The Witch Son
and a swift justice to those that got away with it
code
Name:
Queen Davina De Anatolia
Age:
27
Height:
5' 8"
Eye Color:
Deep Brown
Hair:
Light Blonde
Personality:
vices: calculating | manipulative | demanding | cynical | paranoid | deceptive | obsessive perfectionist | prideful | spoiled
virtues: intelligent | generous | focused | dignified | pragmatic | thoughtful | funny | talented | charismatic
Bio:
Davina was born under an eclipsed sun, to Lady Camilla, a noblewoman and the favorite concubine of King Osman III. The court astrologers thought this significant, but the priests in their churches gave sermons of the inherent evil of astrology, any methods of divination were the work of pretenders. Fate was in the hands of the seven, and no other.
Contentious though her birth was, her upbringing was not. As the only daughter of the King and born of his favorite, she would know only the softest silks, the sweetest foods, and the finest jewels.
Spoiled though she is, let it not be said that Davina grew into a useless creature. While most mothers might allow a Princess to simply bask in adoration, Camilla knew adoration for what it was, power. While Camilla lacked the power of a Prince to compete for the throne with, she'd teach and use Davina to skirt through the laws that prevented a concubine from interfering in matters of politics. In this way, Camilla interfered in the contention between the Princes, had her words ferried to council members, and gained more influence over governance than even Osman’s Queen had. All the while forging her daughter into a political blade hidden behind laced fans and fine silks.
It is not easy, being forged into a blade, the fire burns and swelters. So did Davina’s strict tutelage. Not only did her mind have to be mercilessly sharpened against whetstone, but her body too felt the anvil and hammer. Dance, smile, be more graceful, smile, play this instrument, sing like a dove, smile, learn this language, it's not enough, smile, it will never be enough, if you can't do arithmetic better than the treasurer you will never be able to decipher a ledger, smile, you eat too much, what are you wearing, I need you to steal these documents, you move like a horse, smile Davina, your talents must be varied Davina, there must be truth in your lies if you want to convince anybody Davina, smile like you mean it Davina… on and on it went.
There comes a time when a blade is tired of being hammered and sharpened, it becomes brittle and threatens to break. Camilla, the relentless blacksmith she was, eventually drove Davina to seek escape.
Without permission from her mother, Davina sought to go on tour. First of Galicia itself, and then onwards to Ruhar, to enjoy whatever its court had to offer her. It was no odd thing for a Princess to travel, making connections and forging alliances were exactly what a Princess was valuable for. So although the King was saddened to see his only daughter off, he could not deny her. There was little he had ever denied her after all. Perhaps even an engagement to a Ruharan Prince would follow. For who could not love Galicia’s devine rose?
Davina did in fact make it to Ruhar and she would indeed be engaged to their crowned Prince, but not in the way or for the reasons she had ever expected. War does that, brings you the unexpected.
At first they all presumed it would be over quickly, it wasn't the first time Moorgard and Galicia had fought. But then the beloved Galician Crowned Prince died in a skirmish, and King Osman III became enraged. The war escalated and stretched past two years and it became clear that not only would this war be long but that sailing back home would be dangerous for a Princess if the capture of Moorgard’s Princess Herja by Prince Selim was any indication.
Ruhar itself remained officially neutral, but letters that Davina found and read when doing some investigating on the matter indicated that this neutrality extended even to backing out of trade with Galicia and accepting war spoils for doing so. Vital grain and supply that Galicia normally depended upon Ruhar for was being paid for but not delivered. And never would be.
In an effort to both amend this and carve out a future for herself Davina set her sights on seducing the Ruharan Crowned Prince, Arthur. Under the assumption that Ruhar could be her new home. Prince Arthur was easy enough to romance, but his parents' approval of the match was proving difficult to gain.
But then Concubine Lady Gulfem’s little Prince died of illness, and only mere months after Prince Selim was felled in battle.
Meaning that three years into the war the only sole heir to King Osman III of Galicia was Davina.
This changed Ruhar's King and Queen’s opinion towards the match between their heir and Princess Davina considerably.
This changed Davina’s attitude as well. For she refused to marry Prince Arthur for mere trade deals, she would only agree to the match if Ruhar pledged its armies as well. Which left Prince Arthur bereft and negotiations at a stand still. No single party willing to compromise.
