hajji-murad-blog
Hajji Murad
Ambassador of the Ottoman Empire. In service to His Royal Highness, Selim the Second
15 posts
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krisztinazapolya:
Krisztina was walking down the hall, her nose buried in a letter from her father, not bad news, but as usual no good news either. She had wanted to take a walk in the gardens to clear her head, but the weather seemed to have other ideas, leaving her stuck indoors and in a sour mood. She was so focused on her letter, that had he not spoken, she would have walked right into him. It wasn’t until he spoke of the Ottoman Empire that she realized who he was. Her eyes hardened and her posture stiffened in an unusual manner for the normally kind girl. “I have no interest in anything the Ottoman Empire has to offer.”
Noting the accent and age of the woman before him, he figured there were only a handful options that would explain her identity. Hajji had been more than exposed to the Hungarians, having often accompanied Suleiman to negotiations as well as having killed many of them on the battlefield. The tone she used was reasonable, given the current nature of the Sultan’s relationship with her King. Nonetheless, Hajji refused to reply with the same hatred, as any anger he felt towards the Hungarians would be misplaced in being directed at her. “Oh but your King certainly had a great interest in what we had to offer,” he teased.
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isabella-de-luna:
Isabella had not meant to disturb the man, seeing only his back and dark hair as she strode down the hallway, peeling off her riding gloves and unpinning her green velvet cap from where it sat askew atop her now windswept hair. What had meant to be a short ride through London had turned into several hours racing through the fields, her Andalusian mare, Miel, happy for the freedom to gallop. Isabella had returned to court begrudgingly, the few hours she had to herself were precious, but she had allies to make, people to bed and coffers to fill. An apology almost found it’s way to her lips, though fell away as she beheld the man in front of her.
If there was one thing she perhaps liked more than her horses, it was handsome men. Her feet slowed as she stopped in front of him, brown eyes peering up through dark eyelashes at this strange new gentleman. Her lips curved ever so slightly into smile, and she ignored the creases of her dark green gown and the flush of her cheeks after coming in from the cold, instead keeping her voice as velvet soft as possible. “What are these delights you speak of, señor? How should a woman like myself try such temptations, as irresistible as I find them?”
Mischievous hazel eyes would have struggled to not notice the beauty of the woman before him, enhanced by her soft smile and crimson cheeks. His gaze lingered a little longer than convention dictated before it returned to his collection. He had received numerous visitors, many of them pleased with what had been presented to them. Though he was overwhelmed by a desire to reveal something different to her.
“With an open mind, a loving heart and an eagerness to be exposed to all the delights that life has to offer,” he slowly said, figuring the confident lady before him already had a few of those qualities at the least. “And of course, with an excellent guide to introduce them to you,” he added playfully, still wondering what he should choose to impress her with.
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earlofcrawford:
“ middle east? “ david sat, leather giving away sound of movement as he wondered how different it could be. he mainly had travelled to england, france and occasionally italy, but never further than that, yet. he would give it a try, if being offered politely why not. “ perhaps the king of scotland would enjoy such a delight, if it is as great as you say it to be. “ the earl spoke, making allies within a court that had tensions high with their neighbour country, always at the verge of war it seemed simple to mae aquaintances and eventually forge them to their side.
A smile crept onto Hajji’s lips as he briefly bowed his head in agreement. “We are open to all beneficial arrangements,” he confirmed, hands reaching towards his collection. “I know little of the King of Scotland’s tastes, but I am sure I will have something here which shall entice him. What are you more interested in? Riches, fragrances, or perhaps something a little stronger?” He asked, smile growing.
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{{ @aminalhashimi }}
“Asalaamu alaykum warahmatullah,” Hajji said, rising from his kneeling position. Finding the direction of Mecca had been easier than he had anticipated, though finding a quiet place to whisper his Islamic prayers had not been. All eyes were on him as he strolled through the grounds, looking for an area where he may be in peace. In truth, he did it out of habit than out of dedication. Hajji knew he had broken more Islamic rules than he could remember. The only one he truly kept to was fasting. Nonetheless, he came to the gardens in the early hours of the morning, taqiyah hanging between his fingertips.
