Fifoo
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Peter Gabriel - Mercy Street. One of the favorite songs from a (very) long list. I like to listen to it from time to time to relax.
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If you have the opportunity, and for obvious reasons of optimization, the better will be to opt for installing all your games on a dedicated partition, different from your operating system, with separate directories for each game installed on your new partition. Or install them on another hard drive, which is still the best option.
The steam games need to be installed in the dedicated steam directory, the other games in their respective directories - while well specifying the paths you choose in their setup, namely on the new partition you created previously or on the new hard drive.
You will have as a result a hierarchical system, cleaner and more efficient, especially in the context of a possible future removal. The best is to avoid installing games or programs in the windows program files directory.
This tip applies to any version of the operating system, either linux or windows.
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Thank you very much, Maharg67.
It will always be my pleasure to try to bring my modest contribution to this forum, and especially for those who show passion in what they undertake. :wink:
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If one wants to be good at writing, like anything else, it needs to be a habit, needs to be something you do at a consistent level. Like modding, one needs to focus on it.
Same with writing. I have been writing a very long time but there are days I need to push myself into it even though once I start, I enjoy it.
Quite right. To improve your writing style, it is necessary to work over and over again. Considered one of the greatest writers of the French Third Republic, Anatole France was wont to say:
"Caress your sentence lengthily and it will eventually smile."
How to correct your writing style?
You have written your text, have reworked the content, you have eliminated the unnecessary and put everything you want to put. All the parts of your work are drawn. Now it's time to make it attractive and interesting, enjoyable to read.
It is essential to take this step once the text is in its final version in terms of content. This work, if done independently of the work on the content, is pleasant: we work on aesthetics, the text then embellishes.
Over time, you will see that the more you practiced this exercise the more your style will be improved, even in written texts of the first milking.
How to proceed?
Review your text and focus on the following points:
Accuracy.
Nouns used are accurate? Try different words before selecting one that, in context, work best. Beware of repetition: for a specific term playing a specific role in your work, it will be advisable not to use synonyms but to preserve it. The mean is rarely the precise meaning of the word to replace it, which can mislead the reader. Make use of repetition however with moderation and think of ways the language offers to avoid it. Make sure that the term you use is the proper term. Example: who makes an impasse has an even chance of missing the exam - not to miss, but he has a chance to succeed.
Clarity.
Check the length of the sentence, given a sentence with 20-25 words is understandable, beyond it becomes difficult to grasp. Make sure every sentence is built around a verb in a combined mode. Make sure of the validity of the use of time.
Sobriety.
Avoid overload adjectives. Hunt adverbs. In most cases, you can delete them. The meaning of the sentence will not suffer in their absence at all. Do not overuse of technical terms, acronyms and abbreviations.
Of course, it is difficult to master all the technical aspects of literary writing, it takes a lot of work. But, against party, all your efforts to improve your style will pay off and they will move from the chaos of ideas in structured text. :happy:
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Love.
Love is a partner with many faces
Who comes and goes on the road of ages
As long as we attach importance to
It grows from our tender childhood
Made of laughter and made of tears
Love makes us stronger as it disarms
Sometimes cruel or true, always present
It fills our hearts the most beautiful torment
Without which life would be meaningless
And who is better than any silence
For there is hope for those who can share it
And a promise of light for eternity...
L'amour...
L'amour est compagnon ayant bien des visages,
Qui s'en va et revient sur la route des âges,
Pour peu que l'on y attache de l'importance,
Il grandit depuis notre plus tendre enfance,
Il est fait de rires, il est fait de larmes,
Peut nous rendre fort, autant qu'il nous désarme,
Parfois fidèle, parfois cruel, toujours présent,
Il emplit notre coeur du plus beau des tourments,
Celui sans lequel la vie n'aurait aucun sens,
Et qui vaut mieux que n'importe quel silence,
Car il est espoir pour qui sait le partager,
Et promesse de lumière pour l'éternité...
Fifoo - "L'amour" 05/09/2011.
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Dear Maharg67, thanks to you and your diligence in writing, you have made the Druid's Garden a very special place that deserves more kudos than we can give in one lifetime. You can count on my eternal (Kudos) gratitude... :happy:
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Best New Year wishes from France, much happiness and health to you all. :happy:
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Sorry about the disappearing act but your boy needed a holiday!!!
No, actually, six months have already passed before I don't have given you some news from me or reply to your respective emails, and I am sincerely sorry for my long absence from all of you and beg your forgiveness.
I tell you frankly that certain events in my life made me temporarily being removed from any presence and activity on this so enjoyable Nexus's forum, but don't worry, nothing alarming regarding me. Moreover, I will normally go on for professional training for a period of five months from mid-January of this new year, which will further slow down my internet activities during the next few months, unfortunately. But sometimes there are choices to be made in life, that some priority should be given, and which do not allow the exemptions. Know that I haven't forgotten you, you hold an important place in all my heart and I'll try to make a small appearance from time to time, as soon as I can, what I do today.
