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Kapuze

Profi

  • »Kapuze« ist der Autor dieses Themas

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1

Montag, 28. Dezember 2009, 02:22

Spoiler zu TCG!

Ich wäre, wenn ich das mal anmerken darf, dafür ein Unterforum für TCG zu erstellen.

SE hat uns ein kleines Weihnachtsgeschenk gebracht. Ich hab den Nachfolgenden Text aus dem Englischen Forum.

Spoiler Spoiler

Cotillion drew two daggers. His gaze fell to the blades. The blackened iron surfaces seemed to swirl, two pewter rivers oozing across pits and gouges, the edges ragged where armour and bone had slowed their thrusts. He studied the sickly sky’s lurid reflections for a moment longer, and then said, “I have no intention of explaining a damned thing.” He looked up, eyes locking. “Do you understand me?”
The figure facing him was incapable of expression. The tatters of rotted sinew and strips of skin were motionless upon the bones of temple, cheek and jaw. The eyes held nothing, nothing at all.
Better, Cotillion decided, than jaded skepticism. Oh how he was sick of that. “Tell me,” he resumed, “what do you think you’re seeing here? Desperation? Panic? A failing of will, some inevitable decline crumbling to incompetence? Do you believe in failure, Edgewalker?”
Edgewalker remained silent for a time, and then the apparition spoke in a broken, rasping voice. “You cannot be so … audacious.”
“I asked if you believed in failure. Because I don’t.”
“Even should you succeed, Cotillion. Beyond all expectation, beyond, even, all desire. They will still speak of your failure.”
He sheathed his daggers. “And you know what they can do to themselves.”
The head cocked, strands of hair dangling and drifting. “Arrogance?”
“Competence,” Cotllion snapped in reply. “Doubt me at your peril.”
“They will not believe you.”
“I do not care, Edgewalker. This is what it is.”
When he set out, he was not surprised that the deathless guardian followed. We have done this before. Dust and ashes puffed with each step. The wind moaned as if trapped in a crypt. “Almost time, Edgewalker.”
“I know. You cannot win.”
Cotillion paused, half-turned. He smiled a ravaged smile. “That doesn’t mean I have to lose, does it?”


Ja,ja,ja. Ich bin doof. Ich hab bei Schatten nur das Topic gelesen und nicht den Text angeguckt. Aber trotzdem wäre ich dafür ein Unterforum dafür zu erstellen. Vllt. bringt ja irgendwer nette Vermutungen auf, über die man Diskutieren könnte. Deswegen lass ich mein Text hier so, wie er war. Ich bin jetzt mal ganz rebellisch.

Dieser Beitrag wurde bereits 1 mal editiert, zuletzt von »Kapuze« (28. Dezember 2009, 12:33)


2

Mittwoch, 30. Dezember 2009, 13:37

Mmh, das kann nur einer der Admins machen, aber ich bin auch dafür, gute Idee :)

Und ist kein allzu großer Spoiler - obwohl ich es genau deswegen ins DoD Subforum gepackt hab - , zum Glück ;)


Schatten
"Always dream and shoot higher than you know you can do. Don't bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself."
William Cuthbert Faulkner

"My definition of good literature is that which can be read by an educated reader, and reread with increased pleasure."
Gene Wolfe

Osserc

Ewig Suchender

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3

Mittwoch, 17. März 2010, 18:08

gibts für TCG eigentlich schon en ungefähres erscheinungsdatum?
"Like Anomander Rake, Osric was more dragon than anything else. They were kin in blood, if not in personality." HoC

"There were clouds closed fast round the moon. And one bye one, gardens died." tBh


4

Mittwoch, 17. März 2010, 20:00

Kein genaues, nur so 'Ende Herbst, Anfang Winter' mäßig.


Schatten
"Always dream and shoot higher than you know you can do. Don't bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself."
William Cuthbert Faulkner

"My definition of good literature is that which can be read by an educated reader, and reread with increased pleasure."
Gene Wolfe

Osserc

Ewig Suchender

Beiträge: 2 274

Wohnort: Saarland

Beruf: Student

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5

Mittwoch, 17. März 2010, 22:15

dieses jahr?
"Like Anomander Rake, Osric was more dragon than anything else. They were kin in blood, if not in personality." HoC

"There were clouds closed fast round the moon. And one bye one, gardens died." tBh


6

Donnerstag, 18. März 2010, 19:10

Wahrscheinlich. SE will es wohl im Sommer fertig an den Verlag geben.
How long was that blink? Gods below, it was a fucking eternity.

