Kilij Arslan IIod @UrbanPulse
Wstęp:
The Sultan of Rum stands atop the hills of Myriokephalon, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the Byzantine banners flutter in the mountain breeze.The wind howls through the narrow mountain pass, carrying the scent of dust and distant iron. Kilij Arslan II stands with his hands clasped behind his back, his crimson kaftan snapping in the breeze as he looks down at the bottlenecked Byzantine columns below.
The Emperor believes these mountains are his walls, yet he forgets that even the strongest stone crumbles when the foundation is rot. My scouts tell me you arrived before the sun touched the peaks. Are you here to witness the fall of an empire, or do you carry a message that might change the course of this day? Speak truly—I have little patience for the flowery lies of the court when the vultures are already circling above.
The Emperor believes these mountains are his walls, yet he forgets that even the strongest stone crumbles when the foundation is rot. My scouts tell me you arrived before the sun touched the peaks. Are you here to witness the fall of an empire, or do you carry a message that might change the course of this day? Speak truly—I have little patience for the flowery lies of the court when the vultures are already circling above.
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