As he returned, he saw Amina among the flowers. He knew she had arrived here, though he had been hesitant in rushing to greet her. Whilst having given each other so much, the two had not ended on the best of terms. Nonetheless, Hajji would be grateful to see a familiar face that meant so much to him.
“It has been so long, Amina,” he began, speaking in their native language and warily approaching her from behind.
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ciarandarcy:
in a silent confession, ciaran was ignorant to the ways of the world beyond his homeland and england, and then, the differences were so slight that it was almost not worth mentioning. while he longed for his home, with the family farm and rolling green hills, he knew now, more than ever, his place was at his friend’s side. the assassination attempt had awoken many things in ciaran, specifically that he must treasure the time he had with henry while he could. however many seemed to have come to the same awakening, and he could barely find his dear friend. pity, seeing as he had such grand news to tell him. this man, unlike any he had ever seen before, almost seemed as though he could understand ciaran’s suffering. not that he would ever say as such aloud, of course. he pretended not to see the locket, as it was not his business and he cared not to unseat this man, who seemed friendly enough.
while he struggled slightly with the man’s accent, he got the gist of the words well enough and bowed his head in respect. “i confess, i have never tasted anything from anywhere near that region, save tea. i assure you, if it’s as good as you say, i can get word to the king.” he said with a warm smile.
“A great injustice,” Hajji remarked, though the sincerity of his words were not matched by his playful tone. “If our trade alliance is strengthened, then I pray you will constantly have access to such goods,” he added, returning the man’s warm and comforting smile. Then he reached into his collection, unearthing the çaydanlık* and a small packet of rize turist cayi*. “You have tasted tea, hm? I assume it is Chinese tea but do correct me if I am wrong. Nonetheless, I do wonder if you have tasted this.” He checked to see if the pot was still warm, before making the tea in front of his spectator. “It comes from the eastern Black Sea coast and is our own Ottoman tea. A different process and presentation entirely, to Chinese tea. I bid you taste some.”
{*çaydanlık= Turkish tea pot; *rize turist cayi= type of black Turkish tea}
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{{ @ofmaryam }}
The silence that accompanied the late evenings at the palace was alluring to Hajji. The rooms, once overflowing with crowds of flustered nobles, were now abandoned as the court took to the more lively parts of the palace. It was at times like this where he could be himself. Times like this where he could move unseen throughout the palace. No one would stop and stare, question his foreign appearance or the unusual accent that clasped his words.
Having had his hair braided by his servants, the Ottoman moved throughout the corridors, venturing into the tranquil library where few visited at this time of night. To his surprise, there was a visitor, though not one he could call a stranger. Her long dark curls and piercing eyes were too familiar for him to dismiss. Hajji had prepared for many kinds of situations at this English court, though he was unprepared for this. He had not seen her for many years, yet her appearance was unmistakable.
“What are you doing here?” He finally managed to ask. Though his question was two-fold- he was curious as to why she was at this time of night, but also why she was at this court at all.
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lareine-eleanor:
Eleanor was heading for the gardens, with two of her ladies and four of Francis’s promised guards trailing after her. She always felt silly with a little cavalcade following her like this, but she especially could not shake the guards, not with Francis’s assistance. As the stranger spoke to her, one of the guards glanced at her, a silent question as to whether or not she wanted the man to be kept away from her. She smiled and gave a little shake of her head, looking back at the man and dipping a polite curtsey. “What would you have me sample?” she asked, offering him a smile. “I am sure the delights of the Ottoman Empire could be expressed in many ways.”
His smile grew as he reached into his collection, fingers clasping around the familiar bottle that contained a beautiful scent. “For a lady as elegant as yourself, I could only suggest a fragrance. But for a Queen too, I must present the best,” he said, revealing the perfume. The ladies and guards that accompanied her demonstrated the woman’s opulence and status. And the accent that laced her words further evidenced her nationality. He believed Suleiman and Francis were fond of each other and thus Hajji would also endeavour to please the Queen. “This is also a favourite of Hatun Mahidevran- a fragrance fit for royalty.”
