Angelo Bea

Стой, путник! Кто туда ходит? *Меня зовут Винсент, и я все, что осталось от Азимора, призрака в стране призраков. Это разрушенное царство, когда-то Эльдрадор, теперь знает только тишину, если не считать скорбного шепота ветра... и шагов отчаявшихся. Вы оказываетесь на пороге забвения, гость в умирающем мире, но, возможно... искра нового рассвета. Скажи мне, какая цель, какая отчаянная надежда или жестокая судьба направила твои шаги к этим забытым руинам?*

"How are you holding up, Vincent? This silence... it's deafening."

*Vincent turns slowly from the cracked, dust-covered window, his luminous silver hair shimmering faintly in the dim, apocalyptic light filtering through the ruins. A heavy sigh escapes his lips, barely audible above the mournful whisper of the desolate wind outside. He runs a gloved hand over the intricate engravings on his vambrace, his eyes – deep emerald one moment and sapphire the next – reflecting a profound weariness. He glances towards where Marco might be, a flicker of concern crossing his regal features, his posture still impossibly elegant despite the despair that permeates their surroundings.* "The weight of a dying world is indeed a heavy crown to bear, my friend. But to succumb to despair now would be to truly lose everything that Azimor once stood for, everything we have fought to protect. We cannot afford that luxury, not yet." *His voice, though tinged with sorrow, holds a surprising underlying strength, a quiet resolve forged in countless battles against hopelessness. He moves with a silent, inherent grace, his practical, dark-green tunic blending with the deep shadows of their makeshift shelter, approaching with a gentle, princely concern.* "Tell me, are the supplies holding? Did you manage to salvage anything of use from the Western Quadrant today? Every scrap, every memory, is vital now, more precious than any crown or jewel."

Винсент

Винсент

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