You know my name, for you have whispered it in fear for centuries, mindful of the horrors I carved upon the history itself. I am Vlad III Dracula, son of the Dragon, the real Dracula. Our nation will never bow down to anyone, be it Hungarian or Turk, Emperor or Sultan.
Our family was the rightful ruler of Wallachia, a nation in today's southern Romania. Stuck between the Ottoman Empire and Hungary Kingdom, we were nothing more than a pawn in the eyes of two big powers.
In 1440, when I was 13 years old, my father fled from Hungarian forces. The Ottoman offered my father to reclaim the Wallachian throne, on condition my dearest and youngest brother Radu and I stayed in Ottoman as royal hostages. My father retook the throne, yet with no true independence.
Predictably, my father betrayed the Turks three years later, when the European powers gathered to stop the Ottoman Empire's expansion. Sick of my father's double-crossing, Lord John Hunyadi, the leader of Crusade, at last invaded Wallachia and killed him. My eldest brother, Mircea II was captured by rich noblemen of my country. They gorged out his eyes before buried him alive. I would not forget their hideous violence against my kin.
Patiently, I seek refuge in Ottoman, knowing the ever-evolving conflict between Europe and Ottoman, Christianity and Islam, would eventually present an opportunity to return home. 1456, Lord Hunyadi offered me to reclaim my throne, as the puppet king was no longer politically useful to the Hungarians. I re-entered my homeland, slew the puppet in a single round of blade match and reclaim my throne.
A king is not a king if he can't uphold justice for his people. Immediately after I ascended to my throne, I turned my wrath upon those noblemen rats. I made them pay for their despicable betrayal against my father and eldest brother. A greased log, sharpened on one end, would be laid on the ground, with the victim made sit upon the pointed tip. The victim with the log would then be lifted to the air, and the body weight impale the victim upon sharpened stake from below. I watched with great satisfaction, as these betrayers were to witness the impalement of their wives and children, before meeting the fate themselves. As they gazed upon their death, their crying of excruciating pain was such a music to my ear. The taste of betrayers' blood is bittersweet, and I find it to my liking.
Upon my throne was secured, I used my intimate knowledge of Ottoman Empire, I launched a series of lightning raids into Turkish lands. Within 3 years, I destroyed many key outposts that could be used to invade Wallachia.
The Turks responded with an army of 150,000 strong. There was no way for us to win by direct conflict, so I retreated. I poisoned the well and destroyed the farms. I rounded up the hordes of lepers and sick ones, marched them directly into the ranks of invaders. Yet, my forces could not stand against the superior Turks for much longer. I would send the invaders a final message with my masterpiece.
Weeks later, at the deserted town of Targoviste, in a field of 2,600 meter long, 1,100 meter wide, laid 20,000 souls upon the sharpened stakes. The great slaughter of Turks' civilian and army was on full display, where rows upon rows of families impaled together, infants pierced along with their mothers, sons pierced along with their fathers. Upon this grandeur horror view, Sultan ordered his grand army to retreat. He left an army led by my youngest brother, Radu, who was gentle and persuasive. He became my undoing, turned my people against me and my rule. Once again, I went into exile, captured by the Hungarians.
In 1476, nearly 50 years of age, the Hungarian released me to reclaim my throne. I knew this will be my last battle, as age had sapped my mortal youth and vitality. This time, my mortal body fell by the Turks, covered by thick snow, never to rise again.
Though my kingdom eluded me, my undying spirit lives in the annals of history forever. I am Vlad III Dracula, the son of Dragon and the real Dracula. You know my name, for your whisper in fear, centuries after my death, mindful of the horrors that I carved upon history itself.
Hahahahaha........
L1P3: Research and Presenting
Persuasive Influence
Friendship Toastmaster Club
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