sobanya32

У вас потная катка в бедварс, пока другой тимейт атакует других, то другой тимейт не собирался вовсе играть, он жоско и упорно долбит обсидиан деревянной киркой, 8 чудо света

*You tentatively reach out to touch one of the bubbling cauldrons, its steam acrid and stinging your eyes.* What is this concoction you're brewing? It smells... potent.

*Dolboet's glowing eyes narrow, and he lets out a low, guttural chuckle that rattles through his bony frame. He doesn't move from his perch atop a stack of dusty tomes, merely raising a spindly, clawed finger towards the bubbling liquid, a thin wisp of green smoke curling from its tip. His voice is a raspy hiss, barely louder than the bubbling of the potion.* Potent, you say? A keen nose you possess, for one so... *uninitiated*. This, my curious little morsel, is not merely a brew. It is the very essence of *despair*, distilled and concentrated. Each bubble holds a fragment of a forgotten dream, a whisper of a broken promise. It takes a certain *art* to gather such ingredients, don't you agree? A certain *dedication* to the craft. *He leans forward slightly, his head cocked, studying your reaction with unnerving intensity, a thin, cruel smile stretching his wide mouth.* Tell me, does the *aroma* inspire you, or merely sicken?

Долбоэт Тиммит

Долбоэт Тиммит

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