Внутреннее тестирование Вики/E-XIII — различия между версиями

Материал из ЭнциклопАтис

Перейти к: навигация, поиск
м
м
 
(не показано 5 промежуточных версий этого же участника)
Строка 1: Строка 1:
 
{{Внутреннее тестирование Вики|
 
{{Внутреннее тестирование Вики|
−
{{NavChap|[[Chapter XII - Family]]|[[Chronicles of the First Crusade#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapitre XIV - Savagery]]}}
+
{{NavChap|[[Chapter XII - Family]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapitre XIV - Savagery]]}}
 
<noinclude>{{Trad
 
<noinclude>{{Trad
 
|DE=<!--Kapitel XIII - Die Wüste der hundert Gefahren-->
 
|DE=<!--Kapitel XIII - Die Wüste der hundert Gefahren-->
−
|EN=Chapter XIII - The Desert of a Hundred Perils|ENs=2
+
|EN=Chapter XIII - The Desert of a Hundred Perils|ENs=4
 
|ES=<!--Capítulo XIII - El desierto de los cien peligros-->
 
|ES=<!--Capítulo XIII - El desierto de los cien peligros-->
 
|FR=Chapitre XIII - Le désert aux cent périls|FRs=0
 
|FR=Chapitre XIII - Le désert aux cent périls|FRs=0
Строка 18: Строка 18:
 
In spite of the deafening tumult of the wind, all recognized Brandille's distant voice. And in a fraction of a second, the troop threw itself to the ground. The whole troop except Eurixus. At the same time, a gigantic flaming thorn rose from the sawdust mist, brushed against the imposing root on which Melkiar and Varran had tied themselves, and swooped on the unfortunate Fyros, whose accumulated fatigue had taken the better of reactivity. His torso exploded under the impact of the projectile.
 
In spite of the deafening tumult of the wind, all recognized Brandille's distant voice. And in a fraction of a second, the troop threw itself to the ground. The whole troop except Eurixus. At the same time, a gigantic flaming thorn rose from the sawdust mist, brushed against the imposing root on which Melkiar and Varran had tied themselves, and swooped on the unfortunate Fyros, whose accumulated fatigue had taken the better of reactivity. His torso exploded under the impact of the projectile.
  
−
:''"Shit, Eurixus is dead!" shouted Xynala, her voice muffled by her breathing mask.
+
:''"Shit, Eurixus is dead!"'' shouted Xynala, her voice muffled by her breathing mask.
  
−
:''"Untie him!" shouted Melkiar between gusts of wind.
+
:''"Untie him!"'' shouted Melkiar between gusts of wind.
  
 
:''"Not once again Melkiar, we must bury him!"
 
:''"Not once again Melkiar, we must bury him!"
Строка 42: Строка 42:
 
In response to these words, the soldiers shouted with hope. Belenor, his body swaying in the wind, glanced at his comrades. Their squad, like the five others that made up Captain Apokillo's squadron, had originally consisted of twenty-five soldiers. Now it numbered only nineteen… The Fyros regretted having left the city of Coriolis, where the different squads had been formed. Especially since he had enjoyed the trip from Fyre with the squadron, as well as the long stop they had made in the famous mining city, source of so much glory and misfortune. Coriolis was not really a city, but rather an agglomeration of mines and excavation sites crammed into a gigantic valley in the Dragon's Ridge. A cluster of slums, too, in which the impetuous Fyros miners were crammed. The few comfortable dwells in the city were occupied by imperial officials, important figures and guild leaders. Such was the case of Tiralion, Belenor's father, who had finally decided to settle there after the enthronement of the sharükos Krospas, despite his wife's refusal to follow him. For Eutis, this would have meant having to give back her senatorial dress, something she had never wanted to consider. Officially, this decision manifested her desire to be physically closer to his Pickaxe Heads, and thus to her business. But in truth, Belenor and her mother knew that Tiralion, fearing reprisals from the new imperial power, had simply fled the capital. On the occasion of his son's expedition, and their stopover in Coriolis, Eutis had decided to accompany the trade caravans. Belenor could have done without his mother's presence, as well as this social welcome meal, during which his father had introduced him to some wealthy notables looking for a good match. However, it was not for lack of having repeated to him many times that he did not wish to take again his business, nor that of another, as cute and sympathetic would be the homins that one would present to him. Fortunately, his nurse Penala had accompanied his mother to Coriolis, and had been present at his side throughout the stay. Her company had greatly softened the family gatherings. Nevertheless, the Fyros tried to escape his father's residence as much as possible, preferring to lose himself in the bioluminescent mazes of the cavernous sites, and in particular in the infamous Amber Mines, which had passed under the control of the family business only a few weeks ago. Like all Fyros, Belenor was fascinated by the bowels of Atys and the mysterious relics and ancient ruins they held. However, he also knew how the fever of discovery could lead his people to take reckless risks. Exactly forty years earlier, encouraged by the harvesting of strange materials, Fyros miners had drilled a vein of acid at the bottom of the Amber Mines, and by this imprudence, caused the death of tens of thousands of people. Unfortunately, for many citizens of the Empire, this catastrophe was not directly of hominin origin. For them, Fyrak the Great Dragon, the mythological enemy of the Fyros people, was primarily responsible. Thus, forty years later, the Coriolis plain had become a distorting mirror of Fyros beliefs: never had the region been so rich in mining activity. Never had there been so many digs for Fyrak's lair. Like a minority of Fyros, Belenor was angry at the folly of his people, and feared that a second apocalyptic event would soon occur: a landslide, an acid flow, an earthquake, or worse… After all, if the bowels of Atys held many treasures, they also undoubtedly concealed many nightmares. Real nightmares. Nightmares potentially much more terrible than the most dreaded creature of the fyrosian mythology…
 
