Eternal Love
The Most Suspicious of Muffins
An unholy sight hung in the sky; a blood red moon loomed over the battlefield, bathing the ground below in hellish red moonlight.
June 17th 1462, the Ottoman Empire was advancing closer and closer. The Empire had been waging war across all of Europe and was currently battling with the forces of the Wallachian voivode (war lord), Vlad Tepes III. The prince had been doing all he could to defend his country. In battle, the war lord had adopted the use of guerrilla tactics. He had set dangerous traps, launched several hit and run attacks and even sent people diseased with leprosy, tuberculosis, and the bubonic plague to infiltrate and infect the Ottoman soldiers. Still, it was not enough. The advancement of the Empire continued like a persistent plague.
The prince had worked hard in his attempts to take down the approaching soldiers. He had infiltrated the enemy camp disguised as a Turk to learn about the inner workings of the Sultan's camp. He had learned very valuable information, including that the Turkish soldiers were not allowed outside of their tents at night to avoid an accidental panic. However, right after he returned from the espionage mission, the prince learned that his beloved wife had been tricked by Turkish spies into thinking that he'd perished on the battle ground. As a result, she had taken her own life and it was declared by the priests of the Order of the Dragon that because of this, her soul would not be saved by God. She would be damned to hell. That thought alone felt like a red hot stake in the prince's chest.
He was absolutely devastated by the death of his love and to know she wouldn't be going to heaven because of a Turkish trick pained and enraged him equally. It was in that moment that Vlad Tepes III renounced God and the Order of the Dragon. In his anger and sorrow, he shouted his renouncement to the heavens. However, the result of his words was most unexpected. Red moonlight seeped his tent through a hole in the top of it, bathing the prince in its unearthly glow. Physical pain overtook his emotional pain as his body began to die, but the prince himself continued on. His skin became ghostly pale as his veins burned a fiery red. His canines turned to curved, unnatural fangs and his dark eyes became a violent and hungry crimson.
Surprisingly, he'd survived the horrific transformation but he would be forever changed, cursed to wander the earth at night and feed off of the blood of man. His newfound bloodlust could have easily been turned toward his own soldiers but he decided to focus it upon his enemies. The war lord gathered seven to ten thousand of his strongest and most trusted soldiers before him and announced an attack upon the Turkish camp. "Three hours after sunset, four hours before the next morning, we will attack. We will kill the Sultan and his men like the vermin they are." The war lord announced with wicked eagerness. The soldiers, also feeling pain and anger toward the Turks after learning about the death of their prince's wife, were on board with the plan almost instantly. But a few of them were concerned about attacking with so few of them, having noticed that the entirety of Vlad's forces were not going with him on this attack.
"The answer is simple. All of you are worthy enough for a gift I have been given this day. I will make you twice as powerful as you are now and we will take down those verminous Turks with ease." The prince declared, flashing his men a sight of his new fangs. In that moment, they all knew exactly what they meant. Apprehension was apparent but one soldier stepped up above the rest, a man known as Magnus. "I will accept your gift, my lord. Even if I am the only one to fight at your side, we will take the enemy down." Magnus said confidently. He was the first to be turned and slowly, the rest of the men followed until all of them were turned into the same beast that their prince had become. They had all agreed that the threat of the Ottoman Empire required the utmost commitment. A transformation into a higher being was necessary.
And then, just as the war lord had commanded, the soldiers marched silently with their prince toward the Turkish camp, three hours after sunset and four hours before the next morning. They made their way easily to the camp and surrounded it while Magnus and the prince headed into the camp to find and kill the Sultan in his tent. They stalked silently through the tents, moving like the predators they were towards their desired prey. However, when they reached the Sultan's tent, the two found it empty. The Sultan was not there. This revelation caused the prince to fly into a violent rage. He let out a furious howl that echoed through the camp. The howl signaled the rest of his soldiers that were, lying in wait, to attack the unsuspecting camp. It mattered not that the Turks began to wake and scramble to prepare themselves. They were no match for Vlad's transformed forces.
With superior speed and strength, the Wallachian forces fell on the unprepared Turks like a pack of wild hyenas. The tents were torn to shreds as the soldiers invaded them to get at the surprised enemies inside. One by one, each of the Turks were dragged from their ruined tents against their will and into the hungry arms of the Wallachian soldiers. They begged, they screamed, but there was no mercy. Vlad and his men were out for blood and fully intended on using it to satisfy their unnatural hunger. There would be no survivors, no prisoners. Left and right throughout the Empire's camp, the Turks struggled to fight back. They tried their hardest, grabbing whatever weapon they could as they were captured or driven into harms way like terrified sheep. They stabbed, punched and kicked, desperate not to lose their lives to the fangs of the hungry warriors. However, despite their best and desperate efforts, the newly transformed Wallachian warriors seemed to be unable to die, no matter what the Turks did to them. Instead, it resulted in their own death. There was no stopping these monsters.