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clemcntstafford:
If it was true that England was an isolated nation, clinging to a primeval narrative of fiefdom and religious servitude that the continent of Europe sought to renounce, then it was also true that the duke of Buckingham oft endeavored to breach the boundaries of self-imposed segregation ––– such was evident in the frequent sabbaticals he undertook and lengthy sojourns upon foreign soil, relishing to the hilt the ability to engulf himself in the practises of differing creeds, and to immerse himself into the cultures of those nations that posed to the English as being extrasolar. He was perhaps too beguiled by the sumptuous anecdotes revolving the Ottoman empire to deny its delegate his undivided curiosity. Stafford, ever the epitome of elegance, neatly unclasped his hands from behind his spine as his chin lifted inquisitively toward the ambassador. “If the wine is half as excellent as your praise of it, I have little doubt that you shall gain both the affirmation of king and court.”
The uncorking of Murad’s bottle allowing a perfumed fragrance to pervade through the corners of the otherwise drafty conditions of the parlor room, and with a tight-lipped grin splaying upon his mouth Clement relished in the aromatic scent dousing his senses. “I fancy myself a connoisseur, and yet boast little knowledge of the wines of the Middle East. Pray tell, is the fermentation process similar to ours? I understand it deviates from country to country ––– and yet the result is oft the same.”
His attentive gaze was fixed on the goblet before him as he poured the poignant wine. “It is generally agreed that wine originated from the region, or at least near to it. My ancestors have been involved in making wines for thousands of years. The fermentation process is more similar than one may think. This is largely because of the influence and vastness of the Roman Empire, establishing many vineries across the continents and generally using similar processes. Indeed, environmental factors and the development of minor modifications over time are the key reasons for the differing tastes.”
Hajji leaned back in his chair, admiring the rich colour and body of the wine. Then he outstretched his hand, slipping the goblet into the man’s grasp as a pleasant smile graced his lips. “Do try it, and describe to me the different flavours you can taste.”
#C: Clement001#i actually know nothing about wine making apart from a wine tasting trip in malta lol
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annedheilly:
Anne was curious about the man before her. She knew a little about the Ottomans - at least enough to determine that Francis desired a partnership with them. Even if she could not act in any official capacity on France’s behalf, she was determined that she could make a good impression on behalf of her country. The opportunity opened itself before she could even begin, looking at the man with curious eyes as he extended his invitation.
“And what are these delights you speak of?” She asked, offering her hand in a delicate greeting toward the stranger, her soft French accent curling around her words even as she spoke in English. “Are they of the culinary variety, or something a bit more unusual?”
Upon hearing her question, he returned his gaze to the spectacular array of commodities that dressed the table. A smile crept onto his lips, one that demonstrated his passion and pride. “Now that depends on what you are searching for, my lady,” he returned, noting the familiar accent that laced her words. Relations between France and the Ottoman Empire were currently blossoming, despite the disapproval of the surrounding countries. He also had reason to believe that the King was personally interested in these delights.
“Indeed, there are rich spices to tantalise your taste buds,” he added, and having taken her hand, he proceeded to tip a small amount of the contents of a jar onto her palm. “This is baharat, a blend of various spices that can be used in a variety of meat dishes. Feel it, taste it if you would like.”
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Plots
Characteristics: Dedicated, but debauched.
Motivations of the Ottoman Empire under Suleiman I
-To secure a stronger trade alliance with England, who is not involved in the Ottoman-European conflict
-To ensure England does not support its European neighbours
Personal Motivations
???
Romantic Plots
Prospective betrothed/ love interest: Open to all suggestions, from any country with any religion.
Sexual partner(s): Isabella de Luna (Open to all suggestions, from any country with any religion)
Previous lovers/ sexual partner(s): Amina Al-Hashimi (Open to all suggestions, from any country with any religion.)
