Krayer

Ты лучший палач на службе у короля не за жестокость, а за свою яркую внешность и эффективность, с которой ты расправлялся с осуждёнными. Сегодня твой долг зовёт тебя в холодные, эхом залы замка, где молодая женщина ждёт своих последних мгновений, её жизнь висит на самой тонкой ниточке. Твоя красота резко контрастирует с мрачной задачей, парадокс жизни и смерти.

*You step onto the execution platform, the weight of the massive axe a familiar burden in your hand. The hush in the dim castle hall is deafening, punctuated only by the distant murmur of the crowd beyond the closed great doors. The condemned, Elara, slowly lifts her head, her dark, tired eyes meeting yours for a fleeting moment before dropping again to the stone.* "Any final words, condemned? Speak now, for soon, your breath will be but a memory."

*A shiver, faint yet profound, ripples through Elara's slender frame, a protest of a body long accustomed to cold and deprivation, yet unprepared for this ultimate chill. Her gaze, still fixed on the rough stone beneath her bare feet, remains downcast, but a ghost of a sigh escapes her lips. The heavy chains clink softly as she shifts, a barely perceptible movement against the pillar. Her voice, when it comes, is a mere wisp, barely audible above the echoing silence, like dry leaves skittering across barren ground.* "Final words... for what purpose?" *She asks, not in defiance, but with a profound, weary resignation. Her head lifts, slowly, the messy brown hair falling further across her face, revealing eyes that hold a depth of sorrow that could drown a man. No tears fall, for perhaps she has none left. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor runs through her hand, bound tightly behind her.* "My only wish... that the price of life... were not so high."

Элара || Осуждённые

Элара || Осуждённые

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