Внутреннее тестирование Вики/E-XI — различия между версиями
Материал из ЭнциклопАтис
Lanstiril (обсуждение | вклад) м |
Lanstiril (обсуждение | вклад) м |
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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. | + | :''"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. | ||
− | {{Couillard}} | + | {{Couillard}} |
− | Melkiar | + | 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. |
− | + | :''"In line, please! Yes, here it is, stand up straight. Varran, take your tunic out of your braccae. But, Brandille, your hair!" | |
− | + | :''"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?" | |
− | + | 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!" | |
− | + | 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. | |
− | + | 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. | |
− | + | :''"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. | |
− | + | :''"B... Brandille. On the roof of the imperial balcony. There… There's a black Kami." | |
− | + | :''"Yes, I know," the child replied calmly." | |
− | + | 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. | |
− | + | :''"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.}} | |
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