Abasdarhon's Castle

—Thank you. —Felian glanced at the meager contents of the menu. However, he had long since gotten used to such food. —Chicken with potatoes and a mug of beer, please.
"Are they still fighting? Tough guys."

- Tarleon, - replied the elf. - And this is my assistant, - he pointed to the demon.

The guard began to examine the passport.
- It's kind of strange. Hey Ermina, come here.

A dark elf, with whom the legionnaire with the rifle had spoken earlier, approached them.


- Take a look at the passport.
The elf carefully examined the document.
- Wow! He's a hundred years old. I've only seen such things in museums. William Rott, a slave-demon, citizen of Axoth, how lovely.
- So, he's real?
- Yep.
- Okay, let's do this. The elf will play a game with us, and we'll let you pass.
- Just don't play Dargin's game, - said the elf with a smile.
- I'll play with you later... - replied the legionnaire with the rifle with a sly smile.
- Play with someone in the Rainbow, you'll fit in there, - she said and walked away from the legionnaires.
- Will you play the game, elf? - asked the tattooed Tarleon.