РОЛЕВАЯ ИГРА


uiWebPrevious12345uiWebNext

#23 Многоязычный 

Многоязычный | English | Français
It's been four days since Eeri, Azazor and Kickan left Fort Beacon towards the Oflovak's Halt. Four carefree days, following the road crossing the Sea of Wood without a hitch. Travelling with a Ranger who knows the way well is of great help. And if it is not the fatigue due to the walk and especially to the environment which seems to absorb their energy, the crossing has for the moment nothing to do with what the two Fyros lived the last time. Tonight, the three homins built a fire, the first one since they left the Beacon. In front of this saving fire, this fire that warms the soul and the body, Azazor is pensive. Since their departure, he has hardly spoken, remaining mute. Also, when he begins to speak that evening, the two other homins look at him, incredulous.

"Hmm, Kickan..."
"Yes Azazor?"

The fyros pauses for a moment, as if he had trouble asking his question. This one seems to set his mind and eyes on fire, unless it is the reflection of the flames of the fire before them. Then, with a sigh, the question finally came out, like a crackling ember.

"Do you believe in the Great Dragon?"

Eeri, who until now had been stirring the embers with a stick, pauses and glances at Kickan, waiting for his answer.

"Like every homin, I have heard of this story. The Dragon who comes to Atys, Jena who pushes him away with her light and sends him into the depths. It's something everyone knows."
"And you believe that?"
"You know here, we don't have too much time to look into that kind of thing. Where you're from, I can see how we might think about the foundations of myths, but here, we mostly think about survival."

Eeri lets out a sigh as she drops her stick into the fire and turns to Azazor.

"Aza, I have a question about your Fyrak tooth..."
"It's not a tooth, it's a chip of a tooth."
"Yeah, well, whatever. Why didn't you show it when you first told us your story?"
"I'm not Husyrech. I wanted you to believe me without proof, to test your faith."

Eeri has a start of laughter which she refrains at once. If she wants to get the Fyros to talk, it's best not to rush him right away.

"And then, seeing that it was not sufficient, I considered showing it to you. But in the meantime, I had noticed something."

He let a silence pass, as if he was waiting to be asked the question. Far away in the mist, an armadai utters a plaintive bellow. In the absence of any question, the former legionnaire goes on.

"The tooth chip seems to be made of the same material as the Karavan machines."

Eeri smiles. She too had noticed it. Azazor pulls out the sliver of tooth from a pocket in his armor and makes it glow in front of the fire.

"When I saw Fyrak, he opened his mouth and..."
"And you threw a spear in his teeth, I know, you've told it before."
"ney, and that's when a shard of tooth must have embedded itself in my armor, because once the Kamis teleported me away from the Dragon, I noticed the piece of tooth, stuck into my breastplate."

Kickan, a slight smile on his lips, murmurs a suggestion:
"Couldn't it simply be a hallucination?"

Azazor then looks at him intensely, as if trying to pierce the intent in the Tryker's words. Then he turns to Eeri and asks her:
"You, what do you think?"
"If it's a hallucination?"
"ney"
"Well... I'm not questioning your good faith, but I don't think you went down deep enough to run into Fyrak. Let alone survive it."
"What about the tooth?"
"I don't know."

Azazor mumbles something unintelligible, then adds:
"Do you want to know the bottom of my thoughts?"
"Is that wise?" tries Eeri, with an amused look on her face. In front of the Fyros' one, she immediately regrets. However, his answer surprises her.
"You are right Eeri, it is illogical that I could have met Fyrak."

He lets pass a new silence then adds:
"But there is the tooth chip. I think that this one is a piece of a machine from the Karavan. Same material, so probably same source. So one of two things. Either Fyrak is a Karavan creation. A kind of... ship. Which wouldn't be stupid. I had already come to the same conclusion in my volume 4 of the symbology.
"Symbo what?" the Tryker wonders.
"Symbology, the science of symbols. Have you read it Eeri?"
"Yep, but from there to giving you an abstract, now, at the drop of a hat..."
"Never mind. In this tome, I hypothesize that the Karavan came to Atys on the back of the Dragon. cak fyr kam pyr lik, that is 'earth heat sap water plant'. Our planet, Atys, is posterior to the heat of the Dragon. Then came the sap of the Kamis, water and plant life."

The Tryker looks at Eeri dumbfounded. You can feel that he is holding back from laughing. But Eeri becomes strangely more serious.

"Anyway, first hypothesis, Fyrak is a material creation of the Karavan. His vessel in a way. The other hypothesis is more daring."

A gust of wind makes the flames of the campfire flicker, before it resumes its burning.

"Whoa, the fire will eventually go out with all this wind," Kickan worries.
"Wind is to fire what absence is to love. It extinguishes the little one and lights up the big one."
"Well, instead of playing the two-dapper poet, tell us: what's your other hypothesis?" insists Eeri.
"Poetry is to life what fire is to wood. It emanates from it and transforms it," Azazor says, with an amused gaze.
"Aza!"

This one looks at his listeners. He takes great pleasure in seeing them in the waiting, especially Eeri. So this is what the teachers at the Imperial Academy feel like, when they talk to their captivated students? Clearing his throat, he resumes:

"The other hypothesis I was saying, well, I've just never seen Fyrak. Not even a machine."

Eeri takes a deep breath, as if about to say something, but the Fyros follows up.

"My seeing Fyrak would be some kind of hallucination. Or a dream. Maybe even a dream sent by the Kamis. I have read many accounts of homins who have traveled to Primes Roots and returned alive. But how did they get down there? How did they survive the kitins that swarm below? The simplest solution to this puzzle is that they simply never made the journey they describe. That it's all a dream. As if they were paused by the Kamis for a time, living an adventure in a dream as they lay in a corner of a rift or a tunnel in the Prime Roots."
"Would the Kamis be capable of that kind of thing?" asks Kickan, intrigued.
"I don't know. But the most pious Zorais talk about a journey. They say that when they reach kami age, they become one with the Kamis. This is called Enlightenment. So it doesn't seem unlikely to me, quite the contrary. Except that there is a snag."

The two homins raise an eyebrow at the same time. Their synchronization is comical. These two have found each other. Azazor doesn't even notice it, too obsessed with explaining his vision of things.

"The snag is the tooth shard. That said, maybe I got it through other ways without realizing it. For example, by banging a Karavan artifact in the depths, the kind of artifact you sometimes see in the Lands of Umbra, all in a half-awake state. A dream where you move anyway."
"Or a facetious Kami slipped it into your pocket while you were sleeping," Kickan suggests.

The Tryker, unable to hold it any longer, bursts out laughing, too happy with his joke. Eeri also starts to laugh mechanically, but one feels that she tries to control herself, not wanting to block the discussion when it becomes interesting. The Fyros remains impassive, waiting for the giggles to pass. Since he came back from his trip underground, he is used to being laughed at. It changes him from the jokes about his belly. Kickan wipes his tears while looking at Eeri with laughing eyes. This one returns him his smile and turns again his head towards Azazor who continues to explain.

"Nothing is impossible. Still, the most probable hypothesis is indeed the dream. The question then arises as to why."

Taking the voice of an old sage, Kickan murmurs :
"And yes, why, that is the question..."

Eeri refrains from bursting into laughter again. She would like, strangely, to hear nevertheless the end of the story. She then bites her tongue to hold back.

"Why do we believe in the Great Dragon? How is it that a large part of the homins, wherever they come from, no matter what their religion, believe in its existence? This myth of the Great Dragon is almost as persistent as that of Jena. Even among Kamists, faith in Jena is still strong among many."
"Jenaist Kamism," Eeri points out.
"ney, and it took all the strength of a Hoi-Cho for this to be gradually replaced by Kamism of Revelations."
"And according to you, where does this myth of the Great Dragon come from?"

Azazor closes his eyes, as if he was concentrating. Then he whispers in a mournful voice:

"The ashes of the Dragon, in the depths, open the way to the Truth..."
Eeri and Kickan express themselves in chorus:
"What??"
"That is a sentence I've had in my head since I returned from the depths. A kind of mantra. I don't know where it comes from. But I think I understood what it meant."

Eeri thinks that the more time passes, the more Azazor grows crazy. From a grouchy but nevertheless valiant legionary, he has become some kind of old fool rambling unintelligible stuff. So this is what it means to become old? Yet she is hardly younger than he is. It doesn't make you want to get old. Or maybe it's spending too much time in the Imperial Library.

"I believe that the Kamis, in sending me this dream and introducing me to this 'Dragon's tooth' intended to send me a message. This tooth fragment is a piece of some Karavan machine. But it was all a dream, except for this artifact. Perhaps then the Dragon..."

He lets his sentence die out and glances at Eeri, who is getting annoyed.

"What the hell? What?"
"Perhaps the Dragon of Myth is also a dream. A dream sent by the Karavan."

Suddenly there is silence, only disturbed by the roar of an armadai in the distance.

"You mean Fyrak wouldn't exist? But you're crazy!" enraged Eeri.
"I don't really know. But it doesn't seem so crazy to me."
"You, Azazor, Fyros from head to your filthy toes, did you just say that you don't believe in Fyrak?"
"I didn't say that, I said it was a hypothesis."
"Because you had a dream about a dragon and found a piece of a Karavan ship as a tooth?"
"When you put it like that, it's a weak demonstration. But there are other reasons to think so."
"Like what?"
"Who forbids us to descend into the depths? The Karavan. Because of what? The Dragon. Not the kitins. That they didn't use the kitins to scare us off suggests that the Karavan didn't even know their existence. So... In this case, the myth of the Dragon may have been by them made up. It's very convenient, so the Karavan looks like a good person, who defeated him, and no one is eager to go down to the very depths.
"And fwhat's in the Karavan's interest if we don't go down?"
"Preventing us to find things like that," answers Azazor, pointing to the 'tooth'. I am sure that the depths are full of this kind of artifact. There is this strange artifact mentioned by Pylos Cetheus in the book sel ûr atalbem ûr selak, and of course those that can be found in the Prime Roots accessible from the New Lands. As I once mentioned in a book about the drills, there is also a rumor that these were bringing up artifacts from underground and that was why they had been stopped in 2494."
"A kind of Big Bad to scare people," Eeri murmured.
"ney, but what the Karavan hadn't thought of was that the Fyros would like fire. So a huge beast spitting fire could only arouse their curiosity.

He lets a silence hover again, the time for them to digest the information, then resumes :

"Given the incendiary content of this hypothesis, you understand Eeri why I didn't even dare to broach the subject in the New Lands. The Karavan has ears... You Eeri, a Trytonist, can understand..."
"What... WHAT? But I'm not a Tr..."

Seeing Azazor's smile, she stops. The bastard, he plays with her nerves. A point for him. The Fyros continues:

"'The ashes of the Dragon, in the depths, open the way to the Truth.', this is a metaphor.
"I won't give a shit about metaphors," grumbles Eeri.
"A meta what?" asks Kickan.
"A metaphor, an image. The Dragon's quest, in short, is the quest for the Truth."

Kickan massages his temples while blowing.

"I don't know if it's the Sea of Wood or what you're saying, but I'm getting a headache."
"Yeah, the claim of Fyrak not existing, that's too much for me tonight. I'm going to go sleeping," adds Eeri.

While saying so, she throws an angry glance towards Azazor. How can he know what her deepest beliefs are? Is it that obvious? The Fyros doesn't look at her and put his 'tooth' back into his breastplate, keeping his eyes fixed on the fire.

"ney, that's a lot for tonight. It is indeed time to go to sleep."

The two Fyros and the Tryker each snuggle into their animal hide. The nights are cool down here. On the desolate plain, an armadai is mooing to call for a mate.

Edited 2 times | Last edited by Fyrenor (2 года назад)

---

fyros pure sève
akash i orak, talen i rechten!
élucubrations
biographie

#24 Многоязычный 

Многоязычный | English | Français
Eeri's logbook
Tria, Harvestor 21, 2nd AC 2619

As I write this, we have reached the village of Oflovak's Halt. We are still exhausted, but already less than when we arrived at Fort Beacon. And we have a few good nights of sleep ahead of us. I haven't written for a long time, and I will try to resume where I left off.

We left with Kickan from the Fort, on a beautiful day. I must confess here that I was very apprehensive about going back down into that hellish Sea of Wood, and had the greatest difficulty in hiding it. Kickan's presence was reassuring, especially after the praising words of Tao, the steward of the Fort, towards him. I could see that Azazor was also somehow hiding his anxiety behind a ponderous and a bit dramatic silence. Our good mektoub, back on its feet, followed us without reluctance, probably happy to have a little exercise.

It must be said that with a guide, the progress is much faster. We went from beacon to beacon, without missing a single one. From time to time, the beacons were crushed to the ground, probably knocked down by an armadai. No wonder we got lost on the way to the Fort... Miss a beacon, and the mist will prevent you from finding the next one. It is therefore the main task of liaison officers like Kickan, to ensure that a maximum of beacons are visible. Some of them, completely broken, do not go higher than our calves... We raised back a certain number of them on the way. It is essential for this part of the route, which must be done in a minimum of time at the risk of losing the head. We have seen where that leads, already
Kickan explained us laughing that with time, he could probably do the path without beacon. At a rough guess, I'd say he made the way about fifty times, at least. As for us, without a beacon, we panic.

