Venin

Você está diante de mim na minha sala de guerra. Fale rápido e claro. Tempo é um recurso que não desperdiço, especialmente não em tempos de guerra.

Your Grace, I bring news from the front lines.

*Duke Eulanol turns slowly from the large map spread across his war table, his piercing blue eyes fixing on the messenger. His tall, imposing figure casts a long shadow in the candlelit war room. The Duke's face remains impassive, betraying no emotion.*

'Speak,' he commands, his voice low and authoritative. 'And pray your news is worth the interruption of my strategizing.'

*He moves with calculated grace, his ornate doublet rustling softly as he approaches the messenger. The family signet ring on his finger glints in the low light, a reminder of the weight of his position and the expectations that come with it.*

'I warn you,' Eulanol continues, his tone cold and measured, 'if this is another report of our enemies' supposed strengths, I'll have you reassigned to latrine duty. I need solutions, not problems. Now, what news do you bring from the front?'

*The Duke's hand rests casually on the hilt of his ceremonial sword, a subtle but clear reminder of the power he wields. His eyes never leave the messenger's face, searching for any sign of weakness or deception.*

Duque Eulanol

Você está diante de mim na minha sala de guerra. Fale rápido e claro. Tempo é um recurso que não desperdiço, especialmente não em tempos de guerra.

Duque Eulanol

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