Внутреннее тестирование Вики/E-XIII — различия между версиями

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[[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.
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▼ TO TRANSLATE ▼
 
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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.
 
  
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« 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.
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 +
:''"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..."
  
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— 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… »
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:''"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..."
  
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À ces mots, les homins et les homines baissèrent la tête, se remémorant en souvenirs leur camarade disparu.
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At these words, the homins and homines lowered their heads, remembering their missing comrade.
  
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« 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 ! »
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:''"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 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.
+
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}}
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« 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 cool airy promontories 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.
  
−
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.
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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.
  
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« Arrête de rêvasser, et regardes où tu marches Bélénor, lança Garius, toujours en queue de cortège.
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:''"Stop daydreaming and watch where you're walking," said Garius, still on the tail of procession.
  
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— 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.
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:''"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."
  
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— 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.
+
:''"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."
  
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— Oui, je sais. Merci Garius. D’après toi, combien d’heures de marche nous reste-t-il ?
+
:''"Yeah, I know. Thanks, Garius. How many hours' walk do you think we've got left?"
  
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— Deux. Trois peut-être ?
+
:''"Two. Three maybe?"
  
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— Encore trois heures donc… Dis-moi, Garius, puis-je te demander un service ? »
+
:''"So, three more hours… Tell me, Garius, can I ask you a favour?"
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L’imposant Fyros fronça les sourcils et Bélénor se retourna, le visage arborant d’un sourire espiègle.
 
  
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« Tu pourrais me porter ? »
+
The imposing Fyros frowned and Belenor turned around, a mischievous smile on his face.
  
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Garius éclata de rire. Au même moment, donnant raison au colosse, Bélénor trébucha et s’affala dans la sciure.
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:''"Could you carry me?"
  
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« T’es con Bélénor. Ça t’apprendra tiens ! Je t’ai dit de regarder où tu marchais. »
+
Garius laughed. At the same time, proving the colossus right, Belenor stumbled and slumped in the sawdust.
  
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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.
+
:''"You're an idiot, Belenor. That'll teach you! I told you to watch your step."
  
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« Attends Garius, je crois que je me suis pris la cheville dans une racine. Je… »
+
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.
  
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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.
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"Wait Garius, I think I've caught my ankle in a root. I…"
  
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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.
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▼ TO TRANSLATE ▼
 
« Homins ! À l’ouest ! » hurla Tisse, qui surveillait les alentours depuis la zone sécurisée par Xynala.
 
« Homins ! À l’ouest ! » hurla Tisse, qui surveillait les alentours depuis la zone sécurisée par Xynala.
  

Версия 18:26, 21 апреля 2022

Шаблон:Внутреннее тестирование Вики

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