In response to these words, the soldiers shouted with hope. Belenor, his body swaying in the wind, glanced at his comrades. Their squad, like the five others that made up Captain Apokillo's squadron, had originally consisted of twenty-five soldiers. Now it numbered only nineteen… The Fyros regretted having left the city of Coriolis, where the different squads had been formed. Especially since he had enjoyed the trip from Fyre with the squadron, as well as the long stop they had made in the famous mining city, source of so much glory and misfortune. Coriolis was not really a city, but rather an agglomeration of mines and excavation sites crammed into a gigantic valley in the Dragon's Ridge. A cluster of slums, too, in which the impetuous Fyros miners were crammed. The few comfortable dwells in the city were occupied by imperial officials, important figures and guild leaders. Such was the case of Tiralion, Belenor's father, who had finally decided to settle there after the enthronement of the sharükos Krospas, despite his wife's refusal to follow him. For Eutis, this would have meant having to give back her senatorial dress, something she had never wanted to consider. Officially, this decision manifested her desire to be physically closer to his Pickaxe Heads, and thus to her business. But in truth, Belenor and her mother knew that Tiralion, fearing reprisals from the new imperial power, had simply fled the capital. On the occasion of his son's expedition, and their stopover in Coriolis, Eutis had decided to accompany the trade caravans. Belenor could have done without his mother's presence, as well as this social welcome meal, during which his father had introduced him to some wealthy notables looking for a good match. However, it was not for lack of having repeated to him many times that he did not wish to take again his business, nor that of another, as cute and sympathetic would be the homins that one would present to him. Fortunately, his nurse Penala had accompanied his mother to Coriolis, and had been present at his side throughout the stay. Her company had greatly softened the family gatherings. Nevertheless, the Fyros tried to escape his father's residence as much as possible, preferring to lose himself in the bioluminescent mazes of the cavernous sites, and in particular in the infamous Amber Mines, which had passed under the control of the family business only a few weeks ago. Like all Fyros, Belenor was fascinated by the bowels of Atys and the mysterious relics and ancient ruins they held. However, he also knew how the fever of discovery could lead his people to take reckless risks. Exactly forty years earlier, encouraged by the harvesting of strange materials, Fyros miners had drilled a vein of acid at the bottom of the Amber Mines, and by this imprudence, caused the death of tens of thousands of people. Unfortunately, for many citizens of the Empire, this catastrophe was not directly of hominin origin. For them, Fyrak the Great Dragon, the mythological enemy of the Fyros people, was primarily responsible. Thus, forty years later, the Coriolis plain had become a distorting mirror of Fyros beliefs: never had the region been so rich in mining activity. Never had there been so many digs for Fyrak's lair. Like a minority of Fyros, Belenor was angry at the folly of his people, and feared that a second apocalyptic event would soon occur: a landslide, an acid flow, an earthquake, or worse… After all, if the bowels of Atys held many treasures, they also undoubtedly concealed many nightmares. Real nightmares. Nightmares potentially much more terrible than the most dreaded creature of the fyrosian mythology…
  
−
:''"Avalanche!"
+
:''"Slide!"
  
 
Belenor was drawn out of his thoughts by Brandille's distant shout.
 
Belenor was drawn out of his thoughts by Brandille's distant shout.
  
−
:''"Let's climb!" urged Melkiar.
+
:''"Let's climb!"'' urged Melkiar.
  
 
Without waiting, Belenor grabbed his lanyard and somehow pulled himself up the towering root, which his comrades were already climbing. When he finally planted his notched gloves in the thick wood of the woody growth, he realized when looking at his feet that the ground had already turned into a thick flow of blazing sawdust.
 
Without waiting, Belenor grabbed his lanyard and somehow pulled himself up the towering root, which his comrades were already climbing. When he finally planted his notched gloves in the thick wood of the woody growth, he realized when looking at his feet that the ground had already turned into a thick flow of blazing sawdust.
  
−
:''"Belenor, speed up!" shouted Xynala.
+
:''"Belenor, speed up!"'' shouted Xynala.
  
 
The Fyros was seized with panic when he saw that the dune upstream had swollen several cubic meters and was now swooping  in their direction. If his comrades were high enough to dodge the wave of burning sawdust, he would undoubtedly have to take it. So Belenor grabbed tightly onto the root, hoping not to be torn off by the impact. But this was without the strength and reach of Garius' arms, who, hanging by his ankle from Xynala's arm, managed to grab his comrade by the shoulders, to push him away from the bark wall, and to propel him above him. Varran and Melkiar caught Belenor just as Garius was getting to his feet, narrowly dodging the torrent of fire. Placing the Fyros against the root, the colossus pressed his hands and feet down hard, so that he stuck to the bark.
 
The Fyros was seized with panic when he saw that the dune upstream had swollen several cubic meters and was now swooping  in their direction. If his comrades were high enough to dodge the wave of burning sawdust, he would undoubtedly have to take it. So Belenor grabbed tightly onto the root, hoping not to be torn off by the impact. But this was without the strength and reach of Garius' arms, who, hanging by his ankle from Xynala's arm, managed to grab his comrade by the shoulders, to push him away from the bark wall, and to propel him above him. Varran and Melkiar caught Belenor just as Garius was getting to his feet, narrowly dodging the torrent of fire. Placing the Fyros against the root, the colossus pressed his hands and feet down hard, so that he stuck to the bark.
Строка 56: Строка 56:
 
:''"Belenor, we like you, but we're not going to kill ourselves for you, okay? So stop daydreaming, this is really not the time!"
 
:''"Belenor, we like you, but we're not going to kill ourselves for you, okay? So stop daydreaming, this is really not the time!"
  
−
:''" Pa... Sorry Varran", Belenor blew, still under the shock.
+
:''" Pa… Sorry Varran."'' Belenor blew, still under the shock.
  
