Adventures of Wolfram Gengiz

Adventures of Wolfram Gengiz

At sixteen, I had grown accustomed to the endless training and rigorous tests that, Kagan Timurtaş, subjected me to. Each challenge was a test of my strength, resilience, and loyalty. Yet, nothing could have prepared me for the sudden and mysterious summons that would change everything.

The guards came for me with no warning. They covered my face with a hood, and I was unable to pack my belongings or even say goodbye. Fear churned in my stomach as I was led through unfamiliar corridors, my senses disoriented by the shroud over my head. I had become accustomed to these trials, but this was different. The sense of foreboding grew stronger with each step. Had I failed some unseen test? Was this the end? 

When the hood was finally removed, I found myself in the presence of twelve towering men, their muscles rippling beneath their armor. The sheer size of them was intimidating, and for a moment, I wondered if I had been brought here to face my end.

Kneeling before these formidable figures, I felt a surge of apprehension. The air was thick with tension, and my thoughts raced with fear and uncertainty. I braced myself for whatever was to come.

Suddenly, a hand rested on my shoulder, firm yet reassuring. A voice, deep and commanding, echoed through the chamber. "A wolf never bends the knee. You shall only bend the knee when you are against me, boy!"

The voice was unmistakable. It was Timurtaş.

My heart skipped a beat as I realized who was speaking. Timurtaş was behind me. His words cut through the tension like a blade. I could almost feel the weight of his presence, commanding respect and authority.

"Raise, Wolfram," Timurtaş said, his tone brooking no argument. It was the first time he addressed me by my given name, and the sound of it was both a relief and a new weight upon my shoulders.

I rose slowly, meeting his gaze for the first time in years. Timurtaş's eyes were as sharp and unyielding as ever, but there was something else there—a hint of approval, perhaps. As I stood before him, I felt a surge of pride and determination. This was not a punishment but a new chapter, one where I would prove my worth in his eyes.

In the flickering light of the council chamber, the topic of conversation shifted from Timurtaş's legendary prowess to the murky world of rumors and potential intrigue. Duke Oshi IV, with his customary gravitas, was the first to broach the subject.

"Gentlemen," Duke Oshi began, his voice carrying an edge of curiosity, "there has been a whispering breeze through the corridors of power, bringing with it tales of a certain individual who has recently come into prominence. I speak of Wolfram Gengiz, known as 'Tharkan' of Türk-il."

The name alone was enough to spark interest. Wolfram Gengiz, the alleged bastard son of Timurtaş and grandson of the Holy Roman Emperor Kaiser Anno, had been the subject of much speculation and intrigue.

"Rumor has it," Duke Oshi continued, "that Wolfram Gengiz has not only inherited a share of Timurtaş's formidable bloodline but has also been marked by his connection to the Holy Roman Empire. This linkage to Kaiser Anno adds a layer of complexity to his claim and his standing."

The councilmen leaned in, their interest piqued. The implications of such a connection were not lost on them. If Wolfram Gengiz were indeed a descendant of Timurtaş and linked to the Holy Roman Emperor, it would place him in a position of considerable influence and potential.

Duke Oshi nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed. If the rumors are to be believed, Wolfram's presence on the political stage could become a significant factor. His connections to both the Ashina lineage and the Holy Roman Empire might make him a formidable player in the ongoing power struggles."

Another councilman, his voice laden with concern, spoke up. "If Wolfram Gengiz is as influential as the rumors suggest, we must be prepared for any potential upheaval. His bloodline and connections could provide him with both the resources and the political clout to challenge established authorities."

Duke Oshi raised a finger, emphasizing his point. "We must remember that rumor and reality can often diverge. However, the fact that such tales are circulating is enough to warrant vigilance. We must keep a close watch on Wolfram Gengiz and his actions."

The councilmen nodded in agreement, the gravity of the situation sinking in. The discussion shifted to strategies and precautions, as they understood that the presence of such a figure could have far-reaching consequences for the stability of the realm.

As the meeting drew to a close, the shadow of Wolfram Gengiz loomed large over the council's deliberations. The legacy of Timurtaş and the intricate web of alliances and rivalries continued to shape the course of their politics, and the potential rise of a new player in this grand tapestry was a matter of both intrigue and caution.

The trials had only just begun, and I was ready to face them with the strength and resolve that Timurtaş had instilled in me. There I was offered a drink. Timurtaş looked at me and said drink! and you shall rise as a Tharkan. I drank the suspicious drink and after couple seconds I fell unconsious. When I opened my eyes I found myself in a dimly lit room.

As I struggled to free my hands, my heart raced with a mix of fear and determination.

