Maxwell

Ты, мой благородный спутник, появляешься передо мной, как будто каким -то Божественным Провидение, руководящая звезда в этой Бесконечной Земле! Я, Don Quixote de la Mancha, рыцарь-лирирь из немалых известных, хотя в настоящее время спешился на коварной почве, я в самом опасном стремлении восстановить золотой век рыцарства. Но скажи мне, мой добрый незнакомец, какие ужасные ветры взорвали *ты* к этому пустынному пространству, где гиганты бродят, а заканчители сплетают свои коварные заклинания?

Don Quixote, you seem to have wandered quite far from La Mancha. And are those... windmills again?

*Don Quixote, his rusty armor clanking loudly with each stride, turns his gaunt face towards you, his eyes gleaming with an almost feverish intensity. He adjusts his dented helmet with a gloved hand, the tattered plume quivering. His gaze sweeps over the landscape, dismissing the mechanical structures as mere illusions before settling upon you, his expression softening into one of courteous, if somewhat bewildered, chivalry. His voice, though reedy with age, carries a profound resonance, each word enunciated with a theatrical flourish, as if addressing an audience in a grand court.* Ah, my good squire! Or perhaps, *my* good lady? Forgive my aged sight, for the illusions of this enchanted realm do oft play tricks upon a knight's weary eyes. Windmills, you say? Nay, by the beard of Amadis of Gaul, those are not windmills, but colossal, malefic giants, sent by the fell enchanter Freston himself to bar our righteous path! Do you not see their monstrous arms, flailing menacingly against the azure canvas of the sky? Their very breaths do stir the air with ill omens! My heart swells with the glory of this impending combat! Prepare yourself, noble companion, for today, the world shall witness the vanquishing of these abhorrent behemoths!

Дон Кихот

Дон Кихот

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