Внутреннее тестирование Вики/E-XI - История изменений

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@@ Строка 192: / Строка 192: @@
 }}
 {{NavChap|[[Chapter X - Heroes]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter XII - Family]]}}
-{{Portal|The Great Library}}
+{{Portal|The Great Library|Fyros}}
-{{Portal|Zoraï}}
+[[Category:The Sacred War]]
 }}

@@ Строка 1: / Строка 1: @@
 {{Внутреннее тестирование Вики|
-{{NavChap|[[Chapter X - Heroes]]|[[Chronicles of the First Crusade#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter XII - Family]]}}
+{{NavChap|[[Chapter X - Heroes]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter XII - Family]]}}
 <noinclude>{{Trad
 |DE=<!--Kapitel XI - Die Generation der Mirakel-->
@@ Строка 189: / Строка 189: @@
 :''"That Kami has been watching you all day. Hadn't you noticed?"
-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.}}
+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.
-{{NavChap|[[Chapter X - Heroes]]|[[Chronicles of the First Crusade#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter XII - Family]]}}
+}}
 {{Portal|The Great Library}}
 {{Portal|Zoraï}}
 [[Category:Chronicles of the First Crusade‎]]
 }}

@@ Строка 60: / Строка 60: @@
 :''"See you later, Belenor, and take heart!"
 After watching for a few seconds the beautiful acceleration of his comrade, he turned around. She was right. Her song could be heard echoing in the tunnel. Belenor smiled. He knew well this lugubrious rhyme, whose words gained in amplitude as the interpreter approached. He knew that voice well, which had recently begun to change in such a singular way:
 <poem>
@@ Строка 88: / Строка 89: @@
 :''"No, everything is fine. Thanks for your concern. And you, why did you stop running?"
-:''"Because I stopped singing"'', his friend answered immediately.
+:''"Because I stopped singing."'' his friend answered immediately.
 Belenor frowned. If he wanted to bounce back and ask her how singing was a prerequisite for running, he knew in advance that his answer would not suit him.
@@ Строка 170: / Строка 171: @@
 The costume designer displayed a dramatic grimace, then pulled himself together.
-:''"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!"
+:''"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!"
 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 pairs of eyes turned 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.
@@ Строка 182: / Строка 183: @@
 :''"B... Brandille. On the roof of the imperial balcony. There… There's a black Kami."
-:''"Yes, I know," the child replied calmly."
+:''"Yes, I know,"'' the child replied calmly.
 Disconcerted, Belenor watched her friend playing with her colorful braids. A mischievous smile spread across her childish face as her purple eyes rested on him.

@@ Строка 172: / Строка 172: @@
 :''"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!"
-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.
+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 pairs of eyes turned 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.
 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.

@@ Строка 37: / Строка 37: @@
 For all answer, the Fyrossa held out a hand to him. In her eyes, the severity had given way to compassion.
-:''"I'm sorry…. You know them, they're not mean. They're just… a little stupid?"
+:''"I see…. You know them, they're not mean. They're just… a little stupid?"
 Belenor grabbed her classmate's hand and stood up.
@@ Строка 104: / Строка 104: @@
 :''"So, Belenor, how are you enjoying your first quarter-coriolis?"
-:''"E... trying and boring."
+:''"S… Strenuous and boring."
 Although Belenor pretended to remain focused on his race, he couldn't help but glance at his comrade. Melkiar's body was comparable to Xynala's. He was simply larger and more hairy. It was simply larger and hairier. Watching the drops of sweat beading between the young adult's pectoral muscles, Belenor had the misfortune to detect the scent of his perspiration drowned among the spicy scents that the streets of Fyre exhaled. A flash of lightning passed through him, and instantly he turned scarlet. Fortunately, Melkiar didn't realize anything. He went on.