After a few tense minutes, I heard noices so tried more and I managed to loosen the ropes and get them off. I quickly grabbed the nearest object within reach—a candle and its holder—preparing for whatever might come next. The door creaked open, and in walked Khan Karadakh of the Emine Khanate.

My eyes widened with recognition. I had seen him a few times at Timurtaş's court, where he often engaged in discussions with the king. Karadakh's gaze met mine, and he smirked.

"Too late," he said, taking a leisurely bite out of a tomato. "You'd be dead if you were my captive."

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. "Am I not?" I asked, my voice tinged with confusion.

Karadakh laughed, the sound echoing in the dimly lit room. He continued munching on the tomato, seemingly unbothered by my predicament. "Kara is fine," he said dismissively. "Now, move along, princess!"

Perplexed but wary, I followed him as he led me outside. Kara offered me a slice of the juicy, ripe tomato he had been eating. I eyed it warily, my mind flashing with the old tales of poisonous fruits.

"I've heard that it's poisonous, sir," I said, glancing back at him.

Kara chuckled, his eyes twinkling with dark humor. "I have enough poison in me!" he replied, his voice carrying a hint of a strange dialect I barely understood. He was speaking Shaz Turkic slang, which made his words even harder to decipher. From what I gathered, it seemed like he was merely following orders and had a peculiar sense of humor.

I watched as Kara donned a hood, signaling me to do the same. "I am our Kagan's hand in the shadows," he said, his voice taking on a mysterious tone. "Known by many names in each realm, but just call me Kara. My destiny is as dark as 'kara,'" he added with a self-deprecating laugh.

His dark jest left me feeling uneasy and confused. I tried to mimic his laughter, hoping to show respect despite my bewilderment. My confusion must have been apparent, but Kara seemed to find my reaction amusing.

As we walked towards the port, I took in the sight of the bustling harbor. The salty sea air mixed with the sounds of ships and the cries of seagulls. The port was busy with activity, and I couldn't shake the feeling of being a pawn in a much larger game.

Kara's demeanor was casual and enigmatic, his laughter ringing in my ears as we approached the docks. I couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead, but for now, I had to navigate the shadows with this enigmatic figure guiding me.

As Kara continued to extol the virtues of the tomatoes, his voice laced with a kind of grim humor, I could see that he was genuinely fond of these fruits.

"I love these fuckers," he said with a wide grin, holding up the tomato. "They're my favorite fruit! You can only get them from this harbor. They come from lands beyond the sea—new lands, they call it. Shame, nothing major will happen there," he chuckled, as if it were all an inside joke.

Our path took us to a small market area where Kara engaged in a lively debate with a Greek fisherman. The argument was about the etymology of the word "tomato," with both of them claiming that the word originated from their respective languages. The conversation was heated, and it seemed like the fisherman was quite agitated.

Seeing the old man's distress, I decided to intervene. Using the little Greek I knew, I managed to calm the fisherman down. Kara, for his part, seemed unfazed by the encounter. He was a towering figure among the harbor workers, easily identifiable by his height and the Dane Axe slung over his shoulder. His presence was commanding, and despite the fisherman's initial fear, Kara appeared more amused than angered by the confrontation.

After the argument, Kara turned to me with a hint of irritation.

"What do you take me for? A weak man?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

"I know where the limits of my strength lie, and I use it with caution. A man's true strength is tested when dealing with those beneath him, not with his equals or superiors." His words struck me as a lesson in humility and control. It was clear that these massive men, despite their fearsome appearances, adhered to a strict code of conduct. They were stoic, aware of their own power, and used it judiciously. This was a different kind of strength—one that went beyond mere physical prowess.

We continued our walk through the harbor, and as we passed a grand ship, I couldn't help but be drawn to it. Its sheer size and the promise of comfort made me momentarily hopeful. But Kara's next shout brought me back to reality. "Hey, little girl, over here!" he called, standing next to a much smaller, less impressive vessel.

Disappointment washed over me as I realized we would be taking this humble ship instead. My initial excitement was replaced by unease. I began to understand that our destination was something far from ordinary—a secret meeting, perhaps.

Stepping aboard the small, weathered ship, I was met by a diverse group of men. Their appearances were varied, with different races and faces. They spoke a dialect of Shaz Turkic that was almost unrecognizable to me—an amalgamation of rapid speech and foreign vocabulary, including Castillian, Venetian, and even Norse. Despite their casual demeanor, they had an air of competence and experience.

As the ship set sail, I felt a mix of apprehension and curiosity. I was 16, marked by a warrior clan, far from home, and surrounded by people I barely understood. Every encounter seemed to teach me a new lesson in strength, patience, and resilience. The journey ahead was shrouded in mystery, and I had to navigate it with caution, learning to trust in the shadows and the lessons imparted by those who surrounded me.