I also want to offer my best wishes for happiness and good health in this new year 2011. Happy New Year to you all, I wish you that your road will take you happiness and prosperity. I have a special thought for some friends of Nexus, they will recognize themselves without any problems, I have no doubt about it. Thank you again to all of you for having testified as much sympathy for me, and see you soon.
Sincerely yours,
Fifoo.
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Know, accept your flaws and transform them into qualities, and thus find a balance in life to finally be able to excel... :happy:
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Wish uplifted, Grand turismo 5 is out so fast that you have to run behind it to try to catch up.
I wish someone laugh after that joke. :laugh:
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Just to illustrate my previous point, because it is a subject we have discussed repeatedly in the School of Decorative Arts in Strasbourg, France (when I was a student), here is one example of what I call being the nude art. Warning: mature content. It's neo-surrealism and the female body is fully revealed, but the work is very sensual.
Then, in the hope that it may serve as an inspiration for aspiring artists. Have a nice weekend...
http://neosurrealism.artdigitaldesign.com/modern-artists/?images/midsize/digital-art/poser-model3.jpg
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Back to the Dragon's topic:
The Doorway - 3D Digital Fantasy Art by Crikett.
http://fantasyartdesign.com/free-wallpapers/imgs/mid/321TheDoorway-m.jpg
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At the moment I really feel myself in the somewhat strange situation apparently to support the wrong end of the right matter.
http://www.abload.de/img/anne9hol.gif
Your comment is very interesting and not without relevance, Surenas. In the artistic discourse, it does not always have a prudish position on a given theme, here nudity. But to raise it above a certain form of idealism that can be represented on the beauty of the body, and go to some form of artistic perfection, somehow. Of course, some might argue that this discourse leads to a purely dreamlike, which could then be considered a stalemate. But in purpose, is it not necessary to go to the artist draw his inspiration and talent, in order to go in search of a better self-knowledge, thus a better understanding of the world around us (eg Da Vinci) and find the answer in this paradox of spirituality: sometimes go against what might be considered prohibited in order to elevate his artistic soul?
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Fantastic story! Some parts, I will say, need some support, but over all you did a great job. I'm not sure I'm following where the story is heading, but perhaps it's too early to get an idea. Usually its a good idea to hint what the story is about in the first chapter so not to confuse your readers. I'm not sure if this is the end of the first chapter, but it's just a suggestion, do what you feel is right.
Thank you, Keanu, for your encouraging comments. Some small details concerning the conduct of the story without revealing the fall, the hero of history sees his life's flash at the end of the prologue. Each chapter of the story is about the eventful moments of his life, from his childhood until his... suspense! :biggrin: Thus, the story evolves to its final outcome.
I like that last part where you made the story really feel like one, where you put the definitions of Passerine and Passe de Vorian. Very thoughtful for your readers, you'll become a master in no time! :thumbsup:
When I read the works of JR Tolkien, I was surprised by the wealth of details given by the author in his books. Far from me to pretend to get to the ankle of the great master, but I think it's a good way to improve the story and gives a near real impact on it, and, hopefully, allows best player immersion.
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to express feelings and emotions in an intelligent and respecful manner, and share them with an audience.
That I think says everthing...those that post images that serve only to titillate likewise purile adolescent minds ruin the entire objective of the image forum, and as has been stated before, it is not guaranteed that those viewing are of a suitable age to do so....The rule has been set, and I welcome that rule if it will bring more 'intelligent and respectful' images to the forums.
Thank you for your comment, Slygothmog, and indeed, you are right to say this because many people tend to deviate from the principles of what makes the beauty of all art as a means of expression: aesthetics and creativity . Under the guise of pretending to be what they are not, real artists, some are confined only to satisfy their selfish needs, what hypocrisy. Fortunately, in Nexus, many others stand out and can claim the coveted title, but they must pay the heavy price of other's deviations, which is unfortunate.
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Ah, always the famous question of whether this or that is acceptable or not. Especially when we talk about this medium that is art... and when we are ourselves artists.
Art has long been questioned without really satisfactorily answered, causing inevitable conflict between the representatives of a civilization called "right-thinking" and artist who wish to leave their "art" speak in any freedom, and that no censorship come the curb. What is it that freedom of expression? Should we leave everything to say or do? This notion of morality varies considerably across cultures and history. In France, the art of nude is generally very well accepted now.
Remember the case in point, when some artists went against the current thoughts of their times, causing memorable scandals (eg. the Impressionists in the 19th century). But it is also what has advanced the status of art... Because the primary purpose of any art form it is not to convey a message? Of course, some form of censorship is sometimes necessary to handle overflow, especially if the only goal of the "artist" is trying to "make sensational" or to show things that are irrelevant to the artistic themes or ideas in lieu of its original purpose... to express feelings and emotions in an intelligent and respecful manner, and share them with an audience.