@@ Строка 29: / Строка 29: @@
 Putting his money where his mouth was, the huge Fyros dropped him to the dusty floor. Without adding another word, he patted Garius on the shoulder and both resume their run.
-Exasperated, Belenor leaned against a doorway adjoining the bark wall of the gallery and made Sap circulate his nose. He had never expected to win this race, so after all, he could use a little rest. On the opposite wall of the tunnel, large skylights offered a view of the working-class district of Fyre, whose makeshift dwellings, linked by a network of suspension bridges, were built on the bark walls of a gigantic abyssal shaft. Deprived of daylight, the neighborhood was lit with large torches, obviously combined with the handcrafted fire-fighting systems for which the Fyros were famous. Belenor had been inspired by the working-class district of Fyre to invent the village the hero of his fiction would live in, which he imagined would be built inside a gigantic jungle tree stump, lit largely by lamps containing fireflies. Soothed by this vision, the Fyros sat down and allowed himself to reverie. Unfortunately, the pause was short-lived, for no sooner had his mind escaped than a new runner stopped at his level. In spite of the half-light, Belenor recognized without difficulty his body: muscular buttocks, traced abdominal muscles, veiny forearms, massive shoulders and little developed breast. Xynala. Dressed of a wide panties and a simple bra, the warrior, whose platinum blond hair was maintained by a broad band, put her hands on her chiseled obliques and sighed. From the top of her fifteen years, she fixed him with a severe air.
+Exasperated, Belenor leaned against a doorway adjoining the bark wall of the gallery and made Sap circulate his nose. He had never expected to win this race, so after all, he could use a little rest. On the opposite wall of the tunnel, large skylights offered a view of the working-class district of Fyre, whose makeshift dwellings, linked by a network of suspension bridges, were built on the bark walls of a gigantic abyssal shaft. Deprived of daylight, the neighborhood was lit with large torches, obviously combined with the handcrafted fire-fighting systems for which the Fyros were famous. Belenor had been inspired by the working-class district of Fyre to invent the village the hero of his fiction would live in, which he imagined would be built inside a gigantic jungle tree stump, lit largely by lamps containing fireflies. Soothed by this vision, the Fyros sat down and allowed himself to reverie. Unfortunately, the pause was short-lived, for no sooner had his mind escaped than a new runner stopped at his level. In spite of the half-light, Belenor recognized without difficulty his body: muscular buttocks, traced abdominal muscles, veiny forearms, massive shoulders and little developed breast. Xynala. Dressed of a wide panties and a simple bra, the warrior, whose blond hair was maintained by a broad band, put her hands on her chiseled obliques and sighed. From the top of her fifteen years, she fixed him with a severe air.
 :''"Is this a joke, Belenor? Do you think it's time to rest?"
@@ Строка 184: / Строка 184: @@
 :''"Yes, I know," the child replied calmly."
-Disconcerted, Belenor watched her friend playing with her colorful braids. A mischievous smile appeared on her lips when Brandille returned him his gaze.
+Disconcerted, Belenor watched her friend playing with her colorful braids. A mischievous smile spread across her childish face as her purple eyes rested on him.
 :''"That Kami has been watching you all day. Hadn't you noticed?"

