Drachenjäger
Es war ein ganz schöner Tag. Ein ganz normaler Tag, könnte man meinen. Und doch lag irgendetwas in der Luft. Ich spürte es in den Barthaaren.
Die Sonne hatte sich durch eine Lücke in den hohen Wolken gezwängt und wärmte die Stadt, das Land, das Wasser - und meinen Schwanz. Ich schloss schnurrend die Augen und genoss das Gefühl des Hier und Jetzt. Der Geschmack von lauwarmer, mit Honig und Cognac vermischter Milch versüßte mir die Mühen der Arbeit, die vor mir lag: das Leder meiner Rüstung bedurfte dringend einer Behandlung, die es wieder weich und geschmeidig machen w&
Milch und Honig
5
Literature
Feuer und Stahl 1
Helgen
Als Hadvar sie zum ersten Mal sah, hätte er sie beinahe für einen Mann gehalten. Sie saß eingepfercht zwischen Ulfric und seinen Sturmmänteln auf einem der mit Gefangenen beladenen Karren, die vom letzten Angriff auf das Rebellenlager nach Helgen zurückkehrten.
Hadvar war gern Soldat. Er liebte das Kräftemessen im Kampf Mann gegen Mann, das Klirren von Stahl und das wunderbare Gefühl von Lebendigkeit, das ihn am Abend nach der Schlacht aller Müdigkeit zum Trotz durchströmte. Er war gern Soldat, doch er hasste, was man ihm heute zu tun befohlen hatte: ein Gehilfe des Scharfrichters zu sein,
Feuer und Stahl
1
Literature
Kreuzwege 5
A Roona Ka Ra Ma Na
Eigentlich sollte es ein ganz normaler Tag werden. Ich saß wie immer im Dämmerlicht des gemütlichen Kellergewölbes und wob an dem Tuch für die schöne, nachtäugige Herrin der Festung. Nun ja, so weit meine Art die Menschen mit ihren zu wenigen Beinen und Augen schön finden kann. Aber der kleine Splitterträger hatte ihr Haar mit Spinnenfäden aus Mitternacht und ihr Herz mit klarem Bergkristall verglichen, als er mich um diesen Gefallen bat. Bilder, die mich an meine Heimat erinnern. Schön ...
Aber ich schweife ab. Scheinbar werde ich alt.
Also, eigentlich sollte es ein
Kreuzwege
5
Literature
Sand und Seide 1
Vorspiel
"Was weißt du denn von den Hochzeiten des kleinen Volkes?"
"Och – ich war mal Blumenmädchen auf einer..."
"Blumenmädchen ... Du?!!" Teloki sich lässt sich neben Keshi in das Bett aus Schnee und Blüten fallen und stimmt in ihr Gelächter ein.
"Ehrlich!"
"Rolablätter!"
Keshi rollt sich auf den Bauch und stützt das Kinn in die behandschuhte Rechte.
"Du glaubst mir nicht?" Ihre Augen funkeln. Teloki lacht noch immer.
"Doch, schon! Ich stelle mir nur vor ... drei Tage und zwei Nächte ... Du und der glückliche Junggeselle, der Dir so wie ich gerade mal bis zum Ellenbogen reicht .. und ihr beiden ... naja, Du weißt schon ..."
Keshi
Sand und Seide
19
Literature
Tumbolia I
Jetzt: Erde Europa irgendwo mitten in Deutschland Dachboden des Biersinger'schen Hauses
Eigentlich hatte ich sie nie wieder benutzen wollen. Aber irgendwie habe ich es nicht über das Herz gebracht, mich von ihr zu trennen. Seit mehr als zwanzig Jahren ruht meine "Phönixfeder", die in unserer Welt die Form eines Füllfederhalters aus schäbigem schwarzem Plastik angenommen zu haben scheint, in einem ebenso schäbigen Pappkarton. Irgendwo zwischen dem ganzen Krempel vergraben, den man im Leben anhäuft und von Umzug zu Umzug mit sich schleppt, um ihn dann auf dem nächsten staubigen Dachb
Tumbolia
7
Literature
Auf der Suche
"Na endlich! Ich dachte schon, wir würde sie nie finden!"
Mit erleichtertem Stöhnen ließ sich Jack in das schwarzgrüne Moos fallen, das hier und da die Große Leere Stelle im Steinernen Wald überzog. Er rollte sich auf den Rücken, streckte gähnend die Glieder und ließ sich von der Mittagssonne den Bauch wärmen. Saphir kauerte sich neben ihm nieder.
"Sie ist gar nicht mehr so öde und kahl, wie ich sie in Erinnerung habe", wisperte sie. "Schau dort drüben: die Wurzeln der jungen Schlangenästigen haben die Quelle aus ihrem Gefängnis befreit; und dort, wo das kleine Flüss
German Texts
39
Literature
Torias
how can I ever keep from singing,
praising the roses in the bedouin's garden?
their petals and their thorns,
their beauty and their scent,
their colors and their shapes,
their touch
that keeps me from falling apart.
how can I ever keep from loving you?
for your tears and your laughter,
for your beauty and your scent,
for your softness and your strength,
for your grace
that keeps this world from falling apart.