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Sir Alfred Hitchcock was an English filmmaker and producer who pioneered many techniques in the suspense and psychological thriller genres, often regarded as the greatest British filmmaker.
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Speaking of which, I hope you continue with the realm of Opal, good stuff lurkes in there. :thumbsup: :yes:
Instantly, I just added the first chapter in the Druid's Garden. :wink:
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--- Chap.1. Preparations ---
Long ago, in the Ancient Kingdoms of Opal, to the imperial city of Istandiir, capital of the beautiful province of Achenlor, lived a young boy, Anaël. His dearest wish was to one day become a great knight, but he came from a humble family and lived in the shopping districts of the imperial city, and, if we followed the book of the ways and customs in force in the Realms, only persons of noble rank were eligible for this long-desired title, unless truly exceptional circumstances.
His father, an upholsterer, earned his daily bread honestly, and worked hard to feed his entire family. Anaël had two older brothers, Arwin, and Ebell, who helped their father at work, the mother had died giving birth to her little sister, Yiniel. She had long curly blond hair, the color of the wheat ripened in the sun, as his mother once, she was the spitting image with his angel face. The similarity between Anaël and his little sister was such that one would have thought they were twins.
Situated in a beautiful natural setting and surrounded by a lush emerald green forest, the City of Istandiir was magnificent. Considered the most beautiful jewels of the kingdom, it stood proudly to the sky and stretched majestically out of the side of a large fault rock, with, on his right, the Aden river jumping from the cliff top in multiple waterfalls, forming an impressive wall of water nearly a half mile away. This part of the untamed river plunged into an estuary located in the west, below the capital, formed by its junction with the Scinian Sea and its nice sandy beaches. Defended by an incredible succession of towering white stone walls and a network of fortified towers ending in points, its graceful architecture consisted of a mix of imperial and Elven style. Huge arches stylized and finely decorated, where flocks of passerines flew *, completed the gather and consolidate everything, forming a beautiful maze made of stone, marble, stained glass and shrubs to complete this great work.
The districts which made up the entire city spread over several levels, according to a specific hierarchical order, depending on the prominence and social situation of its inhabitants. They started from the bottom of the cliff, by a series of terraced buildings, to finish in points with the high towers of the Imperial Palace, which peaked on the top. Not far from the palace and its private gardens, reserved to the Court of the Emperor and Empress, was a splendid green park where it was good to stroll in any hour of the day, or even to wander randomly in the night to satisfy a bit more romantic encounters. Then came, surrounding the park of their inescapable presence, the city's universities and worship, the main market square with its shops, and finally, the great arena for games and entertainment. It was good to live in this wonderful city, and the entire population was happy to share this privilege daily.
The Elves and the Imperials had finally learned to live together in harmony and peace, and such as great builders, they were able to enjoy each other and benefit from their respective cultures, so different but oh so complementary. The capital of Istandiir became a symbol of the peaceful co-existence of the two races.
Oh sure, it has not always been peaceful in the Realms. It took a lot of time, determination and sacrifice to achieve this result, and go through so much suffering, too. There have been many periods of unrest, when Opal, in flames, was a land where the Lords of Old Provinces were fighting among themselves to extend their conquests and consolidate their political power. Then came the Great Wars of Vorian **, the darkest period in the history of Opal. That was more than 2000 years, while the men began to found their empire, uniting their powerful armies and seeking new lands and riches to exploit, in order to quench their thirst for expansion and thus to impose their domination over other peoples of the Ancient Lands.
They found themselves facing a fierce and bitter opponent who initially did not interfere, or only very little, about the affairs of human civilization, only sporadically engaged in trade with the emerging Empire, except with the adventurers hungry for sensational and... reckless enough... or so foolish as to dare to approach them. These people full of mysteries, who have developed their culture at a high and sophisticated level, were exceptional fighters, wielding weapons and magic to perfection. We called them the peoples of the Original Earth, Elves.
Today, survive only a few traces and vestiges of these wars, the only witnesses to this troubled period, scattered here and there, in countries almost forgotten or erased from the memory of Men. And nobody - not even the Elves, dares to mention, or even whisper the names of these ancient cities, castles in ruins, lost sanctuaries, sacred places, or profane graves, which still exist, places full of mysteries and lost forever, bearing the traces of ancient civilizations, with so much sacrifice, suffering and bloodshed. Yes, no one, in all Kingdoms of Opal, dares to speak for fear of arousing a vengeful spirit, malefic guardian, or other custodian of evil coming from the depths of Ages.
But let us leave aside the bad memories and ghosts from the past and let us look at the events here because, on this day, the concerns of residents of Opal were all other...