Until Moorgard moved on Galicia’s capitol and shook them to their core. The city sacked, the King dead, and Davina made Queen of it all. That alone was enough to guarantee Davina her will, but in her opinion, the letter sent afterwards from King Vigrid would seal it.
Of all the things to demand, the last thing she had expected was her hand in marriage. The fool even challenged Prince Arthur for it in single combat. Talk of unification and Empires and other things Davina was too angry and appalled to read through the first time.
It struck fear into them all, into Davina of what would happen to her mother and people if she refused, and into Ruhar of what would happen if she accepted. Little time was spent dwelling on it however, as Prince Arthur had finally had enough.
He demanded the marriage take place immediately, as well as the immediate gathering of men to launch a first strike at Moorgard while their larger armies gathered behind them.
His wish was granted, and Davina was married to her Prince in one night, and seeing him off to war in the next.
Prince Arthur did well for his Queen, he made her anger known on Moorgard for two successful years. But Vigrid finally got his chance at single combat with the Prince and Queen Davina of Galicia was made a childless widow at the age of 27.
With Prince Arthur dead and no child to succeed him by Davina, Ruhar soured against her cause and retreated. Defeated, Queen Davina was faced with potentially becoming a perpetual guest for the rest of her life at Ruharan court while her Kingdom was dissolved miles and leagues away when a second letter from King Vigrid arrived from a Galician envoy, former Grand Vizier Lord Mustafa.
Lord Mustafa told the Ruharan court that King Vigrid desired peace and to go home with his spoils after a degree of negotiation. He was to return with Queen Davina and ensure her safety. He also brought news of who had survived at court, namely that the late King Osman’s Widow and Concubines were safe and well.
She agreed to leave with him and his contingent, a mixture of Moorish and Galician men. Her own sworn swords adding to the number.
In truth, the letter Lord Mustafa delivered into Davina’s hands were the same terms as before. He wanted, or rather demanded, her hand. And it was clear why Lord Mustafa saw fit to deliver this letter in secret rather than out in the open. If Ruhar’s rulers knew of this, they might hold her hostage or worse. For one man's wants are another man's gain, and if this absurd unification succeeded, Ruhar would face another Empire on the continent they currently stood at the top of.
Absurd and impossible feat, but also her only way forward, Davina finally left Ruhar behind. To return home via ship.
Name:
Grand Vizier Lord Mustafa
Age:
38
Height:
6' 2"
Eye Color:
Black
Hair:
Black
Personality:
vices: calculating | greedy | ruthless | jaded | paranoid | liar | obsessive | selfish | cold
virtues: intelligent | pragmatic | focused | hard worker | generous | efficient | dry humor | talented | creative
Bio:
Galician court is a tangled web of egos, pettiness, and corruption. Most of all it's a place that only those with noble title may vie for favor. In other words, you must be born lucky to gain any real power in Galicia, and Mustafa was not born lucky. He was born with nothing at all.
The son of a prostitute does not have an easy childhood, he himself might have been fashioned for that line of work one day in fact. However, as a young child all he was really good for was chores around the brothel, including the delivery of money between hands. A little known fact, errand boys in a brothel wear clothes with no pockets, to encourage the appearance of honesty. Despite the environment, if you asked Mustafa about his upbringing he would tell you it was not so bad. The work was busy and constant, but his stomach was always full, his clothes appropriately sized and without holes, and his head rested someplace warm whenever it was time to sleep.
Most of all he had his mother, his vexing, brilliant, beautiful mother. He looked her very image, and everyone knew him as her’s for how smart and quiet he was. She taught him how to read and basic arithmetic, she also taught him funny card tricks and slights of hand, skills she had learned from regulars who'd come to see her. The only thing she wouldn't teach him was who his father was. On that subject she would never say a thing.
Mustafa had no idea that when he left he would never see her again, but even if he had known that he isn't sure he would have stayed. He had to go. There was no future for an overgrown errand boy living in a brothel. Except perhaps to join it.
