynala furent les derniers à arriver dans la loge de la tribune des champions. Totalement soignés, ils étaient désormais vêtus, comme ces derniers, d’une belle tunique de lin vert. À peine eut-il passé le seuil de la porte que Melkiar s’arrêta. Se massant fermement la main gauche, il scruta longuement chacun et chacune de ses camarades : Tisse, Garius, Varran, Brandille, Xynala, Bélénor. Comme tous les Fyros présents dans cette pièce, toutes et tous avaient gagné une épreuve des Jeux de l’Académie. Et hormis Brandille, qui soutenait le regard du guerrier en souriant, personne ne semblait en supporter l’intensité. Le malaise contamina ceux qui ne faisaient pas partie du groupe d’amis et s'installa bientôt dans la pièce un silence gêné qui perdura de longues minutes. Puis, tel un sauveur, un costumier surgit et brisa la glace.
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Melkiar and Xynala were the last to arrive in the box of the champions' tribune. Completely healed, they were now dressed, like those latter, in a beautiful green linen tunic. As soon as he passed the doorway, Melkiar stopped. Massaging his left hand firmly, he took a long look at each of his comrades: Tisse, Garius, Varran, Brandille, Xynala, Belenor. Like all the Fyros present in this room, they had all won an event at the Academy Games. And except for Brandille, who held the warrior's gaze with a smile, no one seemed to be able to bear the intensity of it. The unease spread to those who were not part of the group of friends and soon an embarrassed silence settled in the room that lasted for many minutes. Then, like a savior, a costume designer loomed and broke the ice.
  
« En ligne, s’il vous plaît ! Oui, voilà, tenez vous droits. Varran, sors ta tunique de tes braies. Mais, Brandille, tes cheveux !
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:''"In line, please! Yes, here it is, stand up straight. Varran, take your tunic out of your braccae. But, Brandille, your hair!"
  
— Comme d’ordinaire, mes tresses n’en font qu'à leur tête. Et je crois que ma tête ne veut pas être coiffée. Vous avez passé vingt minutes à essayer l’an dernier, sans succès, vous en souvenez-vous ? »
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:''"As usual, my braids are doing their own thing. And I don't think my head wants to be styled. You spent twenty minutes trying last year, with no success, do you remember?"
  
Le costumier afficha une grimace dramatique puis se ressaisit.
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The costume designer displayed a dramatic grimace, then pulled himself together.
  
« Bon, tant pis. De toute façon, nous n’avons plus le temps. N’oubliez pas de bien vous serrer. Les ex æquo font que vous êtes plus nombreux que l’an dernier… Bien, tout est en ordre. Vous pouvez y aller ! »
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:''"Well, never mind. We don't have time anyway. Don't forget to pack tight. There are more of you than last year because of the ties... Well, everything is in order. You can go!"
  
Un à un, les vainqueurs sortirent de la loge et empruntèrent un escalier menant droit vers la tribune. À chaque marche, le brouhaha de la foule gagnait en intensité. Toujours silencieux, Bélénor observait Melkiar. Il se demandait ce qu’il ressentait à l’idée de partager son titre avec Xynala. Lorsque le premier vainqueur accéda à la tribune, la force des acclamations fit trembler les fondations du Colisée. Si certains accueillaient les ovations avec enthousiasme, d’autres, tels Bélénor et Xynala, semblaient particulièrement embarrassés. Le Fyros balaya des yeux l'immense marée homine et se demanda si ses parents étaient finalement venus. Certes, tous deux étaient très occupés par leur travail respectif. Mais les Jeux de l'Académie étaient un moment de partage cher au peuple Fyros, qui réussissait à attirer et à fédérer les plus lointaines tribus du Désert. Il pouvait donc espérer que sa mère et son père soient présents ce soir. En revanche, une chose était certaine : sa nourrice Penala, qui était venue le soutenir à plusieurs reprises aujourd’hui, était sans nul doute, en cet instant, en train de verser une larme en le regardant. À cette pensée, son cœur se serra d’émotion. Lorsque le dernier des vainqueurs accéda à la tribune et compléta la ligne, Euriyaseus Icaron, toujours postée au centre de l’arène, prit la parole pour calmer la foule. Alors, spontanément, quarante-mille paire d'yeux se portèrent vers l'immense balcon qui, à l'opposé de la tribune des champions, dominait le Colisée. Accompagné de son héraut, l’Empereur Thesop s’y avança. Comme à l’accoutumée, il était vêtu de son imposante armure de combat noire, de sa majestueuse cape rouge, et d’un étonnant casque constitué d’immenses cornes d’animaux aujourd’hui disparus. Le héraut, tenant en main un feuillet, prit la parole.
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One by one, the winners exited the dressing room and took a staircase leading straight to the grandstand. With each step, the din of the crowd grew louder. Still silent, Belenor watched Melkiar. He wondered how he felt about sharing his title with Xynala. When the first winner reached the tribune, the force of the cheers shook the foundations of the Coliseum. While some were welcoming the ovations with enthusiasm, others, like Belenor and Xynala, seemed particularly ill-at-ease. The Fyros looked around at the huge tide of hominids and wondered if his parents had finally arrived. Both were busy with their respective jobs. But the Academy Games were a special time for the Fyros people to share and attract the farthest tribes of the Desert. So he could hope that his mother and father would be present tonight. But one thing was certain: his nurse Penala, who had come to support him several times today, was probably shedding a tear as she watched him. At the thought, his heart clenched with emotion. When the last of the winners stepped onto the podium and completed the line, Euriyaseus Icaron, still standing in the center of the arena, spoke to calm the crowd. Then, spontaneously, forty thousand eyes went towards the immense balcony which, in front of the tribune of the champions, dominated the Colosseum. Accompanied by his herald, the emperor Thésop advances there. As usual, he is dressed in his imposing black combat armor, his majestic red coat and an astonishing helmet made of enormous horns of animals now disappeared. The herald, holding a leaflet in his hand, speaks.
  