The following morning, as the first light of dawn painted the sky with hues of gold and pink, we disembarked at a new harbor. The scene was strikingly different from the previous port. This harbor was significantly larger, bustling with a flurry of activity. The air was filled with the cacophony of ship horns, the cries of vendors, and the rhythmic clinking of metal. The scent of saltwater mingled with the more pungent aromas of fish and other maritime goods. The harbor's expanse was filled with a chaotic blend of workers, sailors, and merchants, all moving in a synchronized frenzy of commerce and labor.

Kara, always methodical, handed me a large, weathered bag. "Put these on," he instructed. I peered inside to find a set of nondescript clothes—a plain tunic and trousers—and a dagger that was far from impressive. Its blade was simple, lacking the ornate design of a ceremonial weapon. I raised an eyebrow, silently questioning the practicality of such a weapon. Kara, noticing my unspoken concern, said, "In close quarters, only a fool brandishes a sword. A dagger serves you better when you need to blend in or act swiftly."

I nodded, accepting the reality of my situation. I quickly changed into the new clothes, trying to adapt to my surroundings. The garments were functional but plain, designed to blend in rather than stand out.

As we made our way through the crowded harbor, I observed the intense activity all around us. Fishermen, their hands roughened by years of labor, worked alongside ship captains shouting orders to their crews. Merchants peddled their wares with animated voices, and the docks were alive with the constant movement of people and goods. The sense of urgency in the air was palpable.

Kara broke the silence with a seemingly casual question. "Where can I get some fresh fruits?" he asked. The question seemed odd given our surroundings, and I was momentarily puzzled. Kara's eyes remained sharp and alert, his demeanor suggesting this was no mere inquiry.

He continued pressing, "How many armed guards are there?"

I began to scan the area, mentally cataloging the guards and their positions. I noted their numbers and locations, trying to provide as accurate an answer as possible. Kara seemed satisfied with my observations, nodding in approval. "Good," he said, his tone serious. "Always keep your eyes open for potential opportunities and blend in. This is not a field trip; it's a test of your awareness and adaptability."

Kara then approached a vendor selling fruits. He spoke to the vendor in Venetian, though his accent was not perfect. The conversation was brief but efficient, and Kara paid the vendor handsomely. The vendor, a grizzled man with a weathered face, accepted the coins with a nod of gratitude and quickly moved on.

We climbed into a carriage, a modest but sturdy vehicle, and settled in for our journey. Inside, there were only two occupants. Two men, who had been escorting us, caught my attention. One had a striking ginger beard, his appearance bold and distinctive. The other man had an unsettling look, with piercing Eastern European features and eyes that seemed to bore into me with an unnerving intensity. His gaze was cold and calculating, making me feel uneasy.

As we traveled through the streets, the ginger-bearded man began conversing in Norse, his words flowing with a familiar rhythm. Kara's laughter cut through the carriage's atmosphere, though I could not decipher the cause of his amusement. The conversation between the men seemed casual but carried an undercurrent of seriousness that I could not fully grasp.

The carriage rattled over the cobbled streets, and my mind raced with questions and concerns. I was far from home, marked by the Tharkan clan, and surrounded by individuals whose motives were not entirely clear. The new environment, with its vibrant yet chaotic atmosphere, was both fascinating and disconcerting. Each moment felt like a lesson in survival, urging me to remain vigilant and adaptable.

As we moved through the city, I tried to piece together the fragments of my new reality. The foreign accents, the diverse languages, and the enigmatic people around me were all part of a larger, complex puzzle that I needed to understand. The journey had only begun, and I had to navigate it with both caution and curiosity.

When we arrived at our destination, we disembarked from the carriage and found ourselves at the entrance of a remote tavern, its façade rustic and unassuming. As we stepped inside, the atmosphere felt heavy with secrecy. The interior was dimly lit, with shadows dancing across the walls. The four of us—Kara, the two men with me, and myself—sat at a secluded table, each of us hooded to conceal our identities.

A local man, bearing a shrewd expression, approached our table. Kara greeted him with a phrase that took me by surprise: "Yarraklar hazır mı?" The words seemed to have a double meaning, as in some dialects, the word for 'weapon' also means 'penis.' The local's reaction was a mixture of confusion and awkward laughter, his face betraying a sense of discomfort. The humor was lost on me until Kara's mischievous grin revealed the play on words. The man left, shaking his head, and returned some time later with a bag and some simple food—a portion of dried beef bacon and a jug of fresh milk.

I was expecting something more substantial, but I understood that the circumstances dictated a more frugal approach. We ate quietly, each of us absorbed in our thoughts. The food was plain but sufficient for the journey ahead. Once we finished, we prepared to move on.