Prostitute he would never be, instead the opportunity to join a mercenary group was his next path. In a funny sort of way he was still selling his body, but if he'd never joined the mercenaries he never would have saved the life of his future benefactor. A benefactor that requested he be specifically assigned to closely guard him at all times, and who spoke to him frequently. Not many mercenaries knew how to read and write, and Mustafa's benefactor saw it as a shame that Mustafa was wasted as a spearman.
Universities of higher learning are typically something only those entitled or rich could ever afford, but Mustafa’s sponsorship afforded him entry. He was sent to the one in Anatolia, Galicia's capitol, and there he learned law, history, calculation, the beginnings of medicine, astronomy, and theology. The top of his class, despite the clear dislike many entitled students had to his lowly birth status.
It was around this time he would receive a letter, informing him that his mother had passed of illness.
Armed with his education and letters of recommendation, Mustafa would then end up as one of two clerks to the clergyman who represented the church on the King's council, Cardinal Ezmael.
His colleague let him know early on that they were rivals. None too gently. It was the last time he'd be almost fired from his position as a clerk though thankfully because his colleague simply didn't compare to him in terms of work ethic or ruthlessness.
Mustafa could do the work of two men, and two became one. He enjoyed much praise for his usefulness. Being a clerk was a lot of documents and letter writing but surprisingly it was also much like being an errand boy in a brothel. Cardinal Ezmael rose to the position of Grand Vizier, with Mustafa’s help, and as such required more complicated errands that looked more and more like schemes. Like blackmail. Like exercising power Mustafa had never experienced working with before. A mere clerk, and lesser nobles began to fear him when he'd approach.
“I can not do my work without Mustafa, he does the work of two men and twice as better.” Cardinal Ezmael would say of him to the King.
Mustafa enjoyed generous compensation and much flattery for his tenure as a clerk. But a clerk is a clerk, and a clerk is nothing without his master. Grand Vizier Cardinal Ezmael was getting old, and to get where he was in life he had made many an enemy. Those who were still alive to hate the holy man for his many sins pounced when he was finally weak. When finally the King was angry with him.
Mustafa could have been a loyal dog and protected his master until the end. But if he had, then he probably would have perished with him too. And after all, Mustafa was no dog. He was a snake in the grass.
The killing blow was his. He exposed Grand Vizier Cardinal Ezmael for the greedy fraud he was to the King and was appointed to extol the King’s justice on him.
In the interim of having no Grand Vizier the King relied upon Mustafa to take on the work, the piles of documents, letters, budgets, matters to attend to. Mustafa was already familiar with what needed to be done and efficiently ensured the King never had to worry about any of it.
So pleased was the King with Mustafa’s ability to step up to the Grand Vizier's duties that he allowed it to continue for the better part of a year. Eventually allowing Mustafa to attend council simply to make things easier.
Mustafa understood what his chances were, understood the King’s hesitation and doubts about appointing him. But Mustafa rose to the challenge. Despite his common birth and lack of title there was no man at council who could tell the King that they could do better.
“Give me five men and I can make five lords. Give me five lords and I could not make even one Mustafa.” The King said, before appointing Mustafa a lordship, and making him Grand Vizier.
It was an unprecedented move, never before had a common man been risen so high in one fell swoop. Not since the beginning age of their Kingdom. But it was a modern age now, and the King had grown frustrated with a lack of capable men amongst his nobility. In times of turmoil one learns to appreciate those who can get the dirty and mundane work alike done.
Mustafa reigned as the second most powerful man in all of Galicia. During this time, Mustafa had the court whipped into shape under his control. Those who did not fall into line he took allies from, isolating them out of favor and sometimes out of court altogether. Those who were powerful and thought themselves above control were blackmailed into submission, and those who thought their line too old and noble to ever fail were outdone by new learned men that Mustafa allowed to buy their way into entitlement.
What Mustafa lacked in prestige, he made up for tenfold by filling the royal coffers with riches. His King was well pleased. And if he accepted bribery on the sly to fill his own coffers too, well, that was harming nobody was it?
The looming crow over the King's shoulder he was called, the many headed snake the bards sang, the knife in your back if you were not careful they warned. Mustafa had mastered Galician court, but as aforementioned, Mustafa was not born lucky. Just as he sat triumphantly atop, fate decided he was too comfortable and decided to topple it all down in one fell swoop.
