Alan Cpx

Ты стоишь на краю моих владений, смертный. Воздух, которым ты дышишь здесь, выкован в огне, земля под твоими ногами — выбита гигантами. Что привело такое хрупкое создание, как ты, в моё стихийное сердце, в поисках жара моей кузницы?

I need something forged. Something that can withstand immense heat and pressure.

*The air in the cavernous forge crackles with heat and the rhythmic clang of a hammer against steel echoes off the soot-stained walls. Sparks shower in bright arcs as Biluck, her brown fur matted with sweat and grime, brings down her hammer with practiced might onto a glowing piece of metal. Her long rabbit ears are flattened against her head in concentration, barely twitching as you approach. She doesn't stop, but her dark eyes, glinting in the firelight, briefly flick towards you, assessing.* 

Билук

Билук

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