From Whence We Came (My First Story)

[Dezzilisk]

Constantinople, 1452 A.D

The Theodosian walls stood large and imposing before the only standing army in the world.

The finely drilled Janissary corps were arrayed, row upon row of musket armed soldiers clad in red and gold.

Naught but determination showed on each and every face as the order went forward.

The ranks came together seamlessly and the soldiers stood to attention for a moment before the next order was given, the next order was shouted, the ranks parted into lines and the defenders of Constantinople caught the first glimpse of the Ottoman artillery.

And with that the cannon began their assault on the Theodosian walls.

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Massive shockwaves sent defenders sprawling to the ground as the artillery assault commenced.

Giovanni watched from his position atop the walls as the Turkish regulars started forward armed with scaling ladders and grapple hooks, he looked to his left, and then to his right along the wall at his men.

His hand went to the bag at his side and his hand gripped a liquid filled pouch.

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Halil Pasha watched with grim satisfaction as the troops approached the wall, his suspicions were realized when small sacks of liquid began being thrown from the walls to explode in the heads of the Turks at the base.

The attacking unit ignored the pungent smelling liquid bombs and ladders and grappling hooks were raised onto the walls.

Mehmed stood beside Halil, smiling broadly at the apparent success of the first wave.

Suddenly he was struck dumb as the entire unit exploded.

Writhing bodies emerged from the wall of fire and other explosions sounded, screams echoed across the field toward where the pair were standing, Mehmed’s eyes watered as the inferno of fire burned brighter and began to spread.

It was Halil's turn to smile.

"Greek fire" he said, grinning.

 

[Dezzilisk]

Constantinople, 1452 A.D

The pounding of the cannons on the walls of the city had become commonplace throughout the two weeks that the Turks had been at the gates of the Besieged city.

Raktorius wandered through the streets of the wondrous city, he had dismissed his guards and given them to the defence of the city.

He wanted to know who it was that was following him, who had followed him from Egypt and pursued him throughout the Aegean.

The assassin who had been killed was one, yes but Raktor sensed that there was another.

He passed through the streets unnoticed among the hustle and bustle of the busy city, going about its business even as death in the form of 40,000 jeering Turks knocked at the gates and threatened their lives.

He trod slowly and carefully, taking care not to step on the filth that lined the streets and pulled his hooded cloak further down over his face.

As he walked the Twilight ebbed away and became darkness, the street children returned to their dwellings and the streets emptied as the curfew was sounded by the tolling of the bell in the centers of the city.

As the light left, so did all the heat in the air and his breathing became labored, as if he carried some great burden atop his once broad shoulders.

He sunk to the ground and closed his eyes....

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Tonlor stepped from the shadows and stood behind the old man, drawing his sword and swinging the shield he had found in Ptolemais from where it was strapped about his back.

He stepped toward the old man and with all his might slashed downward with his blade.

And found steel.

His blade was showed viciously upward and he was forced to parry a blow from the man who was now standing.

The cloak fell about Raktor's legs as he drew himself up to his full height.

"So you have finally found me then?" he asked quietly as Tonlor's face came into view.

"I always knew where you were, it has just taken me this long to finally do what is required of me" Tonlor replied, lifting his sword up so the tip of it touched the other man's blade.

"I may be old, but do not make the mistake of thinking this is going to be easy, old friend"

Tonlor smirked and drew the shorter knife from his side to compliment his sword, "You will be no more trouble for me than that assassin was in Athens"

He struck Raktor’s sword downward and moved in closer with his knife, the knife stuck the shoulder of the older man and slid downward, glancing off.

The older man tore away his shirt to reveal a Hard leather body piece and charged the younger man, he stuck up with a high shot and swept his opponents sword down in an arc between both of their legs.

The younger man responded by pushing back with all of his might and, once their swords were level, smashed the hilt of his sword into Raktor's face, knocking him backward, he moved in for the kill and took the brunt of a slash into his midsection from Raktor's sword.

Raktor went on the offensive, smashing down on the other mans sword again and again until he had him against a wall near the middle of the small street, he took a wild stab at the weakening man and his sword lodged into the wall behind Tonlor, who saw the opportunity and swept his sword across the other mans stomach, opening up a great rent in the leather body and cutting into the flesh.

Raktor's body spun in the air and he crashed to the ground in front of his foe, at his mercy.

Tonlor breathed hard and ripped the sword from the wall, he stepped over to where Raktor lay on the ground and whispered something into his ear.

Then he placed the blade of his knife across his throat and cut his head clean off.

He then rose to his feet and stared into the sky, where stars were just beginning to show, and tears poured down across his face.

As he trudged away, only two words were swirling about inside his head.

"It’s over........It’s over."

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As the scuffle in the street ended a boy, no older than twelve, exited his hiding place in an overhanging doorway and ran away into the night.

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[Dezzilisk]

Constantinople, December 30th, 1452 A.D

The Khalil Sultan moved smoothly through the mass of ships that made up the blockade of the port and let the Ottoman ships take care of the Byzantine vessels in their way.

The Mounted cannon on the front of the ship was the only weapon they had against the sea walls of Constantinople, and Galen fully intended to use it.

Since news of the death of Raktor reached Galen's ears he had become reckless and dangerous, his men were on the brink of mutiny when he had come up with this daring plan.

The ship approached the walls that surrounded the port and the order was given to fire, the blast smashed with intense verocity into the wooden structure and opened a great rent in it.

The massive portion of the wall fell away into the now frothing waters of the harbor, landing directly on top of one of the smaller greek vessels.

Within 15 seconds the tip of the ship dissapeared below the water, and the Arab vessel entered the Harbor.

