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Xerxes took in a long, soothing drag from his cigar. The man was thoroughly addicted to it; no doubt from his stressful position as President of Persia. He had developed a flare for them from the first day the ships arrived from the Aztec lands, part of his exotic tastes for the land of Magnus; his continent, Minor, had grown bland and boring over the years. He hated it, a tiny little piddling island of two civilizations (though it had earlier been four, long gone were the Babylonians and Arabs). To his North ruled Sultan Osman of the Ottomans, and to his Northeast on the Island of Pax Romanus, the Romans. Why the Romans so indulged in self-glorification, he would never know. They named their capital, country, and subcontinent all the same thing.
Persepolis was by all means a bustling city. As Persia entered the industrial age--years before any other nation even came close, no less--this become more appearant every day. Xerxes palace, strewn with golden trinkets, ivory sculptures and heavy with the smell of Persian bourgoise incense, represented the Persian population entirely in that it was entirely Persian. Not a single foreigner inhabited a single Persian city; however, several Persians inhabited several Ottoman cities.
Xerxes looked out his window as the sun set on the city. The imperial palace made an imposing view on the skyline of Persepolis, standing high above any of the skyscrapers in the metropolis of 750,000 souls. The glimmer of the gold and the analogous burnt orange, black and golden yellow shown in through deep auburn curtains.
Xerxes continued to puff lightly on his cigar. He grew more distasteful of this pitiless land every day. By no means loyal to Persia, he saw in the setting sun the setting of his glory days. Osman had become his greatest foe of all time. The Ottoman forces consisted of no less than 52 Sipahi regiments, 23 cannon regiments, and 38 riflemen regiments. After their latest victory in the Fourth Turko-Persian war, Xerxes was trapped in a gigantic city not a day's reach from the Sipahi regiments stationed at Susa.
Xerxes stood up from his seat in a fine wood-carved, satin-padded chair. He approached the window, as his pitch black, muscular silhouette cut through the sunlight that beamed through the window, filtered out by venetian blinds of wood which stood open and made but a dent in the light's radiance.
All the humility suffered in the Sixth war would be forgotten, he thought as a determined smirk grew across his face. My regiments march towards Susa. In a matter of days, we will gain back the lands of North Persia and Babylon. He drew in an even longer drag from his Aztec cigar. Revenge is, as always, a dish best served cold.
Persepolis was by all means a bustling city. As Persia entered the industrial age--years before any other nation even came close, no less--this become more appearant every day. Xerxes palace, strewn with golden trinkets, ivory sculptures and heavy with the smell of Persian bourgoise incense, represented the Persian population entirely in that it was entirely Persian. Not a single foreigner inhabited a single Persian city; however, several Persians inhabited several Ottoman cities.
Xerxes looked out his window as the sun set on the city. The imperial palace made an imposing view on the skyline of Persepolis, standing high above any of the skyscrapers in the metropolis of 750,000 souls. The glimmer of the gold and the analogous burnt orange, black and golden yellow shown in through deep auburn curtains.
Xerxes continued to puff lightly on his cigar. He grew more distasteful of this pitiless land every day. By no means loyal to Persia, he saw in the setting sun the setting of his glory days. Osman had become his greatest foe of all time. The Ottoman forces consisted of no less than 52 Sipahi regiments, 23 cannon regiments, and 38 riflemen regiments. After their latest victory in the Fourth Turko-Persian war, Xerxes was trapped in a gigantic city not a day's reach from the Sipahi regiments stationed at Susa.
Xerxes stood up from his seat in a fine wood-carved, satin-padded chair. He approached the window, as his pitch black, muscular silhouette cut through the sunlight that beamed through the window, filtered out by venetian blinds of wood which stood open and made but a dent in the light's radiance.
All the humility suffered in the Sixth war would be forgotten, he thought as a determined smirk grew across his face. My regiments march towards Susa. In a matter of days, we will gain back the lands of North Persia and Babylon. He drew in an even longer drag from his Aztec cigar. Revenge is, as always, a dish best served cold.
Funny thing is I just entered a war against the Persians in my game as the Ottomans too, they're the first to be on the recieving end of my Siphais.
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