Wicked laughter mixed with the screams of terror that echoed through the camp as the hungry soldiers took out their newfound bloodlust on their enemies. Turkish armor was peeled off of their bodies like tinfoil, being cast aside while leaving their vulnerable human bodies exposed to the Wallachian beasts. Violent red eyes danced about in the darkness as curved fangs penetrated the delicate human throats of the Ottoman forces. The bloodthirsty beasts became drunk on the blood of their victims, growing stronger with each drop of blood they coerced from their victim's throats. Above them, the blood red moon continued to bathe the ground below in its supernatural light. The wicked red moonlight reflected off of the splatters of blood that covered the campground and smeared over the remaining fabric of the ripped apart tents.
But Vlad's forces were not finished. When their unearthly feast had finished and their bloodthirsty appetites had been filled, each warrior dragged one or two of their victims, which were left as barely living exsanguinated husks, toward their prince. The war lord watched with a malicious grin. He may have been unable to capture and kill the Sultan but when he returned, he would know what Prince Vlad Tepes III was capable of. With the help of his monstrous soldiers, each and every Turk that had been in the camp was impaled upon towering wooden stakes before being hoisted into the air to die upon said stakes with their verminous brethren. What little blood that was left within their bodies trickled down the tall wooden posts, staining the wood a sickly red. When their work was done, the prince and his men stood below the bloody stakes, laughing victoriously as they lapped up the small shower of blood that rained down from the bodies of the impaled Turks. In total, 23,000, of the Empire's soldiers had been slaughtered and impaled upon the massive stakes, creating the infamous Forest of the Dead which would be discovered by the Sultan the next morning.
With their ghastly work done and the bloody moon beginning to retreat, the prince and his soldiers left the destroyed Turkish camp behind, heading homeward to hide away from the harsh sunlight, one of the only things that could harm them now. Even though the Sultan hadn't suffered the same fate as his soldiers, the message was sent and would remain a horrifying moment in history for centuries to come. On that night, the prince was reborn as Vlad the Impaler and would later be known as the king of vampires, Dracula.
As the sun rose higher into the sky, Sultan Mehmed II headed back toward his camp. He had been visiting the city of Târgoviște, hence his absence during the Wallachian attack. He was unaware of the horrors that had transpired in his own camp, at least until he arrived there. Before him was a grotesque sight. Blood painted the campground red, now sticky and congealed over what remained of the camp itself. But that was hardly the worst part of the scene before him. No, the most terrifying part of what he saw was 23,000 of his men impaled upon the blood stained stakes. There were no words to describe what the Sultan saw or what he felt in that moment aside from the deepest feeling of fear and shock he'd ever felt in his life. He had no idea how but he knew that the Wallachian voivode was to blame, only he could create something so horrible. Only he could create The Forest of the Dead.
June 17th 1462, the Ottoman Empire was advancing closer and closer. The Empire had been waging war across all of Europe and was currently battling with the forces of the Wallachian voivode (war lord), Vlad Tepes III. The prince had been doing all he could to defend his country. In battle, the war lord had adopted the use of guerrilla tactics. He had set dangerous traps, launched several hit and run attacks and even sent people diseased with leprosy, tuberculosis, and the bubonic plague to infiltrate and infect the Ottoman soldiers. Still, it was not enough. The advancement of the Empire continued like a persistent plague.
The prince had worked hard in his attempts to take down the approaching soldiers. He had infiltrated the enemy camp disguised as a Turk to learn about the inner workings of the Sultan's camp. He had learned very valuable information, including that the Turkish soldiers were not allowed outside of their tents at night to avoid an accidental panic. However, right after he returned from the espionage mission, the prince learned that his beloved wife had been tricked by Turkish spies into thinking that he'd perished on the battle ground. As a result, she had taken her own life and it was declared by the priests of the Order of the Dragon that because of this, her soul would not be saved by God. She would be damned to hell. That thought alone felt like a red hot stake in the prince's chest.
He was absolutely devastated by the death of his love and to know she wouldn't be going to heaven because of a Turkish trick pained and enraged him equally. It was in that moment that Vlad Tepes III renounced God and the Order of the Dragon. In his anger and sorrow, he shouted his renouncement to the heavens. However, the result of his words was most unexpected. Red moonlight seeped his tent through a hole in the top of it, bathing the prince in its unearthly glow. Physical pain overtook his emotional pain as his body began to die, but the prince himself continued on. His skin became ghostly pale as his veins burned a fiery red. His canines turned to curved, unnatural fangs and his dark eyes became a violent and hungry crimson.
Surprisingly, he'd survived the horrific transformation but he would be forever changed, cursed to wander the earth at night and feed off of the blood of man. His newfound bloodlust could have easily been turned toward his own soldiers but he decided to focus it upon his enemies. The war lord gathered seven to ten thousand of his strongest and most trusted soldiers before him and announced an attack upon the Turkish camp. "Three hours after sunset, four hours before the next morning, we will attack. We will kill the Sultan and his men like the vermin they are." The war lord announced with wicked eagerness. The soldiers, also feeling pain and anger toward the Turks after learning about the death of their prince's wife, were on board with the plan almost instantly. But a few of them were concerned about attacking with so few of them, having noticed that the entirety of Vlad's forces were not going with him on this attack.
