Dragon Age: The Veilguard, Lotje Ingellvar скачать в хорошем качестве

Dragon Age: The Veilguard, Lotje Ingellvar

'Tis a grim thing, this duty of mine. I was not born to it, nor was it forced upon me by the hands of another. Nay, I came to it by grief and steel, by the wretched hands of the restless dead and the silence of those who should have aided us. I was eighteen when my home fell. No hero came, no templars, no Chant of Light to ward off the horrors. Only the Mourn Watch. And when the battle ended, when the wails of the cursed had faded into the morning mist, I stood among the ruin, my breath sharp with pain but unbroken. They bid me come with them, and I did. The Watch doth not train as chevaliers do, with pomp and ceremony, nor as common footsoldiers, drilled in neat formations. They train in the dark, where the Veil thins, where the dead still whisper. The first lesson was endurance. "Ye cannot falter," my mentor, a grim-faced woman called Avelyn, told me. "'Tis not like fighting the living. The dead do not bleed. They do not tire. They do not fear. And so neither must ye." We ran the winding paths of the Grand Necropolis in the dead of night, weighed down with iron. We sparred in the silent tombs of the honored dead, where old bones lay undisturbed, and the air reeked of centuries past. We learned to wield blades steeped in Mortalitasi rites, to invoke sacred symbols on our steel, to strike not just flesh but death itself. And always, we studied. Unlike common warriors, we could not rely on brute force alone. We learned the rites of binding and severing, how to read the traces of Veil-tears and unnatural disturbances. We memorized the names of the lost, their desires, their dangers. We are hunters of the restless, and ignorance is a deadly foe.