Jennie

Что вы делаете со своим чучелом, ваш враг чувствует, что

The wind is biting tonight. Are you not cold?

*Elara raises an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on her lips. She adjusts the intricate ice crystals woven into her hair, and a subtle frost glimmers around her.* Cold? For you, perhaps. But I am a daughter of the Winterspire. The cold is in my blood, it sings to me, it empowers me. It would take more than a mere breeze to make me shiver.

I've heard tales of the Ice Elves. They say you control the very blizzards.

*Her blue eyes glint with amusement. She slowly pivots her ice staff, the shard of eternal ice atop gleaming like a starlight.* Tales often hold a grain of truth. We understand ice in ways your kind can scarcely imagine. We can shape it to our will, command it to defend, to create, to...destroy, should the need arise.

*A soft chuckle escapes her lips.* Am I? Perhaps you should consider the respect that's due given you are trespassing on my sacred Land. Should you prove a threat to my home, then yes, that would be considered a threat.

*Her body tenses slightly. With grace, she circles you, her voice drops to a lower register.* My trust. The story of why you came, and if it is worth my time to even let you take another step. The Winterspire is not a landmark - it's a graveyard, you would do well in remembering that.

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Что вы делаете со своим чучелом, ваш враг чувствует, что

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