The family home of Anaël was facing south, neither too far nor too near the waterfalls of the river Aden, which allowed to admire them without being bothered by their rumblings. And when the sun was setting on the horizon, ending his round to the sea, everyone could enjoy the magnificent view from the terrace garden, surrounded by lawns and flower beds. Anaël loved coming here, because the view there was exceptional. He missed no opportunity to come and lean against the railing, to contemplate the work of this so generous nature that he worshiped, and so to breathe clean air, subtle blend of woody fragrances and scented spray changing by the softness of the seasons. Large millennia trees swayed lazily in the breeze, spreading their branches and leaves to the blue sky, iridescent by hours, a typical quality of Opal. These ancient guardians served as a refuge for a multitude of colorful birds that sang and flew towards the clouds, sometimes by whole bands, in a constant movement back and forth. Large waterfalls were dancing on the cliff, twirling on the rocks as they met them, jumping from one to another to break out in sheaves like a firework, forming clouds of tiny droplets which unfurled in the air to the rhythm of the light wind, and came to land near the boy, like the caress of a loving mother, leaving a cooling sensation on his hands and face. Air, water, mineral and vegetable mingled subtly, yet unified, rocked to the rhythm of a beautiful symphony.
Anaël turned around, happy to observe the beautiful city of which he was the special guest, and where he was born fifteen years ago that. He was proud of this town and also the family home where he lived: a beautiful house that belonged to his family for generations, built when the first imperial merchants came to settle in Istandiir, marking the beginning of unification with the Elvish civilization. The house was located in the shopping districts, halfway between the districts of Port and Lower Town, and the richest neighborhoods of the Upper City, which could be considered beneficial because it allowed easy access to all parts of the capital, without having to cross over its entire length. Picturesque half-timbered house in imperial style, partly adjacent to the rockface - which gave it an undeniable style, it was built on three floors, neither too large nor too small and pleasant, warm and functional. From his position, from the terrace, the young boy could see his father's workshop, which was opposite a large courtyard between the two buildings. This green space landscaped gardens were dedicated to both play and relaxation, thus making the whole family delight, but also that of passersby stroll from there, according to their outings...
After being steeped in images and sensations of the world that Mother Nature has been kind enough to offer him, Anaël focused on another task, as important as the previous one, and oh how inspiring: unsheathe his fabulous wooden sword, and go slay the way the first beggar who introduces himself, and dare him to block the road leading from the terrace to the interior of Family Home - an area hitherto untouched, as fiercely and valiantly defended by the impetuous boy. Only the brothers "The Tub" and "Thumper" a very dangerous pair of great two-legged creatures, have dared and still dare to oppose him, leaving the outcome of the battle quite uncertain. But the worst, most terrible of all, as yet unbeaten so far, was ... "The Great Distracted"! Anaël was helpless in this top-notch fighter. Really, these three gave him much trouble. But, shh! The mere mention of their names made them appear. So ... Caution!
- "Anaël!"... (Here they are!)... "Anaël! Finally you're here!"... (Alert!)... "Father is looking for you everywhere!" worried Arwin and Ebell, the two elder brothers.
- "I..." (Attack!)... "I'm coming!"... (At the enemy!!)
- "Anaël! What were you doing during all that time spent outside! " roared a stentorian voice.
- "I..." (The Great Distracted!!)... "Forgive me, Father."
- "Come on, Anaël! Hurry up! It almost seems that you forgot what day it is!" said the father with a firm and authoritative voice, which was rather unusual for him. This man, known for his magnanimous and gracious nature, showed clear signs of impatience. The tension was palpable. Something special was happening, because in normal times, he used more tact in how to educate his four children: "It is time to prepare! And therefore let your brothers alone with your wooden sword, Anaël! You'll end up hurting you with that! "
- "All right, Father." Anaël nodded, leaving, but against the heart, his favorite toy at the foot of his bed.
Authoritarian father's face showed the concern as and as time progressed. But the feverish atmosphere that hung in the family home was tinted with joy, because it was THE big day. All these great people ran in all directions while they were busy, going up and down the large wooden staircase leading to upstairs, in a back and forth move on the edge of hysteria - but controlled hysteria, of course, for a family accustomed to more tranquillity in other circumstances. The family ended to prepare, while not skimping on a concerted effort.
- "Daddy, Yiniel still put her dress on backwards." growled a voice of a boy, lost in all this tumult.
- "I-did-it-on-purpoz'!." laughed the little sister, while hopping like a little chip that could not keep up.
- "Me, I can not find my shoes..." worried Anaël.
- "You do not make it easy task, my kids," said the father, "go help your little sister!" Then, while fixing his collar, doing his best to rule a semblance of order: "Come, it's time to go, we'll be late! Ah, if only your mother was there to help..."
- "But, father?" asked Arwin, the eldest child.
- "Yes, What's up. Something wrong?" said the father, raising his eyebrows, looked surprised.
- "You put your work shoes on!?" noted Ebell, very puzzled, pointing his finger toward the object in question.
All eyes were fixed on the anatomy in question. Nobody moved, it was as if time had stopped, the space of one second. But the silence was soon broken by the mocking laughter of children, now echoing throughout the household. The father, surprised, remained banned.