Savages from the north, Moorgard, plagued their lands, and Mustafa the politician had to be set aside for Mustafa the mercenary. For the King’s nobles made for poor politicians and war generals all the same. Few could think ahead of their feet and as such, Mustafa bore the brunt of burden.
Crowned Prince Bayezid’s death frightened King Osman, and with only two sons left he entrusted the eldest, Prince Selim, with Mustafa. To show him war, but ensure he was not a victim of it.
If you asked him at the time, he would claim it was good luck that his contingent captured the Princess Herja as prisoner. But considering the events that followed, he is sure now it was more of his familiar bad luck.
He remembers the moment vividly, it haunts his dreams and so does she. According to rumor it sealed Prince Selim’s fate and though Mustafa has no such belief in such things his men came to believe it for true.
A Galician Prince wouldn't know the customs of a Priestess of Moorgard, wouldn't know that she came veiled because looking upon her plain face without her permission meant death. But more than ignorance, it would be rumored, it was the Prince’s arrogant disrespect that doomed him.
Mustafa had come a pace too late to stop Prince Selim from ripping her veil off, and in shock had looked away reflexively before gaining his baring and barking his orders to the Prince. The Prince who hated having orders barked at him, especially by Grand Vizier Lord Mustafa, who thwarted his every idea as stupid.
Much arguing ensued but in the end the Prince had no authority over the men there, happy and loyal as they were to their competent commander and little more than annoyed as they were by the Prince Selim. The Princess Herja’s veil was returned, mostly intact, and she was to be kept in Mustafa’s yurt. Where he and trusted guard watched over her for the duration of her imprisonment.
Which was not long. Much to Mustafa’s anger, she inspired fear and trepidation in his men the longer he held onto her due to the death of Prince Selim soon after deveiling her. The mysticisms she represented were not of Galician faith, but all the same it unnerved his men.
A fear that hit a fever pitch when she vanished from his encampment. The how of it isn't very clear, but at the least Mustafa was able to focus on the war. Redoubling his efforts to attain victory after victory. Alas, one man can win a Kingdom’s battles, but he can not win the war by himself.
The Devine Rose
Name:
Queen Davina De Anatolia
Age:
27
Height:
5' 8"
Eye Color:
Deep Brown
Hair:
Light Blonde
Personality:
vices: calculating | manipulative | demanding | cynical | paranoid | deceptive | obsessive perfectionist | prideful | spoiled
virtues: intelligent | generous | focused | dignified | pragmatic | thoughtful | funny | talented | charismatic
Bio:
Davina was born under an eclipsed sun, to Lady Camilla, a noblewoman and the favorite concubine of King Osman III. The court astrologers thought this significant, but the priests in their churches gave sermons of the inherent evil of astrology, any methods of divination were the work of pretenders. Fate was in the hands of the seven, and no other.
Contentious though her birth was, her upbringing was not. As the only daughter of the King and born of his favorite, she would know only the softest silks, the sweetest foods, and the finest jewels.
Spoiled though she is, let it not be said that Davina grew into a useless creature. While most mothers might allow a Princess to simply bask in adoration, Camilla knew adoration for what it was, power. While Camilla lacked the power of a Prince to compete for the throne with, she'd teach and use Davina to skirt through the laws that prevented a concubine from interfering in matters of politics. In this way, Camilla interfered in the contention between the Princes, had her words ferried to council members, and gained more influence over governance than even Osman’s Queen had. All the while forging her daughter into a political blade hidden behind laced fans and fine silks.
It is not easy, being forged into a blade, the fire burns and swelters. So did Davina’s strict tutelage. Not only did her mind have to be mercilessly sharpened against whetstone, but her body too felt the anvil and hammer. Dance, smile, be more graceful, smile, play this instrument, sing like a dove, smile, learn this language, it's not enough, smile, it will never be enough, if you can't do arithmetic better than the treasurer you will never be able to decipher a ledger, smile, you eat too much, what are you wearing, I need you to steal these documents, you move like a horse, smile Davina, your talents must be varied Davina, there must be truth in your lies if you want to convince anybody Davina, smile like you mean it Davina… on and on it went.