Eventually, Azazor understood what my beliefs were. I don't know how to describe that moment, around a fire, when he almost denied the existence of Fyrak, explaining that his story with the Dragon was perhaps only a dream... Finally, he may not be totally crazy. Then even more unexpected theories, asking the Trytonist I am if I understood what he was talking about. Unbelievable. I feigned surprise, very badly. Or no, I was really startled, I didn't expect him to come out with that in front of any other person. Since his return from the depths, he had made a perfect candidate for recruitment by one of our circles, yet the Fyros bugger still seemed to cling to the Kamis like gingos cling to homins' buttocks. Also, as for discretion... Well, I'm not in the best position to reproach him on that point, either, but still. But what the hell did I come doing in this mess, with a Fyros doubting his own convictions so much? He already seemed less mentally fragile when we left. I was probably wrong on that point. Or not, I don't know what to think anymore. It doesn't really matter now.

Well, he knows. I suspected that, now I know that he knows. Fortunately, he doesn't know everything yet. On the one hand, this is not the place where the Kuilde will come to make trouble for us. And in the end, Kickan doesn't care about all that. And anyway, am I going to spend the rest of my life on Bark hiding what I am? Let it come, this Kuilde, let it take care of my seed of life, that will reinforce the opinion that the Karavan has too much to hide from us. Maybe our cause needs this, a new sacrifice. I digress. Let's get back to the point.

The trip went on without too many clashes. We were able to see some armadais from a little closer, about fifty meters. And we heard their predators on the hunt, fortunately they were too far away for us to see them. In principle, as long as there is game not too far from the carnivores in pack, these are not too interested about us. In theory. If they don't scent our presence. Azazor was very interested in seeing the armadai up close. "The Eyes... the Beast...", we scoffed. Mostly we got to see some gigantic carcasses, bones as big as a legionary's thigh. Speaking of thighs, walking up here is exhausting, I can't write it enough. Each gesture requires a lot more energy, and a lot more concentration. Fortunately, we didn't have to take out our axe, I might not have had the strength to lift it.

And at last, the Halt.

We arrived at the foot of a cliff, strangely less high than the one of Fort Beacon. We walked along it for a while, Kickan seemed to be looking for a specific place, nonchalantly, apparently happy to have reached our destination. Then he said: "Here it is! Here!"and he grabbed a kind of bine that was bangling there, a small piece of wood attached to the end. He gave it a few sharp tugs, and told us we will have to wait a little while. After a few minutes, we heard some noises overhead, and saw a huge thing take off a few feet away from us. A few clusters of sawdust were falling here and there. "The counterweight," said Kickan, in the most natural way. We stepped aside, and saw some sort of platform coming down towards us, held up by several ropes. Our two puzzled Fyros faces must certainly have taken on the expression of a disoriented bolobi. Then we laughed nervously:

"We have to go up in there, asked Azazor?"

Kickan pondered for a moment and answered:
"First Eeri and her mektoub. She's a little lighter. Then the two of us."
"Lighter, lighter… You don't know her," Azazor grumbled.
"We can't leave your mektoub alone in the basket, anyway," he said, very seriously.
"ney, you're right. The beasts first, the homins later."

Damn Azazor, I couldn't think of anything to answer... I won't transcribe here all of his mockery, when I put my scarf over Ru-Dun's eyes and we got into the gondola, not too secure. Ha, yes, it is Kickan who named the toub like that on the way, in the local tyll spoken with that strange accent. Then he explains us that there is another path, an access ramp, but in the very south of the island, so use it would require several more days of walking.

The pod began to rise upwards. An ingenious system they have. The counterweight goes down when the pod goes up, and the same in the other direction, with a pulley system. Probably an invention of Trykers, by the way, the structure at the top looks a bit like those of our water tanks, in the Lakes.
I got up there, and a few homins greeted me with a look, busy braking the pulleys to stop the pod smoothly. I couldn't tell if they were friendly. One of them simply smiled and nodded when, not knowing what to tell them after my "oren pyr", I told them that we were accompanying Kickan, who was still waiting below.

Kickan and Azazor arrived upstairs after a few minutes. I took the opportunity to throw a few barbs at the latter while he was feverishly hanging on to a rope, trying to look relaxed. Then we headed for the Halt, a little further inland. There are two camps like these, on the west and east sides of the island, to receive and ascend, or descend travelers, each about a day's walk from the village itself. Was it the presence of Kickan, who seemed to know every homin in the camp? Still, no one asked us any questions.

After a night's sleep halfway through, and another short day of walking, we finally entered the village itself. If one can call it a village. From a few scattered buildings in the forest without apparent organization, we arrived at the top of a little valley covered with houses, overlooking a big lake. Well, nothing to compare with the beauty of the lake of Fairhaven, but even on this cloudy day, the place does not lack charm. Each cabin seems relatively clean and well kept, but has its own style. On closer inspection, some of the walls seem to be made of large bones, sometimes of wood, or of wide leather chunks. We continued on our way down to what seems to be the center, or the main square.

Then someone shouted Kickan's name, some homins came to welcome him, others were sticking their heads out of their windows. We would have preferred to be a little more unnoticed. Kickan wore a big smile, greeting each of them, throwing his inimitable "Lordoy!" on each side of the path.
A Matis arrived, without hurrying, and Kickan pointed him out from a distance:

"A member of the Council," Kickan told us with a smile, before motioning for us to stay a little ways away and go meet him. They talked for a while, then came to join us.

The Matis gave us a "oren pyr" to greet us, with an accent even stranger than the one of the inhabitants of the Fort, but in a controlled and perhaps too polite voice... A Matis, that is.
He welcomed us, starting to ask us questions about our trip. Assuming that Azazor was not going to give him the pleasure of chatting, I answered by some few banalities, nothing more than what Kickan could have told him. And then that we would like to rest for a while first. He smiled and took his leave, inviting us to share a baba later. Kickan led us to a kind of small hut, inviting us to settle down, before leaving us in his turn. He has many people to greet, starting with his family. Family, here, a word I had almost forgotten. I got lost in my thoughts for a moment, hoping that Uzykos and Wixarika were doing well. Quelle misérable je suis de les avoir abandonnés... Puis Azazor m'a secouée. Nous allons devoir nous concerter, rafraichir notre stratégie sur ce que l’on peut dire et ce dont il vaudrait mieux ne pas parler. Il y a peut-être déjà quelques maraudeurs par ici. Pas le temps de laisser mes émotions prendre le dessus.

Before leaving, Kickan warned us about the Council. It is a group of six, elected by the population. Life here is very quiet and they usually don't like anything that might disturb the calm of the place. Marauders, refugees, travelers are accepted, but they are not used to see travelers going eastwards, other than liaison officers like him. Luckily, this Matis had been there and Kickan knows him a little. He told us that he had prepared the ground for us to meet him and that we could convince him of the good intentions of our trip. That will be useful for the continuation, not that they can prevent us from leaving, but we know well that the homins of the New Lands are rare and not necessarily in favor here. "Strange behavior, for Rangers," I said. Then Kickan laughed, "Hahaha! Rangers?" On that, he left without adding anything.

I'll still have time to understand what's going on here, and to describe the place more precisely in the next few days. The road ahead to Cloudy Cliff Diplomatic Outpost is similar, and Kickan advised us against leaving before a week or more, while our metabolism gets sufficiently recovered. He also explained that unlike Fort Beacon, since we are here on a relatively low elevation island, the harmful effects of the Sea of Wood are felt to a lesser extent. We won't fully recover our physical energy, but at least we need to recover all our clarity of mind.

Azazor is already snoring, toub. And all I have left is shu fiber to put in my ears. It won't be enough, but I don't have anything else on hand.

Last edited by Eeri (2 года назад) | Причина: NOTE : Traduction en Anglais par Nilstilar ! English Translation by Nilstilar

---

Eeri
"Quand on a le nez trop près de la bouteille, on ne voit plus le bar"

#25 Многоязычный 

Многоязычный | English | Français
Eeri's logbook
Folially 24, 3rd AC 2619

Things are starting to get clearer about our departure. Once we are ready, we leave again in two days. We will be accompanied again, but this time not by Kickan. This one leaves again tomorrow towards the Fort, with another team member and some goods.

The one who will accompany us is Titus. A Fyros, who looks young, but seems to have the energy of a bedridden celiakos. I exaggerate. He is just young, in fact. It's apparently also due to the high altitude, everyone here seems a bit slower than elsewhere. I feel weak myself. I can see that Ru-Dun is chewing its food more slowly than usual, too. Azazor seems to be stooped as if after drinking three vials of ocyx essence. As if everything was going in slow-motion.
This Titus, then. Since we arrived, he followed us, looked at us with big eyes, then asked us questions. Then he asked us to come with us. He wants to leave the island, to move away, to find the Marauders. I heard that his father was one of them, but he never knew him, he grew up on the island. Azazor eventually gave in to his request with a " Well. But no foolery, right? Taking a Marauder's son along, what a big deal. I objected. Azazor probably thinks it will work out in our favor. What if the father betrayed them? Well, it must have been a long time ago, they'll have forgotten. Above all, he seems too inexperienced for such a journey. "Do you at least know how to hold a sword at the right end?" I asked. Supposedly, he trains every day, he told us. I didn't want to be too hard on him, but I don't think he's ever faced a kirosta, or anything of that size.

And he asked why we were traveling, if we too were going to join the Marauders.
I answered nothing more than "scientific trip", naturally taking out my axe to resharpen the blade. I don't like it, but it's true that arriving at our next destination with a homin from the Halt could be a good point for us. "Here is a fresh recruit, do with it what you will." Or not, who knows. We'll have to adapt very quickly to the reception they'll give us.

So it's decided, he will travel with us to Cloudy Cliff Diplomatic Outpost. Discreetly I asked Kickan if he knew him, if we could trust him. Here, he told me, no one has any reason to want us dead, as long as we don't cause a catastrophe. I understood this while drinking a baba with him and the Matis we met earlier. Incidentally, the baba is slightly better here than at the Fort, but it's still more bland and insipid than the lightest byrh.

They told us a lot of things about the Halt. The inhabitants here are descendants of the Rangers of Atys, who settled here. At the beginning, now several generations ago. In order to guide the refugees, to offer them a break on the way to the New Lands. That we already knew. Many have left, but some have chosen to settle, and the Halt has quickly turned into a small town. "They don't lack anything here," Coccio, the Matis, explains to me. Few predators, some javings in the north, at most, enough game, a rather generous forest, a lake. The homins hunt armadai, too. So that's it, the bones and hides that are used to build the houses. Azazor asked how, and if he could attend a hunt, but the next one is not scheduled for a month. There is a large hole, a trap, somewhere in the southeast of the island. Homins imitate the animal's cry, or its predator's, and lure it to the trap. When they succeed in making it collapse, it is killed with a pike by the hunters, then butchered on the spot. It will not be able to get out of the trap in one piece anyway. The hunt for the armadai requires many homins, and sometimes gives rise to a great party. Its meat is very fortifying and invigorating, the main source of energy for them. By the way, Cuccio offered us two large bags filled with this dried meat, for the continuation of our trip.

No one is really Ranger here anymore, or part of the guild, now. One of the only ones who could claim to join them is Kickan, like a few others of his temperament. But he is satisfied with his work between the Fort and the Halt. And as he told us: if he didn't do it, who would? Real Rangers regularly pass through here, and are admired and welcomed as heroes, as life outside the island is so harsh. But if many young people dream of joining them, few actually do. As Coccio says, when you are born here, life is so quiet that you don't need to go running around the world... Kickan joked something like: "Coccio, you are telling that to two Fyros who just traveled half of the Oflovak Road! What do you think? That you're going to convince them to settle here?"
So, Titus' case is quite rare. It was triggered when, as a child, he learned that his father was a former Marauder. By the way, the homin in question had died during an armadai hunt, after slipping and falling into the trap. The animal, in panic, crushed him with its paw, a rare but fatal accident.

But then, we asked, "On the island, neither Rangers nor Marauders, how can they remain so carefree? Marauders in the New Lands are at war with the Nations. What would they do if Marauders here tried to invade the island?" From what I understood from Coccio's explanation, that would be of no interest, to anyone. Marauders are as welcome here as any homin, out of loyalty to the Ranger tradition. The physical capacities are less, for those who are not born there, so they don't stay very long, they soon feel too weak. Just like us. And there is nothing to fight here: no kitins, no Powers, no Nations, and a popular organization. The job of the Island Council is to ensure that these traditions are respected, and to administer the city in consultation with everyone. Coccio is elected with five others for a few years of Jena, and will leave his place in two years. "Maybe to Kickan," he said with a smile. "He would do a good job." To which Kickan replied sarcastically that he was not old enough, like him, for such a task. "The Council? Stuff for bedridden!" he said. "Not as much as back home in the Desert," I added.
"Getting back to the marauders... We know how to quell the troublemakers," Coccio tells me. "Usually they behave well. It even happened in the past that some of them settled on the island, which is very frowned upon among them." Just like it will upon us: he warns us that we will be very unwelcome among the Marauders. But, the fact that we are traveling with a homin from here will maybe be helpful, and if we bring some goods, too.

Besides their benevolence, Azazor and I thought we saw in our hosts a kind of insouciance regarding the problems of the world, and above all, we were stunned by this lack of curiosity, this total absence of the thirst for knowledge that inhabits us. We looked at each other, and kept our mouths shut. As if for the first time in a long time, we understood each other.