"The answer is simple. All of you are worthy enough for a gift I have been given this day. I will make you twice as powerful as you are now and we will take down those verminous Turks with ease." The prince declared, flashing his men a sight of his new fangs. In that moment, they all knew exactly what they meant. Apprehension was apparent but one soldier stepped up above the rest, a man known as Magnus. "I will accept your gift, my lord. Even if I am the only one to fight at your side, we will take the enemy down." Magnus said confidently. He was the first to be turned and slowly, the rest of the men followed until all of them were turned into the same beast that their prince had become. They had all agreed that the threat of the Ottoman Empire required the utmost commitment. A transformation into a higher being was necessary.
And then, just as the war lord had commanded, the soldiers marched silently with their prince toward the Turkish camp, three hours after sunset and four hours before the next morning. They made their way easily to the camp and surrounded it while Magnus and the prince headed into the camp to find and kill the Sultan in his tent. They stalked silently through the tents, moving like the predators they were towards their desired prey. However, when they reached the Sultan's tent, the two found it empty. The Sultan was not there. This revelation caused the prince to fly into a violent rage. He let out a furious howl that echoed through the camp. The howl signaled the rest of his soldiers that were, lying in wait, to attack the unsuspecting camp. It mattered not that the Turks began to wake and scramble to prepare themselves. They were no match for Vlad's transformed forces.
With superior speed and strength, the Wallachian forces fell on the unprepared Turks like a pack of wild hyenas. The tents were torn to shreds as the soldiers invaded them to get at the surprised enemies inside. One by one, each of the Turks were dragged from their ruined tents against their will and into the hungry arms of the Wallachian soldiers. They begged, they screamed, but there was no mercy. Vlad and his men were out for blood and fully intended on using it to satisfy their unnatural hunger. There would be no survivors, no prisoners. Left and right throughout the Empire's camp, the Turks struggled to fight back. They tried their hardest, grabbing whatever weapon they could as they were captured or driven into harms way like terrified sheep. They stabbed, punched and kicked, desperate not to lose their lives to the fangs of the hungry warriors. However, despite their best and desperate efforts, the newly transformed Wallachian warriors seemed to be unable to die, no matter what the Turks did to them. Instead, it resulted in their own death. There was no stopping these monsters.
Wicked laughter mixed with the screams of terror that echoed through the camp as the hungry soldiers took out their newfound bloodlust on their enemies. Turkish armor was peeled off of their bodies like tinfoil, being cast aside while leaving their vulnerable human bodies exposed to the Wallachian beasts. Violent red eyes danced about in the darkness as curved fangs penetrated the delicate human throats of the Ottoman forces. The bloodthirsty beasts became drunk on the blood of their victims, growing stronger with each drop of blood they coerced from their victim's throats. Above them, the blood red moon continued to bathe the ground below in its supernatural light. The wicked red moonlight reflected off of the splatters of blood that covered the campground and smeared over the remaining fabric of the ripped apart tents.
But Vlad's forces were not finished. When their unearthly feast had finished and their bloodthirsty appetites had been filled, each warrior dragged one or two of their victims, which were left as barely living exsanguinated husks, toward their prince. The war lord watched with a malicious grin. He may have been unable to capture and kill the Sultan but when he returned, he would know what Prince Vlad Tepes III was capable of. With the help of his monstrous soldiers, each and every Turk that had been in the camp was impaled upon towering wooden stakes before being hoisted into the air to die upon said stakes with their verminous brethren. What little blood that was left within their bodies trickled down the tall wooden posts, staining the wood a sickly red. When their work was done, the prince and his men stood below the bloody stakes, laughing victoriously as they lapped up the small shower of blood that rained down from the bodies of the impaled Turks. In total, 23,000, of the Empire's soldiers had been slaughtered and impaled upon the massive stakes, creating the infamous Forest of the Dead which would be discovered by the Sultan the next morning.
With their ghastly work done and the bloody moon beginning to retreat, the prince and his soldiers left the destroyed Turkish camp behind, heading homeward to hide away from the harsh sunlight, one of the only things that could harm them now. Even though the Sultan hadn't suffered the same fate as his soldiers, the message was sent and would remain a horrifying moment in history for centuries to come. On that night, the prince was reborn as Vlad the Impaler and would later be known as the king of vampires, Dracula.
As the sun rose higher into the sky, Sultan Mehmed II headed back toward his camp. He had been visiting the city of Târgoviște, hence his absence during the Wallachian attack. He was unaware of the horrors that had transpired in his own camp, at least until he arrived there. Before him was a grotesque sight. Blood painted the campground red, now sticky and congealed over what remained of the camp itself. But that was hardly the worst part of the scene before him. No, the most terrifying part of what he saw was 23,000 of his men impaled upon the blood stained stakes. There were no words to describe what the Sultan saw or what he felt in that moment aside from the deepest feeling of fear and shock he'd ever felt in his life. He had no idea how but he knew that the Wallachian voivode was to blame, only he could create something so horrible. Only he could create The Forest of the Dead.