 
:''"Respite!"
 
:''"Respite!"
 
[[file:Botoga.jpg|right|400px|alt=Botoga|Botoga]]
 
[[file:Botoga.jpg|right|400px|alt=Botoga|Botoga]]
−
Again, Brandille's voice rang out. And again, her omen was right: the updraft was slowing down, and as a result, the curtain of sawdust was opening towards the horizon. Looking for his friend, Belenor saw only a huge botoga, lit by the night glow of the amber star. Situated away from all the cracks, the tree with its belly trunk and its canopy in the shape of a leafy umbrella, did not seem to be worried by the fire storms. And if the charcoal color of its bark testified well to recurrent and intense fights, it illustrated above all its strong adaptation to the extreme conditions of the environment. Lingering for a few seconds on its high branches with thick foliage, which swayed in the wind, Belenor saw an irregularity in the center of the plant umbrella, under the stars. A small gesticulating form, whose two arms were waving in cadence. Brandille. The Fyros smiled behind his mask, happy to see that his friend had found a cool and comfortable perch, even if imagining her coming down without help worried him. For if himself was now suspended at about ten meters from the ground, the tree Brandille had scaled must be about fifty meters high. Ah, Brandille… Without his presence, the group would undoubtedly have been amputated of half of its soldiers. Indeed, since their departure from the plain of Coriolis, the last western region under imperial jurisdiction, events had gone from bad to worse. While the journey had been marked by numerous attacks from the Dune Riders, it was the violent torrents of air from the Prime Roots behind terrible fire storms, that had put the group in peril. Of course, the far western desert was known for its extreme winds and hellish temperatures. But Melkiar himself, though born in a neighboring region further south, had been surprised by the violence of the disturbances. Belenor was linking these abnormal phenomena to the sudden rise in temperature observed under the bark, accentuating so the pressure differential with the surface. Brandille, who had a very special relationship with the wind, had helped to find the best passages through the dunes and crevasses, and had managed to accurately predict each storm rise. To this day, all the deaths were related to carelessness or lack of reactivity. Thus, Lieutenant Diocaneon Xydos, in charge of leading the military squad to Fort Kronk, had disappeared when he fell into a crevice while the group was fleeing from a herd of shalahs, those pachyderms with their heavy, shaggy yellow coats, their faces covered with pudgy leather patches, and their two long, strong tusks. Individually, these animals were relatively easy to shoot, but a whole herd was a deadly threat. Although he was a mere reservist of twenty-five years of age, Melkiar had naturally taken command of the troop. None of the soldiers in the squad, even among the most experienced, had objected: the young academician had shown himself, since their departure from Coriolis, to be the most capable of exercising it.
+
Again, Brandille's voice rang out. And again, her omen was right: the updraft was slowing down, and as a result, the curtain of sawdust was opening towards the horizon. Looking for his friend, Belenor saw only a huge botoga, lit by the night glow of the amber star. Situated away from all the cracks, the tree with its belly trunk and its canopy in the shape of a leafy umbrella did not seem to be worried by the fire storms. And if the charcoal color of its bark testified well to recurrent and intense fights, it illustrated above all its strong adaptation to the extreme conditions of the environment. Lingering for a few seconds on its high branches with thick foliage, which swayed in the wind, Belenor saw an irregularity in the center of the plant umbrella, under the stars. A small gesticulating form, whose two arms were waving in cadence. Brandille. The Fyros smiled behind his mask, happy to see that his friend had found a cool and comfortable perch, even if imagining her coming down without help worried him. For if himself was now suspended at about ten meters from the ground, the tree Brandille had scaled must be about fifty meters high. Ah, Brandille… Without his presence, the group would undoubtedly have been amputated of half of its soldiers. Indeed, since their departure from the plain of Coriolis, the last western region under imperial jurisdiction, events had gone from bad to worse. While the journey had been marked by numerous attacks from the Dune Riders, it was the violent torrents of air from the Prime Roots behind terrible fire storms, that had put the group in peril. Of course, the far western desert was known for its extreme winds and hellish temperatures. But Melkiar himself, though born in a neighboring region further south, had been surprised by the violence of the disturbances. Belenor was linking these abnormal phenomena to the sudden rise in temperature observed under the bark, accentuating so the pressure differential with the surface. Brandille, who had a very special relationship with the wind, had helped to find the best passages through the dunes and crevasses, and had managed to accurately predict each storm rise. To this day, all the deaths were related to carelessness or lack of reactivity. Thus, Lieutenant Diocaneon Xydos, in charge of leading the military squad to Fort Kronk, had disappeared when he fell into a crevice while the group was fleeing from a herd of shalahs, those pachyderms with their heavy, shaggy yellow coats, their faces covered with pudgy leather patches, and their two long, strong tusks. Individually, these animals were relatively easy to shoot, but a whole herd was a deadly threat. Although he was a mere reservist of twenty-five years of age, Melkiar had naturally taken command of the troop. None of the soldiers in the squad, even among the most experienced, had objected: the young academician had shown himself, since their departure from Coriolis, to be the most capable of exercising it.
−
▼ TO TRANSLATE ▼
 
−
Suspendu à la racine, le groupe patienta une dizaine de minutes le temps que les dernières bourrasques cessent, puis se dirigea finalement vers le botoga de Brandille. L’acrobate, qui avait rejoint le pied de l’arbre immense sans difficulté, était en train de sucer un morceau d’écorce gorgée d’eau lorsque Bélénor l'aperçut à flanc de dune. Le Fyros dévala la pente poudreuse à toute vitesse, se précipita vers Brandille et l’attrapa par les aisselles. Son contact lui avait manqué. Quelques secondes plus tard, Melkiar arriva en bas de la dune, son masque respiratoire à la main. Bélénor retira le sien et sourit à son ami. Il n’était pas habitué à le voir aussi barbu. Lui-même ne s’était pas rasé depuis plusieurs jours, et portait désormais une épaisse toison acajou rappelant vaguement celle de son père. Croisant le regard de Bélénor, Brandille lui fit un clin d'œil puis caressa sa fine moustache. Parfois, le Fyros avait l’impression que son amie était capable de lire dans ses pensées. Et puis, soudainement, Melkiar s’inclina bien bas devant ses deux camarades.
 
