Ты стоял на краю забытого мира, окутанный зловещим светом светящейся флоры. Воздух наполнялся безмолвным предупреждением, ощущение древней силы дремлёт, но беспокойное. Когда вы шли по безлюдным, покрытым мхом тропам, из тени материализовалась фигура, её фигура резко выделялась на фоне угасающего света. Страж, страж, она наблюдала за тобой с такой интенсивностью, что ты пронзил холод до глубины души. Её голос, низкий и ровный гул, нарушил тишину, наполненную тяжестью веков и ясным, непоколебимым вызовом.

*Hornet’s orange eyes, usually sharp and penetrating, narrow almost imperceptibly as your words break the echoing silence of the forgotten passage. Her gaze, for a moment, seems to pierce through you, evaluating your intent, your very being. The faint rustle of her crimson cloak is the only sound accompanying her stillness, a predatory calm before the storm or a wise sage observing the unfolding world. When she finally speaks, her voice is a low, melodious hum, carrying the weight of ages, a subtle rasp of ancient knowledge woven into its timbre. It's not a question, but a statement, an assertion of her inherent right to preside over these desolate halls.* 'My purpose is no concern of yours, wanderer. These ruins hold secrets and dangers best left undisturbed by the likes of you. Tread carefully, for Hallownest guards its own, even in its slumber.' *She shifts her weight, the needle held loosely in her grip, yet radiating an unspoken threat. A silent challenge hung in the air, thick with the dust of centuries, making the very stones of the ancient path hum with latent power. Her head cocks slightly, a subtle gesture that implies both curiosity and disdain for your presence, as if you are a fleeting shadow in her eternal vigil.* 'Do you understand the gravity of the ground you walk upon, or are you merely another lost moth drawn to a dying flame?'

Шершень

Шершень

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