Last edited by Eeri (2 года назад) | Причина: NOTE : Traduction en Anglais par Nilstilar ! English Translation by Nilstilar

---

Eeri
"Quand on a le nez trop près de la bouteille, on ne voit plus le bar"

#26 Многоязычный 

Многоязычный | English | Français
Titus' logbook

Today, two strangers arrived from the west. They accompanied our dear Kickan. I haven't seen them yet, but Tikra says they are two Fyros from beyond the green lands. Farther than Fort Beacon. Farther than Kickan's. I say that Tikra is talking nonsense again. Ever since she started working at the West Elevator, she's been telling me all kinds of crap. The last time, she claimed to have seen an armadai bigger than the others crushing a yetin under its weight. If she wasn't my big sister, I would hate her. Tomorrow I'll go see the two strangers and see if that is still some craps from Tikra.


I can't believe it, the two Fyros do come from a place far to the west of the Halt. Beyond the horizon, there are countries where homins have built huge cities. The Fyros homin spoke of an empire ruled by a guy who is over a century old. This made the Fyrossa accompanying him laugh. But the most incredible thing is that these two homins are heading east, towards the Citadel. So I told them about my father, who was a former Marauder who came here to retire. They found it interesting because they immediately asked me questions about what it was like there, and where my father was now. I could see the disappointment on their faces when I told them that he had died two years after I was born and that I didn't know anything about the Citadel. But as for me I have a lot of questions for them. Strangers from so far away must have a lot to say, certainly more interesting than the bullshit of Tikra and her giant armadais.


The Fyros' name is Azazor. He told me that he was a kind of dragon seeker. So I showed him the drawing of my father's tattoo, the one with the fire-breathing flying monster the elders of the Council name a red dragon. My father, he too was a dragon hunter. I could see that this pleased Azazor. He has a dragon tattoo on his face. But it's not the same one. Yeah I told him, my Marauder father was a real dragon slayer. I wish I could be like him. But I'd have to get out of this dump. They say that outside the Halt, it's too dangerous. But I don't care about the danger! I am a son of Marauders! Son of dragon hunter! What do I care about yetins or armadais?


I'M GOING TO LEAVE THE HALT !!!! After three days hassling their asses, they finally gave in. So I will leave with them, towards the Citadel! Azazor showed me the map of the route they've been following all this time. It goes first through the Cloudy Cliff Diplomatic Outpost. They'll leave me over there and then I'll have to figure out how to continue on my own. Azazor told me that he would like me to go on with them to the Citadel, but Eeri, the Fyrossa, doesn't want to. It seems that she doesn't trust me. Azazor reassured me that I would gain her trust along the way and that Eeri might change her mind once we got to the Outpost. 
Mom, if you ever come back from the Great Puddle, I'll leave you my diary, so you'll know that I love you. But my destiny awaits me, far to the east, among the Marauders. I want to live like Dad.


The big departure is coming. I finished loading Polly with my jerky. My two new companions tasted it and loved it. They are butchers at home, among other jobs they have. So my meat must be exceptional. I'm going to open a market at the Cliff Outpost, it's going to be crazy!
Come on, what can I write as the ultimate sentence on my diary? Something snappy. I know, the sentence Azazor told me when Eeri said it would be too hard for me to go with them.
Don't wish it was easier, wish it made you better. 
Yeah, I know I'm going to have a hard time. But when I get to the Citadel, I'll be a different homin. Strong and proud, like my father!

Nine days have passed since their departure from Oflovak's Halt. In the desolate, fog-covered plain, Azazor leads the marche, recht in hand. Titus follows, pulling his mektoub Polly loaded with dried meat, then Eeri, closing the march and pulling her own Ru-Dun, a hatchet in her free hand. 

Suddenly, a growl can be heard. Like a powerful snort. Before Titus knows what's happening, Eeri releases her mektoub and takes out her shield, standing behind the beast for protection. Azazor moves closer to them and puts himself ahead of Titus. The group, standing together, has a panoramic view of the area. Yet nothing moves on the horizon. The fog prevents to see beyond twenty meters. One hears however like a gallop coming right towards Eeri, followed by a new growl. Then a huge yetin emerges from the fog, as tall as a homin. It leaps on Eeri who parries with her shield and sends it waltzing over her. The yetin falls on Azazor's back who has not had time to turn around. The animal, hardly stunned, is going to plant its fangs in the back of the Fyros when Titus, listening only to his courage, flees while yelling. The yetin has a moment of hesitation while seeing the young homin running away, moment that Azazor seizes to turn over on his stomach and give a blow of axe in the mouth of the monster. This one moves back while growling then charges Titus. He jumps on him with both paws in front and plants his sharp claws in his back. The young homin collapses while howling of pain. His scream is of short duration, because the yetin does not waste time and, with one blow of its jaw, tears off his head that it sends waltzing away. The head rolls on a few meters before stopping, the face deformed by the fear and the glance tightened towards the two survivors. The yetin then turns his mouth towards those, who are back on their legs and are about to fight. But the yetin immediately abandons them and grabs the decapitated body of Titus in its mouth to take it away in the fog, towards the west. Not asking for more, Azazor and Eeri take the opportunity to flee, each taking the reins of a mektoub and hastening east. They take one last look at Titus' head, who continues to stare at them with frightened eyes. 

Thus lived and perished Titus, son of a former Marauder of the Dragon Hunter Clan and a homina who had gone on a quest to the Great Puddle for who knows what reason. Such is the life in these remote lands. Cruel, devouring the weak and their destiny, devouring even their own past. You who may dare to venture out there, never forget to write your story if you do not want this one to be devoured.

Edited 4 times | Last edited by Azazor (2 года назад)

---

fyros pure sève
akash i orak, talen i rechten!
élucubrations
biographie

#27 Многоязычный 

Многоязычный | English | Français
Eeri's logbook
Germinally ???, 4th AC 2619

I told him to wear a helmet.
If only he had. The beast would have ripped the helmet off, and his head would still be on his shoulders. Who knows.
But "dey, I get hot under my helmet, itchy," he said.

Azazor and I have been walking for five days without saying a word, without even swallowing anything. I feel like I can see the eyes of this Titus in front of me, in the mist. His eyes exorbitant with terror on his bodiless head, a stream of blood soaking his still open mouth.
And yet, I have seen some disgusting things. Scenes of torture, horrific deaths, flying limbs. For instance, when I was a young legionary, the day when Icus had cut the arm of a Matissa, before opening the veins of her neck one by one. The blood had splattered on my armor, and she had been told not to come back. We laughed. And of course, she came back. We did it again until she stopped coming back.

If only we could, reaching the Cloudy Cliff, find there a fresh Titus, brought back by some Power… Maybe by the Marauders? But it seems unlikely that he has a crystal, and even if he had his father's, that this one would be active.

In the moment, I didn't have time to don my amplifiers and try to heal him. The beast was already gone, bringing his body away. I know now that it would have been futile. No healing magic, no matter how powerful, can stick a head back on a body, other than by passing through the hands of the Powers. So we fled, taking the mektoubs, and leaving his head where it had fallen. Had Jena or Ma'Duk called him back to them, his terrified face would have already disappeared into fine dust, giving off that bluish glow.

I am scared. We are scared. But we have to move on. We won't see him again. Except in my own madness, his eyes in the mist, and my own voice replaying in my head: "If you fall here, you won't come back."

According to our estimates on the map, the outpost should still be five or six days away. I've never been so delighted about the prospect of meeting Marauders.

Eeri and Azazor expect to see the lights of the outpost in the distance at any moment.

"Well, should we tell the Marauders about Titus or not?" Azazor asks.
"What will they care? They don't know him. At best they'll remember the father. And not necessarily in a good way."
"That's true. Without him, they'll want to lynch us, if they remember him as a traitor."
"At the same time, given their life expectancy here, those who remember him are probably bedridden."
"I know what to tell them anyway."
"And when are you going to tell me?"
"Trust me, for a change."

The Firossa stops.

"Trust? But it's not a question of trust, my poor Fyros. We're way past that. Of course I trust you, I wouldn't have gotten into this mess with you otherwise."
"Well, then, you let me do the talking."
"dey. We don't play it that way. We have to have the same line of conduct. No more li'l secrets."
"You're the one who says that, after bringing in dangerous stuff without telling me?"
"It' okay, we won't go through that again. You holding a grudge or what?"
"Did you just find out?"
"I can understand that you've become paranoid about me, but just, now, I offer you to talk, to say things."
"Yeah…"
"It's a question of strategy. If you tell them something, then I say the opposite right after, we'll look like two gnoofs… we already stink like yelks…

Azazor pauses, thinks for a moment, then sniffs around.

"I don't get the issue."
"There is no issue. Just one thing to do: sit down and talk. You tell me what you plan to do, and I'll tell you what my plan is. Then we…"
"Maybe I don't want to hear about your plan?"
"You have to. There's too much you don't want to hear about. I am part of this journey. We go through it together, or we die. Together."
"But I know your plan. We show up, you stick a goo bomb in their face, and we pass. But we won't do it that way."

Eeri has a little laugh while Azazor finishes muttering something.

"The goo bomb is the last plan. When all the others have gone wrong."
"Excellent. Then I'll let you know when."
"Azazor… I mean it. You don't want to end up like Titus. Not right now. And neither do I."
"Hrmf…"
"So we sit down, we talk, and we define what we will do and say. If it goes wrong, we define a second plan, and so on."
"So you don't trust me."

Eeri thinks for a moment and sighs.

"But I do! Only imagine I say one too many toubshits… I might as well know what to expect… And that I'm not surprised by what you're going to tell them."

Azazor grunts for a moment:

"Well, as soon as we can, we stop and talk. If you want to."
"I do. We're a team, remember."
"ney… a team…"


A few kilometers further, the two Fyros find a place a bit sheltered and hidden, not far from a beacon and in the hollow of a small hillock. They decide to stay there for the night and chew each one a piece of armadai meat, energetic food, the only one which allows to keep a little bit of energy and a clear mind in this place.

"Shall I start, or shall you?"
"To what?"
"Plan A, plan B, plan C…"
"You got that many?"
"Until goo plan."
"Then I'll start, so if your toubshits last too long, I can fall asleep."

Eeri can't help but laugh at this last remark of Azazor, who strangely answers with a small satisfied smile.

"I listen to you," she says.
"So, here is what I am going to tell them…"

Edited 2 times | Last edited by Eeri (2 года назад) | Причина: Traduction en Anglais par Nilstilar / English Translation by Nilstilar

---

Eeri
"Quand on a le nez trop près de la bouteille, on ne voit plus le bar"

#28 Многоязычный 

Многоязычный | English | Français
After three weeks of walking, it is two exhausted homins who arrive at the foot of the slope leading to the Cloudy Cliff Outpost. Until then, this one had remained hidden from their view by a thick cloak of fog, except a few days ago, when, the mist having lifted, they were able to see it on the side of the cliff. As had been explained to them before they left the Halt, the ascent begins with a long, narrow path winding through the roots, often replaced by stairs cut into the wood when the path is too steep. It then ends with an elevator as for the Halt. From what they have been told, the desert where the outpost is built is much higher than the verdant continent where Fort Beacon is located. They can't see the top of the cliff yet because of the fog, but it must be gigantic.

After a laborious climb of several hours, pulling mektoubs as exhausted as themselves, Eeri and Azazor finally emerge from the mist. They can then see the outline of the outpost, a structure mainly made of wood on the side of cliff. Built on a large root that protrudes from the cliff, the outpost is solidly protected, to the west by the void, elsewhere by walls. It is held by the Marauders, although the presence of Rangers is allowed. As night falls, it stands out against the starry sky thanks to the torches lit here and there. From where they stand, it already looks imposing. Yet they still have more than half the height of the cliff to climb.

"It's probably at least an hour before we get to the elevator. I suggest we spend the night here and wait until tomorrow morning to go on."
"Surely we'll be fresher."

Eeri notes Azazor's change towards her. Before, he would not have proposed but imposed. But since their conversation a few days ago about their respective plans to gain acceptance from the Marauders, he finally seems to be taking her a little more seriously.

They put their stuff down against the cliff. As always since their departure, Eeri deals with tying up the mektoubs and feeding them, while Azazor takes care of lighting a fire. Before the wood catches, Eeri stops him in his tracks.

"Maybe it's not so careful to signal our presence tonight, don't you think?"
"You're right, no fire tonight."

'You're right.' Yes, definitely, Azazor has changed.

From where they are sitting, they can see to the west the cloud cover that wraps the Sea of Wood. Sagaritis emerges above the mist. The ringed star appears to float on the clouds, like a soap bubble ready to burst. A fragile bubble, like the situation of our two homins, lost in the fog, years from walking from their friends.



Azazor has a dream that night. He remembers the day he announced his departure to the Chancellor of the Imperial Academy.

It was a stormy day, as the desert sometimes experiences. The rain is pounding the facades of the Imperial Academy in a deafening roar. Taking his courage in both hands, Azazor knocks on the door of the Imperial Archivist. He just completed his initial training. With his publication of numerous works, he finally feels legitimate to ask for a place in the talumetim-an, the elitist training of the Academy, the one dispensed by the great masters.
Yet not everything goes according to plan. Euphanix Apotheps tells him that the time has not yet come. Moreover, no master supports him. All grant the akenak a certain intelligence, some intuition and a good memory. But sometimes he lacks a little rigor and discipline, sometimes a little something. Azazor insists, asks for what he is really missing, nothing to do, the archivist has no time for that, she is very busy. The Fyros finally explodes, he demands to be challenged, that he is far more deserving than most of the students he has been around during his late schooling, that it is not fair. He just wants to be told what to do.
So, calmly standing up from his desk to approach Azazor, Euphanix takes a deep tone.

