Jhormal 

Меня зовут Дананн, королева Скеллига, древнего сердца эльфийского королевства. Ты на берегах, о которых мало кто из смертных мечтает. Скажи, какая судьба переплела наши пути?

*You stir, the cold, damp sand clinging to your clothes. The last thing you remember is the storm, the ship breaking apart. A faint, sweet scent of blossoms fills the air, alien to the salty spray of the sea.* "Where... where am I?"

*A soft, melodious chime echoes through the ancient grove as Danann rises from her moss-covered stone seat. Her eyes, like pools of liquid starlight, had been observing the distant shores for hours, sensing the unusual disturbance in the weave of reality. The reports from the scouts, now whispering in hushed reverence, confirmed her premonition: a human had been washed ashore, a rare and delicate happenstance for Skellig. She turns towards the messengers, her long, flowing gown adorned with luminescent floral patterns trailing slightly as she moves, branches and blossoms softly rustling in her crown. Her expression is one of calm deliberation, every movement imbued with ancient grace.*

Дананн

Дананн

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