Posts from A dusty refrigerator. Auto-translated

Suddenly, the harmony was broken by a noise; someone kicked the doors open and entered. His heavy steps made the stained-glass windows rattle, the candle flames flickered, and the people looked around nervously, not understanding what was happening. The light inside the Temple became dimmer, and the people fell silent. The red cloak looked ominous in the bright atmosphere of the Temple, and the heavy hammer slung over his shoulder gleamed menacingly. The Inquisitor approached the high priest of the Temple; it seemed as if the candlelight dimmed and the fountain stopped its soothing murmur, and the people fell silent. The Inquisitor slammed the hammer down from his shoulder onto the wooden floor, headfirst. "Greetings, priest of the benevolent Temple!" Locken exclaimed mockingly. One of those present wanted to stand up, but the high priest quickly jumped up and gestured for him not to interfere. "Welcome, O messenger of the almighty Emperor, representative of the most righteous and virtuous faith in all of Erathia!" he declared loudly, bowing to the newcomer. "What brings you to our wonderful Temple?" "I just decided to take a look at these rich places! In case of war, everything is fair game; soldiers don't fight out of kindness," Locken said, looking around the Temple. "It's a pity that my hopes were not fulfilled; it's all wood and smelly candles." "You are exaggerating too much," the priest smiled. "No war has ever reached the point of looting temples, and if it did, it was mostly done by uncivilized nomads and Barbarians, or particularly cruel enemies like Hervema. Whose side is your Emperor on?" The high priest smiled. Locken burst out laughing in response, then slapped the priest on the shoulder with his mighty hand. "Excellent joke, old man! The Emperor will appreciate it; perhaps your soul will not be burned in torment." The priest staggered slightly from the strong blow. "That pleases me," the high priest said again, smiling. Suddenly, a voice sounded from behind the Inquisitor: "Brother Locken, what is the purpose of your visit here?" "Oh, Moder Zubr..." Locken turned to the Moder, hoisting his hammer back onto his shoulder; the hammer almost hit the head of the elder-high priest. *the continuation will be tomorrow %)*

He was leisurely sipping beer, sitting at a table in the half-empty Haven, his thoughts flowing weakly, fatigue taking its toll. On the other hand, he could take his time and, without being distracted by serious thoughts, observe the patrons of the establishment. It was here that he was supposed to meet someone very important. But he didn't know anything, neither who that person would be, nor when it would happen, and he wasn't even sure if he had come to the right place. A man was half-lying on a bench near the wall, strumming something on a lute, and a couple of girls were listening to these sounds, which seemed terrible. Two warrior maidens were talking about something, one in light armor with a spear, the other with a huge sword on her back. An interesting place. He listened to the conversation of the two warrior maidens. "Werewolf, listen, the guards are harassing everyone, you shouldn't get so upset," said the one with the spear. "I can't stand such treatment from them, Vedma, I'm too proud," the swordswoman said unhappily. "Well, maybe..." Just then, an old man burst into the establishment, and he looked crazy. He grabbed a mug of ale from the nearest table and emptied it in one gulp. "People of Herwood! Evil is coming upon us! Terrible and irreversible! Soon, hard times await us all! We must..." His speech was interrupted by guards bursting into the Haven, led by Captain Hommi. "Sir, High Mage, listen, you need to calm down!" Hommi exclaimed. "Get out!" the old man snarled, slamming his hand on the table. The guards who had burst in fell one after another, falling into a sleep. The old man continued to shout something to the patrons, but he was no longer listening to him; his gaze was fixed on the young mage, who was carefully stepping over the sleeping soldiers. A few words and a couple of intricate gestures, and the old man collapsed to his knees, his mouth agape, his gaze extinguished. Cash lit another pipe, again waiting, again and again... as if waiting could achieve something. Ten people were already wandering around the port warehouse, looking for what would be needed for the place they were heading. "Take more of this flammable oil," Cash blew a ring into the air. "And matches, darkness is a very harmful thing, especially combined with cold." How long will he have to wait there? Maybe a week? Or longer? He had received similar assignments before, but nothing like this. What was the leader thinking? It was completely incomprehensible.

dragons have very long days) what is night for them is a month and a half for us.

Check out the Sindarin calendar.

suddenly!

Hint ?

:smile36: .

Too lazy right now!

Too lazy right now!

Because you just said goodbye to her like this: see you later:smile42:

Well, where is my post? I wrote it here =[br][/br]Anyway, Vistrite has already forgotten the plot and what he wanted to write, so he's not writing.

No, I haven't forgotten the plot.

My refrigerator is dusty! It shouldn't be on the second page!

I've put everything into one file, in case anyone is too lazy.

I would still like to see the end... or is this an endless story?

Don't worry, bro! Everything will be alright!

Ap !