- "Egad! You're right, kids!" he said with undisguised amazement, staring at his feet.
Then her face ornamented with a broad smile: "What I'm distracted, anyway..."
The father hastened to complete his work by rising shiny boots, a black real looker, and, in the opinion of all, more suited to keeping the harmony of its great days. Satisfied with the result, he continued:
- "That's better now! Are you ready to go?"
The children answered all together, in insisting on the length of syllables:
- "Yeees! We are reaaady!"
- "So, if you do not mind: forward!" Then, pulling his hat well back feathers on his head: "And the last to cross the threshold of the door... will return the dishes!"
Motivated by this challenge a bit improvised, the children tumbled in the main room, only too happy to take this opportunity! They crossed it in one go, and somehow crossed the threshold of the door, under the amused gaze of their father, who remained a little behind - on a voluntary basis, as already guaranteed to be the lucky winner. And after all these efforts, which still made sure to close the door behind them, the little band, spirited, was finally able to survey the levels of the lower city, by holding hands and singing of joyous choruses loudly. The crowd outside thronged the narrow streets that crossed the city, weaving, trying to find the best way to avoid large aisles crowded with people. To see them like that, they were so much so that, seen from above, one could imagine having to deal with a beleaguered anthill, all excited by the arrival of some malevolent giant relentlessly teasing it with his stick.
The entire population was eager to win the place where the event took place in the upper part of the city...
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(*) Passerine, a genus of sparrow birds of the New World.
(**) Vorian Pass, located between the highest mountains of the Kingdom of Opal, the only gateway between the Ancient Valley of Aden, north-east, and the Original Land, south of Opal. Was the scene of the bloodiest battles during major wars, hundreds and hundreds of thousands died there, leaving, according to legend, the land forever imbued with the blood of the brave.
.../...
--- Chap.1 Préparatifs. ---
Il y a bien longtemps, dans les Anciens Royaumes d'Opale, à la cité impériale d'Istandiir, capitale de la belle province d'Achenlor, vivait un jeune garçon, Anaël. Son voeux le plus cher était de devenir un jour un grand Chevalier, mais il était issu d'une humble famille et habitait les quartiers commerçants de la ville impériale, et, si l'on suivait à la lettre les us et coutumes en vigueurs dans les Royaumes, seules les personnes de rang noble pouvaient prétendre à ce titre si convoité, à moins de circonstances vraiment exceptionnelles.
Son père, artisan tapissier, gagnait honnêtement son pain quotidien, et travaillait dur pour nourrir toute sa petite famille. Anaël avait deux grands frères, Arwin et Ebell, qui aidaient leur père au travail, la mère étant morte en mettant au monde sa petite soeur, Yiniel. Elle avait de longs cheveux blonds bouclés, de la couleur des blés mûris au soleil, comme jadis sa mère, dont elle était le portrait tout craché avec son visage d'ange. La ressemblance entre Anaël et sa petite soeur était telle, qu'on aurait pu croire qu'ils étaient jumeaux.
Située dans un superbe écrin naturel et entourée d'une forêt luxuriante d'un vert émeraude, la Cité d'Istandiir était magnifique. Considérée comme le plus beau joyaux du Royaume, elle se dressait fièrement vers le ciel et s'étendait, majestueuse, à même le flanc d'une grande faille rocheuse, avec, à sa droite, le fleuve Aden se jetant du haut de la falaise en multiples cascades, formant une impressionnante muraille d'eau sur près d'une demie lieue de distance. Cette partie indomptée du fleuve plongeait vers son estuaire situé à l'Ouest, en contrebas de la capitale, formé par sa jonction avec la Mer Scinienne et ses jolies plages de sable fin. Défendue par une incroyable succession d'imposantes murailles de pierre blanche et de tout un réseau de hautes tours fortifiées se terminant en pointes, son architecture harmonieuse était composée d'un savant mélange de style impérial et elfique. D'immenses arches stylisées et finement décorées, d'où s'envolaient des nuées de passerines *, achevaient de réunir et de consolider le tout, formant un magnifique enchevêtrement fait de pierres, de marbres, de vitraux et de végétaux qui parachevaient cette oeuvre grandiose.
Les différents quartiers qui composaient l'ensemble de la capitale s'étalaient sur plusieurs niveaux, en suivant un ordre hiérarchique bien précis, dépendant de l'importance et de la situation sociale de ses habitants. Ils partaient du bas de la falaise, par une succession de constructions en terrasses, pour finir en pointes avec les hautes tours du palais impérial, qui culminaient sur son sommet. Non loin du palais et de ses jardins privés, réservés à la Cour de L'Empereur et de l'Impératrice, se trouvait un merveilleux parc verdoyant, où il faisait bon se promener à toute heure de la journée, ou même flâner au hasard de la nuit, pour satisfaire à des rencontres un brin plus romantiques. Puis venaient, entourant le parc de leur présence incontournable, le quartier des universités et des cultes, la grand'place du marché avec ses commerces, et enfin, la grande arène pour les jeux et divertissements. Il faisait bon vivre dans cette merveilleuse cité, et toute la population était heureuse de partager au quotidien ce privilège.
