The orange leaves that dotted the forest floor were the first heralds of the coming autumn, the rustling of trees disturbed by migrating birds and the chattering of wildlife as they prepared for the upcoming winter, these were the sounds that assailed the ears of the man who was propped against the neck of his horse. His once shining armor was now dirtied by dried blood. The brown cloak that covered him provided only a meager protection from the onset of cold. His once proud steed so tired it was a miracle that it was still trotting along the bumpy dirt road. Once the man was a proud Wallachian vovoide but now he was dog running with his tail behind his legs.
It all started during the siege of Poenari castle, his lair where the man's traitorous brother along with the Turkish Janissaries finally broke the back of his army. It was only through his sheer guile did the man escape the castle in order to continue his war on the ottomans. But war was expensive and eventually his coffers went dry. Now here he was alone riding into Hungary in order to ask for help from his old friend Matthias.
The man horse neighed before coming to a halt. The man at first tugged its reigns and ordered the animal to move forward. Then he took out his riding crop using it to discipline the disobedient creature. Yet it still would not budge.
He sighed, a deep sigh that revealed how tired he was. The man got off; he could not blame the horse for it had ridden him nonstop for almost a fortnight, as the man walked on without the horse he could hear the cracking of leaves as his steel sabatons stepped over the fallen dead leaves. He could smell the crisp autumn air and thought to himself of his dear Wallachia. If it were not for war the yearly crops would have already been harvested, the peasants and the wretched boyars would then probably celebrate a festival by now. Then the thought of his home burning, subjected by an ottoman army with his brother at its head crossed the man's mind. Visions of what would happen if he did not turn back the Turks spurred the man to hurry forward.
The man however had strained himself far beyond the limits of his middle-aged body. Pain coursed through his left foot as the man felt on his face. He sat up and despaired, his foot was probably fraught with boils, blisters and all nasty blandishments of the flesh.
What was he thinking? It was over. He knew it in the depths of his heart. Radu was a traitorous craven bastard of a brother but like him he was taught the arts of warfare both physical and psychological by the Ottomans. Even if he were to procure the necessary funds it was too late for him to tip the scales of this war.
The man got up and still walked on, his step having a slight limp to it. Wallachia will burn he knew. But the man promised he would avenge it. First he would go to Matthias, raise an army and then return to reconquer Wallachia. On that day the Turkish will understand the true meaning of fear. First the levies and conscripts shall be subject to impalement through wooden stakes, stakes which will gradually be lengthened as he rose through the ranks. The longest stake reserved for his brother.
"AHHHH!" A scream of pure agony broke the quite forest as the man's retinas almost burned out of his eye sockets. When his sight returned he saw a circle of some swirling purple energy. It was oval in shape. On its circumference it was the color of imperial purple but as one went deeper into its center in became darker before turning into a rich shade of indigo.
The man was wary, was this sorcery? He made a sign of the cross just in case, the way he did it implied the man was of the Eastern Orthodox instead of the Western Catholics.
The strange purple thing continued to stay there for some time, just hovering a few inches of the ground. The man felt trepidation. This thing was an abomination something abhorrent to the eyes of God.
"I don't have time for this nonsense." The man attempted to side step the strange phenomenon; he had a kingdom to save after all. He walked to the left, the thing followed. He walked to the right, it followed again. Frustrated his eyes darted from tree to branch to bird looking for a hidden threat that did not exist.
"IS THIS YOUR DOING RADU?! DON'T TELL ME THE FOLLOWERS OF MAHOMET RESORT TO THE TRICKS OF THE DEVIL!" He yelled as if there were people present to hear him.
He turned his eyes back the purple circle. Who knew what sort of devilry was it capable of? Not knowing what to do the awestruck man picked up a stick and tossed it at the floating circle. The twig flew right through the portal as if it was transparent. After seeing what happened the man warily raised his hand and touched the portal, was the portal an illusion perhaps? A cunning ploy meant to keep him from achieving his goal? Immediately he got his answer as like quicksand his hand, then his arm and he himself was slowly being pulled into it.
The man struggled vigorously but to no avail for his arm was fairly rooted in the cursed thing. He called to his horse hoping the beast still had some energy left in it, but no the creature remained rooted in place, staring at its master as he was slowly being swallowed.
"NO! YOU SHALL NOT TAKE ME YOU FOUL THING! LET GO! WALLACHIA! MY DEAR WAL-" He was abruptly cut off as he was fully consumed by the portal.
The purple doorway flickered and then disappeared. With it gone no one will know the truth about the man who would go down in history as Vlad III, Prince of Wallachia. Known to his friends as Vlad Dracula defender of Christendom and known to his Turkish foes as Kazikli Bey, The Impaler Lord.
