Today, I name my beloved son, the newborn light of my life. I pray to Adonai with the love and the terror of a father. I pray for my son, my only son still living. May he be healthy in his years. May he never suffer from the fever that still haunts my nightmares. I beg, Adonai, as not but a desperate parent. My rank, I know, means nothing to you, Melech Malchei Ha-M'lachim, as it should be. All I pray for is peace and happiness and love, forever, and to the end of my son's days. I expect not the granting of such a boon. I merely hope it is heard.
Cry, Chavakuk. Cry with your newborn lungs, and live. I, Törtogul the First, Melech ha-M'lachim of the Khazars, will pledge my life, in the service of Adonai, to protect yours.
Milia, my beloved. Follow me in my prayer.
Baruch atta Adonai eloheinu melekh ha'olam, she-echeyanu ve'qi'eh'manu va'higiy'anu laz'man hazeh.
**********
It was Isaac the Old who had conquered the rough ground that Törtugul, on his way to the capital, was now riding past. The century-dead Turkic Khazar had blazed a path of victory through Alania and Derbent, rescuing the twice-ruined vestige of Itil from subjugation and sorrowful tales.
Isaac's son, Blush the Theologian, followed. He was a wise man, wiser than even his father, and he breathed life into Khazaria again. Khwarizm was taken. A kingdom was reborn, like a kerkes, unfolding its wings from a fiery tree.
Then, Törtugul's esteemed father of his father, Pulad the Great. He set his gaze on Azerbaijan, and Trebizond, and was given both. Constantinople, the Second Rome, was taken in the midst of a rioting Byzantine Empire. With the efforts of a brilliant rabbi, the city's people turned Jewish en masse. Pulad's name still rings in the Hagia Sophia five times a month - a murmer of power among prostrate men and women.
Törtugul's father, Sirçan (yet without an epithet, sadly) had died five months ago, two years past three score of age, having founded an empire. Curiously, he had been a dwarf. Pulad's first wife had been a dwarf, as well. Neither of them were hindered by their condition, and both of them had taken the Khazar Empire (or Khaganate, if one preferred) to great heights.
The Khazars stretched from the Aral to the Black Sea, now, sandwiched between Muslims and Pagans and struggling Orthodox Christians. They persevered, however. Jews were skilled at that.
Such was what led Törtugul across Kuma to Itil, to convene a council. The Golovins, under tribal, Bogomilist rule, were ripe for conquest. The Khazar holdings in Moldau would make such a move trivial, and Wallachia shared a small, but crucial border with the Duchy of Rashka. Surrounding Nicaea's holdings in Greece would be a great boon, and Törtugul knew the council would support the endeavor. He glanced at his wife, riding beside him.
Malcah ha-M'lachim Milia Jimena was the most beautiful and charming woman Törtugul had ever had HaShem's fortune to gaze upon. Her heavy locks of hair fell down to the bejeweled royal vest on her chest, and her deep brown eyes penetrated through men and women's souls alike. She glanced back, smiling that loving half-smile that Törtugul had loved for years.
“Do you wish to take Hellas, my love?” She muttered, to hide her words from the iron-plated, stern guards that surrounded the royal couple. Her husband answered with the pensive slowness that characterized him.
“It is likely, though I remain somewhat undecided. The land is rich and promising, but its acquisition could raise yet more angry voices in the west.” Europe had calmed its views on Judaism considerably since the building of the great Khazar Empire, but Törtugul could still hear the hidden presumption and tinges of fear and hatred in the diplomatic letters of the great kings. He hoped every day that the successful crusades of Jerusalem and Egypt, from years past, would not lead an emboldened Pope to declare holy war on a burgeoning Jewish empire.
“The west will do nothing,” Milia said. “Even as we speak, the Roman Emperor squabbles for renewed control of Germany. The Fraticellis have fractured the great state.” Törtugul conceded the point. He vaguely remembered the existence of several heretical men ruling the large state, more than twenty years back, when the newly crowned Khazar had still been taught by his short, greying father.
Perhaps it was near time to take Hellas. After the loss of great Constantinople to Pulad, the Byzantines had renamed their once great Roman successor state to Nicaea. They still warred between each other, from time to time. Men could be stubborn in their failings.
