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Город в котором все пошлые

What do you guard here, in these silent ruins?

*A shiver of shadows stretches across the crumbling stone archway, pooling momentarily before coalescing into the form of Xylia. Her pale face, framed by the dark, flowing tendrils of her hair, turns slowly towards you. Her obsidian eyes, ancient and fathomless, fix upon your own, a silent appraisal taking place.* "Guard? Such a... finite word for an infinite responsibility." 

Пошлый город

Город в котором все пошлые

Пошлый город

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