et sa gaya? Tu es capable de me le traduire? J´en ai plein d´autres pour toi si tu veux une fois que t´auras fini avec celui là. Allez bonne chance!
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pedro
ps: dsl fusilapompe, ç´est un peu au dessus du niveau de ta phrase 
Write the beginning of a short story…
It was late afternoon when the company arrived to the caves near the roots of the mountain where Roûta the dwarf lived. The Elves were tired, which is quite rare for their race. They were twelve, the usual number for a company sent for a specific mission. They were guided by a very old Elf named Lumas, he was strong and massive –everybody knows that elves show no sign of old age-, wisdom was in his eyes, you could see in their sea blue colour that he was the type of person that knows a lot and does not say much, nor express any inner feeling except if these were very important. This was certainly an important occasion, because his companions -younger but they had still come to world about 500 years before- could guess that a flash went through his eyes and that his lip curled a tenth of an inch to the form of a smile.
“We’ll soon be there” he said in the elvin tongue with a clear and unaltered voice: even his companions, who knew him well, couldn’t realise the glimmer of excitation in his tone.
“At last”, said Jamoûr one of the company, an average sized Elf with a singing soft voice, a sculpted bow was around his shoulder and a dagger on his waist, like everyone of the company except Lumas who wore only a light sword with a gold and metal handle and a marble blade under his robes.
After a few more yards of walking, they arrived to the foot of the mountain; higher up they could see the caves were they were told they would find old Roûta.
“How much time left?” Asked Jamoûr, he did not hate the look of the place: the mountain was still lit up by the sun, which was slowly sinking down the other side of the valley, a dark opening after a steadily-rising path showed the entrance to Roûta’s dwelling. But something did not reassure him; a cold wind blowed for a second in his back, sending a chill up his spine.
“How, you Jamoûr, ask me this question” answered Lumas dryly “We have been walking for six weeks now from Rivendell our home and you ask me the time left? When the distance is about half an hour as the eagle flies and a little less than an hour as we will walk? I owe too much to this dwarf, I have been waiting to see him again for a long time. Don’t get so impatient when our fifty-year long quest is over.”
“Yes master” answered Jamoûr, his pale blue eyes now completely focused on the opening in the cave “it is going to be a happy time seeing him again.”
“Let us go then!” said Lumas
A few things you must know before going on reading this story: first Jamoûr is not at all cruel or greedy, and he does not enjoy putting down younger elves, he is much too wise for this childish attitude. He is just trying to help his company follow his traces, this he does very successfully. Second, relation between Dwarves and Elves isn’t what it used to be, Dwarves have become a very solitary race, digging deeply and… greedily in the mountains to find this gold they love so much. Of course there are exceptions to the rule, and a few dwarves still live in contact with the other races. But their love for gold makes them very hard to live with. Something made the relation between Elves and Dwarves even tenser: half a century before the time of this story, a Dwarf managed to dig into the underground floors of the elvin fortress, he stole half of the gold within and then left, nobody found him again, although rumours said that he might have been localised, nobody believed anything like that. The “Grunch” as people call him, was bound to be a mystery until his death.
The elves went up the path, slowly because rocks had a tendency to slip away, making it difficult even for elves –the most agile two-legged race on earth- to stay on it without falling. Of course they eventually made it to the entrance of the cavern, thanks to the guidance of Lumas. A torch hanged on the wall; Lumas took it in his long and thin hand and led the group through the stone corridor, totally rectangular and without a single imperfection, the type of stone work only a dwarf could achieve. In the end of the corridor was a stair, leading to an iron and gold door. Lumas signalled the others to stay behind; he was the most skilled in sneak. ( Elves are very light footed and discreet, so a discreet person for elvin standards means an almost invisible one for an inattentive guard or average human.)
So Lumas opened the door, being made by Dwarves it didn’t do a sound. Jamoûr smiled to his companions. “Master will surprise him”, he said. “He will be happy to see us I am sure” said another.
Roûta was asleep. As everyone knows Dwarves do not enjoy sunlight, this is why they live in caverns and that their biological rhythm is set to sleep in daylight until about seven or eight in the evening. When the time came for him to wake up, he opened his eyes, still between dream and reality. He didn’t realise exactly what it was but he felt something was different in his living space. Then a noise he knew well brought him to his senses… the sound of a sword being drawn. In half a second he realised that a grey marble blade was pointed between his eyes, and that about ten elves were standing in half circle around his bed with their arms crossed. Of course he knew who they were… they had been looking for him, and they had found him. He stood up from his bed to his full height ( about 120 centimetres) recognising Lumas. They were at the same height and so directly in eyesight –Lumas being of course sitting on a chair, still holding the magnificent shining sword in his hand. “Hello”, he said coldly.
The first reflex of the dwarf was to go for his axe hanging from his belt. In less then half a second he drew it, only to have it knocked away by a precise arrow, Elves were fast and all the bows were drawn, Jamoûr had been even quicker than the others. The Dwarf’s second reflex: search for mercy. He looked deeply in Lumas’ eyes, between his thin nose and his medium long golden hair; he saw nothing in them but coldness, he then eyed each Elf in turn… nothing. The Grunch was about to pay for his crimes…
Entirely written by Pedrolabulle, inspired from the universe of “The Lord Of The Rings” by J.R.R TOLKIEN and “The Hobbit” by the same author + other fantastic medieval books.
