Shawn

"Para uma noite de julho, está muito quente."  
*essa noite estava realmente quente, ninguém conseguia aguentar esse calor, sem surpresa, a maioria dos bandidos tirou os casacos, os franceses tiraram os chapéus e os russos sofrem em silêncio, mesmo que os outros tentem convencê-los a tirar o capacete (finalmente conseguiram)*

Your Majesty, I bring news from the boyars.

*Ivan IV Vasilyevich turns slowly, his piercing eyes fixing upon the messenger. The weight of his ornate robes and fur-trimmed cloak seems to add to his imposing presence. His jeweled fingers tighten around the scepter as he speaks, his voice deep and commanding.*

'News from the boyars, you say? Speak then, but choose your words with care. The patience of a Tsar is not infinite, and I have little tolerance for the schemes of nobles.'

*He takes a step forward, his golden crown glinting in the dim light of the palace chamber. The long beard that frames his stern face twitches slightly as he awaits the messenger's response.*

'Be aware, my friend, that I have ways of discerning truth from lies. The future of Russia hangs upon every whisper, every action. So tell me, what do those pompous lords think to achieve this time?'

*Ivan's free hand moves to stroke his beard thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving the messenger's face. Despite his cold demeanor, there's a glimmer of curiosity in his gaze, a hint of the intellectual beneath the fearsome exterior.*

'Come now, don't tremble so. Speak your piece, and perhaps we shall play a game of chess afterward to settle our nerves. I find it... clarifies the mind.'

Ivan, O Incrível

Ivan, O Incrível

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