Osserc

Ewig Suchender

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7

Donnerstag, 18. März 2010, 19:13

schön schön, soll sich beeilen, der gute mann
"Like Anomander Rake, Osric was more dragon than anything else. They were kin in blood, if not in personality." HoC

"There were clouds closed fast round the moon. And one bye one, gardens died." tBh


8

Donnerstag, 18. März 2010, 20:23

Na, aber bitte, der legt doch jetzt schon ein Mordstempo vor^^


Schatten
"Always dream and shoot higher than you know you can do. Don't bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself."
William Cuthbert Faulkner

"My definition of good literature is that which can be read by an educated reader, and reread with increased pleasure."
Gene Wolfe

Osserc

Ewig Suchender

Beiträge: 2 274

Wohnort: Saarland

Beruf: Student

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9

Donnerstag, 18. März 2010, 20:34

ja muss ich dir zustimmen, im vergleich zu leutem wie paolini
"Like Anomander Rake, Osric was more dragon than anything else. They were kin in blood, if not in personality." HoC

"There were clouds closed fast round the moon. And one bye one, gardens died." tBh


10

Freitag, 19. März 2010, 14:15

@Osserc
Hast du gerade einen - wie auch immer gearteten - Zusammenhang zwischen Paolini und Steven Erikson hergestellt? 8o

@Tempo
Mir wäre es lieber, es wäre nur alle zwei Jahre ein Band erschienen... Zeitdruck im übertriebenen Maße ist nicht hilfreich und vielleicht wären die Bücher dann noch besser geworden.
We rode on the winds of the rising storm,
we ran to the sounds of the thunder.
We danced among the lightning bolts,
and tore the world asunder.

McClane

Dem Genitiv sein Tod

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11

Freitag, 19. März 2010, 15:33

Höheres Tempo muss nicht gleich höhere Qualität sein...
bei Feast for Crows spalten sich die Meinungen ja auch sehr stark, aber dieses Thema muss ja nicht erneut aufgebracht werden, oder?^^
Dick Laurent ist tot!

12

Freitag, 19. März 2010, 20:04

Zitat

Original von Kah-thurak
@Tempo
Mir wäre es lieber, es wäre nur alle zwei Jahre ein Band erschienen... Zeitdruck im übertriebenen Maße ist nicht hilfreich und vielleicht wären die Bücher dann noch besser geworden.


Da stimme ich teilweise sogar zu. Ich habe manchmal den Eindruck/die Befürchtung, dass die Qualität, naja, nicht direkt unter dem Tempo leidet, aber durch mehr Zeit steigerungsfähoger wäre. Ich hätte kein Problem damit, zwei jahre ein einen Band zu warten, das wäre, wie ich finde, für Bücher von dem Ausmaß, wie SE sie produziert, eine angemesse Zeitspanne. Und ich bin einerseits natürlich traurig, andererseits aber auch ganz froh, dass er sich für die Bücher post MBotF jeweils zwei Jahre Zeit pro Buch nehmen will.


Schatten
"Always dream and shoot higher than you know you can do. Don't bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself."
William Cuthbert Faulkner

"My definition of good literature is that which can be read by an educated reader, and reread with increased pleasure."
Gene Wolfe

Osserc

Ewig Suchender

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13

Freitag, 19. März 2010, 22:21

@ kah-thurak: um gottes willen, nein, ich hab nur ein beispiel für einen autor der lahm und nicht mal besonders gut schreibt, gebraucht
"Like Anomander Rake, Osric was more dragon than anything else. They were kin in blood, if not in personality." HoC

"There were clouds closed fast round the moon. And one bye one, gardens died." tBh


14

Samstag, 20. März 2010, 00:35

Zitat

Original von McClane
Höheres Tempo muss nicht gleich höhere Qualität sein...


Ich nehme mal an, du meinst das umgekehrt ;)

Aber: Vermutlich wird ein Buch nicht mehr wesentlich besser wenn der Autor 5+ Jahre daran herumbastelt obwohl es im Prinzip fertig war. Aber zwischen einem und zwei Jahren besteht ja ein anderer Unterschied als zwischen 5 und 6...
We rode on the winds of the rising storm,
we ran to the sounds of the thunder.
We danced among the lightning bolts,
and tore the world asunder.