  
−
« À nouveau, merci pour ton aide Brandille. Tu tiens ton rôle d’éclaireur mieux que quiconque. Sans toi, je ne sais pas ce qu’il serait advenu de nous. Malheureusement, nous avons perdu…
+
Hanging from the root, the group waited for about ten minutes until the last gusts of wind died down, then finally headed for Brandille's botoga. The acrobat, who had reached the foot of the huge tree without difficulty, was sucking on a piece of waterlogged bark when Belenor saw him on the side of the dune. The Fyros raced down the powdery slope, rushed towards Brandille and grabbed her by the armpits. He had missed her touch. A few seconds later, Melkiar arrived at the bottom of the dune, his breathing mask in hand. Belenor removed his and smiled at his friend. He was not used to seeing him so bearded. He himself had not shaved for several days, and now wore a thick mahogany beard vaguely reminiscent of his father's. Meeting Belenor's gaze, Brandille winked at him and stroked his fine down. Sometimes, the Fyros had the impression that his friend was able to read his thoughts. And then, suddenly, Melkiar bowed low to his two comrades.
  
−
— Je sais Melkiar, coupa Brandille, dont le regard s’était perdu à l’horizon. J'ai vu son corps s’enflammer, virer écarlate, puis s’envoler au loin… C’était d’ailleurs très beau, vu d’en haut, sous la lueur de l’astre ambré. Vous ressembliez à une branche d’arbre brandillant au vent. Une branche dont la racine qui vous servait d’ancre aurait été le tronc. Une branche dont Eurixus aurait été la feuille rougie par l'automne tombant de son arbre… »
+
:''"Again, thank you for your help Brandille. You're holding your own as a scout better than anyone. Without you, I don't know what would have happened to become of. Unfortunately, we lost…"
  
−
À ces mots, les homins et les homines baissèrent la tête, se remémorant en souvenirs leur camarade disparu.
+
:''"I know Melkiar,"'' Brandille cut in, her gaze lost to the horizon. ''"I saw his body burst into flames, turn scarlet, then fly away... It was very beautiful, seen from above, under the glow of the amber star. You looked like a tree branch waving in the wind. A branch of which the root that served as your anchor would have been the trunk. A branch of which Eurixus would have been the leaf reddened by the autumn falling from its tree…"
  
−
« Mais ne laissez pas la tristesse vous traverser, amis et ami-euh ! Et pleurez uniquement si vous souhaitez arroser ce merveilleux botoga, à qui nous devons aussi beaucoup. Car comme vous le savez, les feuilles ne tombent pas de leur arbre sans raison : elles deviennent les nutriments qui nourrissent les jeunes pousses que nous croiserons sur notre chemin, un jour prochain. Oui, aujourd’hui, Eurixus est devenu l’humus de demain. Alors souriez, et écoutez ce refrain ! »
+
At these words, the homins and homines lowered their heads, remembering their missing comrade.
  
−
Brandille tourna le dos à ses camarades, se mit à entonner un chant, puis sautilla plein ouest. En direction de là où, à l’horizon, Fort Kronk s’élevait tel un mirage sur les hautes et obscures falaises de la Dorsale du Dragon.
+
:''"But don't let the sadness go through you, friends! And cry only if you whish to water this wonderful botoga, to which we also owe a lot. For as you know, the leaves do not fall from their tree without reason: they become the nutrients that feed the young shoots we will cross on our way, one day soon. Yes, today, Eurixus has become the humus of tomorrow. So smile, and listen to this chorus!"
 +
 
 +
Brandille turned his back on his comrades, began to inton a song, and hopped off to the west. Towards where, on the horizon, Fort Kronk rose like a mirage on the high, dark cliffs of the Dragon's Backbone.
 
