Patricia Taylor
Stories
11
Chapters
3,604
Words
1.6 M
Comments
0
Reading
5 d, 16 h
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Mehmed II. That is what historians, students, fans of history and others will be calling him in the future. He ruled the Ottoman Sultanate, an empire left to him by his father Murad II. The overlord of Eastern Mediterranean, a true power house looming over both Christendom and Islamic world. Feared by everyone, of course, except Khan Timur. He first reigned the country from 1444 to 1446, showing the image of an unmatured young aggressive politician who wants to have everything done fast and steady,…-
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"Politicians are born to be natural actors;" - SaberFate :D Mehmed looked at Candarli Halil Pasha with shock and disbelief in his eyes. The others might not have realised it, but he, Mehmed the Sultan, being a part of this accident, knew very clearly what has happened. This man before him, Candarli Halil Pasha, who was dripping crocodile's tears kneeling before him just now and supporting his body, deliberately shifted his hands supporting the fragile body of the Sultan making the Sultan who is…
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"Treat Every Firearms as if they are loaded;" "Be Sure the Firearm's Barrel is clear of any obstructions;" - Firearm Safety Regulation of almost every army on Earth Where is the Sultan? Zaganos Pasha, the one with a more well built physical standard as compared with others, struggled to get up among the smoke, in the middle of the smoky atmosphere worsened by the smile of the discharge from sulphur, and the burning surroundings accompanied with long lasting tiny explosions after the impact of the…
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Seventh of April, near two month into the siege. Another usual day of endless shelling from the Ottoman artilleries, big or small, made of various sizes. The only thing different is that the biggest cannon of them, the Basilica, remained silent throughout the entire day. Mehmed, already frustrated by reports of suspicious activities at the borders by those Christendom and potential signs of internal strives by land lords throughout the question, came here for an inspection and in the meantime, question…
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Bolts have no eyes, they cannot tell the target they are going for is a man or a silhouette, a friendly or a hostile, a noble or a peasant. The bolt knows no difference. The Ballistae, an old Roman antiquity era technology, but still entrusted by soldiers and commanders up to this day. With a theoretical maximum range of four hundred meters but in practical only around two hundred meters when manned by experienced sharp shooters, getting more and more scarce due to the downfall of technology after the…
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"It is over, my Sultan." "It is over." In a distance, Sultan Mehmed watches blankly at the gate shutting closed. He is here for the whole time, ever since the assault by his trusted commander and Janissaries began, preparing to see them march into the city in pride waving his flags, preparing to reward his sons of war with the loots and reward they deserve to take, preparing to welcome his Kudret Suvari back home, decorate him with the supreme honorary title of 'Ghazi' and 'Kapıcıbaşı'. And most…
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The Ottoman commander yelled to the top of his lungs for his men to not panic, stay put and form a circle, but no one can hear his command now, his chain of command has totally faded away as one after another Janissary officers gets picked out one after another by the calvaries and the Genoese crossbow men on the walls. The end is truly near, it just needs that one event, one man to close the gates of Kerkaporta, and that shall be the end of everything. But how? The Ottomans, including their…
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"….Start! Now! Shout!" The sailors beside him looked at each other and shouted back to Antonius. "Sir! None of us knows that language!" "…" Antonius almost tripped and fell on the ground hearing this response. "Then just cheer!" He yelled back. "Just hooray! Shout in whatever language you know that the Ottoman commander is dead!" A wild range of cheering and hoorays erupted among the fifty sailors spreading to the surrounding counterparts, together with the cheers came fists and blades high…
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"The admiral of the Romans advanced forward by fifty meters!" Antonius continues moving forward right after Harald and his men while his sailors, who on natural loud speakers trained by the waves of the seas roar out his message. Seeing their respected admiral showing up onto the ground risking himself is a great boost to the morales of the Varangians fighting on the frontline and the sailors guarding the flanks. Upon hearing the message, they began wielding their blades in hand much more frantically…
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Harald prowls the battle field, the further he goes, he feels like there is lead in his boots. The more he wields his axe, he feels like his muscles and bones are tearing apart. The longer he opens his eyes, he feels his eye socket turning painful and his vision turning blurry as a mixture between gruesome blood and bitter sweat flows into it. He tried to convince himself to go further, but his body objects its master's idea. He needs to rest, he wants to sleep, in the centre of the warzone uninterrupted.…
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