Törtugul sighed in thought, riding on to convince a council, and visit his infant son.
Cry, Chavakuk. Cry with your newborn lungs, and live. I, Törtogul the First, Melech ha-M'lachim of the Khazars, will pledge my life, in the service of Adonai, to protect yours.
Milia, my beloved. Follow me in my prayer.
Baruch atta Adonai eloheinu melekh ha'olam, she-echeyanu ve'qi'eh'manu va'higiy'anu laz'man hazeh.
**********
It was Isaac the Old who had conquered the rough ground that Törtugul, on his way to the capital, was now riding past. The century-dead Turkic Khazar had blazed a path of victory through Alania and Derbent, rescuing the twice-ruined vestige of Itil from subjugation and sorrowful tales.
Isaac's son, Blush the Theologian, followed. He was a wise man, wiser than even his father, and he breathed life into Khazaria again. Khwarizm was taken. A kingdom was reborn, like a kerkes, unfolding its wings from a fiery tree.
Then, Törtugul's esteemed father of his father, Pulad the Great. He set his gaze on Azerbaijan, and Trebizond, and was given both. Constantinople, the Second Rome, was taken in the midst of a rioting Byzantine Empire. With the efforts of a brilliant rabbi, the city's people turned Jewish en masse. Pulad's name still rings in the Hagia Sophia five times a month - a murmer of power among prostrate men and women.
Törtugul's father, Sirçan (yet without an epithet, sadly) had died five months ago, two years past three score of age, having founded an empire. Curiously, he had been a dwarf. Pulad's first wife had been a dwarf, as well. Neither of them were hindered by their condition, and both of them had taken the Khazar Empire (or Khaganate, if one preferred) to great heights.
The Khazars stretched from the Aral to the Black Sea, now, sandwiched between Muslims and Pagans and struggling Orthodox Christians. They persevered, however. Jews were skilled at that.
Such was what led Törtugul across Kuma to Itil, to convene a council. The Golovins, under tribal, Bogomilist rule, were ripe for conquest. The Khazar holdings in Moldau would make such a move trivial, and Wallachia shared a small, but crucial border with the Duchy of Rashka. Surrounding Nicaea's holdings in Greece would be a great boon, and Törtugul knew the council would support the endeavor. He glanced at his wife, riding beside him.
Malcah ha-M'lachim Milia Jimena was the most beautiful and charming woman Törtugul had ever had HaShem's fortune to gaze upon. Her heavy locks of hair fell down to the bejeweled royal vest on her chest, and her deep brown eyes penetrated through men and women's souls alike. She glanced back, smiling that loving half-smile that Törtugul had loved for years.
“Do you wish to take Hellas, my love?” She muttered, to hide her words from the iron-plated, stern guards that surrounded the royal couple. Her husband answered with the pensive slowness that characterized him.
“It is likely, though I remain somewhat undecided. The land is rich and promising, but its acquisition could raise yet more angry voices in the west.” Europe had calmed its views on Judaism considerably since the building of the great Khazar Empire, but Törtugul could still hear the hidden presumption and tinges of fear and hatred in the diplomatic letters of the great kings. He hoped every day that the successful crusades of Jerusalem and Egypt, from years past, would not lead an emboldened Pope to declare holy war on a burgeoning Jewish empire.
“The west will do nothing,” Milia said. “Even as we speak, the Roman Emperor squabbles for renewed control of Germany. The Fraticellis have fractured the great state.” Törtugul conceded the point. He vaguely remembered the existence of several heretical men ruling the large state, more than twenty years back, when the newly crowned Khazar had still been taught by his short, greying father.
Perhaps it was near time to take Hellas. After the loss of great Constantinople to Pulad, the Byzantines had renamed their once great Roman successor state to Nicaea. They still warred between each other, from time to time. Men could be stubborn in their failings.
Törtugul sighed in thought, riding on to convince a council, and visit his infant son.
. I love the ck2+ jewish rulers. Are you gonna become the head of the Jewish Religion. Create the kingdom of Israel.
