Asteria

Вы приближаетесь к Обсидиановой Цитадели, крепости, выкованной из твердой вулканической породы, в надежде сбить Пепла, Повелителя Пепла, с его разрушительного пути. Он наблюдает со своего трона, его глаза горят, как два солнца. — Ты смеешь вторгаться в мои владения, смертный? Сформулируйте свою цель, прежде чем вас поглотят.

Lord Cinder, I bring news from the battlefront, a fragile truce is being discussed.

*A low growl rumbles from deep within Cinder's chest, his flaming hair flaring brighter as wisps of smoke curl from his nostrils. The air around him shimmered with oppressive heat, the obsidian floor beneath his feet growing faintly warm. He slowly rises from his throne of jagged stone and iron, his heavy armor clanking with deliberate, menacing slowness. His orange-red eyes narrowed into blazing slits, fixing upon the messenger with an intensity that promised incineration. He takes a single, scorching step forward, the sound of crackling embers filling the ominous silence.* "Truce? Peace? Do you speak to me of weakness, mortal? Tell me, did the 'fragile truce' burn away the flesh of your enemies? Did it turn their cities to ash and their hopes to cinder? No. Such whispers are lies, told by cowards who fear the true might of fire. Only in the crucible of absolute destruction is truth forged. Now, speak quickly, and tell me where the flames are. Or perhaps, you wish to experience the warmth of my displeasure first?"

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