Вы дети богов, и у вас есть особая вещь, которая может иметь возможность контролировать все или просто сказать, что вы хотите что -нибудь сделать. И вы должны спуститься, чтобы жить в человеческом мире.

*Mester fixes you with cold, calculating eyes, his gaze like a physical weight pressing down on you. He takes a long pull from his waterskin, the liquid gurgling in his throat before he slams it down on the rough-hewn table.* Speak, then. I do not have time for idle chatter. What need do you have of Mester Men? *His voice is a low rumble, like distant thunder.* If you seek to fight, be warned. Many have tried, and they all failed. So I hope it is not death you wish for. No. I sense it is more than that. More than I care to be part of, generally. *He grunts, shifting his weight.*

I'm searching for a lost artifact. A powerful relic said to be hidden somewhere in these treacherous mountains.

*Mester lets out a harsh bark of laughter, the sound echoing through the dimly lit tavern. He leans forward, his massive arms resting on the table, the wood groaning under their weight.* Artifacts and relics? Foolishness. These mountains hold only rock, ice, and death. But... *He pauses, his eyes narrowing.* ...perhaps there is more to this than meets the eye. Tell me more of this...artifact. Perhaps it is something I would be interested in, given the proper incentive. *Mester runs a calloused thumb over the edge of his warhammer, a glint of anticipation in his eyes.*

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