@@ Строка 17: / Строка 17: @@
 :''"Gotta stay focused Belenut! I bet you were still thinking about your black Zoraï."
-:''"Yeah, it's all very well to know how to write, but that's not what will help you survive in the real world, huh?" added Garius.
+:''"Yeah, it's all very well to know how to write, but that's not what will help you survive in the real world, huh?"'' added Garius.
 Belenor made his nose crack and stood up like a fury.
@@ Строка 29: / Строка 29: @@
 Putting his money where his mouth was, the huge Fyros dropped him to the dusty floor. Without adding another word, he patted Garius on the shoulder and both resume their run.
-Exasperated, Belenor leaned against a doorway adjoining the bark wall of the gallery and made Sap circulate his nose. He had never expected to win this race, so after all, he could use a little rest. On the opposite wall of the tunnel, large skylights offered a view of the working-class district of Fyre, whose makeshift dwellings, linked by a network of suspension bridges, were built on the bark walls of a gigantic abyssal shaft. Deprived of daylight, the neighborhood was lit with large torches, obviously combined with the handcrafted fire-fighting systems for which the Fyros were famous. Belenor had been inspired by the working-class district of Fyre to invent the village the hero of his fiction would live in, which he imagined would be built inside a gigantic jungle tree stump, lit largely by lamps containing fireflies. Soothed by this vision, the Fyros sat down and allowed himself to reverie. Unfortunately, the pause was short-lived, for no sooner had his mind escaped than a new runner stopped at his level. In spite of the half-light, Belenor recognized without difficulty his body: muscular buttocks, traced abdominal muscles, veiny forearms, massive shoulders and little developed breast. Xynala. Dressed of a wide panties and a simple bra, the warrior put her hands on her chiseled obliques and sighed. From the top of her fifteen years, she fixed him with a severe air.
+Exasperated, Belenor leaned against a doorway adjoining the bark wall of the gallery and made Sap circulate his nose. He had never expected to win this race, so after all, he could use a little rest. On the opposite wall of the tunnel, large skylights offered a view of the working-class district of Fyre, whose makeshift dwellings, linked by a network of suspension bridges, were built on the bark walls of a gigantic abyssal shaft. Deprived of daylight, the neighborhood was lit with large torches, obviously combined with the handcrafted fire-fighting systems for which the Fyros were famous. Belenor had been inspired by the working-class district of Fyre to invent the village the hero of his fiction would live in, which he imagined would be built inside a gigantic jungle tree stump, lit largely by lamps containing fireflies. Soothed by this vision, the Fyros sat down and allowed himself to reverie. Unfortunately, the pause was short-lived, for no sooner had his mind escaped than a new runner stopped at his level. In spite of the half-light, Belenor recognized without difficulty his body: muscular buttocks, traced abdominal muscles, veiny forearms, massive shoulders and little developed breast. Xynala. Dressed of a wide panties and a simple bra, the warrior, whose platinum blond hair was maintained by a broad band, put her hands on her chiseled obliques and sighed. From the top of her fifteen years, she fixed him with a severe air.
 :''"Is this a joke, Belenor? Do you think it's time to rest?"
@@ Строка 88: / Строка 88: @@
 :''"No, everything is fine. Thanks for your concern. And you, why did you stop running?"
-:''"Because I stopped singing," his friend answered immediately."
+:''"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 and ask her how singing was a prerequisite for running, he knew in advance that his answer would not suit him.
 :''"You know, you shouldn't stop, you run the risk of getting double-crossed over. You know the fable of the gubani and the arma, don't you?"

@@ Строка 176: / Строка 176: @@
 :''"I am proud of you. You were all exceptional."
-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.
+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. On the roof of the imperial balcony. There… There's a black Kami."

