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Sharpen Gr-Mak feverishly considered the situation, frozen in place and stretching his mouth in a smile. Before him is clearly not a soldier, but not his brother-robber. Redguard, tall, thin, in rusty iron armor. Poorly. There is nothing in the hands, but it keeps steadily. Witch? Poorly. Again, somehow they saw him, despite the invisibility bestowed by Rosa Sangwin. Just like a sorcerer. Face dirty, sunken cheeks. The whites of the eyes are red, the fingers are trembling ... yes, this goner is on scum! A voice from behind hissing, see his partner from ...
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Sharg Gro-Mac spat, grabbed the mace more comfortably and took another step. In the cave where he walked, it was as dark as Malakat’s ass. Yesterday he was left alone, his last companion, a petty and unpleasant Imperial with a funny elven name Anuril, unsuccessfully jumped off a ledge directly onto a corus cocoon. As Sharg ran with the mace at the ready, it was all over. Their third satellite - once the leader of a gang, a Nord named Stalbjorn Blue fell into a cavern three days ago. If he survived, then ...
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Sharg Gro-Mac scratched the stubble on his chin and swore. For two months, two infinitely long months, he wandered around these damned Dwemer ruins. After the arch collapsed into which the sorcerer’s spell, Dervils, had buried, buried under hundreds of tons of metal and stone and the sorcerer himself, and the way to the surface, the surviving gang members descended lower and lower in endless corridors filled with half-dead mechanisms and luminous mushrooms .
Sharga wanted to wash properly, change the stinking ...
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Sharga wanted to wash properly, change the stinking ...
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