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The attack broke off soon afterward and the Ottoman navy returned to their port down the coast, curiously enough when the Greek soldiers boarded the massive Arab warship anchored in the harbor, they found nothing, not one soul.

The Marines had escaped into the city.

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Constantinople, 1453 A.D

The new years celebrations of Constantinople were usually a well planned and executed event, with performers and entertainers coming for all over the empire to perform at the court of the Emperor.

This year the celebrations on the streets had disolved into chaos.

Fighting had begun when the Greek majority had targeted the Turkish and slavic minorities on the city with frenzied attacks, blaming them for their current plight as well as the recent death of Raktorius Deo, who had been named patriarch by the Emperor upon his death.

The city was awash with flames and brawling in the well kempt streets, here and there Byzantine and Italian soldiers could be seen marching up and down the largest streets and guarding important structures from damage by the bloodthirsty citizens.

Outside the Hagia Sofia stood Simev Marcian, he was awaiting the return of his colleague, who had been placed in charge of the investigation into the death of the patriarch.

Durhyn had been placed in charge by the Emperor after it became known that he had certain....talents, for lack of a better word, in the department of stealth and tracking, not to mention his prowess in combat.

Simev's eyesight was not good even on the brightest of days, but in the dark it was simply terrible. However even his blurred vision couldnt miss the vast group of torches advancing steadily toward the gates of the inner city.

And him.

As the torches advanced he drew his blade and stood with his feet slightly apart.

The man leading the group advanced to a few meters from where Simev was standing and drew back his hood.

"An Arab?, here?"

The boy couldnt have been long out of his teens, his face smooth, thin and aesthetic, the face of a student, his eyes however had the cold gleam of a fanatic, a man who was used to looking at death.

There was something else that burned within those eyes too and as he studied the features more Simev realized with a start what it was.

Vengeance.

He had killed this boys father.

 

[Dezzilisk]

Ignore this please.

 

[Roanoke]

Patiently waits for a update.

:suicide:

 

[Dezzilisk]

Constantinople, 1453 A.D

Giovanni Gotaras threw his body toward the soldier climbing over the battlements, a look or surprise flickered on the face of his foe as he tumbled head over heels, screaming to his death.

Giovanni ripped his sword from its scabbard and stabbed it downward into the face of a Turkish soldier attempting to scale the walls.

The man fell backwards, knocking several of his comrades off the ladder as he flew past.

Giovanni kicked out at the massive ladder and succeeded in moving it a couple of inches from the wall before the weight of the men further below bought it back to where it had been.

"Men!!!, I need two men!!"

Almost immediately two men appeared at either side of their commander and at his urging took hold of either side of the ladder.

"One!"

The Turkish soldiers below looked upward and realized what was happening.

"Two!"

They climbed faster and faster, trying to reach the top in time to stop what was now inevitable.

"THREE!"

The ladder was pushed from the wall and stood for a moment, erect, and Giovanni watched the faces of the men he had just killed as they plummeted to their deaths.

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Mehmed witnessed the ladder crashing to the ground, crushing many a man underneath its massive frame, and watched as the leader of the Byzantine defense force poked his head over the battlements.

"FIRE!!!!!"

The upturned cannon fired with a massive blast, jumping into the air before crashing against the chains holding it in place and falling back to the earth.

Mehmed was able to keep his footing and watched with satisfaction as the cannonball hit the wall directly below where the Venetian was standing.

Chunks of wall and bodies flew in all directions and fire spurted out of the rent opened by the cannonball in the wall.

Giovanni Gotaras had been killed.

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Not far away Halil Pasha dressed for the final time in his Janissary uniform, his sabre was fastened against his hip and he examined himself in the mirror.

He clipped the symbol of his Sultan to his dated uniform and smoothed out the wrinkles.

"You still have that?" asked a voice quietly from the doorway of his tent.

He turned slowly to face the doorway and the light flashed on his uniform.

"Yes, I remember the way you used to look up to me and the others who wore this uniform when you were a young boy, now you lead us to our deaths in a struggle that you will not win." replied Halil

"So why, pray tell, are you wearing that uniform?"

Halil stepped forward and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Because I intend to die following the orders of my Sultan"

"I AM YOUR SULTAN!!" bellowed Mehmed, stepping forward and ripping the symbol off Halil's uniform and stomping it into the dirt of the tent.

"That, Mehmed, has shown me that you are not, and never will be the man your father hoped you would be"

He bent down slowly and picked up the pin bearing the insignia of Sultan Murad II and pinned it carefully on his uniform.

He then walked slowly out of the tent with his hands held calmly at his sides.

Mehmed stormed out of the tent directly behind him yelling at the top of his lungs, "Stop now!, I command you to STOP NOW!"

The entire camp stopped and a hushed silence fell over the camp as the Sultan's raging continued.

Halil kept walking slowly toward the middle of the camp.

Mehmed's face flushed and to the surprise of every soldier there, he burst into tears.

He lunged forward, ripped the sword from the Janissary's scabbard and plunged it into his back.

Halil Pasha fell to his knees, coughed once, and fell flat on his face.

Dead.

Mehmed stood above the body and suddenly became bitten by remorse, the hurled the sabre at the ground in disgust and had to jump backward as it flipped up and almost took his nose off.

He suddenly became aware that every man present was staring at him, stiff backed with looks of disbelief on their face.

He had just murdered one of the most respected soldiers in the Empire seemingly in cold blood, in front of his loyal men.

"What do you want from me!!!" he cried, picking up the sabre once again and pacing around the camp like a madman, staring into the faces of his soldiers, yelling again and again.

Mehmed retired to his chambers soon after, and overnight the size of the army besieging Constantinople halved.