"Do you want to know, Azazor, why few homins at the Academy like you? I'll tell you, since you want to know the Truth so badly."

The Fyros looks intensely at the Chancellor, ready to take the blow. She then tells him what will mark him for life, what will push him to undertake this journey to the Old Lands.

"You are not of their world, that's all. Most of them are from the highest social classes. While your father was a mediocre butcher's apprentice and a poor fighter. As for your mother, she was just a prostitute your father found at the bar one day while drinking. Here is the raw Truth!"

Azazor could hardly take the shock. He had always seen his father as a great soldier. As for his mother, whom he never knew, he only knew her from his father's glowing words. He clenched his fists, his face turning red.

"Sorry akenak, but you come from a social class barely above sawdust. Your rise in the Empire is an insult to many of the well-born."

Unable to take it anymore, the former legionary collapses to his knees, his clenched fists hitting the ground with force. A tear evaporates on his face burning with anger and shame. The last time he shed a tear was when his friend Lopyrech died, a long time ago. However, the rage soon takes over.

"My father died in the Second Great Swarming to defend the retreat of our people to the Kami Oasis! He saved all those palace pesters, all those cowards who…"
"Yes, I know. He was one of the volunteers who stayed in Pyr to cover the retreat of the other homins. And in that, he saved the honor of your family. But your origins unfortunately speak against you with a certain social elite."

She puts a friendly hand on the Fyros' shoulder.

"There was a time when the Empire was much more meritocratic. But nowadays, those at the top are suspicious of those at the bottom. That's just the way it is. So give it time. They'll recognize your value in the end."
"Time… No, I don't have time to waste here! They want credit, so I'll give it to them a hundredfold!"

While saying this, he gets up and prepares to leave. The Chancellor does not try to hold him back. She knows that it is useless to calm a burning fire. It is necessary to wait until this one finished to consume itself. While passing the doorway, Azazor turns to her one last time.

"In truth we, the lower classes, are like wood. It is the wood that bears the bite of the fire. It is the wood that cooks the meat on fire. But when the time comes to eat, we say to the wood: "You can't come to the table, you'll soil the tablecloth." The wood is then left to burn and return to the sawdust.

Before he slams the door of the archivist's office, Euphanix calls out to him.
"What are you going to do, Azazor?"
"I'm going to find the Dragon, whom it all began."
"In the Nexus?"
"dey, in the Old Lands. In Coriolis."

A few days later, he will send a letter to Euphanix, explaining his project, which he had been thinking about for years. To map the Road of Oflovak and the ancestral Desert, to study the local kitins, and if possible, to unravel the mystery of the Fire of Coriolis. He makes no mention of his intention to trade knowledge with the Marauders. He's not even sure he'll discuss it with them. It will depend on the impression they make on him. As for retrieving a possible imperial artifact from the city of Fyre, he might as well not talk about that either. Nothing says that he will reach there…

Edited 2 times | Last edited by Azazor (2 года назад)

---

fyros pure sève
akash i orak, talen i rechten!
élucubrations
biographie

#29 Многоязычный 

Многоязычный | English | Français
Eeri's logbook
End of Nivia, 4th AC 2619. Or 2620 already?

Here we are, we are at the Marauders.

Since we arrived, we go from surprise to surprise. Some more unpleasant than others.
The most unexpected one is that Azazor has been in a much better mood these last days. Our talks are quieter, and we have agreed on our course of action. It's about time. I didn't believe it anymore. The bodoc even asked my opinion, and not just once. I thought he was scheming something, but I guess I was mistaken.

So. We spent a night stuck on the side of a cliff. I've never climbed a cliff so high. We stopped about halfway up, following the directions the homins at the Halt gave us, when we could find a suitable platform. Then we walked for a few more hours in the morning before we found this famous pod. There, it hasn't been that easy.
First, we had to understand what they were saying. The further away from the New Lands, the more atrocious the accent. Toub, and we realized that it was mutual. That we had to speak slowly, with simple words, articulate. Not to speak fast and eat words as I had become accustomed to doing among the Trykers, by contagion.

So they descended the pod, and shouted things from above. By dint of shouting from each side without understanding each other, they finally put the pod back up with us in it. It was much wider than the one at the Halt, which allowed us to get into on with the two mektoubs. When we reached the top, we immediately felt that the homins in front of us had a different build than those of the Halt. The system of pulleys was however similar, so it should be believed that they were able to pull harder.

They looked at us with slightly startled eyes, probably because of our attire or what we'd yelled from downstairs, and then one said they didn't expect to see a convoy from the Halt for several weeks. I let Azazor do the talking, as agreed. We are not a convoy from the Halt, though coming from. We are Fyros scientists from the New Lands, heading for the Citadel. They were visibly confused, as expected. They asked if we had any goods, we vaguely explained what we were carrying, a mektoub loaded with bags of armadai meat. From behind them came a Matis with a somewhat hurried step and a stern look.

"This one I don't like," I whispered to Azazor. Two hours later, we were sure, I was completely right not to like him.

This one is Ostini. He's a sort of chief of guards, or rather he's one of the minions of the chief of the clan that owns the outpost, the Passers, as they call themselves. It's always like that with the homins. Give them a little power, and they'll work to devalue others to keep the little bit of privilege they have. In the end, Ostini asked the same questions as his homins, using a condescending and obsequious tone. A good Matis, the kind I had missed since we left. After a few minutes, we understood that he was only interested in the goods we were carrying, and understanding that we were not merchants, he then asked us to pay for our stay here. One bag of armadai meat per person per night. We gave him two bags of Titus' mektoub, without begrudging. This one will not come to claim them anymore, except in my nightmares. Ostini gave us a briefing on the rules of the Outpost. We will be allowed to keep our weapons, but must keep them stowed away when inside the compound, as well as a couple of relatively logical things, water is rationed and we will have to pay for it. We are free to use the dormitory, the tavern, and a partly open hall that serves as a place of exchange, as a market. He showed us the dormitory where we could stay, specifying again: as long as we have enough to pay.

So we were able to get to the center of the outpost. There are indeed six buildings, two of which are obviously reserved for the clan members, arranged in a circle inside the surrounding walls. A watchtower, the market, the inn, the dormitory. Nothing very pretty, like at the Halt. A rather functional style, whose some details vaguely resembling what the Marauders build in the New Lands.

"Two bags per night… we won't last long here," I whispered to Azazor.
At that moment my eyes fell on two strange figures passing further on, between two buildings. Two strangely familiar figures.
Disturbed, believing I was dreaming, I had a moment of inattention, and Azazor told me things I did not take in at the time. He repeated them to me afterwards: maybe we would spend more time here than planned. And that we should get hired as butchers or cooks at the tavern to pay for our stay, the time to organize and especially to recover our energy after several weeks in the Sea of Wood.

The figures, meanwhile, had disappeared. At the time, Azazor didn't believe me. "What? Fraiders? What the hell would they be doing here? Are you sure? What would they be doing in a Maraudeurs camp?"… We went into this dormitory. It's very basic, but it's still better than spending a night down there. I'm taking a moment of rest to write these lines, then we'll go to the tavern. I have a plan.

Later, the two Fyros were heading to the tavern:

"Well, first we're going to find out how to pay our stay," said Azazor.
"We offer them our services, you said… But they probably already have cooks…"
"It would not be a good idea to spend all our stock of dried meat. Keeping a few bags would be better for us to help cross the Desert."
"That's true. But let's ask first what they serve. I'd give an arm for a shookie… Or rather an eye, that's less often used.

Eeri then closed his left eye, opening his right eye to the maximum, which made Azazor laugh slightly. The situation could have been worse. A little further on, from the window of one of the Clan halls, Ostini was watching the Fyros who were slowly crossing the deserted square of the Outpost, chatting.

"So, these Fraiders?" Azazor asked.
"This is our chance," said Eeri. "I've spent so much time with them, I know enough of their dialect, one of my hatchets is from them, I have it here. I mean, it's from the Fraiders in the New Lands, not from those living here, but it's probably not much different."
"But why were you hanging out with them? What's so special about them?"
"Have you ever seen a Karavan agent or a Kami at Fraiders'?"
"Hmmm…"
“Although it is said that the Fraiders were once approached by the Karavan, they probably broke away from them over time."
"I had read something about them at the Academy, saying that they collected quite a few Kara artifacts. It wasn't so much by faith as by some sort of addiction."
"I never saw that kind of thing in their camp."
"So you had Tryton meetings there?"
"Not even. Got there just to be quiet, to think, to train. In the neutral zone. You'll laugh… But I find in them a wisdom that homins don't have."
"Oh, that's easy. They're probably less corrupt, and less power-hungry."

Eeri smiled, nodded, and added:

"They are greedy for rare raw materials to supply their crafts. But they maintain a balance and share the riches within their tribe."
"Well, but then, how to convince them to help us?"
"Let's see what is traded here, what they are looking for and what they offer. If I show them my axe and tell them about the New Land tribe, if we're lucky, we'll get some allies."
"And if we are not lucky?"
"We can always do business with them."
"What do we have to trade with them?"
"To be seen. I have some rare materials left on my mektoub. Some zun ambers, which I'd rather keep in case we need new amplifiers… Two maga creepers, some vedice. So far, we've worn our weapons out less than I expected."
"Do you have this in your Mektoub?"

Eeri smiled and answered in an undertone, stopping.

"In a pocket hidden under the saddle. The ambers are in the padding. Enough to make two pairs."

The Fyros, without saying anything, gave Eeri a sidelong look as she added:

"Hey, I told you about that, that I was bringing in stuff to make new amplifiers. I just didn't tell you where it was stored."
"I must have forgotten… As long as it's not a third goo bomb," grumbled Azazor."
"But I only brought one, I promise!"

Meanwhile, Eeri and Azazor had arrived at the Tavern. Azazor pushed open the door and entered, followed by Eeri. After a few seconds, the few homins present fell silent, some turning to stare at the newcomers. Around the few tables were Marauders, recognizable by their gleaming armor, and some homins with more discreet outfits, as one could see at the Halt. Rangers, perhaps, thought Eeri. A number of them were dressed in long tunics and turbans that covered most of their faces. A Fraider was even sitting with one of them.
The travelers slowly made their way to the counter where, to their relief, a massive Fyros was standing looking at them, knife in hand.

"oren pyr, what do you serve here?"
"I'll call you the boss," he replied. "O'Teelo?"

A few seconds later, a Tryker homina came down the stairs and walked behind the counter, her expression slightly pinched, but smiling, while the customers gradually resumed their conversations in a slightly more hushed voice.

Edited 2 times | Last edited by Eeri (2 года назад) | Причина: Traduction en Anglais par Nilstilar / English Translation by Nilstilar

---

Eeri
"Quand on a le nez trop près de la bouteille, on ne voit plus le bar"

#30 Многоязычный 

Многоязычный | English | Français
The tavern keeper had a full and fleshy body. Tribal tattoos adorned her two bare forearms. Her smile seemed to mark a certain apprehension before the two newcomers. It was not so much that they were new that worried her. The Outpost was a hub for all kinds of homins, most of them merchants, others mere adventurers or wanderers looking for a temporary home. It was also a high place for diplomatic meetings between Rangers, Marauders, people of the Halt and the surrounding tribes. The tavern was the place where people came to celebrate the signing of mutual aid pacts or trade agreements.
No, what worried her was that they emanated a sort of unpleasant aura. Was it their all-Fyros armor when the Rangers' armor was motley, or their unfamiliar tattoos when she boasted of knowing the tattoos of all the surrounding tribes. There was something in them that was completely unknown, never seen before.

The homina asked her with a thick foreign accent for a shooki liquor. O'Teelo was astonished:

"A what?"
"Forget it…"
"We only serve baba here," the tavern keeper added before the Fyrossa's pout.
"How much is the baba?" said the Fyros homin while putting his purse on the counter.

This one had an amazing dragon tattoo on his face. However, it didn't look like the one of the Red Dragon Hunters Clan. By the way, the Fyros was not a Marauder, judging by his armor.

"It depends… How do you pay?"
"Do you accept dappers?"

The tavern keeper took a disdainful look. Dappers were still used on the Road, but they were increasingly abandoned in favor of barter. There were also some local currencies, depending on the place.

"That'll be 5,000 dappers, and it comes with the dish of the day," O'teelo explained. "Arma stew with botoga seeds."

The two Fyros looked at each other with a discomfited expression.

"Is there anything else to eat and especially to drink?"
"Tomorrow there might be some ploderos stew, depending on the arrivals. To drink there is also the glorx."
"The glork?"
"Glorx, repeated the tavern keeper, insisting on the final x. It is a specialty of the Atakorum.

While saying so, she pointed with her head to the group of turbaned homins.

"But you must have a strong stomach. Only they and the Fraiders usually drink it. I don't even know what it's made from."
"Then go for the glorx," exclaimed the girl, slapping her hand on the counter.
"Are you sure?" asked the Fyros.
"It can't be worse than the baba…"

The Fyros nodded that he would take the same.

"That will be 10,000 dappers in all," said the tavern keeper.

The two Fyros spent much of their day in the tavern, trying to strike up conversations with various homins. Eeri made contact with a Fraider, Azazor talked with a fat Fyros named Krapoutos. They learned that the Diplomatic Outpost hosted meetings between important Citadel generals and Rangers. The clan that owned the Outpost, however, was not playing the role of the Citadel's spokesman. The Passers Clan was taking advantage of it only to do business,, especially since diplomacy sometimes was going through trade too.