There comes a time when a blade is tired of being hammered and sharpened, it becomes brittle and threatens to break. Camilla, the relentless blacksmith she was, eventually drove Davina to seek escape.
Without permission from her mother, Davina sought to go on tour. First of Galicia itself, and then onwards to Ruhar, to enjoy whatever its court had to offer her. It was no odd thing for a Princess to travel, making connections and forging alliances were exactly what a Princess was valuable for. So although the King was saddened to see his only daughter off, he could not deny her. There was little he had ever denied her after all. Perhaps even an engagement to a Ruharan Prince would follow. For who could not love Galicia’s devine rose?
Davina did in fact make it to Ruhar and she would indeed be engaged to their crowned Prince, but not in the way or for the reasons she had ever expected. War does that, brings you the unexpected.
At first they all presumed it would be over quickly, it wasn't the first time Moorgard and Galicia had fought. But then the beloved Galician Crowned Prince died in a skirmish, and King Osman III became enraged. The war escalated and stretched past two years and it became clear that not only would this war be long but that sailing back home would be dangerous for a Princess if the capture of Moorgard’s Princess Herja by Prince Selim was any indication.
Ruhar itself remained officially neutral, but letters that Davina found and read when doing some investigating on the matter indicated that this neutrality extended even to backing out of trade with Galicia and accepting war spoils for doing so. Vital grain and supply that Galicia normally depended upon Ruhar for was being paid for but not delivered. And never would be.
In an effort to both amend this and carve out a future for herself Davina set her sights on seducing the Ruharan Crowned Prince, Arthur. Under the assumption that Ruhar could be her new home. Prince Arthur was easy enough to romance, but his parents' approval of the match was proving difficult to gain.
But then Concubine Lady Gulfem’s little Prince died of illness, and only mere months after Prince Selim was felled in battle.
Meaning that three years into the war the only sole heir to King Osman III of Galicia was Davina.
This changed Ruhar's King and Queen’s opinion towards the match between their heir and Princess Davina considerably.
This changed Davina’s attitude as well. For she refused to marry Prince Arthur for mere trade deals, she would only agree to the match if Ruhar pledged its armies as well. Which left Prince Arthur bereft and negotiations at a stand still. No single party willing to compromise.
Until Moorgard moved on Galicia’s capitol and shook them to their core. The city sacked, the King dead, and Davina made Queen of it all. That alone was enough to guarantee Davina her will, but in her opinion, the letter sent afterwards from King Vigrid would seal it.
Of all the things to demand, the last thing she had expected was her hand in marriage. The fool even challenged Prince Arthur for it in single combat. Talk of unification and Empires and other things Davina was too angry and appalled to read through the first time.
It struck fear into them all, into Davina of what would happen to her mother and people if she refused, and into Ruhar of what would happen if she accepted. Little time was spent dwelling on it however, as Prince Arthur had finally had enough.
He demanded the marriage take place immediately, as well as the immediate gathering of men to launch a first strike at Moorgard while their larger armies gathered behind them.
His wish was granted, and Davina was married to her Prince in one night, and seeing him off to war in the next.
Prince Arthur did well for his Queen, he made her anger known on Moorgard for two successful years. But Vigrid finally got his chance at single combat with the Prince and Queen Davina of Galicia was made a childless widow at the age of 27.
With Prince Arthur dead and no child to succeed him by Davina, Ruhar soured against her cause and retreated. Defeated, Queen Davina was faced with potentially becoming a perpetual guest for the rest of her life at Ruharan court while her Kingdom was dissolved miles and leagues away when a second letter from King Vigrid arrived from a Galician envoy, former Grand Vizier Lord Mustafa.
Lord Mustafa told the Ruharan court that King Vigrid desired peace and to go home with his spoils after a degree of negotiation. He was to return with Queen Davina and ensure her safety. He also brought news of who had survived at court, namely that the late King Osman’s Widow and Concubines were safe and well.
She agreed to leave with him and his contingent, a mixture of Moorish and Galician men. Her own sworn swords adding to the number.
In truth, the letter Lord Mustafa delivered into Davina’s hands were the same terms as before. He wanted, or rather demanded, her hand. And it was clear why Lord Mustafa saw fit to deliver this letter in secret rather than out in the open. If Ruhar’s rulers knew of this, they might hold her hostage or worse. For one man's wants are another man's gain, and if this absurd unification succeeded, Ruhar would face another Empire on the continent they currently stood at the top of.