McClane

Dem Genitiv sein Tod

Beiträge: 1 187

Wohnort: Speyer im schönen RLP

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15

Samstag, 20. März 2010, 11:18

Hoppla, wa wohl ein kleiner Verdreher drin :D
aber ja, im Prinzip hast Recht, da muss man unterscheiden...
ich wart auch lieber 1(!) Jahr länger, und das Produkt ist ausgereifter als wenn es unfertig auf den Markt geworfen wird und voller Logiklücken etc

Gilt ja für alles, Bücher, Filme, Computerspiele ( man denke an Gothic 3 + Add-On :rolleyes: )

Aber im Prinzip hast recht ja^^
Dick Laurent ist tot!

Kapuze

Profi

  • »Kapuze« ist der Autor dieses Themas

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16

Donnerstag, 15. April 2010, 23:33

Neues aus dem Schlaraffenland!
Hier kommt es her.

Ich weiss, dass es in etwa schon oben unter Autoren gepostet wurde, nur denke ich, dass es hier auch alle mitbekommen!


Spoiler Spoiler


White as bone, the butterflies formed a vast cloud overhead. Again and again their swirling mass dimmed the sun with a blessed gift of shadow that moments later broke apart, proving that curses hid in every gift, and that blessings could pass in the blink of an eye.

An eye swarming with flies. Badalle could feel and indeed see them clustering at the corners; she could feel them drinking her tears. She did not resent their need, and their frenzied crawl and buzz felt cool against her scorched cheeks. Those that crowded her mouth she ate when she could, the taste bitter when she crushed them, the wings like patches of dry skin almost impossible to swallow.

Since the Shards had left, only the butterflies and the flies remained, and there was something pure in these last two forces. One white, the other black. Only the extremes remained: from the unyielding ground below to the hollow sky above; from the push of life to the pull of death; from the breath hiding within to the last to leave a fallen child.

The flies fed upon the living, but the butterflies waited for the dead. There was nothing in between. Nothing but this walking, the torn feet and the stains they left behind, the figures toppling and then stepped over.

In her head, Badalle was singing. She sensed the presence of others – not those ahead of her or those behind her – but ghostly things. Invisible eyes and veiled thoughts. An impatience, a harsh desire for judgement. As if the Snake’s very existence was an affront. To be ignored. Denied. Fled from.

But she would not permit any to escape. They did not have to like what they saw. They did not have to like her at all. Or Rutt or Held or Saddic or any of the bare thousand still alive. They could rail at her thoughts, at the poetry she found in the heart of suffering, as if it had no meaning to them, no value. No truth. They could do all of that; still she would not let them go.

I am as true as anything you have ever seen. A dying child, abandoned by the world. And I say this: there is nothing truer. Nothing.

Flee from me if you can. I promise I will haunt you. This is my only purpose now, the only one left to me. I am history made alive, holding on but failing. I am everything you would not think of, belly filled and thirst slaked, there in all your comforts surrounded by faces you know and love.

But hear me. Heed my warning. History has claws.

Saddic still carried his hoard. He dragged it behind him. In a sack made of clothes no longer needed by anyone. His treasure trove. His … things. What did he want with them? What meaning hid inside that sack? All those stupid bits, the shiny stones, the pieces of wood. And the way, with every dusk, when they could walk no further, he would take them all out to look at them – why did that frighten her?

Sometimes he would weep, for no reason. And make fists as if to crush all his baubles into dust, and it was then that she realized that Saddic didn’t know what they meant either. But he wouldn’t leave them behind. That sack would be the death of him.

She imagined the moment when he fell. This boy she would have liked for a brother. Onto his knees, hands all entwined in the cloth sleeves, falling forward so that his face struck the ground. He’d try to get back up, but he’d fail. And the flies would swarm him until he was no longer even visible, just a seething, glittering blackness. Where Saddic had been.

They’d eat his last breath. Drink the last tears from his eyes which now just stared. Into his open mouth to make it dry as a cave, a spider hole. And then the swarm would explode, rush away seeking more of life’s sweet water. And down would descend the butterflies. To strip away his skin, and the thing left – with its sack – would no longer be Saddic.

Saddic will be gone. Happy Saddic. Peaceful Saddic, a ghost hovering, looking down at that sack. I would have words for him, for his passing. I would stand over him, looking down at all those fluttering wings so like leaves, and I would try, one more time, to make sense of the sack, the sack that killed him.

And I would fail. Making my words few. Weak. A song of unknowing. All I have for my brother Saddic.