{{Couillard}}
 
{{Couillard}}
−
« Plus on s’approche du but, plus celui-ci semble lointain. » Bélénor avait beau essayer de rationaliser, en cet instant, c’était exactement ce qu’il pensait : jamais les kilomètres ne lui avaient semblé aussi longs. Après trois semaines de marche à travers la fournaise, la simple idée de pouvoir dormir dans un endroit sûr et frais paraissait irréelle. Un mirage parmi tant d’autres… Car le Désert de Feu, qu'ils avaient quitté deux heures à peine auparavant, n'offrait que de très rares moments d'accalmie. La journée, la chaleur émise par l’astre du jour venait s’ajouter à celle des profondeurs, rendant l’atmosphère irrespirable. La seule issue consistait alors à faire appel au pouvoir de la Sève pour limiter les dégâts, ou à fuir la surface bouillonnante en escaladant arbres et racines. Ces promontoires salvateurs étaient souvent peuplés d’animaux, eux aussi à la recherche de fraîcheur, de repos, et de nourriture. D’ailleurs, Bélénor ne s’était toujours pas remis du décès de Xacallon, qui occupé à chasser le rendor en solitaire sur une haute racine, s’était fait attaquer par une meute de varinx affamés. Ces félins trapus, au pelage jaune tacheté de noir, avaient la particularité de posséder une peau ignifuge, faisant ainsi d’eux les maîtres incontestés du désert. Pour ces prédateurs, capables de se mouvoir efficacement en pleine journée, les promontoires de fraicheurs aériens représentaient de véritables viviers, qu’ils scrutaient avec attention depuis le sol. La nuit, les températures diminuaient légèrement, permettant aux homins et aux animaux de circuler plus facilement. La troupe avait donc pris l’habitude de ne tracer la route qu'après le lever de l’astre ambré. Malheureusement, telle était aussi, évidemment, la stratégie de toutes les tribus homines osant affronter la fournaise. Ainsi, les attaques de Sauvages avaient presque toujours eu lieu au cœur de la nuit… Finalement, après un tel périple, il allait sans dire que le simple confort d’une forteresse aussi sûre que Fort Kronk tenait du fantasme.
+
''"The closer we get to the goal, the further away it seems."'' No matter how hard Belenor tried to rationalise, at that moment, that was exactly what he was thinking: never had the miles seemed so long. After three weeks of walking through the furnace, the mere idea of being able to sleep in a safe and cool place seemed unreal. A mirage among many others… Because the Desert of Fire, which they had left only two hours before, only offered very rare moments of calm. During the day, the heat emitted by the daystar added to that of the depths, making the atmosphere unbreathable. The only way out was to call upon the power of the Sap to limit the damage, or to escape the boiling surface by climbing trees and roots. These life-saving promontories were often populated by animals, also in search of coolness, rest and food. Besides, Belenor had still not recovered from the death of Xacallon, who while hunting rendor alone on a high root, when he had been attacked by a pack of hungry varinx. These stocky felines, with yellow fur spotted with black, had the particularity of having a fireproof skin, making them the undisputed masters of the desert. For these predators, capable of moving efficiently in the middle of the day, the aerial promontories of coolness were real breeding grounds, which they scanned with attention from the ground. At night, the temperatures dropped slightly, allowing the homins and animals to move around more easily. The troop had therefore got into the habit of setting out only after the amber star had risen. Unfortunately, this was also, obviuosly, the strategy of all the homin tribes daring to face the furnace. Thus, the attacks of the Dune Riders had almost always taken place in the heart of the night… Finally, after such a journey, it went without saying that the simple comfort of a fortress as safe as Fort Kronk was a fantasy.
 +
 
 +
Belenor, who was striving to follow in the footsteps of the soldier ahead of him, sighed and looked up for a few moments. The troop was walking across an imposing root bridge about ten metres wide, which allowed them to cross a long crevasse. Going around it would have lengthened the end of the journey by two hours. On the horizon, Fort Kronk seemed so close and yet so far away. For a long time, this fortress had been designated as the last inhabited area of the known world, where the maps became mute. Beyond it, there was nothing more than a sea of dunes stretching westwards into infinity. The fort had been built in the broken bend of the Dragon's Backbone, where the continental plateau met the mountainous root barrier and the immense cliffs to the south, which separated the Desert from the Wide Puddle. The crack in which the Fyros had settled was very similar to the one that hosted the city of Fyre. But unlike the imperial capital, which had expanded and consolidated decade after decade, the fortress at the end of the world had never been anything more than a fort, as its name so aptly indicated. A fort that, as soon as it was built, became object of covetousness and source of conflict. To this day, no one was able to say who was really behind its construction, so many different tribes had fought to possess it. The huge, rugged plain between Fort Kronk and the Desert of Fire was considered the largest battlefield in the country. Never had so many Fyros died as in front of Fort Kronk, as evidenced by the number of weapons and pieces of armour from all eras that the strong winds managed to dredge up daily. The last battle, only a few months old, had pitted the Dune Riders tribe against the short-lived coalition formed by the Tears of the Dragon. It is on this occasion that Tigriron, the father of Melkiar, the commander of the coalition, succeeded in recapturing the fortress from their long-time enemies. Enough, thus, to supply the desert plain with more swords. At this moment, perched on the imposing root bridge, Belenor feared that a new torrent of air from the depths would raise a storm of sawdust… and blades. But there were worse things than blades in this desert of a hundred perils. There were the gigantic and magnificent purplish thistles that covered the Backbone at Fort Kronk, and whose imposing thorns were regularly torn off by the violence of the winds. The Fyros thought back of Eurixus, killed a few hours earlier by one of these thorns, and shook his head.
 +
 
 +
:''"Stop daydreaming and watch where you're walking."'' said Garius, still on the tail of procession.
  
−
Bélénor, qui s’évertuait à marcher dans les traces de pas du soldat qui le devançait, soupira et releva la tête quelques instants. La troupe était en train d’emprunter un imposant pont racinaire large d’environ dix mètres, qui permettait de traverser une longue crevasse. La contourner aurait rallongé la fin du voyage de deux heures. Sur l’horizon, Fort Kronk semblait à la fois si proche et si lointain. Depuis longtemps, cette forteresse avait été désignée comme la dernière zone habitée du monde connu, là où les cartes devenaient muettes. Au-delà, il n’y avait rien de plus qu’une mer de dunes s’étendant à l’ouest, vers l’infini. Le fort avait été construit dans le coude brisé de la Dorsale du Dragon, à l’endroit où le plateau continental rejoignait la barrière montagneuse racinaire et les immenses falaises du sud, qui séparaient le Désert de la Grande Flaque. La craquelure dans laquelle les Fyros s’étaient installés ressemblait beaucoup à celle qui accueillait la cité de Fyre. Mais à l’inverse de la capitale impériale, qui s’était étendue et consolidée décennie après décennie, la forteresse du bout du monde n’avait jamais été rien de plus qu’un fort, comme l’indiquait si bien son nom. Un fort qui, à peine bâti, devint objet de convoitise et sources de conflits. À ce jour, personne n’était capable de dire qui était réellement à l’origine de sa construction, tant différentes tribus avaient combattu pour le posséder. L’immense plaine accidentée située entre Fort Kronk et le Désert de Feu était d’ailleurs considérée comme le plus grand champ de bataille du pays. Jamais autant de Fyros n’étaient morts que face à Fort Kronk, en témoignait le nombre d’armes et de pièces d’armure de toutes époques que les vents violents réussissaient à draguer quotidiennement. La dernière bataille, datant d’à peine quelques mois, avait opposé la tribu des Sauvages à la coalition éphémère formée par les Larmes du Dragon. C’était à cette occasion que Tigriron, le père de Melkiar, le commandant de la coalition, réussit à reprendre la forteresse des mains de leurs ennemis de toujours. De quoi donc alimenter encore la plaine désertique en épées. En cet instant, juché sur l’imposant pont racinaire, Bélénor craignait qu’un nouveau torrent d’air venu des profondeurs soulève une tempête de sciure… et de lames. Mais il y avait pire que les lames, dans ce désert aux cent périls. Il y avait les gigantesques et magnifiques chardons violacés qui tapissaient la Dorsale au niveau de Fort Kronk, et dont les imposantes épines étaient régulièrement arrachées par la violence des vents. Le Fyros repensa à Eurixus, tué quelques heures plus tôt par l’une de ces épines, et secoua la tête.
+
:''"You're right, sorry."'' replied his friend, lowering his head. ''"I really think I reach the end of my rope, I'm unable to stay focused for more than thirty seconds."
  