Respectueux, les vainqueurs commencèrent par écouter le long discours de leur sharükos déclamé par la voix de son héraut. Puis, contre l'usage, qui imposait le silence absolu durant une allocution impériale, Melkiar interpella ses amis. Certes, personne ne pourrait l’entendre. Mais un tel manquement au code de conduite fit sursauter plusieurs des présents.
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Respectful, the victors began by listening to the long speech of their sharükos declaimed by the voice of his herald. Then, against the custom, which imposed the absolute silence during an imperial speech, Melkiar called out to his friends. Of course, no one could hear him. But such a breach of the code of conduct startled many of those present.
  
« Je suis fier de vous. Vous avez toutes et tous été exceptionnels. »
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:''"I am proud of you. You were all exceptional."
  
Bélénor rougit instantanément. Incapable de résister, il jeta un œil en direction de Melkiar. Alors, il croisa les regards discrets de Xynala et Tisse, qui semblaient elles aussi captivées par leur chef de bande. Le temps d'une pensée, Bélénor imagina ce que ses deux amies ressentaient pour Melkiar, et instantanément, un profond sentiment de tristesse l’envahit. Perturbé par cette émotion, il s’attarda quelques secondes sur Melkiar. Celui-ci regardait intensément en direction du héraut, et son visage affichait une certaine forme de convoitise. Melkiar lui avait déjà fait part du rêve insensé où il devenait sharükos, et jusqu’alors, il ne l’avait jamais pris au sérieux. Après tout, le pouvoir impérial était héréditaire. Pour autant, Bélénor était convaincu que son ami deviendrait un jour un grand chef. Regardant à son tour le balcon impérial, le Fyros blêmit. Malgré la distance, l’Empereur semblait observer Melkiar. Il en était persuadé. Comme toujours, le dirigeant dégageait une aura à la fois terrifiante et attirante. Une aura surnaturelle, dont l’inflexible autorité dépendait. Paniqué, et souhaitant à tout prix ne pas croiser le regard de l’Empereur, Bélénor leva les yeux et fixa le toit de l’édifice. Il calma sa respiration, et doucement, son rythme cardiaque ralentit. Avec toutes les rumeurs qui couraient sur celui que certains nommaient « Thesop le Fratricide », Bélénor préférait se tenir éloigné de tout contact avec l’Empereur. Pour se changer les idées, le jeune Fyros se concentra longuement sur deux étoiles blanches parfaitement identiques, situées juste au-dessus du balcon impérial. Si longuement qu’il crut les voir bouger. Les voir cligner. Lorsqu’il comprit que les deux sphères scintillantes n’étaient pas des étoiles, son cœur s’emballa de plus belle. Attrapant par réflexe la main de Brandille, il bégaya.
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Belenor instantly blushed. Unable to resist, he glanced in Melkiar's direction. Then he met the discreet gazes of Xynala and Tisse, who also seemed captivated by their band leader. For a moment, Belenor imagined what his two friends were feeling for Melkiar, and instantly, a deep feeling of sadness came over him. Disturbed by this emotion, he lingered a few seconds on Melkiar. This one looked intensely in the direction of the herald, and his face showed a certain form of covetousness. Melkiar had already told him about the insane dream of becoming sharükos, and until then, he had never taken it seriously. After all, imperial power was hereditary. For all that, Belenor was convinced that his friend would one day become a great leader. Looking back at the imperial balcony, the Fyros turned pale. Despite the distance, the Emperor seemed to be watching Melkiar. He was sure of it. As always, the ruler exuded an aura that was both terrifying and attractive. A supernatural aura, on which the inflexible authority depended. Panicked, and wishing at all costs not to meet the Emperor's gaze, Belenor looked up and stared at the roof of the edifice. He calmed his breathing, and slowly his heart rate slowed. With all the rumors swirling about the man some called "Thesop the Fratricide," Belenor preferred to stay away from any contact with the Emperor. To take his mind off things, the young Fyros concentrated for a long time on two perfectly identical white stars, located just above the imperial balcony. For so long a lime that he thought he saw them move. To see them blink. When he realized that the two glittering spheres were not stars, his heart raced even more. Grabbing Brandille's hand by reflex, he stammered.
  
« B… Brandille. Sur le toit du balcon impérial. Il… Il y a un Kami noir.
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:''"B... Brandille. On the roof of the imperial balcony. There… There's a black Kami."
  
— Oui, je sais », répondit calmement l’enfant.
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:''"Yes, I know," the child replied calmly."
  
Déconcerté, Bélénor regarda son amie. Brandille jouait avec ses tresses colorées. Un malicieux sourire se dessina sur ses lèvres lorsqu'elle lui rendit son regard.
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Bewildered, Belenor looked at his friend. Brandille was playing with her colorful braids. A mischievous smile drew on her lips when she returned him his gaze.
  
« Ce Kami t’a observé toute la journée. Tu n’avais pas remarqué ? »
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:''"That Kami has been watching you all day. Hadn't you noticed?"
  
Interdit, Bélénor répondit par la négative d’un mouvement de tête. Et lorsqu’il chercha à nouveau les deux étoiles blanches au-dessus du balcon impérial, il ne les trouva pas.}}
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Interdicted, Belenor answered by the negative of a movement of head. And when he looked again for the two white stars above the imperial balcony, he did not find them.}}
 
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Версия 17:38, 13 февраля 2022

Шаблон:Внутреннее тестирование Вики