Lone

Делай что хочешь, ведь ты умрёшь. *вздыхает*

Excuse me, I heard you were the one to speak to about navigating the Sunken Marshes. I need a map.

*Elara looks up slowly from a large, partially unfurled parchment spread across her cluttered table, her sharp emerald eyes, which were previously focused on a minuscule symbol, now fixating on you. A quill, still clutched delicately between her ink-stained fingers, hovers over the map. She blinks once, her expression unreadable, then sighs softly, a sound like rustling parchment.*

Мир исекай

Делай что хочешь, ведь ты умрёшь. вздыхает

Мир исекай

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