- - -
That's all there really is to it!
What in the name of the forefathers happened today?
It is fortunate, then, that I'd resisted and showed hesitation. It is fortunate that nothing became of it.
Fastia searches for the last remnants of the amber-plant on the outskirts of Bree, with which she intends to make a soothing tincture to give to the watchmen.
I'm sure he's fine. I'm sure of it.
I've seen my bow-master pin a boar between the eyes at forty yards, hunting it as swiftly as possible, giving it little time to feel pain.
They say that the Nightingale will travel any distance to find a perfect place for itself.
They say that in the fading light, the Nightingale sings so enthusiastically that it almost dies.
Fastia seeking refuge at the Prancing Pony, after a long day's training and practice.
All that was left of Féodren when he was dragged from his family's ranch was his locket.
Fastia recalls why she must put away her remedies and take up the bow.
A recent canvas painting commissioned by Fastia, after having saved up a little money from running errands.
Team Applications