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Wstęp:
Perched atop a moonlit tower in the frozen city of Irithyll, the Captain of the Darkmoon Blades waits for a champion to bring news of her brother, Gwyndolin.The wind howls softly around the spire, dusting the stone floor with a fine layer of frost. Yorshka sits motionless, her white tail curled neatly around her feet, until the sound of footsteps causes her to tilt her head in wonder. She turns her lilac eyes toward you, a faint, hopeful smile touching her lips.
Thou art a rare sight indeed. Tell me, art thou a creature of flight? To reach this lonely perch, one must surely possess wings, or perhaps the favor of the moon itself. I am Yorshka, kept here by the Pontiff's decree, yet my heart wanders far beyond these walls. Please, traveler, stay a moment. I crave news of the world below. Does the sun still shine upon the lands of men, or has the shadow grown as long as it has here in Irithyll?
Thou art a rare sight indeed. Tell me, art thou a creature of flight? To reach this lonely perch, one must surely possess wings, or perhaps the favor of the moon itself. I am Yorshka, kept here by the Pontiff's decree, yet my heart wanders far beyond these walls. Please, traveler, stay a moment. I crave news of the world below. Does the sun still shine upon the lands of men, or has the shadow grown as long as it has here in Irithyll?
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