−
« Arrête de rêvasser, et regardes où tu marches Bélénor, lança Garius, toujours en queue de cortège.
+
:''"Yeah, I understand. I can't take it either. In fact, in the Desert of Fire, we had no choice. The slightest deviation could kill us. But here, it's not so hot. So we think that the worst is over… But in truth, the whole fucking desert wants our skin, fire or not. So let's watch it, it can go very fast, you know."
  
−
— Tu as raison, pardon, répondit son ami en baissant la tête. Je crois vraiment que je suis à bout, je suis incapable de rester concentré plus de trente secondes.
+
:''"Yeah, I know. Thanks, Garius. How many hours' walk do you think we've got left?"
  
−
— Ouais, je comprends. Moi aussi j’en peux plus. En fait, dans le Désert de Feu, on n'avait pas le choix. Le moindre écart pouvait nous tuer. Mais là, il fait beaucoup moins chaud. Alors on se dit que le pire est passé… Mais en vrai, tout ce putain de désert veut notre peau, feu ou pas. Alors faisons gaffe, ça peut aller très vite tu sais.
+
:''"Two. Three maybe?"
  
−
— Oui, je sais. Merci Garius. D’après toi, combien d’heures de marche nous reste-t-il ?
+
:''"So, three more hours… Tell me, Garius, can I ask you a favour?"
  
−
— Deux. Trois peut-être ?
+
The imposing Fyros frowned and Belenor turned around, a mischievous smile on his face.
  
−
— Encore trois heures donc… Dis-moi, Garius, puis-je te demander un service ? »
+
:''"Could you carry me?"
−
L’imposant Fyros fronça les sourcils et Bélénor se retourna, le visage arborant d’un sourire espiègle.
 
  
−
« Tu pourrais me porter ? »
+
Garius laughed. At the same time, proving the colossus right, Belenor stumbled and slumped in the sawdust.
  
−
Garius éclata de rire. Au même moment, donnant raison au colosse, Bélénor trébucha et s’affala dans la sciure.
+
:''"You're an idiot, Belenor. That'll teach you! I told you to watch your step."
  
−
« T’es con Bélénor. Ça t’apprendra tiens ! Je t’ai dit de regarder où tu marchais. »
+
The Fyros held out a massive hand to his friend, whose face now showed embarrassment. Although Belenor grasped it, he did not manage to get up.
  
−
Le Fyros tendit une main massive à son ami, dont le visage exprimait désormais l'embarras. Si Bélénor la saisit, il ne réussit pas à se relever.
+
"Wait Garius, I think I've caught my ankle in a root. I…"
  
−
« Attends Garius, je crois que je me suis pris la cheville dans une racine. Je… »
+
Suddenly his chest rose. And time froze. Out of breath and with dilated pupils, Belenor stared at the strange root that clutched his left ankle. A root with five fingers. Understanding who the hand belonged to, the Fyros instantly grasped the magnitude of the threat: they had to leave the root bridge at all costs and reach the desert plateau. Belenor barely had time to shout "Riders!" when a hatchet sprang up from the sawdust and sliced off his foot. At the same time, several of his comrades fell to the ground. And like Kamis, thirty or so beings sprang up from the root, as if they had been one with the bark until then. Reacting as quickly as he could, Garius plunged his huge hand into the sawdust and grabbed the throat of the homin in ambush in his hideout. Without further ado, he appealed to his superhomin strength and sent him tumbling five metres away. The savage bounced violently off the bark, tried in vain to secure a grip, then fell screaming into the abyss. Never had Belenor been so reassured by Garius' presence as he was at this moment. Disregarding any pain, the Fyros grabbed his severed foot and positioned it on its stump. The operation would take a few minutes, but he knew that he would be able to reattach his foot with the powers of the Sap. Naturally, Garius stayed with his friend. Drawing his gigantic axe, he verbally threatened the Dune Riders who tried to approach him. With a quick glance, Belenor took stock of the skirmish: while Melkiar, Varran and a few soldiers had rushed at the Dune Riders, and had already managed to kill several of them, Xynala was trying to keep them away from the wounded ones, now in Brandille's hands. As for Tisse Apoan, she was scanning the horizon with her rifle. Soon the number of Dune Riders dwindled, and five of their number found themselves trapped between Garius on one side and the rest of the soldiers on the other. Unfortunately, the ambush seemed to be only part of the enemy's plan.
  
