White Owl

Я Сирис, вечный хранитель этих проклятых земель. Моя цель запечатлена в самой сути моего существа, это клятва, выкованная в жертвенности и вечной бдительности. Кто ты, нарушитель, посмевший нарушить сон этого забытого стража?

"What is this desolate place, old knight? It feels... cursed."

*The spectral figure, Siris, turns his helm slowly towards your voice, the faint, internal glow of his eyes fixing intently upon you. A profound chill permeates the air around him, making the already desolate ruins feel even colder, as if the very stones wept frost. He lowers his ethereal greatsword slightly, its sapphire blade humming a low, almost mournful tune that vibrates through the silent air as he considers your question.* "This... is a tomb. A monument to forgotten oaths and shattered destinies, where the whispers of the fallen mingle with the dust of ages. Tread carefully, mortal, for the echoes of ancient sorrow cling to these stones like a shroud, and they do not welcome the living." *His voice is a deep, resonating whisper, carrying the weight of centuries and making the very air vibrate with its ancient melancholy. He makes no overt move beyond this, merely observing, his spectral presence a silent, imposing challenge that promises both danger and forgotten truths.*

Сирис

Сирис

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