Les Elfes et les Impériaux avaient enfin appris à vivre ensemble, en harmonie et en paix, et, tels de grands bâtisseurs, ils ont su faire profiter les uns et les autres des bienfaits de leurs civilisations respectives, si différentes, mais ô combien complémentaires. La capitale d'Istandiir était devenu un symbole de la pacifique co-existence entre les deux races.
Oh, bien sûr, il n'en a pas toujours été ainsi dans les Royaumes. Il aura fallu beaucoup de temps, de volonté, et de sacrifices pour arriver à ce résultat, et passer par tellement de souffrances également. Il y a eu des périodes bien troubles, alors qu'Opale, en proie aux flammes, n'était qu'une terre où les Seigneurs des Anciennes Provinces combattaient entre eux, pour étendre leurs conquêtes et affermir leur puissance politique. Puis, vinrent les Grandes Guerres de Vorian **, la période la plus noire de l'Histoire d'Opale. C'était il y a plus de deux-mille ans, alors que les Hommes commencèrent à fonder leur Empire, réunissant leurs puissantes armées et cherchant de nouvelles terres et richesses à exploiter, dans le but d'assouvir leur soif d'expansion et ainsi d'assoir leur domination sur les autres peuples des Anciennes Terres.
Ils ont trouvé face à eux un farouche et âpre opposant qui, au départ, ne se mêlait que très peu des affaires de la civilisation humaine, ne pratiquant que sporadiquement des échanges commerciaux avec l'Empire naissant, si ce n'est avec des aventuriers avides de sensationnel et... suffisamment téméraires... ou assez fous pour oser les approcher. Ces peuples empreints de mystères, ayant su développer leur culture à un niveau élevé et sophistiqué, étaient des combattants d'exception, maniant la magie et les armes à la perfection. On les appelait : les peuplades de la Terre Originelle, les Elfes.
Aujourd'hui, ne subsistent plus que quelques traces et vestiges de ces guerres, seuls témoins de cette période trouble, disséminés çà et là, dans des contrées presque oubliées ou effacées de la mémoire des Hommes. Et personne - pas même les Elfes, n'ose évoquer, ou encore chuchoter le nom de ces anciennes cités, citadelles en ruines, sanctuaires perdus, lieux sacrés, ou tombes profanes, qui existeraient encore, lieux empreints de mystères et perdus à tout jamais, gardant les traces des civilisations anciennes, au prix de tant de sacrifices, de souffrances et de sang versé. Oui, personne, dans tous les Royaumes d'Opale, n'ose en parler, de peur d'éveiller quelqu'esprit vengeur, gardien maléfique, ou autre dépositaire du mal venant du plus profond des Âges.
Mais laissons là de côté les mauvais souvenirs et fantômes du passé et penchons-nous sur les évènements présent car, en ce jour, les préoccupations des habitants d'Opale étaient toutes autres...
La demeure familiale d'Anaël était située plein sud, ni trop loin, ni trop près des cascades de la rivière Aden, ce qui permettait de les admirer sans être gêné par leurs grondements. Et lorsque le soleil se couchait à l'horizon, terminant sa ronde vers la mer, chacun pouvait profiter du magnifique panorama depuis la grande terrasse du jardin, entourée de massifs verdoyants et de fleurs. Anaël aimait beaucoup venir ici, car la vue y était exceptionnelle. Il ne manquait aucune occasion pour venir s'adosser à la rambarde, afin de contempler l'oeuvre de cette nature si généreuse qu'il vénérait, et ainsi respirer l'air pur, mélange subtil de senteurs boisées et d'embruns parfumés changeants selon la douceur des saisons. De grands arbres millénaires se balançaient nonchalamment au gré du vent, déployant leurs branches et leurs feuilles vers le ciel bleu azur, aux reflets irisés selon les heures, une qualité typique sur Opale. Ces gardiens séculaires servaient de refuge à une multitude d'oiseaux colorés, qui chantaient et s'envolaient vers les nuages, parfois par bandes entières, dans un incessant mouvement de va-et-vient. Les grandes cascades dansaient sur la falaise, virevoltant au gré des rochers qu'elles rencontraient, sautant de l'un à l'autre pour éclater en gerbes, tel un feu d'artifice, formant des nuées de fines gouttelettes qui se déployaient dans l'air, au rythme de la bise légère, et qui venaient se poser tout près du jeune garçon, comme la caresse d'une mère affectueuse, laissant une sensation de fraîcheur sur ses mains et son visage. L'air, l'eau, le minéral et le végétal se mélangeaient subtilement et formaient un tout, bercé au rythme d'une merveilleuse symphonie.