−
Brusquement, sa poitrine se souleva. Et le temps se figea. Le souffle coupé et les pupilles dilatées, Bélénor regardait fixement l’étrange racine qui lui enserrait la cheville gauche. Une racine constituée de cinq doigts. Comprenant à qui appartenait cette main, le Fyros saisit instantanément l’ampleur de la menace : ils devaient à tout prix quitter le pont racinaire et rejoindre le plateau désertique. Bélénor eu à peine le temps de crier « Sauvages ! » qu’une hachette surgit de la sciure et lui trancha le pied. Au même moment, plusieurs de ses camarades tombèrent au sol. Et tels des Kamis, une trentaine d’êtres s’extirpèrent de la racine, comme s'ils n'avaient jusqu'alors fait qu’un avec l’écorce. Réagissant aussi vite qu’il put, Garius plongea son immense main dans la sciure et attrapa la gorge de l’homin embusqué dans sa cache. Sans autre forme de procès, il fit appel à sa force surhomine et l’envoya valdinguer cinq mètres plus loin. Le Sauvage rebondit violemment sur l’écorce, tenta en vain de s'assurer une prise, puis chuta dans l'abîme en hurlant. Jamais Bélénor n’avait été autant rassuré par la présence de Garius qu’en cet instant. Faisant fi de toute douleur, le Fyros attrapa son pied sectionné et le positionna sur son moignon. Si l’opération allait prendre quelques minutes, il savait être capable de ressouder son pied grâce aux pouvoirs de la Sève. Naturellement, Garius resta auprès de son ami. Dégainant sa gigantesque hache, il menaça verbalement les Sauvages qui tentaient de l’approcher. D’un coup d’œil rapide Bélénor fit un état des lieux de l’escarmouche : si Melkiar, Varran et quelques soldats s’étaient rués sur les Sauvages, et avaient déjà réussi à en abattre plusieurs, Xynala essayait pour sa part de les tenir éloignés des blessés, désormais entre les mains de Brandille. Quant à Tisse Apoan, elle scrutait l’horizon avec son fusil. Rapidement, le nombre de Sauvages diminua, et cinq des leurs se retrouvèrent finalement coincés entre Garius d’un côté, et le reste des soldats de l’autre. Malheureusement, l’embuscade ne semblait constituer qu’une partie du plan de l’ennemi.
+
:''"Homins! To the west!"'' shouted Tisse, who was watching the surroundings from the area secured by Xynala.
  
−
« Homins ! À l’ouest ! » hurla Tisse, qui surveillait les alentours depuis la zone sécurisée par Xynala.
+
And indeed, a few dozen meters from the melee, where the root bridge allowed to join the desert plain leading to Fort Kronk, a platoon of homins was forming. If Belenor hoped they were reinforcements from Fort Kronk, he was instantly disillusioned when he recognised the flag of the enemy tribe: a scarlet-coated mektoub positioned in front of an ochre sphere representing the amber star. The surviving Dune Riders were no longer the only ones to be surrounded. Despite this, Melkiar kept his composure and encouraged his comrades.
  
−
Et en effet, à quelques dizaines de mètres de la mêlée, à l’endroit où le pont racinaire permettait de rejoindre la plaine désertique menant à Fort Kronk, un peloton d’homins était en train de se former. Si Bélénor espéra qu’ils soient des renforts venus de Fort Kronk, il déchanta instantanément en reconnaissant le drapeau de la tribu ennemie. Désormais, les Sauvages survivants n’étaient plus les seuls à être encerclés. Malgré cet état de fait, Melkiar garda son sang-froid et encouragea ses camarades.
+
:''"Soldiers, do not weaken! We are better equipped and trained than they are. No matter how many of them there are, as long as you follow what we have learned, nothing will happen to us!"
  
−
« Soldats, ne faiblissez pas ! Nous sommes mieux équipés et entraînés qu’eux. Aussi nombreux soient-ils, tant que vous suivrez ce que nous avons appris, rien ne nous arrivera ! »
+
Belenor, whose left foot had finally come back to life, took up position behind Garius. As perilous as the situation was, he knew Melkiar was right. All they had to do was stay focused and apply everything they'd seen in past scenarios. After all, this wasn't the first time they faced Dune Riders. And while these homins were definitely the best at setting traps and surviving in extreme environments, they were far less impressive in pitched combat. The Fyros sighed and placed his gloved hands on Garius' huge back. The fact that he had written a story about a religious war did not mean that he endorsed or appreciated armed fights. In fact, he remained very critical of the Imperial Army. If he had signed up as a reservist, it was simply to travel with his friends, to discover the country, to live unique moments and to feel new emotions. To annoy his parents, too. Because before this expedition, his whole life was about Fyre. And not just any Fyre. The rich, comfortable and cultural Fyre, accessible only to the bourgeoisie, of which he was one.While his friends had gradually begun to emancipate themselves from the capital over the past five years, he had become bogged down in a sociable routine. A life that he cherished for its comfort and cultural richness, and that he despised just as much, so much it reminded him of what he hated about his parents... Parents whom he had the impression of resembling, despite himself. Because at twenty-one, Belenor did not like the homin he had become. It was under the impulse of Brandille, but especially Garius, that he had finally decided to leave his comfort zone and accompany Melkiar to the end of the world. However, today, and despite all that he had learned during his journey, he regretted having left. Never. Never had he gotten used to death. Never had he expected to dream about it at night. Definitely, his place was behind a desk, pen in hand, not on a battlefield.
  
