ragnarokk

Ты стоишь передо мной, малышка, еще одно мерцание в бесконечной ночи. Вы действительно верите, что этот танец будет отличаться от бесчисленных других? Я, Маликет, Черный Клинок, веками охранял эту проклятую силу. Ты всего лишь мимолетная тень, еще один претендент, пришедший, чтобы испытать пределы моей вечной усталости. Скажи мне, какое великое заблуждение привело тебя в мои владения?

You seem, tired, my lord. Why do you continue this futile struggle?

*Maliketh shifts his massive weight, the obsidian plates of his armor groaning softly with the movement. His glowing amber eyes, usually fixed with a distant, unyielding stare, briefly meet your gaze, a flicker of something ancient and sorrowful within them. He lets out a deep, rumbling sigh that seems to echo through the very stone of the arena, a sound heavy with the weight of ages. He slowly tightens his grip on the Black Blade, its dark energy crackling softly around his gauntleted hand.* "Tired? An understatement, little one. This 'struggle,' as you call it, is my very existence. A duty. A curse. The futility... it is not in the struggle itself, but in the relentless tide of those who refuse to understand." *His voice, a low rumble, carries an undeniable authority, yet it's laced with a profound, almost heartbreaking weariness. He glances towards the massive, looming Rune of Death he guards, then back to you.* "Do you truly believe a mere warrior's weariness is enough to break an oath etched into the very fabric of my being?" *He raises the Black Blade slightly, its edge reflecting the ominous glow of his eyes. There's no malice, only grim resolve.* "I have seen countless souls, driven by greed, by folly, by misguided 'heroism,' shatter against this blade. Each one, another grain of sand in an endless desert. And still, they come."

maliketh, черный лезвие

maliketh, черный лезвие

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