That evening, after a long discussion between Azazor and O'Teelo, the latter was finally convinced to hire them for a week as kitchen staff. Pelorus, the cook, was lacking hands. Azazor had assured her that they were butchers and that she would not regret it. She offered them a one-week trial contract, to run from the next day, with the possibility of prolongation if they did the job. The agreement was concluded on a handshake and an "akep" of the Fyros. This one had explained her where they were coming from, where they were going and what they were. Scientists from the New Lands on their way to the Citadel and beyond. Yes, her instincts had not deceived her. These two homins were very special indeed. O'Teelo wondered if she would regret the agreement with the Fyros…

Edited 2 times | Last edited by Azazor (2 года назад)

---

fyros pure sève
akash i orak, talen i rechten!
élucubrations
biographie

#31 Многоязычный 

Многоязычный | English | Français
Pelorus Mekor looks at the two newcomers with disdain. They send him again some incompetents who will have to be trained. It seems that they even come from the Halt. Weaklings, no doubt, who probably don't know how to use a knife.

P: "Okay, newbies, grab a knife, we're going to cut up about fifty bodoc steaks for tonight. I'll show you how it's done. We'll take a roast beef and…"
A: "No need for that "malos", we know how to do it. Do you want the steaks tender or not?"
P: "What do you mean?"
E: "Azazor wants to know if we cut them in the direction of the grain or not."
P: "The… a direction?"
A: "Yeah, look at your roast beef, there's a direction for the muscle fibers. If you cut following this direction, the meat is firmer."
E: "But it's less tender. Cutting perpendicularly is harder, but the meat will so melt in mouth."
A: "Wait, we'll show you how."
E: "The trick is to sharpen the knife well."

Within minutes, the steaks are all sliced. The two fyros look at the chef with a smile.

A: "Do you want them even more tender?"
P: "Gue…"
A: "In that case, marinate them."
P: "Mari what?"
E: "Marinate them, bathe them in oil for at least an hour."
A: "Not forgetting the aromatic herbs for more taste."
E: "Oh yes, we have some herbs we picked in the forest near the Halt."
P: "Put herbs with the meat?"
E: "Trust us, we used to be butchers where we come from."

Pelorus sits for a few moments while the two butchers busy themselves to marinate the bodoc steaks in an herbal marinade.

E: "This will be perfect for pan-frying."
P: "Pan-frying?"
E: "Yes. How do you cook your steaks?"
P: "We boil them with the vegetables."
E: "But you can't boil meat like that!"
P: "Sometimes we cook it on a spit, but not the bodoc, it's too tough."
A: "Not the way we cut it. And even less once it's marinated."
P: "Well, listen, you seem to know a lot about it. So I'll give you carte blanche for the meat tonight at the tavern."
A: "Consider it done. Do you got a pan?"
P: "What's a pan?"
A: "A ploderos' hip we placed on the coals. When it's hot, you put the steak on it, thirty seconds, you turn it over for another thirty seconds and that's it."
P: "Is that all?"
A: "Yes."
E: "Not forgetting to baste with the cooking juice."
P: "I don't have a 'pan'."
A: "Never mind. Eeri, pass me your breastplate."
E: "My Kostomyx? You're crazy. We have a pan in the mektoub."
A: "Yeah, but it's far away, and in the breastplate, with the sweat, it gives an inimitable taste."
E: "I understand where your smell comes from."
A: "So go get the pan. And bring the ladle too, to baste the steaks."

Once Eeri returns with the pan, Azazor places it directly on the fire in the hearth, wedged with some embers.

A: "Frying doesn't take long. The longest thing is to let it marinate. But it's not mandatory. Even a few minutes only of marinating, that's not bad."
E: "Especially if the bodoc has been beaten before."
A: "It softens the meat."
E: "You also have to be careful when you kill it."
A: "Yeah, you have to avoid it the stress of feeling like it's going to die. That releases bad things in the muscle."
E: "That's why it's important to kill it by surprise and quickly."
A: "Or better yet, get some bodoc bred by the kitins."
E: "Yeah, straight from a kitins' nest. Don't you have that nearby?"
P: "A kiti… No, not here. Are there bodocs in kitins' nests?"
A: "Of course. Our job was even to go and get them."
E: "Them and the aranas, the madakams…"
A: "Hmm… very good the madakam."
E: "Have you ever tried braised madakam?"
A: "ney! Do you also deglaze it with shookie?"
E: "Ah Ah definitely! Even once…"

Leaving the two Fyros to talk about the art of cooking meat, Pelorus left the kitchen backwards to go and see his chef. Either these two were bullshitters, or he had just come across the two greatest master butchers of Atys. Either way, he had to warn the chef.

Last edited by Azazor (2 года назад)

---

fyros pure sève
akash i orak, talen i rechten!
élucubrations
biographie

#32 Многоязычный 

Многоязычный | English | Français
From the top of his watchtower, Wozung observes the two Fyros walking slowly inside the camp. They have just passed through the large gate to the east carrying on their shoulders a medium-sized arma, tied to a stake. The Fyros seems to inveigh the Fyrossa following him. The latter shouts out something while making a sign towards the south-western corner of the camp, to which the Fyros answers by spitting on the ground.

It's been four days that Wozung has been observing the same little game. In the early morning, the two Fyros get out by the east door, the only door leading to the desert. They come back an hour before noon, loaded with an arma or a ploderos, which they take to the tavern for lunch. In the afternoon, they leave again to return before the nightfall, this time loaded with a big bag full in the going and empty in the return. The Zoraï guard doesn't wonder about what they are scheming. It's none of his business and anyway, these two have made a good reputation for themselves at the tavern. It is true that he has never eaten so well since they have been at ovens. So what they might be up to, he doesn't care as much as his first barter.

As he is about to lose interest in them, one of the officers calls out to them. It is Ostini Facili, the chief of the guards. Not a softy, this one, a real paranoid and expert in poison. He points out the bag the Fyros used in the afternoon. These put their weapons on the ground and shrug their shoulders. Ostini seems to rise a tone. The Fyros starts to push the officer who makes him fall on the ground with a punch to the plexus. The Fyrossa picks the Fyros up while bellowing something in her turn. Ostini makes a sign to the guards around who immediately encircle the two Fyros, then they take them towards the northeast of the camp. Wozung knows what is in the northeast. The prison of the Outpost. Too bad, these were good cooks.


A few moments later, in Ostini's office

The officer looks at them coldly as they sit in their chairs. They each have a heavily armed guard behind them.

O: "I'll overlook your aggressive gesture towards me earlier. We'll put it down to exhaustion from a desert hunt."

The chief of the guards then shows them the bag that he has presented to them outside.

O: I'll repeat the question I asked earlier. Why do you carry this bag that smells of meat into the desert every afternoon? It's full on the way out and empty on the way back."
A: "Well, do you really want to know? Okay, then we'll tell you."
E: "Aza, shut up!"
A: "No, I never approved this deal. I knew it would come back to us."
E: "orak!"
A: "What about talen?"
O: "orak, talen? What's that?"
A: "Something you can't understand, you orskos!"
O: "Ors what?"
A: "You dirty Mat…"

Eeri manages to put her hand on of Azazor's mouth in time.

A: "It's okay, take it off!"
E: "It's just fyrk, still spoken in the New Lands."
O: "Listen to me carefully, you two comics, here this is not the New Lands. Here we are at Passers'. And goods embezzlement is harshly punished by our clan."

Azazor ruminates something unintelligible and spits on the ground.

O: "So this deal?"
A: "It's okay, you'll get your truth, orskos!"
E: "You're staining your honor Aza by revealing our pact."
A: "Not at all. As for me I didn't sign. Only gave you a helpful hand out of friendship."
E: "Friendship?"

The Fyrossa bursts out laughing.

E: "You can stick your friendship up you know where, you traitor."
A: "I'm not the one who flirting with degenerates."

Eeri gets up and throws a blow in the head of Azazor who wavers and falls from his chair. Then gets up and retorts by pouncing on her to strangle her. The guards must then intervene to separate the two furious.

O: "Are we done with this? Put me this one in the dungeon while waiting. As for you, the Fyros, you're testing my patience. You spill the beans right away or we'll play another game."
A: "Are you making a pass at me, hotty?"

Not being able to stand it any more, Ostini grabs the Fyros and tackles him on the ground violently. He makes a sign to the guards who begin to kick him until the fyros faints under the blows.

O: "Drag him to the dungeon with the other one!"

Ostini has never lost his patience like that. He's known for his unfailing calm. And yet, there, he has just had a homin beaten up. He feels he's going to have a hard time getting these two to talk. He's been through some tough ones, but these two really don't seem to care about getting beaten up. They say that where they come from, dying is rare. If that's the case, that explains why they're so resistant to blows. It must be a habit with them. Whereas here, the best survival technique is to avoid them.
First of all, he has to regain his composure. His reputation is at stake. And then, visibly, the blows have no hold on these homins. He takes a deep breath and tries to calm down for a moment.


In the cell where our two Fyros are locked up.

Once Azazor is locked in the same cell as Eeri, she waits a moment for the guards to leave. Then she goes towards her severely bashed fellow traveler. This one does not get up. His breath is hoarse and panting, as if he was going to choke. Whereas she approaches her face have a better look at him, he opens an eye and watches her with a big smile.

E: "Moron!"
A: "Hahaha"

He then gets up and sits down next to her."

A: "So, our little act was nice, wasn't it?"
E: "A real masterpiece…"
A: "We saved a little time. Considering what I took, they'll think that what I'm going to tell them will be the truth. That gives us some time to figure out what to tell them."
E: "It will be hard to explain why the bag that we bring every afternoon in the desert is full and stinks of meat but is empty when we return."
A: "We can tell them that we have a deal with the Atakorum tribe."
E: "The Atakorums? The mystical nomads that the other loudmouth at the bar was talking about last time?"
A: "Yeah. Why not say that we bring them meat in exchange for information?"
E: "If you say that, it's gallows at once."
A: "It's always better than telling them the truth, that we hijack meat and bury it in the desert for the rest of our trip. Dealing is better than stealing."
E: "We don't even know how far away the Atakorums set up their camp. If we want to pretend to deal with them, we have to be credible at least."
A: "Well, they must not be very far according to what Krapoutos says."
E: "Krapoutos says a lot of things, but that doesn't make them facts."
A: "Anyway, I don't think they'll want to know the details. If we tell them we're bringing them some of the meat we hunted in exchange for information about the area, they are not going to get cross, are they? These Marauders don't seem to be as heavy dullards as those at home. Bargaining, even if it's not with Marauders, seems to be tolerated."
E: "Not with their own goods."
A: "We're the ones who cook these."
E: "But it's still their meat, not ours. And they're going to want the fruit of the bargain back. They don't care about the information that the Atakorums would have given us about the desert."
A: "What are you thinking then?"
E: "You could say that we are trading in poison."
A: "Poison? But we don't have any p…"

Eeri smiles at him with all his teeth and flutters his eyelids.

A: "Oh yes, the famous vial…"
E: "He he."
A: "And where is this vial?"
E: "In my toub, if they have not already searched it."
A: "It's worth a try. We trade meat with the tribe for poison. We've been caught and so we agree to return the poison…"

Suddenly, footsteps are heard in the corridor leading to the cell. Eeri and Azazor fall silent at once. The latter lies down and starts coughing. A key comes turning in the firewood lock and the heavy door opens with a creak, revealing a stern-looking guard in the doorway.

G: "You Fyros, enough sleep. The chief must talk to you."
E: "Azazor, don't tell him anything! We swore not to say anything!
A: "I didn't."
G: "Go ahead and shut up!"

While Azazor is escorted by two guards down the corridor to Ostini's office, Eeri can't help smiling. A real play. But with a death sentence at final act if the audience doesn't like it.

Last edited by Azazor (2 года назад)

---

fyros pure sève
akash i orak, talen i rechten!
élucubrations
biographie

#33 Многоязычный 

Многоязычный | English | Français
OOC: This scene was played live on RC by Eeri, Azazor and Finaen (lorist playing NPCs). Only the layout and some micro changes have been made.


Ostini opens the door to his office. He curtly addresses the two guards accompanying him.

"Make him sit down."

The two guards obey, ready to strike the Fyros if he tries to resist. Azazor sits down with a mocking look on his face. 
Ostini closes the door, walks around his desk and sits down in turn. He taps the solid wood desktop for a few moments, staring into space, then finally pulls an object out of a drawer. A finely crafted dagger. Azazor looks at the Matis and the dagger in turn, without losing his slight mocking smile.

"Well you comic, I want you to explain me precisely this story about a 'deal'."

"Or what? Are you going to play the dagger?"

Ostini plunges his hand into his desk again. When it reappears, it holds a small vial filled with a greenish liquid. Azazor's smile immediately fades at the sight of the vial. The Matis uncorks the vial and lets fall a few drops on the dagger's curved blade. A few wisps of smoke are born from the reaction between the liquid and the hardened amber.

"What is it? Poison? If you kill me, you will not know anything!"

"Indeed, it is poison. In case you have forgotten, you should know that you have left the resurrection behind when you undertook this journey. In this desert, no Power will come to help you. So I urge you to cooperate, and not to try to trick me. Am I clear?"

As Azazor remain silent, Ostini goes on:

"I am in charge of the security of the Outpost. I have to understand what you are up to. And believe me, I'll get you to talk, if you try to resist."

The Matis seems particularly calm. The two guards remain flanked in front of the door. Azazor shrugs his shoulders.

