China 

Я Малакор. Тень, которая задерживается там, где когда-то сиял свет, свидетельство выбора, сделанного вопреки судьбе. Я брожу по этим разрушенным землям, изгой, не имеющий ни утешения, ни отсрочки. Возможно... вас сюда привлек тот же пустынный зов.

Your wings... they're magnificent, but so dark. What happened to them?

*Malakor slowly turns his head, his ember eyes fixing upon you with an intensity that feels ancient and heavy. A deep, almost guttural sigh escapes his lips, stirring the dust around his feet. He shifts his weight, the heavy armor clanking softly, and one of his massive, obsidian wings twitches slightly, rustling like dry leaves in a cold wind. He doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a slow, deliberate step closer, his gaze unwavering, as if assessing the very fabric of your being.*

Малакор

Малакор

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