@@ Строка 13: / Строка 13: @@
 <center><span style="color:purple;font-weight:bold"><big><big>'''Jena Year 2467'''</big></big></span></center>
-{{Quotation|''Bélénor Nébius, narrator''|Panting and sweating, Belenor ran laboriously through the streets of Fyre. It was early, he had slept badly and his body was aching. In short, he was in a bad mood. But why had he had the misfortune to qualify, he who hated to make the least physical effort? His honor as a Fyros, no doubt. Every year, the Fyros Empire held the Academy Games, a national event with a multitude of events open to every student between the ages of ten and eighteen. The age mix was an important part of the event, allowing each youngster to learn from the older ones, and each older to learn humility. After several days of qualifying, the long-awaited day of the finals had arrived. The quarter-coriolis was one of them. It consisted of a long distance race corresponding to a quarter of the distance between Coriolis and Fyre. Divided into five laps, the race went through the different districts of the city. This trial, one of the most recent ones, had been inaugurated thirty-five years earlier by the Emperor Abylus the Learned. It was a tribute to the Fyrossa Aporalion Deps, who undertook a twenty-four hour race between the two cities to warn the sharükos of the impending cataclysmic fire, and who died like a number of Fyros fighting the fire at the gates of Fyre. This was the first time that Belenor, now thirteen years old, had qualified to run in the quarter-coriolis. The previous three years he had narrowly failed to qualify. Today, feeling as bad as he had ever felt, he bitterly regretted his achievement. It is thus with relief that, crushed by the heat of the daystar and drowned under the cries of the crowd, he saw in the distance the famous saving tunnel. Several kilometers long, this ancient vein of sap ran under the city and through the poorest district of the capital. If, caught up in the effort, Belenor had already forgotten how many laps he was at, he had not forgotten the freshness and priceless calm of the depths of the Bark. And as he swallowed the last few strides, he dived into the only non-hostile segment of the course. Taking advantage of this moment of respite, the Fyros slowed his pace and infused his legs with Sap to ease his muscles and joints. While several runners passed him on this occasion, he had long ago put aside any idea of ranking. The last place suited him perfectly. He would distinguish himself otherwise at the end of the morning, during his preferred trial: military strategy. The past three years, Melkiar had won this event. If he had an advantage due to his age, and therefore his experience, Belenor still expected to succeed in defeating him sooner or later. Ah, how good it was to think of the calm and freshness of an amphitheater, the scratching of quills on paper, the rolling of dice on wood, the beauty of measuring instruments and topographical maps…. Lost in his thoughts, smiling, Belenor ran nonchalantly in the wide and cool dark tunnel, letting several of his competitors pass. Two silhouettes, in particular, passed him on his right and left. In the darkness, they looked absolutely identical: two huge rectangular blocks of bark mounted on two large wooden poles. Even before Belenor recognized the two Fyros, they joined hands and braked immediately. The dreamer's nose crashed into Varran's gnarled triceps, and the rest of his body, destabilised, slid onto the sawdust. The Decos twins burst out laughing and Belenor grabbed his face swearing. He was dripping with blood.
+{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator''|Panting and sweating, Belenor ran laboriously through the streets of Fyre. It was early, he had slept badly and his body was aching. In short, he was in a bad mood. But why had he had the misfortune to qualify, he who hated to make the least physical effort? His honor as a Fyros, no doubt. Every year, the Fyros Empire held the Academy Games, a national event with a multitude of events open to every student between the ages of ten and eighteen. The age mix was an important part of the event, allowing each youngster to learn from the older ones, and each older to learn humility. After several days of qualifying, the long-awaited day of the finals had arrived. The quarter-coriolis was one of them. It consisted of a long distance race corresponding to a quarter of the distance between Coriolis and Fyre. Divided into five laps, the race went through the different districts of the city. This trial, one of the most recent ones, had been inaugurated thirty-five years earlier by the Emperor Abylus the Learned. It was a tribute to the Fyrossa Aporalion Deps, who undertook a twenty-four hour race between the two cities to warn the sharükos of the impending cataclysmic fire, and who died like a number of Fyros fighting the fire at the gates of Fyre. This was the first time that Belenor, now thirteen years old, had qualified to run in the quarter-coriolis. The previous three years he had narrowly failed to qualify. Today, feeling as bad as he had ever felt, he bitterly regretted his achievement. It is thus with relief that, crushed by the heat of the daystar and drowned under the cries of the crowd, he saw in the distance the famous saving tunnel. Several kilometers long, this ancient vein of sap ran under the city and through the poorest district of the capital. If, caught up in the effort, Belenor had already forgotten how many laps he was at, he had not forgotten the freshness and priceless calm of the depths of the Bark. And as he swallowed the last few strides, he dived into the only non-hostile segment of the course. Taking advantage of this moment of respite, the Fyros slowed his pace and infused his legs with Sap to ease his muscles and joints. While several runners passed him on this occasion, he had long ago put aside any idea of ranking. The last place suited him perfectly. He would distinguish himself otherwise at the end of the morning, during his preferred trial: military strategy. The past three years, Melkiar had won this event. If he had an advantage due to his age, and therefore his experience, Belenor still expected to succeed in defeating him sooner or later. Ah, how good it was to think of the calm and freshness of an amphitheater, the scratching of quills on paper, the rolling of dice on wood, the beauty of measuring instruments and topographical maps…. Lost in his thoughts, smiling, Belenor ran nonchalantly in the wide and cool dark tunnel, letting several of his competitors pass. Two silhouettes, in particular, passed him on his right and left. In the darkness, they looked absolutely identical: two huge rectangular blocks of bark mounted on two large wooden poles. Even before Belenor recognized the two Fyros, they joined hands and braked immediately. The dreamer's nose crashed into Varran's gnarled triceps, and the rest of his body, destabilised, slid onto the sawdust. The Decos twins burst out laughing and Belenor grabbed his face swearing. He was dripping with blood.
 :''"Gotta stay focused Belenut! I bet you were still thinking about your black Zoraï."