Внутреннее тестирование Вики/E-XIII — различия между версиями
Материал из ЭнциклопАтис
Lanstiril (обсуждение | вклад) м |
Lanstiril (обсуждение | вклад) м |
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| 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… | ||
| − | :''" | + | :''"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. | ||
| Строка 60: | Строка 60: | ||
:''"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 | + | 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 ▼ | ▼ 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. | 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. | ||