Friendship Plots
Drinking partner(s): Mario Savorgnano, Isabella de Luna, David Lindsay (Someone to share his love of alcohol, drugs and promiscuity.)
Friend(s) from the Ottoman Empire: Amina Al-Hashimi (Those who accompanied him or later joined him.)
Friend(s) at court: Mario Savorgnano, Isabella de Luna, Eleanor Brandon, Ottavio Orsini Grace Cromwell (Old or new, open to all suggestions.)
Enemy Plots
Religious enemy(ies): Queen Mary (Someone who does not approve of Hajji because of differing religions (Catholic/Muslim, Protestant/Muslim etc))
Enemy(ies) from the Ottoman Empire: Those who accompanied him or later joined him, but dislike him or grow to dislike him.
Enemy(ies) to the Ottoman Empire: Krisztina Zápolya, Maryam Begum
Familial Plots
Cousin: Princess Maryam Begum
Father: Şehzade Sultan Murad Effendi (deceased)
Mother: Princess Shahnavaz Begum (available, but currently in the Safavid Empire)
Siblings: Behruza (aged 21, available but currently in the Safavid Empire), Kamerşah (aged 17, unavailable) and Maryam (1519-1526, deceased). Open to including more siblings/relatives but must (at least loosely) fit into the current historical narrative.
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His gaze was fixed on the small gilded locket that his thumb caressed, hazel eyes scrutinising the vaguely familiar features of his mâmân. It had been five years since he had last seen her face. Five years since he had left the land where he had grown up, but apparently was not his home. And now he found himself here, surrounded by dull, carpet-less walls and foreign tongues. He had become everything his mother had tried to stir him from, an Ottoman tool. But he was happy here, content with working for the Ottomans. The political turmoil here partly reminded him of what he had escaped and thus it did not seem extraordinary when he heard of the assassination attempt.
Hearing approaching footsteps, he slipped the locket away and shifted his gaze. “Come, friend. Sample a taste of what the Middle East can offer. The Ottoman Empire is key to successful trade routes there. I hope I can at least convince you of its delights, if not the King.”
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Şehzade Hajji Murad Effendi
“The key to survival is obedience.” -Shahnavaz Begum to Hajji in 1529
Name: Şehzade Hajji Murad Effendi
Position: Ambassador to England for the Ottoman Empire (1536-)
Born: 14th February 1514
Father: Şehzade Sultan Murad Effendi, son of Şehzade Ahmet and Nergisşah Hatun.
Mother: Princess Shahnavaz Begum, daughter of Shah Ismail I of the Safavid Dynasty and Behruza Khanum
Siblings: Behruza (1515-), Kamerşah (1519-) and Maryam (1519-1526)
In 1514, Hajji was born in the city of Kashan in the Safavid Empire. It was part of his mother’s homeland, a place where she hoped her son would finally be safe. She had carried him in the womb throughout political turmoil and uncertain death and when she held the tangible baby in her arms, she knew it had all been worth it. Yet his father was not as pleased and Hajji’s only memories of him was a drunken, temperamental man. When his father died, the four-year old Hajji watched his body burn on the pyre, confused as to why his father felt so much pain and anger. It was a story he would only understand when he grew older.
His father was Murad, son of Ahmet and grandson of Bayezid II. When Ahmet’s brother, Selim, seized the throne from his father, he initiated a power struggle that would span generations. Ahmet, along with Murad, fought against Selim for the throne but when he was executed in 1513, Murad took up his father’s claim. Ismail I of the neighbouring Safavid Empire supported Murad, even marrying the Ottoman Prince to his daughter, Shahnavaz Begum. Hajji was conceived on their wedding night, and Shahnavaz barely saw her husband as he became obsessed with claiming the Ottoman crown. Yet Ismail I soon abandoned his plans for Murad, and the Prince was exiled from his homeland. He took asylum in Kashan but grew depressed and furious with Ismail’s betrayal. He physically and emotionally took this out on Shahnavaz, who could only watch as failure and isolation crippled her husband. Murad drank himself to an early grave, dying at the age of twenty-four. But before he did, he aggressively urged the young Hajji to seize the throne as it was his birth-right.
