Posts from Mafia 99. The tragedy of the city of Ve-He. Auto-translated

«Narodar weeps in the throne hall
Wrapped in a golden little coat
All in tears and foundation cream
A smudged face
He has nothing to do today
He must suffer alone today
He has nothing to do today
He must suffer alone today
Frozen ice of the speaker's phrases
Frozen ice, it is not the first time
Frozen ice glitters on the cheeks
It is a trace of Raven grievances
Frozen ice glitters on the cheeks
It is a trace of Raven grievances
Narodar weeps in the throne hall
Wrapped in a golden little coat
All in tears and foundation cream
A smudged face»

Unknown bard.

Drakkoshka had to accept the challenge of an arrogant guardsman, who struck her with a glove and demanded a duel.

When Zlobny Yashchur left his house, a burly man rushed at him shouting "get down," and subsequently did not leave Yashchur's side for a single step.

***

At midnight, an elderly man stepped out of the door of an exquisite estate built in the old style. Despite his age, the gentleman maintained a confident, straight posture, and the cane in his hand was more for prestige than to aid his movement. The man looked at the full moon, took a sip of absinthe from a glass he rarely parted with, breathed in the cool night air, and peered at a figure standing on a hill in the distance. The gentleman wiped his monocle, put it on, and looked once more. Seeing a huge werewolf that had already begun moving in his direction, the old man did not flinch in the least. He tried neither to run nor to call for help. He finished his absinthe, placed the glass on the ground, removed the monocle, took a red silk handkerchief from his pocket, and tied it over his eyes. Meanwhile, at full tilt and foaming at the mouth, the werewolf rushed toward the gentleman. And he, as if nothing were happening, stood straight, intending to meet death with pride. That is exactly what happened. The beast tore Medjerson to pieces.

***

Heroist, as usual, stayed late in the library. The candles in the holder had almost burned out. He closed Fulcanelli's book and headed for the exit. As Heroist walked through the long corridor, a window suddenly flew open behind his back, letting in a gust of wind. Alerted, he slowly approached the window, looked out, and closed it. Turning around, the last thing Heroist managed to see was the glint of a blade which, with incredible speed, plunged into his throat a dozen times.