🍁Nine Ancient Obelisks

Although Ilian won the duel, he backed away from the loser, looking as frightened as if he were facing a stray dog, careful not to meet his gaze. The next duel was between Honor and Sheila. Sheila attacks Miss Honor attacks Sheila takes 100-3=97 damage (3/100) Sheila attacks Miss Honor attacks Sheila takes 100-3=97 damage (1/100) - Enough! The fight is over, Honor wins! - A-a-a! - Sheila got up from the ground and stamped her foot several times. - In moments like these, I regret that I was born a woman. You guys have characteristics that are more suited for battle than I do. If it weren't for that, things would be completely different! Added 7 minutes ago

- Of course, of course. I'll watch where I step. And this, Your Holiness, about loved ones - was it just a random remark, or are you having a disagreement with someone? I can't even imagine anyone who could do such a thing.

- Experience tells me that a person in my position shouldn't burden others with their problems... Are you sure you want to know about it? Added 23 minutes ago

One could even naively believe that it might be safe in this city... but no, an experienced paranoid can't be fooled! - In the rays of beauty, our world shines... but inspiration comes and goes... do the colors fade... or do we... lose our vision and grip in times of need? - Camistella read a few lines from some exotic poetry, the rhymes of which, apparently, did not translate well into another language. - Greetings, Master Faineant. It's a shame to see you so disheartened. Can I help you in any way? Your art should flow like a cornucopia, illuminating our city with its beauty! By Camistella's high standards, the famous Enlil artist looked rather unremarkable. But, as is known, sometimes the creations of a living being compensate for its shortcomings. Every talent has the right to shine! That's what talent is for...

The artist listened attentively to the greeting of the elven guest; perhaps she had time to think that he was a silent and stoic type of artist, but it soon turned out that this was not the case at all. - Ah, a-ah... I can't. The man fell to the floor, put his palms on his face, and began to sway from side to side like a ball. It was not yet possible to determine what exactly caused such a reaction in him. - Uga, buga rraa, - getting to his feet, he pounded his fists on his chest and then pointed his finger at the guest, - my woman, I love you, you will give me children, - repeating the strange ritual again, he returned to his original position - behind the chair at the empty canvas. - Have you ever heard of the theory that a Lunarian and a Scryme are a match made in heaven? The delicate and refined Lunarians, full of feminine grace, and the grotesque mountains of muscle, deprived of intellect - is there a stronger contrast in the world? Alas, - he rolls his eyes, spreads his arms, and clicks his tongue, - I am not a Scryme, so I cannot give you the unforgettable feeling of helplessness experienced by fragile maidens in the arms of a biological machine created for war, violence, and cruelty. I am just a simple man, who, due to the weakness of my biological species, occupies myself with useless intellectual pursuits and suffers from the inability to realize my desires, because no matter how much I move the brush across the canvas, my works will never come to life, and I will not be able to set foot on the landscapes depicted in my paintings, no matter how much I would like to.