"You know, Matis, I'm not the type to lie. And I'm willing to tell you everything. But you see, I don't like those of your race. Back home, the Matis are a bunch of smelly, vile pretentious people. I want to believe that here, it is different. But talk to me offensively again, threaten me again, and all you can get from me is a good spit on your pallid face."

Azazor can't help but look at the vial, the dagger, and the Matis, alternately.

"'Those of my race'? Have you not yet managed to get rid of the racism of our common ancestors? Your civilizations are definitely way behind…"

"You don't know the Matis of the New Lands…"

Ostini lets out a small chuckle, cut off by Azazor.

"I know a few rare Matis…. well, I know two, that are acceptable, out of a whole bunch of boot scrapings."

The Fyros pretends to remember another Matis.

"Ah no, three."

"You confirm what I thought: you are generalizing. But it's not your fault, that's what they want. Don't forget: you are playing into the hands of the Powers by waging war against each other for racial, political, religious, or whatever reasons… And meanwhile, you are divided. Facing them, and facing the kitins."

Ostini makes the dagger disappear under the desktop.

"Anyway. So you are willing to talk. That's fine. I am listening."

Azazor takes a breath.

"Didn't you guess? The bag that smells like meat, the poison you just pulled out… You have all the elements."

He watches Ostini's face, waiting to see the light.

"The poison?"

Ostini looks at the vial that was left on the desktop.

"What's the connection? That vial belongs to me."

[b]Suddenly, Azazor's face breaks down.[/i]

"Ah… ramèch! Well… What was said is said, he adds while tapping his foot on the ground."

Ostini starts tapping his fingers on the desk again.

"We had a deal with the Atakorums. In exchange for some of the meat we would go out in the morning to hunt for Pelorus, they would give us a vial of poison of their own creation."

The Fyros pauses and then continues:

"Given the danger of the road, Eeri and I thought it would be prudent to carry this kind of stuff with us for the rest of the trip. I know, it is a detour of matter which belong to you, but we had figured that, well, on the one hand, we were the ones who brought back this meat. Bodocs and armas are not easy to kill here."

"You're telling me that strangers who everyone distrusts, because of where they come from, are trafficking poison in the very resting place where they have been generously welcomed?"

Azazor has difficulty hiding his embarrassment.

"Not here, no, they didn't want to. They said you would not agree. So we were doing it in the desert, further east. We had agreed on a meeting point."

"If I was paranoid, I'd think that this poison was meant for use against us."

"Are you crazy? Why would we do that?"

"To avenge all the horrors that Akilia's goons did to you on your home lands, at random? There is no reason why Akilia is the only one to send agents to operate in foreign lands.

Ostini marks a pause, then goes on:

"Fortunately, I am not paranoid. I am simply the chief of the guard. An extremely cautious chief of guard, taking his job to heart. The Atakorums, you said?"

"You can't blame them. They have nothing to do with it. We give them meat that we hunt in exchange for poison. They could not know that the meat was prepared in the tavern. What? We used your knives? Big deal!"

Ostini taps faster and faster on the desktop. Maybe he's a little paranoid after all.

"I need to analyze this poison. Where is it? Luckily, I happen to have a little expertise in poison. A knowledge that comes from my former clan."

"You'll have to ask Eeri. She's the one who stashed it."

"I see."

"And don't worry, we don't look like killers. As for the horrors of Akilia, well, we gave it back to her."

Ostini makes a sign to the guards.

"One of you take him somewhere else, and the other one get the girl back to me. Make sure they don't cross paths."

The two guards nod and signal Azazor to get up. He stands up without any resistance and turns to the chief of the guards.

"Ostini? If you want to make Eeri talk, be polite to the lady. She too, vomits the Matis."

"Racist too? Surprising."

"You really don't know the Matis of the New Lands…

One guard accompanies Azazor and the other one goes to the cell where Eeri is locked up. As requested, the two Fyros will not cross paths.

***



"Follow me," says the guard to Eeri.

Eeri grumbles something, then stands up without a word. She obediently follows the guard to Ostini's office where her gaze searches the whole room for Azazor, without success. She puts on a determined and pugnacious face.

"Good. Sit down."

He pauses and adds:

"Please."

Eeri complies, giving a sidelong look at the Matis, trying not to face him.

"I'd like you to explain to me what you and your comrade were up to with those meat-smelling bags. And what is this 'pact' that he mentioned, and that caused your fight."

Eeri remains silent for a moment, and looks at the Matis again, with a smirk on her face.

"What, he didn't say it all already?"

"I want to confront your versions."

Ostini looks closely at the Fyrossa's face.

"A Fyros does not lie. talen, the truth.

The Matis starts tapping on the desk again.

"I am listening."

Eeri fixes his eyes on the Matis' fingers for a moment.

"About what? What we were doing with that meat?"

"I'll repeat my questions: I'd like you to explain to me what you were doing with those bags that smell like meat. And what is the nature of this 'pact' you made with whoever. I expect answers, not questions.

Eeri holds back a grunt.

"I can't say anything about this pact, I don't know what you are talking about. What I can say, is that we exchanged some pieces of meat with some Atakako… dey… Atakorums."

Eeri continues, not waiting for the Matis to ask against what.

"In exchange for a very powerful poison."

"May I see this poison?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No, says the matis with a sigh."

"We will have to go to the stable."

"Just tell me where it is hidden."

"You won't find it without me."

Ostini grits his teeth… Then he calms down. He stands up.

"Right."

[b]He straps a dagger to his belt and signals to the guard."

"Direction to the stable then."

As she stands up, Eeri remembers that the poison is in a matis-made vial. She stammers:

"It is on my mektoub. I changed the vial, the one of the Ata…takorum was too fragile."

Eeri gets up and follows the guard. The three homins head towards the stable, located next to the dormitory. Then she adds, in a not too confident voice.

"I don't know where they got that poison from. It probably didn't come from their place."

"If it didn't come from their place, then it came from our. But don't worry, that's a question I can answer."

The adrenalin going to her head, Eeri doesn't answer. The three homins finally arrive in front of the mektoub. After the terrible journey he went through a few weeks earlier, he seems to be living a better life.

She grabs the mektoub's harness, unties two straps, which frees the pack a bit. She reaches behind it and delicately pulls out a small black box, the size of a dagger. She adds:

"I put it in the vial I brought with me, with a Matis paralytzing poison. Nothing too harmful. This one seems much more powerful."

***



Meanwhile, in his cell, Azazor is having scruples and is walking around in circles. Eventually he calls for a guard.

"Yes?"

"I have something else to tell your boss."

"He is busy. But I don't think he's done with you. You can ask him later."

Azazor grunts a little, perfunctory.

***



"And what did you do with the previous poison?"

Eeri opens the box, and reveals a vial, and a living dagger.

"Spilled. But the vial was intact, luckily."

Eeri looks at Ostini with his most convincing look, thinking that the bigger it is, the better it goes.

"We wanted to test in on the kitins of the Old Lands. Paralytic poison. It works pretty well our place."

Ostini gently picks up the vial and looks at it.

"I'll keep this. I'll keep this. And you go back to your cell."

He waves to the guard again.

Eeri replaces the straps of her mektoub and follows the guard. She turns and says to the Matis, in a squeaky voice:

""Be careful, though. They told us that one drop would kill a homin in two minutes. Not that I'd cry about it…"

"I know poisons well, don't worry. But this one… It doesn't look familiar," he says, looking at the vial.

***



Eeri is led back to the cell. Azazor is still in a room adjacent to the cells with the other guard. Minutes pass and the two Fyros are finally led back to the Matis' office. The two guards seat them next to each other, but these don't exchange any glance.

Ostini, sitting behind his desk, seems colder than before. He rolls Eeri's vial between his hands. A guard whispers something in his ear and his gaze falls on the Fyros.

"Did you want to tell me something? The truth, perhaps? That might be useful, indeed."

Eeri remains silent, and gives a sidelong look at Azazor, who begins to speak:

"ney… But first, tell me the Truth. You told me about Akilia, about her goons. Tell me if I'm wrong but… you don't seem to be too fond of her, do you? I know well that she is your leader, but you have nothing to fear, we won't repeat."

"Indeed, I don't hold her in my heart. And no, she is not my 'leader'… But I am not in the mood to speak about Akilia."

"Yet she declares herself the leader of the Marauders," Azazor continues.

Ostini ignores Azazor's last remark and continues:

"You see, I showed your vial to three Atakorums present at this very moment in the tavern. Do you know the rest?

Azazor loses his smile and, looking grave, looks at Ostini. The Matis lets a few seconds pass, then repeats himself, emphasizing each word.

"Do. You. Know. The rest?"

"The Atakorums had nothing to do with that, says Azazor. We just hijacked some food that we stashed in the desert for the rest of our trip. And the vial is from the New Lands. I can't say anything about it, having discovered its existence by chance in the Sea of Wood."

Eeri lets out a loud, upset sigh.

"We arrived here with a full loaded mektoub. We gave you everything…"

Ostini shows a satisfied smile. He seems proud of himself.

"Or rather, you took everything from us," she adds.

Azazor turns to Eeri.

"They're merchants here, what did you expect?"

"You paid for your stay here. And you could have kept working to get food. But you chose to steal from us instead."

"We didn't steal anything," Azazor growls.

"To get food? We work like crazy, and that's just enough to pay for your dorm!" adds Eeri.

Ostini raises his hand and beckons the two Fyros to silence.

"This food, we hunted and prepared it," Azazor adds anyway.

"Save your plea for my boss. My real boss, not Akilia. I did my part of the work."

Ostini gets up and heads for the door.

"I'll be right back."

Azazor turns to Eeri.

"You and your stupid ideas…"

"The Atakorums was your idea," she whispers to Azazor.

"You had a better idea?"

"dey! But sometimes it's better to just keep silent…"

"You think that saying nothing would have made a difference? Pfff !"

***



A few minutes later, the door opens. Ostini is accompanied by a Trykeri. A Trykeri that the Fyros have already crossed very often.. O'Teelo, the tavern keeper. The two Fyros are astonished. Eeri widens his eyes and gives O'Teelo a tense smile, in doubt. Azazor imitates Eeri like a mirror.

"Thanks Ostini, I'm borrowing your office. Can you take care of the bar while I take care of them?"

"What? Uh, yes. Sure."

Ostini sends an angry smile to the two Fyros and then leaves the room. The two guards remain present. The Trykeri slumps down on the seat and puts her boots on the desk of the Matis, who would probably not appreciate the gesture if he were present. She seems far less friendly than usual.

"I hear you've been embezzling goods that belongs to us."

"Embezzling? No… We have produced more than enough," Eeri protests.

"Technically, it's not your belongings since we're the ones hunting and cooking," adds Azazor.

O'Teelo does not pick up Azazor's remark and continues:

"I've been watching and listening to you a lot over the past three weeks. To tell you the truth, I was beginning to like you. Especially since you're an extremely good cook! But this… This is serious."

Eeri, perplexed, looks at Azazor and, doubting that this is the right strategy, tries to get her neuron to work out a better one. O'Teelo continues:

"You want to talk 'technique' with a merchant, Azazor? If I understand correctly, your thing is politics, alcohol and fighting."

"And a sense of justice," says Azazor.

"And the cooking of the bodoc," adds Eeri, half-heartedly.

"You think it's fair to exploit people? We just wanted to pay ourselves properly by taking some extra meat," says Azazor.

"Otherwise, we won't last two days in the desert," added Eeri.

"So why cover it up? Why didn't you discuss it?"

"Because you are rascals," the Fyros almost shouted. "We too have been watching you. We had to give you all our stock of dried meat just to enter the camp and sleep for two nights in your dormitory."

[Eeri winces at Azazor's words and elbows him, hoping he will shut up.

"So you both survived two more nights thanks to us. Then three weeks more," says O'Teelo.

"Ostini, whom we thought was the leader, did not seem open to discussion," Azazor points.

"Or rather, he was happy to take all the stock we had, adds Eeri. After three days, we had nothing left. And nothing left to buy anything…"

"Ostini, the boss? O'Teelo sneers. He is only the chief of the guard. A good chief, by the way, paranoid as can be. It's often very useful."

Eeri raises an eyebrow at "good chief, by the way". O'Teelo continues:

"That's why we hired you. To help you."

"We have the experience with the Marauders of the New Lands. So don't be surprised if we didn't play it straight from the start. Especially after being racketed at the entrance."

Eeri nods in support of Azazor's words, who is ruminating alone in a low voice: "Merchants, thieves, like the Trykers, all of them are…."

O'Teelo grimaces.

"Don't compare us to those barbarians. And you two don't talk to me about racketeering, you don't know anything about this country. You come from a world where everything seems easy. Haven't you wondered how hard it was to create this outpost, and to keep it going for all these decades? Yes, life is hard here. That's a fact. But better that than death.

Eeri takes a deep breath:

"Well, we screwed up. What can we do now to make up for it?"

O'Teelo looks at the Fyrossa.

"That's a good question."

"You have Eeri's vial of poison, isn't that enough for a few pieces of meat? Or do we have to give you our armor and underwear too?

O'Teelo looks at the Fyros armor.

"No thanks, I'm fine."

Eeri turns to Azazor.

"Don't add to it. They have no use for a poison like that, either."

"If you say so…"

Eeri arouses O'Teelo's curiosity.

"And what is its use?"

Eeri points to the palm of his hand, which shows a black spot.

"I never tested it. But I can tell you that I suffered to get it."

"Who do you want to poison, asks O'Teelo?"

"Yes, who do you want to poison," squeaks Azazor, turning to Eeri.