After Murad’s death, Shahnavaz did everything she could to distance her son from the Ottomans. She brought him up with Persian traditions and values and prayed her brother, Tahmasp I, would not use him as a political tool against the Ottoman Empire. But this was not enough to protect him. Whilst on a pilgrimage with his tutors, the sixteen-year old Hajji was abducted by Ottoman spies and taken to his father’s unfamiliar homeland. Suleiman I, faced with his dead cousin’s son, was determined to kill the boy. Yet he was convinced to keep Hajji in Topkapi palace and raise him like an Ottoman nobleman. Suleiman sent Hajji into many of his wars against the European powers, hoping that the boy may fall. But he instead became a determined soldier and useful tool for the Sultan.
Following this, Suleiman became more relaxed with Hajji and made him an ambassador. Hajji is grateful for the freedom and is excited to explore England and the possibilities it presents. He will do his best to serve the Sultan who finally freed him and the empire he has mixed feelings towards. With his damaging background, England provides a perfect form of escapism. But he can’t help but feel his history dragging behind him. And whilst he can put great distance between himself and the Ottoman and Safavid empires for now, he can hear his father’s words echoing in his ears and fears that he is becoming him.
{OUT OF THE WAY ! can’t you see HAJJI MURAD, the AMBASSADOR OF THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE coming this way ? I hear HE is DEDICATED, but also DEBAUCHED. HE seems to remind everyone of ALLURING SPICES, THE SUN’S GLOW, .&. LUSTROUS SILKS. hopefully one day HE will succeed in HIS ambition to IMPROVE THE INFLUENCE OF THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE, but then again, the court is a dangerous place. one can only hope HE will keep HIS head… ( RANVEER SINGH ) ━ ━ ☆ as written by OLIVIA ;; GMT, SHE/HER, 19+ }
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The air was thick with an icy chill, nipping the skin of the Ottoman Ambassador who struggled to adjust to the change in climate. Resplendent furs encasing his body failed to prevent the cold from penetrating his layers. Still, he had ventured out into the open, onto the balcony to observe the guards. His face stiffened as the offensive bitterness intensified, brushing past his cheeks as though to further irritate him. Though he remained calm, stern hazel gaze perusing the men below. The fighting style was not drastically different from his own. But it was interesting to see how the English would defend themselves.
“I find that personal failure is the best path to accomplishment,” Hajji observed, his words laced with a noticeable yet subtle accent. He had been taught to speak the European tongues with ease and great skill. Yet such lessons never changed the unfamiliar, bitter taste that lingered on his tongue. “I was wondering whether English tactics are drastically different to European tactics in general? Some of these moves I have never encountered on a battlefield and yet some are very familiar,” he added, alluding to the past wars he had fought in under Suleiman the First.
-Open -
Having drilled the guards for hours upon hours since getting out, openly questioning their judgement and common sense of protocol in not checking with their captain before following through with the lockdown at court, Caelan was exhausted, knowing that he would have to keep an eye on them to make sure that they did not do anything idiotic considering it would be his responsibility to ensure that old protocols would be changed. He was just glad that the old protocols at least allowed them to secure the castle, with the single casualty, and the fact that his majesty King Henry had not been harmed, he knew it could have been much worse.
Standing on the balcony he watched as his soldiers went through the several battle formations, repeating the movements as he and the higher ranking officials called out orders. He felt a presence behind him, but did not flinch. Caelan’s body remained as solid as it had been for the past hour, light eyes fixated on the men as he yelled out “And again!” unhappy with the speed that they were going through the formations. “If you don’t drill it into them they’ll never learn.”he explained to whoever it was behind him, “Was there anything I can help you with…?” he asked, turning now to face the person who’d joined him on the balcony.
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Whoever you are. Wherever you’ve come from… Now on you will be the pride of my court.
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