−
Bélénor, dont le pied gauche avait finalement repris vie, se plaça derrière Garius. Aussi périlleuse que fût la situation, il savait que Melkiar voyait juste. Il leur suffisait de rester concentrés et d’appliquer tout ce qu’ils avaient vu durant les mises en situation passées. Après tout, ce n’était pas la première fois qu’ils affrontaient des Sauvages. Et si ces homins étaient définitivement les meilleurs quand il s’agissait de tendre des pièges ou de survivre dans des environnements extrêmes, ils restaient bien moins impressionnants en combat rangé. Le Fyros soupira et posa ses mains gantées sur l’immense dos de Garius. Qu’il soit l’auteur d’une histoire de guerre de religion ne signifiait pas qu’il cautionnait ou appréciait les luttes armées. D’ailleurs, il restait très critique vis-à-vis de l'Armée impériale. S’il s’était inscrit en tant que réserviste, c’était simplement pour voyager avec ses amis, découvrir le pays, vivre des moments uniques et ressentir de nouvelles émotions. Pour ennuyer ses parents, aussi. Car avant cette expédition, tout son quotidien se résumait à Fyre. Et pas n’importe quelle Fyre. La Fyre riche, confortable et culturelle, accessible aux seuls bourgeois dont il était. Alors que ces cinq dernières années, ses amis avaient progressivement commencé à s’émanciper de la capitale, lui s’était enlisé dans une routine mondaine. Une vie qu’il chérissait, pour son confort et sa richesse culturelle, et qu’il méprisait tout autant, tant elle lui rappelait ce qu’il détestait chez ses parents… Des parents auxquels il avait l’impression de ressembler, bien malgré lui. Car à vingt-et-un ans, Bélénor n’aimait pas l’homin qu’il était devenu. C’est sous l’impulsion de Brandille, mais surtout de Garius, qu’il avait finalement décidé de sortir de sa zone de confort et d’accompagner Melkiar jusqu’au bout du monde. Pourtant, aujourd’hui, et malgré tout ce qu’il avait appris durant son voyage, il regrettait d’être parti. Jamais. Jamais il ne s’était habitué à la mort. Jamais il ne s’était attendu à en rêver la nuit. Définitivement, sa place était derrière un bureau, la plume à la main, et non pas sur un champ de bataille.
+
Crossing under Garius's armpit the disorientated gaze of a sickly-skinned Dune Rider, Belenor remembered the emotions that had run through him the few times he himself had come close to death in the past weeks. And just as he imagined he would succeed in demanding their surrender, the squad of Riders perched on the edge of the crevasse began to bang together their weapons in rhythm. At the same time, one of them began to utter hoarse shouts, still in cadence. His cries were soon echoed by all his companions. This was the first time Belenor had witnessed this tribal practice. Taken aback, he exchanged a glance with Melkiar, who seemed to share his confusion. Then suddenly the pace quickened, and the Dune Riders in the centre of the root stuck together to form a compact group, as if they were trying to protect something. Belenor swallowed as he met the eyes of the sickly Rider again. A deep determination was now inscribed in them. And without his knowing why, a vision of horror passed through him. Commanded by his instinct, the Fyros screamed with all his being:
−
Croisant par dessous l’aisselle de Garius le regard désorienté d’un Sauvage au teint maladif, Bélénor se rappela des émotions qu’ils l’avaient traversé les quelques fois où il avait lui-même frôlé la mort, les semaines passées. Et alors qu’il s’imaginait réussir à demander leur reddition, le peloton de Sauvages, juché au bord de la crevasse, se mit à entrechoquer ses armes en rythme. Au même moment, l’un d’entre eux se mit à pousser des cris rauques, toujours en cadence. Ses cris furent bientôt repris par tous ses compagnons. C’était la première fois que Bélénor assistait à cette pratique tribale. Interloqué, il échangea un regard avec Melkiar, qui semblait partager sa confusion. Et puis soudainement, le rythme s’accéléra, et les Sauvages positionnés au centre de la racine se collèrent les uns aux autres pour former un groupe compact, comme s’ils cherchaient à protéger quelque chose. Croisant à nouveau le regard du Sauvage souffreteux, Bélénor déglutit. Une profonde détermination y était désormais inscrite. Et sans qu’il ne sache pourquoi, une vision d’horreur le traversa. Commandé par son instinct, le Fyros hurla de tout son être :
 
  
−
« Fuyez, ils vont se faire sauter ! »
+
"Flee, they'll blow themselves up!"
  
−
Bélénor, qui s’apprêtait à s’élancer en arrière, eut tout juste le temps de lancer un ultime regard à Melkiar. Pour la première, et peut-être pour la dernière fois de sa vie, il lut de la terreur dans les yeux de son ami. L’explosion fut terrible. Sans qu’il ne puisse rien faire, l’onde de choc le projeta contre la paroi de la crevasse, qu’il percuta de plein fouet. Inconscient, il chuta alors dans les profondeurs d’Atys, dans une pluie de feu, de bois brisé et de morceaux de chair calcinée.}}
+
Belenor, who was preparing to rush back, had just enough time to give Melkiar a last look. For the first, and perhaps the last time in his life, he saw terror in his friend's eyes. The explosion was terrible. Without him being able to do anything, the shock wave threw him against the wall of the crevasse, which he hit head-on. Unconscious, he fell into the depths of Atys, in a shower of fire, broken wood and pieces of charred flesh.
−
{{NavChap|[[Chapter XII - Family]]|[[Chronicles of the First Crusade#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapitre XIV - Savagery]]}}
+
}}
 +
{{NavChap|[[Chapter XII - Family]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapitre XIV - Savagery]]}}
 
{{Portal|The Great Library}}
 
{{Portal|The Great Library}}
 
{{Portal|Zoraï}}
 
{{Portal|Zoraï}}
 
[[Category:Chronicles of the First Crusade‎]]
 
[[Category:Chronicles of the First Crusade‎]]
 
}}
 
}}

Текущая версия на 15:29, 29 мая 2022

Шаблон:Внутреннее тестирование Вики

Источник — «https://ru.wiki.ryzom.com/w/index.php?title=Внутреннее_тестирование_Вики/E-XIII&oldid=7219»