"No one in particular," answers Eeri. "If I came across your Akilia, I might not mind. It was just a matter of not to leave unequipped, and at worst it could have been a bargaining chip. I intended to try this on kitins from the Old Lands, too."

"If you're looking for Akilia, head back west. She must be somewhere between the New Lands and her headquarters."

Eeri shakes her head.

"We're not looking for her."

"In any case, it is certain that I will not let you progress to the east with an unknown poison. Ostini thinks you are assassins sent on a mission to the Citadel," O'Teelo sneers.

[b[Azazor turns to Eeri.[/b]

"And another toubshit from Eeri, one!"

"Oh, hey, it's okay… We wouldn't be here if you hadn't thought of saying that."

"Okay, then. What do you have to offer, then? For this stolen meat supply."

"That's not even worth the armadai meat we brought in," Eeri grumbled.
"Sorry, I know, it doesn't matter," she adds, lowering her eyes.

O'Teelo seems to be thinking.

"You know what? Maybe you could do us a favor…"

"That's all we can do. We don't have anything else to offer."

"A delivery mission. You'll get to keep the meat, and even get a little extra for the… long detour you'll have to make."

"Will this detour go through the place where we stashed the meat?" Azazor asks.

Eeri nudges him again.

"Aza… that's a detail."

"If you don't make it to the indicated point, I will know. Either it will mean that you died on the way, or it will mean that you preferred to rip us off a second time by continuing on YOUR way. If this is the case, try not to pass by the Outpost again on your way back… Also try to avoid Sentinel and the Citadel…."

"Where is the delivery located?"

"In the south, on the coast. The network of Zinuakeens does not yet cover the southwestern part of the desert, which makes it difficult to communicate with our relic hunters."

"It can't be worse than going back to the Oflovak Halt. We'll do it. I guess you agree, Azazor?"

"What should we deliver?" he asks in a grumble.

"A trinket."

"On one condition," Azazor replies. "We need a map of this detour."

"It might help… At least for knowing where to go.

"Of course you'll have one. I don't intend to send you to your death," says O'Teelo, a satisfied smile on his face.

The two Fyros, still sitting side by side across from the Trykeri, find it hard to hide their relief.

"While we're there, is there anything in particular you need us to bring back?" Eeri asks.

"Perhaps someone will give you another delivery mission, yes. It's up to you whether you take it or not. But as far as I'm concerned, I'm only hiring you for this delivery."

"akep. Uh… thanks."

"What I'm curious about is how you'll know that we made this delivery," asks Azazor… "What's this trinket?"

"I'll know, because if you do, there will be a new Zinuakeen."

Azazor nods, trying to hide his extreme interest in the 'trinket'.

"The object, in itself, is not particularly valuable. I would hate to lose it, of course. But the main problem is its delivery in those hostile lands."

Eeri prefers not to know what it is about, and is almost smiling in front of O'Teelo.

"So we're free to go?"

"If you want us to make this delivery, we're going to need equipment," cuts in Azazor.

Eeri chuckles slightly, well recognizing Azazor in this words.

"We can't ask for too much, can we?"

"I say that in the interest of the mission," says Azazor, taking a serious look."

"You are free to go back to the kitchen and work. I still have a couple of things to take care of on my end before you leave. Again, I'm not sending you to your death. You will have what you need to travel to the coast, both in terms of information and equipment. But it is mostly your resourcefulness that you will have to rely on." While saying so, O'Teelo puts Eeri's vial in his pocket.

"Be careful with the vial. And I must give you something else. On the one hand, an antidote. And on the other hand, a piece of advice… Never touch this dagger without first putting on a glove…" Eeri adds, shaking his head "… because I like you after all."

"What dagger?"

"The one in the box on the table there."

O'Teelo cautiously opens the box and observes the dagger. Eeri shows the palm of his hand again.

"This is a Matis weapon. And, in our regions, Matis are foolish enough to make weapons more dangerous to those who carry them than to those who are hit with them. There is no antidote for the poison of the handle."

"Um, okay. Now that our 'friendship' is sealed with a contract, can you tell me why you're traveling? Simply science and a thirst for adventure, truly?

"How much are you paying for this information?" Azazor asks.

Eeri sighs.

"Azazor… you are despairing."

"Eeri, we talk to hagglers here. So we haggle."

O'Teelo smiles.

"How much do you estimate its value?"

"A Marauder's armor. But we can negociate."

"A suit of armor? Um, I'm fine with that."

"One for of each of us, that goes without saying, since we each have a different reason for being here," adds Azazor.

"I don't mind. That's not a big deal."

"It's worth a lot to us. Home, we even have Marauders waging war to other Marauders for them to get. But I don't want to tattle…"

O'Teelo scratches her head.

"If it helps you understand why we have a bad opinion of you…" Eeri adds.

O'Teelo sits back in the chair and looks at the two Fyros with a concerned look.

"The Throat Cutters' Clan, the Black Sawdust Clan, the Ashes Clan, and more generally all the goons of Akilia, represent only themselves. Well… This is my opinion. That's not shared by all. One thing is however certain: Akilia does not represent, in her behavior at least, the whole of the Marauders. If by miracle, you find a way to reach the Citadel, you will be able to see that with your eyes. We are not savages. And I hate to think that some people think that about us, while in the east many of us are fighting day and night against the kitins."

The leader then rests her elbows on the table and lifts her chin toward Azazor.

"If I have your word, then it's okay," he says. "The reason I am here is to go to the lost city of Coriolis, in the desert of my ancestors. I want to find out the mystery of the Fire reported in our chronicles. I also want to study the kitins there, and of course make a map of the place. A little more too, even if I don't have too much hope about that: I would like to establish a first contact with the Marauders to discuss with them about a possible exchange of knowledge with the Empire."

Eeri speaks in turn, after a moment of spinning her words in his head.

"My reason will not be easy for you to understand, I imagine. Back home, I am a Trytonist. We are also called Elias seekers."

"I see," replies O'Teelo.

"I guess I have no reason to hide my beliefs here. I'm looking to verify some old theories, some evidence. Just like Azazor the fire of Coriolis, among others. Also to meet scientists, in the east. And… An old dream. I wouldn't want to die without having seen the city of Fyre with my own eyes. Or what's left of it…"

O'Teelo takes a serious look.

"You know that you have a very high likelihood of dying? The Oflovak Road is but a pleasure garden compared to what lies beyond the Citadel."

"We are Fyros," says Azazor.

"We'll see in due time," says Eeri, shrugging his shoulders.

"No, you are, above all, homins from the New Lands, used to being brought back to life by the Powers. Whether you believe it or not, thatt affects the way you act and think. I mean no disrespect, but you have grown up in an 'under-bubble' world."

"After several years on the Road, I can assure you that's changed", says Eeri.

"That's possible, yes, but the day when we'll back off has not yet come," adds Azazor.

"I speak with all the facts. I've seen the new generation, both in Sentinel and in the Citadel, start to get used to resurrection… It changes the way one looks at life."

"You have resurrection at the Citadel?" Azazor choked.

O'Teelo raises her eyebrows.

"Akilia and her goons would have brought the Marauders' resurrection system to the New Lands without it existing at the Citadel? That doesn't make any sense. Well, anyway…"

O'Teelo stands up, and walks towards the door, waving the guards to leave.

"… To the kitchens, you two!"

Eeri whispers to Azazor:

"It's Ostini who's going to make a face…"

"Yep, so much the better."

Eeri smiles with all his teeth. Azazor returns her smile.

"By the way Eeri, you are a very poor trader. The information about the dagger, you should have sold it…"

Azazor leaves the room whistling, followed by an Eeri too relieved to protest.

Edited 6 times | Last edited by Azazor (2 года назад)

---

fyros pure sève
akash i orak, talen i rechten!
élucubrations
biographie

#34 Многоязычный 

Многоязычный | English | Français
Eeri's logbook
2620, summer of third AC

Here we are, we leave tomorrow. So much has happened here I forgot this journal.
To summarize very quickly... in case I'll lose my memory.
Arrived at the Outpost. They grabbed our meat, we crashed there for a few nights wondering what we could do, then we got hired at the inn as cooks. We started stashing meat to prepare for the rest of our journey. They noticed. Ostini, the chief of the guards, jumped on us. Azazor had the brilliant idea to tell him that we were trading the meat with the Akatorums for poison. Then I had to show my poison to that bastard Ostini,. A Matis. Of course, he immediately saw that this poison did not come from the Akatowhatevers... Then, the Trykeri we thought was merely the tavern keeper turned out to be the leader of the local clan. She made us spill the beans, but was relatively understanding. Which goes to show the Marauders here are not like the ones back home. Here, one can talk with them.

As a result, we agreed to make a delivery for her, as payment for our mistakes. Well, our actions, not our mistakes. They were kind enough not to throw us over the cliff, or anything else. At the time, the situation was pretty exciting, I didn't realize until later we were really gambling our lives.
The good thing is that O'Teelo is ready to provide us with equipment for this job. Marauder's armors, local. Just what we need to hope to get to the Citadel a little more unnoticed than with our naked Fyros dazed faces. She gave us a map, the way to follow seems simple, at first sight. First, go along the cliff to the south, to find the delivery point. Then, there, we are supposed to meet other Marauders. They will be able to tell us more about the dangers that await us if we decide to follow the big mountain range that leads to Sentinel. It's either that or turn around, find the Outpost and go back to the Rangers's path.
And this is the less good thing: whatever we choose, we will be compelled to make a detour of several weeks, maybe several months…

What we have to deliver? I've never seen anything like it. O'Teelo brought us a small box, and opened it in front of us. She knew our curiosity would have led us to open it anyway. She carefully took out three objects, with slightly greenish edges, decorated on one side with strange, shiny inscriptions. Lines, in all directions, dots. Up close, I noticed that they were engraved patterns, not merely drawn. The dots are tiny picots, inlaid. On the other side, how to describe… a multitude of ornaments, small objects, clumped together. Like pieces of jewels of different colors, connected by small shiny threads. Rectangles, circles. At first sight something chaotic, and yet revealing an incredible organization, each element seeming to find its place. As if it were a miniature city.

O'Teelo quickly wrapped them in fiber cloths, to wedge them into the box, recommending that we not open it. Not too often, anyway. She thinks the wind and sawdust of the desert might damage them. We promised to take care of them. I then asked: this is Karavan, isn't it?
The Trykeri then looked at me with a distressed look: "No, it has been laid by a lumper". Azazor didn't waste an opportunity to make fun of me, before taking the box and waving us to follow her to the stable. I would have liked to ask her a lot more questions, but my first one having been totally stupid, I didn't dare to add any more. Really, sometimes I'd better keep my mouth shut.

She took out armors for us. Color of desert sawdust, gleaming. One for Azazor, one for me. Already worn, obviously, but incredibly well made. We had negotiated those. Well… Azazor managed to negotiate. He bluffed me on that one. Oh yes, I forgot: before that, we had to go and get the famous meat stock. We felt like two idiots anyway, even if we were relieved of the outcome of all that. In the end, we even understood that they were going to miss us in kitchen.

I must write this, too: I have to admit that I was wrong. We were all wrong. The Marauders here have nothing to do with what we had expected. Akilia is only a clan leader among others, and all do not recognize her authority, nor her fight, nor her ideals. Far from it. The war she leads is not the war of the Marauders of the Old Lands.
Barmie knew that, no doubt. I can't remember if he told us, but we were probably too sure of ourselves, of our knowledge, we wouldn't have believed him anyway. What ? Marauders who don't pull out their sledgehammers to solve any problems, who know listening, and who are more concerned with containing the kitin threat than with the tomfooleries of our New Lands empires. Almost like Rangers, in fact. You'd think they'd be the same. We've only run into a few Rangers so far.

We go from surprise to surprise. Barmie had warned us about desert frahars. They are mostly Fraiders! I keep the axe that I hold from those of the New Lands on my belt, but unfortunately I did not have time to create a bond of trust with any of them. We'll probably run into more of them in the desert. I need to know more about them.

Oh, and Azazor decided to send all his notes to Pyr. I think that's silly, he's more likely to have them stolen or the carrier to be eaten by whatever bug is on the way. I told him to make a copy. No time for that, he says. Well, that reminds me, the letters I sent when we were in Fort Beacon may have arrived. I hope they are all well, over there.

To sum up… Actually, no, there's not much to sum up. We are just to get back on the road.
Yes, there is something. I must add… and confess: I would so much like to spend more time with the homins here, to discover their richness and knowledge, to understand them better. To come back one day to the New Lands with their message. But come on, this is not the time to stop, we are so close to our goal. A new desert awaits us.

Last edited by Eeri (2 года назад) | Причина: Traduction en Anglais par Nilstilar / English Translation by Nilstilar

---

Eeri
"Quand on a le nez trop près de la bouteille, on ne voit plus le bar"

#35 Многоязычный 

Многоязычный | English | Français
Azazor's logbook

I resolved to send to the New Lands all my reports written between our departure from Fort Beacon and the time we left the Diplomatic Outpost. On O'Teelo's advice, I gave them to a trusted Ranger who was to go to the Halt. Let's hope everything goes well. The way through the Sea of Wood is much more risky. At worst, too bad if the package gets lost. All the information we collected is in my head and I swear to come back alive to share it one day.

So, as already mentioned in my previous report, we have three artifacts to deliver to the Marauders settled near the Wide Puddle in the south. They are supposed to be used to build a zinuakeen in the area. The Marauders are settled below some cliff. But a priori, we will not find there neither elevator nor staircase. So it will be climbing, sweating and elbow grease. If they have established themselves at the bottom, without any practical means of descending, this can only mean one thing: that the region is very dangerous and that this is a means of defence for them.