Absurd and impossible feat, but also her only way forward, Davina finally left Ruhar behind. To return home via ship.
The Looming Crow
Name:
Grand Vizier Lord Mustafa
Age:
38
Height:
6' 2"
Eye Color:
Black
Hair:
Black
Personality:
vices: calculating | greedy | ruthless | jaded | paranoid | liar | obsessive | selfish | cold
virtues: intelligent | pragmatic | focused | hard worker | generous | efficient | dry humor | talented | creative
Bio:
Galician court is a tangled web of egos, pettiness, and corruption. Most of all it's a place that only those with noble title may vie for favor. In other words, you must be born lucky to gain any real power in Galicia, and Mustafa was not born lucky. He was born with nothing at all.
The son of a prostitute does not have an easy childhood, he himself might have been fashioned for that line of work one day in fact. However, as a young child all he was really good for was chores around the brothel, including the delivery of money between hands. A little known fact, errand boys in a brothel wear clothes with no pockets, to encourage the appearance of honesty. Despite the environment, if you asked Mustafa about his upbringing he would tell you it was not so bad. The work was busy and constant, but his stomach was always full, his clothes appropriately sized and without holes, and his head rested someplace warm whenever it was time to sleep.
Most of all he had his mother, his vexing, brilliant, beautiful mother. He looked her very image, and everyone knew him as her’s for how smart and quiet he was. She taught him how to read and basic arithmetic, she also taught him funny card tricks and slights of hand, skills she had learned from regulars who'd come to see her. The only thing she wouldn't teach him was who his father was. On that subject she would never say a thing.
Mustafa had no idea that when he left he would never see her again, but even if he had known that he isn't sure he would have stayed. He had to go. There was no future for an overgrown errand boy living in a brothel. Except perhaps to join it.
Prostitute he would never be, instead the opportunity to join a mercenary group was his next path. In a funny sort of way he was still selling his body, but if he'd never joined the mercenaries he never would have saved the life of his future benefactor. A benefactor that requested he be specifically assigned to closely guard him at all times, and who spoke to him frequently. Not many mercenaries knew how to read and write, and Mustafa's benefactor saw it as a shame that Mustafa was wasted as a spearman.
Universities of higher learning are typically something only those entitled or rich could ever afford, but Mustafa’s sponsorship afforded him entry. He was sent to the one in Anatolia, Galicia's capitol, and there he learned law, history, calculation, the beginnings of medicine, astronomy, and theology. The top of his class, despite the clear dislike many entitled students had to his lowly birth status.
It was around this time he would receive a letter, informing him that his mother had passed of illness.
Armed with his education and letters of recommendation, Mustafa would then end up as one of two clerks to the clergyman who represented the church on the King's council, Cardinal Ezmael.
His colleague let him know early on that they were rivals. None too gently. It was the last time he'd be almost fired from his position as a clerk though thankfully because his colleague simply didn't compare to him in terms of work ethic or ruthlessness.
Mustafa could do the work of two men, and two became one. He enjoyed much praise for his usefulness. Being a clerk was a lot of documents and letter writing but surprisingly it was also much like being an errand boy in a brothel. Cardinal Ezmael rose to the position of Grand Vizier, with Mustafa’s help, and as such required more complicated errands that looked more and more like schemes. Like blackmail. Like exercising power Mustafa had never experienced working with before. A mere clerk, and lesser nobles began to fear him when he'd approach.
“I can not do my work without Mustafa, he does the work of two men and twice as better.” Cardinal Ezmael would say of him to the King.
Mustafa enjoyed generous compensation and much flattery for his tenure as a clerk. But a clerk is a clerk, and a clerk is nothing without his master. Grand Vizier Cardinal Ezmael was getting old, and to get where he was in life he had made many an enemy. Those who were still alive to hate the holy man for his many sins pounced when he was finally weak. When finally the King was angry with him.
Mustafa could have been a loyal dog and protected his master until the end. But if he had, then he probably would have perished with him too. And after all, Mustafa was no dog. He was a snake in the grass.