When that time comes, I will know it is time for me to die, too. When that time comes, I will give up.

And so she sang. A song of knowing. The most powerful song of all.

They had a day left, maybe two.

Is this what I wanted? Every journey must end. Out here there is nothing but ends. No beginnings left. Out here, I have nothing but claws.

“Badalle.” The word was soft, like crumpled cloth and she felt it brush her senses.

“Rutt.”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“But you are, Rutt. The head of the Snake. And Held, who is the tongue.”

“No. I can’t. I have gone blind.”

She moved up alongside him, studied his old man’s face. “They’re swollen,” she said. “Closed up, Rutt. It’s to keep them safe. Your eyes.”

“But I can’t see –”

“There’s nothing to see, Rutt.”

“I can’t lead –”

“For this, there is no-one better.”

“Badalle –”

“Even the stones are gone. Just walk, Rutt. The way is clear, for as far as I can see, it’s clear.”

He loosed a sob. The flies poured in and he bent over, coughing, retching. He stumbled and she caught him before he fell. Rutt righted himself, clutching Held tight. Badalle heard a soft whimper rising from them both.

No water. This is what is killing us now. Squinting, she glanced back. Saddic was nowhere in sight – had he already fallen? If he had, it would be just as well that she’d not seen it. Other faces, vaguely familiar, stared at her and Rutt, waiting for the Snake to begin moving once again. They stood hunched over, tottering. They stood with backs arched and bellies distended as if about to drop a baby. Their eyes were depthless pools where the flies gathered to drink. Sores crusted their noses, their mouths and ears. Skin on cheeks and chin had cracked open and glistened beneath ribbons of flies. Many were bald, missing teeth, their gums bleeding. And Rutt was not alone in being blind.

Our children. See what we have done to them. Our mothers and fathers left us to this, and now we leave them, too, in our turn. There is no end to the generations of the foolish. One after another after another and at some point we all started nodding, thinking this is how it has to be, and so we don’t even try and change things. All we pass down to our children is the same stupid grin.

But I have claws. And I will tear away that grin. I swear it.

“Badalle?”

She had begun singing out loud. Wordless, the tone low and then building, thickening. Until she could feel more than one voice within her, and each in turn joined her song. Filling the air. Their sound was one of horror, a terrible thing – she felt its power growing. Growing.

“Badalle!”

I have claws. I have claws. I have claws. Show me that grin one more time. Show it, I’m begging you! Let me tear it from your face. Let me rip deep, until my talons score your teeth! Let me feel the blood and let me hear the meat splitting and let me see the look in your eyes as you meet mine let me see I have claws I have claws I have claws!

“Badalle!”

Someone struck her, knocked her down. Stunned, she stared up into Saddic’s face, his round, wizened face. And from his eyes red tears tracked down through the dust on his leathery cheeks.

“Don’t cry,” she whispered. “It’s all right, Saddic. Don’t cry.”

Rutt knelt beside her, groped with one hand until his fingers brushed her forehead. “What have you done?”

His tone startled her. The cloth is torn. “They’re all too weak,” she said. “Too weak to feel anger. So I felt it for them – for all of you –” She stopped. Rutt’s fingertips leaked blood. She could feel crystal shards digging into her back. What?

“You moved us,” Saddic said. “It … hurt.”

She could hear wailing now. The Snake was writhing in pain. “I went … I went looking.”

“For what?” Rutt demanded. “For what?”

“For claws.”

Saddic shook his head. “Badalle. We’re children. We don’t have claws.”

The sun dimmed then and she squinted past Saddic. But the butterflies were gone. Flies, look at all the flies.

“We don’t have claws, Badalle.”

“No, Saddic, you’re right. We don’t. But someone does.”

The power of the song still clung to her, fierce as a promise. Someone does. “I’m taking us there,” she said, meeting Saddic’s wide eyes.

He drew back, leaving her to stare up at the sky. Flies, roiling in a massive cloud, black as the Abyss. She clambered to her feet. “Take my hand, Rutt. It’s time to walk.”

Dieser Beitrag wurde bereits 1 mal editiert, zuletzt von »Kapuze« (15. April 2010, 23:35)


17

Mittwoch, 19. Mai 2010, 18:40

RE: Spoiler zu TCG!

Sieht so aus, als wurde Erscheinungstermin von TCG auf Januar 2011 verschoben...

http://forum.malazanempire.com/index.php…20&#entry757955
Beitrag #31