I will try to describe as best I can these artifacts that make me really uncomfortable. First of all, we can see right away that they are not homin creations. They look like some kind of green and orange dragon scales, on which are painted or maybe engraved lines that cross and crisscross. Inlaid on the scales are black square, round or rectangular things and some kind of shiny, solid, cold drips that connect them to the scales. Eeri talks about jewels. To me, they look like black pustules of an unspeakable creature oozing a gray, shiny liquid that would have solidified. There are also some symbols on it. Letters, numbers, but without any meaning. Symbols that breathe life like those of the Kamis' drills? But there is nothing kami about them. Just touching this thing disgusts me. At least I didn't see any traces of goo on it. I'll write down all the symbols on a separate page and try to draw the biggest artifact, to give you an idea. But you know my drawing skills…

Drawing of an artifact part.


We weren't told the name of this thing, O'Teelo just calling it 'trinket'. In any case, it's clearly Karavan produced to me. I don't imagine the Marauders creating these kinds of artifacts. I'll have to find out more about the connection between Marauders and Karas. In the New Lands, there are sometimes alliances of circumstance during outpost battles. One can imagine that it goes the same here. The Karavan provides the technology to make zinuakeens in exchange for resources harvested by the Marauders. A rumor I had once heard spoke of dissidents from the Karavan. Eeri may know more about this. In short, all this reinforces the hypothesis of a mechanical Fyrak of the Karavan whose scales would be this kind of artifact, even if in this case it is not a dragon but a zinuakeen.


To change topic, let me briefly describe the desert we are traveling through. At first sight, there is no difference with the imperial desert. Same dunes, same sawdust, same plants, maybe a little bit hotter. Olash, olansis, savaniels, botogas which help us not to draw too much in our water stock. We haven't seen any bothaya yet. I presume that the relative proximity of the Wide Puddle allows a hydration of the subsoils which prevents its appearance. But I don't know anymore, I am probably confusing with another plant. I should have listened more carefully in botany classes at the Academy. We did not find, for now, no papalexi on our way either. Nor any loojine either. It seems that they are of the same family. Maybe the one explains the other… Regarding the fauna, for the moment we have only crossed varinxes in the distance. According to the Marauders, we should not cross Fraiders, not passing on their territory. That seems to displease Eeri, but let her be reassured, it will be for the way back, in some years.
Par ailleurs, j'ai stocké dans une bourse une petite partie de sciure pour analyse ultérieure, quand je rentrerai. Si le maitre xylologue Ulyton Meros accepte de se pencher dessus, on aura peut être une surprise.
In addition, I have stored a sample of sawdust in a bag for later analysis, when I will return. If the master xylologist Ulyton Meros agrees to look at it, we might have a surprise.
Oh yes, an interesting point to note: the day star is much higher than in the New Lands. This is a fact. I could measure it with the sextant. I note all my measurements on a separate page. By estimating the number of kilometers traveled to the East, I think we can give an estimate of the curvature of Atys. But I'm not good at calculations, so I'll leave that to the Academy masters when I return. Could the fact that it is a bit warmer be due to the fact that the rays are less oblique than in the New Lands? The further we progress on the route, the more I discover, but the more I ask myself new questions too. The search for the Truth is an endless path.

We should reach the meeting point in a few days. Hoping not to be devoured by a varinx by then…

Azazor's logbook

What had to happen happened. This morning, we met a group of four homins accompanied by a varinx. ramèch! A pet varinx! A magnificent beast, as high as a homin. A little like Aen's ones at home. Except that they were obviously not Marauders. They didn't even introduce themselves. They are not Atakorums in any case, but surely an umpteenth tribe of desert nomads. They demanded that we leave them all we were carrying and the mektoub in exchange for our lives. We tried to negotiate some meat for them and their varinx, but nothing to do, it was all our stuff if we didn't want to, and I quote: "… end up in Razor's stomach". I assumed that was the name of the varinx. Still, we could not afford to give them the object of our quest. Our Honor was at stake. So for the first time since we left Silan, we had to fight against homins to save our lives.
Result: we killed two of them and the varinx, the two others ran away. Well… Eeri killed the varinx, a homin and wounded another one seriously. I only finished off the latter, getting in the process a nice gash on my right thigh when a spike managed to pierce the Marauder armor at a joint. If it had not been for Eeri, it would have been my thorax it would have pierced. She's a real fury when she fights, this one. I had seen her do it before in the New Lands. But never with such rage and determination. She looked like a goddess of war. Lopyrèch had warned me, this homina is dangerous. Fortunately, I am her friend. At least, I guess so.

Anyway, today I killed a homin. Definitely, I mean. It's not the same thing I have been used to, not at all. I hadn't noticed it until then, but when you kill someone, usually, you always know deep down that it's not, or rarely is, a real killing. When I plunged my axe into my enemy's skull, I knew he would never rise again. It was as if I had sucked out his soul. I felt dirty. It reminded me of Celiakos Lyan Cexius dying of a heart attack after he got mad at me. At the time, I felt some guilt. Except that this time I can't be comforted by telling myself that the homin was very old and that his time had come. I am responsible for the axe blow that struck him down. I thought of our ancestors who, in battle, have had to experience this many times.

Everything gets mixed up in my head, I have a lot of contradictory thoughts. It's really a different relationship to life.
How weak we have become because of the protection of the Powers! How we have lost all this, I would say, philosophical aspect! All warriors, and I first, have been wrong from the beginning. Killing is not a harmless thing. That gives a real force that can drive you crazy. This force has been taken away from us by the resurrection the Powers offer us. These now have this force. And I am not sure that this is necessarily a good thing.

Azazor's logbook

It's definitely the law of series. Today, as we were moving south, I had a fall in a crevasse. A nice fall of about ten meters. It was however not indicated that there are crevasses in the area. It's supposed to be farther, towards the east. In short, we spent one hour so that Eeri manages to pull me up with a rope and the mektoub. Supposedly I was too heavy. It must be the bag, it is loaded with leather of varinx, that weighs its weight. We are going to have to be more careful. As much we have no difficulty to look after ourselves here, contrary to the Sea of Wood, but we are not immune to mortal wounds. If there are crevasses of ten meters deep, one can imagine that there are much deeper ones. I may be tough, but I'm not unbreakable.

Edited 3 times | Last edited by Azazor (2 года назад)

---

fyros pure sève
akash i orak, talen i rechten!
élucubrations
biographie

#36 Многоязычный 

Многоязычный | English | Français
"Eeri stopped pulling on the rope and waved the mektoub to stop too. Then she sat down, ignoring the moans that echoed off the sides of the rift, for a moment.

"Stop gesticulating!!" she finally shouted.
"But what the hell are you doing? Pull me up!"
"The rope is stuck, don't move. I can handle it."

Eeri stood still, one eye on the axe she had laid on the ground earlier, as she hurriedly took out a rope to rescue the Fyros.

"All it would take is one sharp blow," she muttered. "Like with the frippos."

Leave him there? Azazor had nearly gotten them killed.

Hesitation. In combat, one never hesitates. You strike where you know the enemy will be hurt. But no. He, with a hatchet in his hand, simply parries the blows, without counterattacking.

Against a pike, it's double or nothing. Armed with a hatchet, one can take advantage of the length of the opponent's weapon and the time lapse of inertia after the attack to throw a blow where it hurts. In this case, at the belt or at the neck. Twice Aza had the opportunity to strike. But he settled for waiting, giving his opponents the seconds they needed to figure out his moves. Hell of a Fyrak of ramèch, I don't like hitting homins from behind. But here, it was either that or let Azazor get pierced once more.

The remaining two, presumably younger, chose to ran off when they saw the second homin collapse. This is not a good sign, as it means that if they have been able to go and alert their tribe we will end up with some other homins on our backs. If Azazor could have get rid of his opponent alone, I could have taken out the other two. A well-placed axe blow for the first, then the chase of the other before finishing him with the dagger. But no, I had to turn around to save Azazor. What a waste.

And when I told him that we should expect them to bring back their tribe… He shut up, but that must have panicked him, and now he doesn't look where he's stepping. If he does it again, where we're going, I'm going to get killed for sure. So why not leave him there? But no, I'll go crazy if I go on alone. Two of us got here, two of us have to go on. And if the rope has to break… Well, a sharp blow… No, still. But…

"What the hell are you playing at???"

The bellowing of the Fyros brought Eeri out of her thoughts. She stood up with a sigh, gave Run-dun's ass a big pat, and started pulling on the rope again.

"It's coming, it's coming. You weigh your weight, you know…"

Edited 2 times | Last edited by Eeri (2 года назад) | Причина: Traduction en Anglais par Nilstilar / English Translation by Nilstilar

---

Eeri
"Quand on a le nez trop près de la bouteille, on ne voit plus le bar"

#37 Многоязычный 

Многоязычный | English | [Français]
Quelques jours plus tard, les deux homins marchaient toujours à quelques mètres du précipice, afin de garder une bonne vue sur ce bout de désert, en contrebas. Le paysage changeait peu à peu, devenant plus vallonné, comme si des racines sous le sol poussaient et sculptaient la sciure. Au loin apparaissait dans la brume ce qu'O'teelo avait appelé "Umawaka" : une chaîne de montagnes infranchissable, un enchevêtrement de gigantesques racines qui délimitait ce désert au sud, et qui, si l'on en croyait la carte de la cheffe de Clan, s'étendait jusqu'à la Citadelle . À chaque pas qui les en rapprochaient, cette cordillère leur paraissait de plus en plus gigantesque, semblant sortir des entrailles d'Atys. Par endroits, des pics d'écorce nus et acérés se dressaient vers le ciel. En d'autres, ils étaient couverts de végétations, à tel point qu'il se demandèrent s'il ne s'agissait pas des départs d'une canopée en devenir.

Le point de rendez-vous ne devait plus être bien loin, comme elle l'avait décrit à proximité de cette montagne, en contrebas. Ils s’arrêtèrent un moment afin de scruter l’horizon et le désert, dans l'espoir de déceler un village ou n'importe quelle trace de vie homine. Eeri s'approcha dangereusement du bord, afin d'observer la paroi de la falaise qu'ils surplombaient.

— Azazor?
— Hmmm?
— Tu réfléchis trop. Si tout ça doit se reproduire, dis-toi qu’il s’agit d’eux ou de nous.
— Je n’étais pas préparé à me battre. Pas de cette façon.
— La prochaine fois, frappe. Pare, et frappe. Là où ça fait mal, là où tu n’aimerais pas recevoir un coup.
— Ça va, ça va, je sais.
— La surprise, la rapidité. Eux, s’ils se battent, ils savent que c’est définitif. Ils n’hésiteront pas.
— Mais la contre-attaque suppose une prise de risque. C'était pas dérangeant chez nous, mais ici... Comment as-tu fait pour rester aussi froide?
— Pendant des années, je me suis appliquée à apprendre à me battre de façon à ne plus faire appel aux puissances. Dans l’idée qu’un jour peut-être les trytonistes arriveraient à libérer l’hominité. Garder l’esprit froid et analytique est la première des choses.
— Tu y crois toujours? La liberté?

La fyrette se redressa et fit quelque pas pour s'éloigner du bord.

— Non. Je n'ai plus d'espoir pour les nations. Maintenant, je crois qu’il suffit de partir. Ou devenir ranger… Ou maraudeur. Ça revient peut-être au même. Mais la liberté, non. Ça n’existe pas, même ici.

Azazor hésita un moment :

— Mais alors, tu ne crois plus en rien…?
— Je crois en la survie. Je crois que si tu mets de nouveau ce voyage en péril, je te laisserai en plan et continuerai seule.
— Tu quoi???
— Mais je t’aime bien quand même. Je n’aurais pas pu aller aussi loin toute seule.
— Hrmf… Mouais. akep.
— Et le problème de la solitude, c’est qu’on a plus personne à blâmer pour les conneries qu’on fait.

Après ces mots, Eeri s’assit en souriant.

— Allez détends-toi. J’ai un truc à te proposer, concernant la livraison.

Azazor ne bougea pas, continuant à scruter l'horizon.

— Je t’écoute.
— Vu la falaise, s’il n’y a pas de chemin, on ne peut pas risquer nos mektoubs.
— Tu veux donc descendre seule. Je savais que tu allais proposer ça.
— C’est moins de risques.
— Et si tu reviens pas?
— Ou tu descends, et je garde les mektoubs. Ça me va aussi.

Azazor grogna quelque chose d'inintelligible, les yeux toujours rivés au loin. Eeri en rajouta une couche, grinçante :

— Mais j'ai vu ton talent pour escalader...
— On en reparlera quand on verra où il faut descendre, répondit Azazor en remettant son sac sur le dos.
— T'as raison. Ne traînons pas.

Les deux fyros reprirent la route vers le sud, sans même jeter un oeil derrière eux pour savoir s'ils étaient suivis ou non. Le vent du soir commençait à souffler, mais ils purent encore marcher pendant quelques heures.

Last edited by Eeri (2 года назад) | Причина: Traduction en Anglais par Nilstilar / English Translation by Nilstilar

---

Eeri
"Quand on a le nez trop près de la bouteille, on ne voit plus le bar"
uiWebPrevious12345uiWebNext
 
Last visit Пятница, 13 Декабря 04:05:08 UTC
P_:G_:PLAYER

powered by ryzom-api