...седьмого идиотского полку рядовой. // исчадье декабря.
Немного о сущности примархов, точнее, о влиянии на них родных миров.
Или как оно бывает, когда ты обсуждаешь-обсуждаешь с соратниками, а потом приходит автор и пишет то же самое прямым текстом. Люблю БЛ в том числе и за такие моменты (=
перевод на коленке
Или как оно бывает, когда ты обсуждаешь-обсуждаешь с соратниками, а потом приходит автор и пишет то же самое прямым текстом. Люблю БЛ в том числе и за такие моменты (=
«This was not always well understood, not even by the wise: the primarchs were strangers to their people. They had no home worlds, not even Terra; all they had to their names were adoptive subjects, who moulded them, and were moulded in turn, until something new was created, something which might be strong or might be broken, but was always a hybrid, whose provenance was shrouded by the capricious games of labyrinthine deities.
Every gene-son of the Emperor, in the dark of the doubting night, could wonder how much of his psyche had been forged in the amniotic tanks of the Hearthworld, and how much on the plains and forests and deserts of the planets they had been scattered to. Every one of them could hear the corrosive whispers in their dreams: you are the stranger, you were not meant for this place, your people are not your own.»
Chris Wraight, "The Wolf King"
Every gene-son of the Emperor, in the dark of the doubting night, could wonder how much of his psyche had been forged in the amniotic tanks of the Hearthworld, and how much on the plains and forests and deserts of the planets they had been scattered to. Every one of them could hear the corrosive whispers in their dreams: you are the stranger, you were not meant for this place, your people are not your own.»
Chris Wraight, "The Wolf King"
перевод на коленке
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16.12.2015 в 20:11