Prelude
PRELUDE - All Men Fall
Dark clouds cover the nightly sky, a horse tail banner dances with small drizzle in the air, from afar a thundering noise could be heard, the angry waves of Aegean Sea crash unrelentingly into the rocky shoreline, a storm is coming.
A young man in blue tunic with exocentric patterns dressed upon his well-built figure stands beneath the horse tail banner, his face is lit by nearby torches, showing a strong jawbone and a full beard. His focus shifts between the dark sea in front, the cloudy sky above, finally laying eye on a blurred shadow of a city.
"Your Highness, the wind is heavy, the drizzle has wet your hair, heavy rainfall may come soon, the warmth of tent is better for your health than the cold wind and rain." a soft voice rings from behind, without looking the young man knew it was his grand vizier Bayezid Pasha, giving him advices as he always has done.
"I know my dear friend, but we do not have the luxury to choose the storms, we can only endure it, and conquer it."
"Your Highness have conquered all storms before and will conquer all storms ahead."
"Speaking of storms..." The young man turned and looked at his grand vizier, with hint of worry in his eyes: "The Venetians have annihilated our fleet at Gallipoli, killing our dear Derya Bey, Cali in the process."
Bayezid knows it is only one of the many concerns his Sultan currently has, and reply calmly as ever: "Cali has underestimated the strength of the Venetians, and paid with his life. The Venetians would cause no great worry for Your Highness though, their fleet may dominate the sea but would be worthless on land. They will be fools if they choose to disturb Your Highness, as many of their valuable castles and town are all within the wrath of our army. As a matter of fact, the Venetians have already sent emissary to discuss terms for peace. They are not worth your distraction for the moment."
The young man nodded slightly to the comforting words of his grand vizier. Ever since that fateful battle in Ankara, Bayezid has always stood by his side, giving him wise counsel and executing his orders faithfully, until recently. He thought for a moment, then changed the topic: "How do you think the Romans will reply to our request? Would they handover my 'dear' cousin Mustafa and that traitor Junayd Bey?"
"The Roman emperor Manuel is a deceitful and scheming kind, he would no doubt use them as bargaining chips against Your Highness, sowing distractions and confusion within our ranks, this is what they've always done during the past decade, this is the only thing they are good at."
As storm moves closer to the shoreline, the raindrops becomes larger and gradually soak the hairs and clothes, yet the young man stand still.
"Pathetic emperor and his pathetic empire." replying with contempt in his voice, the young man paused for a moment, as if to choose his next words thoughtfully, then slowly uttered: "unfortunately we have headaches elsewhere, more imminent storms in Dobrudja, that heretic Bedreddin... regretfully, we must let those Romans have some sweets for the moment, indulge them in their delusion of safety, but do remind them to not overstep themselves. When we strike next, that strike will be like thunderbolt."
"As Your Highness wish. You are wise in your decision; you are the true heir to your father."
"I am the true heir to my father because all my brothers are dead." with eyes suddenly turned cold eyes, the young man looks straight at his grand vizier, reminding his closest confidant through many years, that he is first and foremost the SULTAN, one to be feared before loved.
For a moment Bayezid thought his heart has stopped, he knows that glance too well. It is the glance of disappointment, a potential death sentence.
"Cali may have saved many lives with his death, but know this my grand vizier, the mistake at Gallipoli will not happen again, I will not allow it. For old time’s sake, do not force me upon things I might regretfully execute." with the last warning words, the young man turned and moved towards his tent, a dozen guards clad in armed to the teeth followed him silently, leaving Bayezid shivering in the rain.
Three days later, a small vessel set sail from the city of Thessaloniki towards Constantinople, it brings with it a messenger carrying a letter.
To my most eminent Basileios, the Ottoman prince Mustafa and governor of Nicopolis Junayd Bey have sought refuge in Thessaloniki, after fleeing from their defeat at the hand of Sultan Mehmed. The army of Mehmed in pursuit has surrounded the city demanding us to hand them over. I have after three days of negotiations decided to inform my Basileios the offer of the Ottomans with this letter. In exchange for our handover the Ottomans would offer 1.000.000 akces.
For your wise consideration, during the negotiation the rebellion in Dobrudja has worsened, so much so that it apparently required the full attention of Mehmed, for he rode off with his janissary yesterday in haste, despite getting a cold and feeling unwell. Giving the unfavorable situation the Ottomans currently have themselves in, I believe they would be rather susceptible to a deal more in our favor, but that is a deal that requires a 'direct' line of communication between two heads of states.
Regardless, Thessaloniki stands firm, walls are manned daily, people are well fed, morale high, the Ottoman navy cannot blockade our port after their recent crushing defeat at the hands of the Venetians, the city will stand. Despot Andronikos has recovered well from the illness that has plagued him lately, he sends his regards to you.
I hope this letter find my Basileios in good hands.
Your perpetual loyal and faithful servant, Demetrios Laskaris Leontares
The fifth day of June, our Lord 1416.