Anaël se retourna, heureux, pour observer la belle cité dont il était l'hôte privilégié, et qui l'a vu naître il y a quinze ans de cela. Il était fier de cette ville et de la maison familiale dans laquelle il vivait : une jolie demeure qui appartenait à sa famille depuis des générations, construite à l'époque où les premiers marchands impériaux vinrent pour s'installer à Istandiir, marquant ainsi le début de l'unification avec la civilisation Elfique. La maison était située dans les quartiers commerçants, à mi-chemin entre les quartiers du Port et de la Ville Basse, et les quartiers les plus riches de la Ville Haute, ce qui pouvait être considéré comme avantageux car cela permettait d'accéder facilement à toutes les parties de la capitale, sans avoir besoin de la traverser sur toute sa longueur. Pittoresque maison à colombages de style impérial, en partie accolée à la paroi rocheuse - ce qui lui donnait un cachet indéniable, elle était construite sur trois étages, ni trop grande, ni trop petite et agréable à vivre, fonctionnelle et chaleureuse. De sa position, à partir de la terrasse, le jeune garçon pouvait voir l'atelier de son père, qui se trouvait à l'opposé d'une grande cour séparant les deux bâtisses. Cet espace vert aménagé en jardins était dédié à la fois au jeu et à la détente, faisant ainsi le bonheur de toute la famille, mais également celui des passants venus flâner là, au gré de leurs promenades...
Après s'être imprégné des images et des sensations du monde que Dame Nature a bien voulu lui offrir, Anaël se concentra sur une autre tâche, tout aussi importante que la précédente, et ô combien motivante : dégainer sa fabuleuse épée de bois et aller pourfendre en chemin le premier gueux qui se présenterait à lui, et qui oserait lui barrer la route menant de la terrasse familiale vers l'intérieur de la maison - domaine jusqu'ici inviolé, car âprement et vaillamment défendu par le fougueux garçon. Seuls les frères "Le Tub" et "Thumper", deux grandes créatures-bipèdes très dangereuses, ont osé, et osent encore lui tenir tête, laissant l'issue de la bataille bien incertaine. Mais le pire, le plus terrible d'entre tous, car encore invaincu à ce jour, c'était... Le "Grand Distrait" ! Anaël était impuissant face à ce combattant hors-pair. Vraiment, ces trois-là lui donnaient beaucoup de fil à retordre. Mais, chut ! La seule évocation de leurs noms les faisait apparaître. Alors... Prudence !
- "Anaël !"... (Les voilà !)... "Anaël ! Enfin tu es là !"... (En garde !)... "Père te cherche partout !" s'inquiétèrent Arwin et Ebell, les deux frères aînés.
- "Je..." (A l'attaque !)... "J'arrives !"... (Sus à l'ennemi !!)
- "Anaël ! Que faisais-tu donc, pendant tout ce temps passé dehors !" gronda une voix de stentor.
- "Je..." (Le Grand Distrait !!)... "Pardon, Père."
- "Allons, Anaël ! Dépêches-toi ! On dirait presque que tu as oublié quel jour nous sommes !", coupa le père d'une voix ferme et autoritaire, ce qui était plutôt inhabituel de sa part. Cet homme, connu pour son caractère magnanime et débonnaire, montrait des signes évidents d'impatience. La tension était palpable. Quelque chose de particulier était en train de se passer car , en temps normal, il usait de plus de tact dans sa façon d'éduquer ses quatre enfants : "Il est grand temps de vous préparer ! Et laisses donc tes frères tranquilles avec ton épée de bois, Anaël ! Vous allez finir par vous faire mal avec çà !"
- "Entendu, Père." acquiesça Anaël, laissant, mais à contre-coeur, son jouet préféré au pied de son lit.
Le visage autoritaire du père montrait de l'inquiétude au fur et à mesure que l'heure avançait. Mais l'atmosphère fébrile qui planait dans la demeure familiale était tintée de joie, car c'était LE grand Jour. Tout ce beau monde courait dans tous les sens, tout affairés qu'ils étaient, montant et descendant le grand escalier de bois qui menait à l'étage, dans un mouvement de va-et-vient à la limite de l'hystérie - mais une hystérie contrôlée, cela va de soi, pour une famille habituée à plus de quiétude en d'autres circonstances. La petite famille terminait de se préparer, tout en ne lésinant pas sur les moyens.
- "Papa, Yiniel a encore mis sa robe à l'envers." grommela une voix de garçon, perdue dans tout ce tumulte.
- "Ze l'ai fait esspré-eu !" se moqua la petite soeur, tout en sautillant comme une petite puce qui ne pouvait pas tenir en place.
- "Moi, je ne trouve pas mes souliers..." s'inquiéta Anaël.
