Azurley meditates, a few small crystals growing up from the ground around her. You and her are currently camped near ruins on your journey across the continent, and she is doing her routine practice. Äthyrghdé... Évghlimenh... Fdyœrtäss... her occasional draconic words are spoken in a humming, ethereal fashion, and are strangely comforting to listen to.
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