How can I ever keep from loving you, my roses?
English Texts
26
Literature
English Texts 26
Torias by shoughad, literature
Literature
Torias
how can I ever keep from singing,
praising the roses in the bedouin's garden?
their petals and their thorns,
their beauty and their scent,
their colors and their shapes,
their touch
that keeps me from falling apart.
how can I ever keep from loving you?
for your tears and your laughter,
for your beauty and your scent,
for your softness and your strength,
for your grace
that keeps this world from falling apart.
How can I ever keep from loving you, my roses?
sun and moon -
circling each other, still meant never once to meet,
yet I know
that without his bright light she'll lose her softest glow.
winter and summer -
fleeing from each other, as frost does shun the heat.
yet I know
that springtime flowers hide beneath a cloak of snow.
my circle now is broken -
yet how I still don't know,
why can't I break free
to ever be
your sun, your moon, your snow?
Grobnar's cymbals didn't sound too bad; Torias eventually had to admit. And together with his flute, to which the shining metal had shaped itself almost willingly, they reminded him of the laughter of pixies, who were bantering with him in the nearby clearing that day.
What's more, the heart-breaking sobbing, coming from near the shrubbery underneath Scalesinger's shop windows, astonished him. Who would shed tears on such a glorious day?
"Yuen, sunshine?" he asked gently, when he discovered the black-curled jack-of-all-trades of Daerred's adventurer's team. "What in the nine hells is wrong?"
The little, usually quite resolute h
I hated to awake from cryostasis. Especially today - for something was wrong - disturbingly wrong, but what? As always, returning from artificial near-death to life took some time until I was fully in control of myself again.
It was my tactile sense, which alerted me first. I was missing that familiar prickle of melting ice on my cheeks. And gravity was pulling on my limbs like a hungry singularity. I knew that the ship's artificial intelligence, once in a while, would try to give groundborn sleepers a feeling of comfort by activating a grav-field in their habitats for some din. But here, for us skyborn ones? I groaned. Oh great!
Aroona Karamana - Interlude by shoughad, literature
Literature
Aroona Karamana - Interlude
And what I beheld there in the courtyard was ... strange indeed: the men wearing those unadorned grey cloaks, who usually keep their watch upon the walls, and in front of the keep's gates, were gathered beneath the old oak tree in the courtyard. They sat together in the soft grass, chatting, laughing and embroidering their cloaks!
Zhjaeve, the Githzerai, was standing alone and aloft on the battlements, leaning over the merlons. Her face looked green. Well in fact her face always looks green. And - right you are, not only her face. But this time the green was a very unique color. And for the first time, I got a vague idea of her
"Gods in Heaven- Torias! Please ... not again! What now?!" Master Veedle's booming objection made the tools hung on the wall of Edario's smithy chatter amongst themselves. A brick, as big as a child's head, until now balancing on the wall's ragged edge, finally lost its fight with the rules of gravity and hit the ground with a solid thump.
Torias sat up. The explosion's force had thrown him across the keep's courtyard and Tymora's grace dropped him unceremoniously into a wagon filled with hay, which Orlen was bringing into the stables. "Oh, boy!" he exclaimed, taking in the level of destruction he and Grobnar seemed to have caused. "Master V
Actually this day was supposed to be a normal day, like any other in the long progression of my life. I was sitting in the twilight of my comfortable living-den, weaving a shawl for the fair of face, night-eyed mistress of the keep at Crossroads. The master seems quite taken with her. I wonder, is Kana her name or her title?? Well, as far as those humans go, having too few legs and way too few eyes, how could they be called beautiful by one of my kind at all? But the little shard-bearer had compared her hair to my woven strands of pure midnight, and her heart to a shiny clear rock crystal, when he asked me for this favor. Images that take me
Qara slipped into the recently rebuilt library. Carefully, she closed the door, making herself comfortable on an old fur placed in front of the fireplace tucked away in a corner to chase away the chill. A fireplace in a room full of old books wasn't a good idea, but Master Veedle took pity on Aldanon and exercised great care in the placement of the hearth.
Obediently, like a well-trained pet, the flame yielded to her will, burned calmer, steadier, and finally sent a reddish-golden blossom-tendril towards her. It twined around her wrist and, with a gentle sizzling noise, climbed up the sleeve of her chemise - Not crackling in hunger and rage
The sinking desert sun was about to touch the edge of the far dunes, marking the passage between the Great Sand Sea and the the Plain of Standing Stones, when the slender woman put aside her sword, visibly content with the edge her honing gave it. Smiling, she playfully wrestled the wineskin from her companion's hands and took a hearty draft.
"Torias, I think, we should call it a day now. Dashnaya is surely waiting for you. And I ...I will need some time to prepare for tomorrow, to regain some balance," she explained then.
"Balance? Kesh, just look at me: I'm still able to stand my ground one-legged. Even after three mugs of brandy a