The killing blow was his. He exposed Grand Vizier Cardinal Ezmael for the greedy fraud he was to the King and was appointed to extol the King’s justice on him.
In the interim of having no Grand Vizier the King relied upon Mustafa to take on the work, the piles of documents, letters, budgets, matters to attend to. Mustafa was already familiar with what needed to be done and efficiently ensured the King never had to worry about any of it.
So pleased was the King with Mustafa’s ability to step up to the Grand Vizier's duties that he allowed it to continue for the better part of a year. Eventually allowing Mustafa to attend council simply to make things easier.
Mustafa understood what his chances were, understood the King’s hesitation and doubts about appointing him. But Mustafa rose to the challenge. Despite his common birth and lack of title there was no man at council who could tell the King that they could do better.
“Give me five men and I can make five lords. Give me five lords and I could not make even one Mustafa.” The King said, before appointing Mustafa a lordship, and making him Grand Vizier.
It was an unprecedented move, never before had a common man been risen so high in one fell swoop. Not since the beginning age of their Kingdom. But it was a modern age now, and the King had grown frustrated with a lack of capable men amongst his nobility. In times of turmoil one learns to appreciate those who can get the dirty and mundane work alike done.
Mustafa reigned as the second most powerful man in all of Galicia. During this time, Mustafa had the court whipped into shape under his control. Those who did not fall into line he took allies from, isolating them out of favor and sometimes out of court altogether. Those who were powerful and thought themselves above control were blackmailed into submission, and those who thought their line too old and noble to ever fail were outdone by new learned men that Mustafa allowed to buy their way into entitlement.
What Mustafa lacked in prestige, he made up for tenfold by filling the royal coffers with riches. His King was well pleased. And if he accepted bribery on the sly to fill his own coffers too, well, that was harming nobody was it?
The looming crow over the King's shoulder he was called, the many headed snake the bards sang, the knife in your back if you were not careful they warned. Mustafa had mastered Galician court, but as aforementioned, Mustafa was not born lucky. Just as he sat triumphantly atop, fate decided he was too comfortable and decided to topple it all down in one fell swoop.
Savages from the north, Moorgard, plagued their lands, and Mustafa the politician had to be set aside for Mustafa the mercenary. For the King’s nobles made for poor politicians and war generals all the same. Few could think ahead of their feet and as such, Mustafa bore the brunt of burden.
Crowned Prince Bayezid’s death frightened King Osman, and with only two sons left he entrusted the eldest, Prince Selim, with Mustafa. To show him war, but ensure he was not a victim of it.
If you asked him at the time, he would claim it was good luck that his contingent captured the Princess Herja as prisoner. But considering the events that followed, he is sure now it was more of his familiar bad luck.
He remembers the moment vividly, it haunts his dreams and so does she. According to rumor it sealed Prince Selim’s fate and though Mustafa has no such belief in such things his men came to believe it for true.
A Galician Prince wouldn't know the customs of a Priestess of Moorgard, wouldn't know that she came veiled because looking upon her plain face without her permission meant death. But more than ignorance, it would be rumored, it was the Prince’s arrogant disrespect that doomed him.
Mustafa had come a pace too late to stop Prince Selim from ripping her veil off, and in shock had looked away reflexively before gaining his baring and barking his orders to the Prince. The Prince who hated having orders barked at him, especially by Grand Vizier Lord Mustafa, who thwarted his every idea as stupid.
Much arguing ensued but in the end the Prince had no authority over the men there, happy and loyal as they were to their competent commander and little more than annoyed as they were by the Prince Selim. The Princess Herja’s veil was returned, mostly intact, and she was to be kept in Mustafa’s yurt. Where he and trusted guard watched over her for the duration of her imprisonment.
Which was not long. Much to Mustafa’s anger, she inspired fear and trepidation in his men the longer he held onto her due to the death of Prince Selim soon after deveiling her. The mysticisms she represented were not of Galician faith, but all the same it unnerved his men.
A fear that hit a fever pitch when she vanished from his encampment. The how of it isn't very clear, but at the least Mustafa was able to focus on the war. Redoubling his efforts to attain victory after victory. Alas, one man can win a Kingdom’s battles, but he can not win the war by himself.
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