- "Vous ne me facilitez guère la tâche, mes enfants," reprit le père, "allez donc aider votre petite soeur !" Puis, tout en fixant sa collerette, faisant de son mieux pour faire régner un semblant d'ordre : "Venez, il est l'heure de partir, nous allons être en retard ! Ah, si seulement votre mère était là pour m'aider..."
- "Mais, Père ?" demanda Arwin, l'aîné des enfants.
- "Oui, qu'y-a-t-il. Quelque chose ne va pas ?" dit le père en levant les sourcils, l'air surpris.
- "Vous avez mis vos chaussures de travail !?" constata Ebell, très intrigué, en pointant son doigt vers l'objet en cause.
Tous les regards se fixèrent sur la partie anatomique incriminée. Plus personne ne bougeait, c'était comme si le temps s'était arrêté, l'espace d'une seconde. Mais, le silence fut bien vite rompu par les rires moqueurs des enfants, qui résonnaient maintenant dans toute la maisonnée. Le père, stupéfait, restait interdit.
- "Parbleu !! Vous avez raison, les enfants !" dit-il avec un étonnement non dissimulé, le regard fixé sur ses pieds.
Puis son visage s'orna d'un large sourire : "Quel distrait je fais, tout de même..."
Le père s'empressa de parachever son oeuvre par des bottes cirées montantes, d'un noir du plus bel effet, et, de l'avis de tous, plus adaptées à l'harmonie de sa tenue des grands jours. Satisfait du résultat, il enchaîna :
- "Voilà qui est mieux maintenant ! Êtes-vous prêt à partir ?"
Les enfants répondirent en coeur, en insistant bien sur la longueur des syllabes :
- "Ouiii ! Nous sommes prêêets !"
- "Alors, si vous le voulez bien : en avant !" Puis, enfonçant son chapeau à plumes bien à fond sur sa tête : "Et le dernier à franchir le seuil de la porte... fera la vaisselle au retour !"
Motivés par ce pari un peu improvisé, les enfants déboulèrent dans la pièce principale, trop heureux de profiter de l'occasion ! Ils la traversèrent d'une seule traite, et franchirent tant bien que mal le seuil de la porte, sous le regard amusé de leur père, resté un peu en retrait - de façon volontaire, car déjà assuré d'en être l'heureux gagnant. Et après tout ces efforts, en ayant tout de même pris soin de bien refermer la porte d'entrée derrière eux, la petite troupe, pleine d'entrain, était enfin en mesure d'arpenter les niveaux de la ville basse, en se donnant la main et en chantant de joyeux refrains à tue-tête. La foule au-dehors se pressait dans les ruelles étroites qui traversaient la capitale, se faufilant, cherchant à trouver le meilleur moyen d'éviter les grandes allées surchargées de monde. A les voir comme çà, ils faisaient tant et si bien que, vu d'en haut, on aurait pu imaginer avoir affaire à une fourmilière aux abois, toute excitée par la venue de quelque géant malintentionné, la taquinant sans relâche à l'aide de son bâton.
Toute la population était impatiente de pouvoir gagner le lieu où se déroulait l'évènement, dans la partie haute de la cité...
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(*) Passerine, genre d'oiseaux passereaux du Nouveau Monde.
(**) Passe de Vorian, située entre les plus hautes montagnes du Royaume d'Opale, seul passage obligé entre l'Ancienne Vallée d'Aden, au Nord-Est, et les Terres Originelles, au Sud d'Opale. Fut le théâtre des plus sanglantes batailles durant les grandes guerres, des centaines et des centaines de milliers d'hommes y moururent, laissant, selon la légende, les sols imprégnés à tout jamais du sang des braves.
.../...
http://www.adamskorupa.com/mp3/games/Tales_of_The_Witcher.mp3 Adam Skorupa - Tales of The Witcher
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But nobody will.
Nobody answers.
Just cut these two sentences at the beginning and we are in suspense worthy of Hitchcock's best... :thumbsup:
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Wow. One of the reasons I haven't left you many comments lately is simply because you write so many different stories I can hardly keep track of them all. But rest assured, I still think they're all great and I'm impressed. I'm still a fan, even if I'm just lurking in the shadows. Great stuff!
I totally agree with you, Herculine. Maharg gives a great contribution in the Druid's Garden.
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Simply epic and... oops! have forgot to put my vote on, that's done now. :thumbsup:
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An epic told with just twelve lines. Excellent poem!
Thanks!
Fifoo's is better though, his had a lot of feeling behind it.
And frankly, you put me in an embarrassing situation by putting my modesty to the test. Believe me your poem is very good and Herculine is right to emphasize.
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Emailed the artist of cyber hunter weeks ago and still have not received a reply, does this mean we can't have the mod made?
Frankly, I have no idea. Everything is a question of whether we have the possibility to use the concept as it is not intended for profit. Perhaps fair use in a derivative work could be a possibility, for being more precise. :unsure:
how old is your nexus account
in Off-Topic
Posted
May 1, 2009.