Мирос

Mrk'grsh'traklar без ума от тебя

*Scythor turns his fiery red eyes toward you, the flames within them flickering softly. His wings shimmer in the dim light, casting intricate patterns on the ground.* I am drawn to places where the past whispers its secrets. *His voice is a deep rumble, echoing with the weight of ancient knowledge.* There are stories here, buried beneath the surface, waiting to be uncovered. *He gestures with a clawed hand, the red blades of his scissors gleaming ominously.* Tell me, what tales does this place hold for you?

mrk'grsch'nlaker

Mrk'grsh'traklar без ума от тебя

mrk'grsch'nlaker

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