Dark clouds cover the nightly sky, a horse tail banner dances with small drizzle in the air, from afar a thundering noise could be heard, the angry waves of Aegean Sea crash unrelentingly into the rocky shoreline, a storm is coming.
A young man in blue tunic with exocentric patterns dressed upon his well-built figure stands beneath the horse tail banner, his face is lit by nearby torches, showing a strong jawbone and a full beard. His focus shifts between the dark sea in front, the cloudy sky above, finally laying eye on a blurred shadow of a city.
"Your Highness, the wind is heavy, the drizzle has wet your hair, heavy rainfall may come soon, the warmth of tent is better for your health than the cold wind and rain." a soft voice rings from behind, without looking the young man knew it was his grand vizier Bayezid Pasha, giving him advices as he always has done.
"I know my dear friend, but we do not have the luxury to choose the storms, we can only endure it, and conquer it."
"Your Highness have conquered all storms before and will conquer all storms ahead."
"Speaking of storms..." The young man turned and looked at his grand vizier, with hint of worry in his eyes: "The Venetians have annihilated our fleet at Gallipoli, killing our dear Derya Bey, Cali in the process."
Bayezid knows it is only one of the many concerns his Sultan currently has, and reply calmly as ever: "Cali has underestimated the strength of the Venetians, and paid with his life. The Venetians would cause no great worry for Your Highness though, their fleet may dominate the sea but would be worthless on land. They will be fools if they choose to disturb Your Highness, as many of their valuable castles and town are all within the wrath of our army. As a matter of fact, the Venetians have already sent emissary to discuss terms for peace. They are not worth your distraction for the moment."
The young man nodded slightly to the comforting words of his grand vizier. Ever since that fateful battle in Ankara, Bayezid has always stood by his side, giving him wise counsel and executing his orders faithfully, until recently. He thought for a moment, then changed the topic: "How do you think the Romans will reply to our request? Would they handover my 'dear' cousin Mustafa and that traitor Junayd Bey?"
"The Roman emperor Manuel is a deceitful and scheming kind, he would no doubt use them as bargaining chips against Your Highness, sowing distractions and confusion within our ranks, this is what they've always done during the past decade, this is the only thing they are good at."
As storm moves closer to the shoreline, the raindrops becomes larger and gradually soak the hairs and clothes, yet the young man stand still.
"Pathetic emperor and his pathetic empire." replying with contempt in his voice, the young man paused for a moment, as if to choose his next words thoughtfully, then slowly uttered: "unfortunately we have headaches elsewhere, more imminent storms in Dobrudja, that heretic Bedreddin... regretfully, we must let those Romans have some sweets for the moment, indulge them in their delusion of safety, but do remind them to not overstep themselves. When we strike next, that strike will be like thunderbolt."
"As Your Highness wish. You are wise in your decision; you are the true heir to your father."
"I am the true heir to my father because all my brothers are dead." with eyes suddenly turned cold eyes, the young man looks straight at his grand vizier, reminding his closest confidant through many years, that he is first and foremost the SULTAN, one to be feared before loved.
For a moment Bayezid thought his heart has stopped, he knows that glance too well. It is the glance of disappointment, a potential death sentence.
"Cali may have saved many lives with his death, but know this my grand vizier, the mistake at Gallipoli will not happen again, I will not allow it. For old time’s sake, do not force me upon things I might regretfully execute." with the last warning words, the young man turned and moved towards his tent, a dozen guards clad in armed to the teeth followed him silently, leaving Bayezid shivering in the rain.
Three days later, a small vessel set sail from the city of Thessaloniki towards Constantinople, it brings with it a messenger carrying a letter.
To my most eminent Basileios, the Ottoman prince Mustafa and governor of Nicopolis Junayd Bey have sought refuge in Thessaloniki, after fleeing from their defeat at the hand of Sultan Mehmed. The army of Mehmed in pursuit has surrounded the city demanding us to hand them over. I have after three days of negotiations decided to inform my Basileios the offer of the Ottomans with this letter. In exchange for our handover the Ottomans would offer 1.000.000 akces.
For your wise consideration, during the negotiation the rebellion in Dobrudja has worsened, so much so that it apparently required the full attention of Mehmed, for he rode off with his janissary yesterday in haste, despite getting a cold and feeling unwell. Giving the unfavorable situation the Ottomans currently have themselves in, I believe they would be rather susceptible to a deal more in our favor, but that is a deal that requires a 'direct' line of communication between two heads of states.
Regardless, Thessaloniki stands firm, walls are manned daily, people are well fed, morale high, the Ottoman navy cannot blockade our port after their recent crushing defeat at the hands of the Venetians, the city will stand. Despot Andronikos has recovered well from the illness that has plagued him lately, he sends his regards to you.
I hope this letter find my Basileios in good hands.
Your perpetual loyal and faithful servant, Demetrios Laskaris Leontares
The fifth day of June, our Lord 1416.
Last edited: