My tea party was... -cough- wonderful. -Shifty eyes-
I hope everyone had a wonderful weekend.
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Petya felt the burden of the day upon him as he entered the tavern, all of which washed away the conversations as he sought a single moment of respite, as he let Oskana free from his hold. Petya wanted to sink down and rest, he was weary from a days hunting and his mind was fatigued from what had transpired during the night. He had paid little heed to the movements around him as he took a brace against the frame of a closed window, the night still dark with flickering torches out in the village still burning. He wondered how many had died alongside old Pavel this night.
Petya breathed heavily, shut his eyes and felt their weight, and for what felt like a lifetime was drawn into state of slumber, that the noises and movements around him were nothing but the product of a fervour dream, before drawing himself back and discovering it all to be very real. Maybe this was still part of the dream, that he had yet to full wake, that maybe when the sun would rise he'd discover it was in fact a dream, and the day was simply another. But Petya knew better than to believe in such hopes, they had been the same hopes he had when his father died, when his mother died. That it had all been a dream.
A cry filled the room, an angry, bitter, and defeated cry. Turning, he did not expect to Oskana to be the one weeping. Proud Oskana the Hunter, it felt unsettling to watch as she finally succumbed to her emotions.
I won't tell anyone, Petya repeated the stupid words in his head, turning away. “Petya.” Though Bogdan's father and his and Vasily's own had once been friends, Petya could not claim to share the same relationship with the son. (He could not speak for Vasily, though, Petya often felt his brother was friends with everyone).
“Thank you, and I'm fine.” Waving away the cloth, Petya was thus far unscathed and the old man; he had even yet to even mourn the passing of the old man.
Bogdan handed Petya a beverage that the hunter wasn't particularly interested in, but drank anyway out of formality. “If we even survive the night.” A bout of pessimism leaking with Petya's voice, “We don't even know if what happened will happen again.”
People were angry, people were scared, people wanted answers and they all wanted results now but nobody gave a second thought to the if, to the if this may happen again. It was difficult to have rational thought in a time of crisis, especially if one had lost so much. But this talk of the witch, what would the village do? March en masse to where she made her home, torches in hand, blood lust in their eyes and scream for retribution. It seemed too simple, Petya thought.
Petya breathed heavily, shut his eyes and felt their weight, and for what felt like a lifetime was drawn into state of slumber, that the noises and movements around him were nothing but the product of a fervour dream, before drawing himself back and discovering it all to be very real. Maybe this was still part of the dream, that he had yet to full wake, that maybe when the sun would rise he'd discover it was in fact a dream, and the day was simply another. But Petya knew better than to believe in such hopes, they had been the same hopes he had when his father died, when his mother died. That it had all been a dream.
A cry filled the room, an angry, bitter, and defeated cry. Turning, he did not expect to Oskana to be the one weeping. Proud Oskana the Hunter, it felt unsettling to watch as she finally succumbed to her emotions.
I won't tell anyone, Petya repeated the stupid words in his head, turning away. “Petya.” Though Bogdan's father and his and Vasily's own had once been friends, Petya could not claim to share the same relationship with the son. (He could not speak for Vasily, though, Petya often felt his brother was friends with everyone).
“Thank you, and I'm fine.” Waving away the cloth, Petya was thus far unscathed and the old man; he had even yet to even mourn the passing of the old man.
Bogdan handed Petya a beverage that the hunter wasn't particularly interested in, but drank anyway out of formality. “If we even survive the night.” A bout of pessimism leaking with Petya's voice, “We don't even know if what happened will happen again.”
People were angry, people were scared, people wanted answers and they all wanted results now but nobody gave a second thought to the if, to the if this may happen again. It was difficult to have rational thought in a time of crisis, especially if one had lost so much. But this talk of the witch, what would the village do? March en masse to where she made her home, torches in hand, blood lust in their eyes and scream for retribution. It seemed too simple, Petya thought.
More delightful posts! And plenty for Petya to say and do, such as letting Oksana fall to the ground. :P
I will try to write up a post today, however, with some family members visiting, I doubt I will find the time as they have an incredible lack of concept for it, ever had family members stay until 11pm after saying for the past hour, "this will be my last cup of tea and I'll shoot off." Being English is a horrible curse at times. *Weeps*
I hope everyone is well.
I will try to write up a post today, however, with some family members visiting, I doubt I will find the time as they have an incredible lack of concept for it, ever had family members stay until 11pm after saying for the past hour, "this will be my last cup of tea and I'll shoot off." Being English is a horrible curse at times. *Weeps*
I hope everyone is well.
Well, if Igraine is in. So am I! (Seriously though, this has peaked my interest. Consider me on-board when the time comes)
Post is up, anyone (Especially you, Lillian and Heroes) can control Petya having him actually arrive at the tavern. (You can also PM me if you wish to include dialogue). I had wrote that they arrived but I wasn't satisfied with it and I kept hitting a wall, so I left it open for some interaction.
Also, AH, if Pavel wants to interact/have dialogue with Petya as they help Oskana, Shoot me a PM if you feel the need to do so.
Also, AH, if Pavel wants to interact/have dialogue with Petya as they help Oskana, Shoot me a PM if you feel the need to do so.
He knew immediately he had made a mistake in his offer. With what little light they had, Petya did not fail to catch the gaze from Oksana as a pair of daggers flashed in the dark up at him, he did not attempt to match her gaze with his own.
Oksana had always been different. She lacked the femininity of most women her age in the village and was fierce, independent, steadfast and stubborn, had she been born a man, had they had found a boy out in the woods following them all of those times, they would of laughed and put a bow in his hand, however, she was Oksana, and she had been laughed at and told to head home. Had she been born a man, her qualities in a small village such as Adishi would have been lauded, but such qualities in a woman caused you to stand out, and not for the right reasons.
Petya watched her as she turned down his offer, and with defiance, attempt to steady herself. Petya felt a pang of pity as he watched her, pity and guilt, he had never laughed at her or mocked her, but nor did seek to defend her either. Petya did not really pay her any heed, he simply didn't care of what she had wanted or what the others would say of her. It felt selfish, especially at this moment, as their homes and their neighbours lay in ruin, wasted by spectres and a wave of darkness that he still struggled to comprehend, it felt selfish that Petya had never sought to care.
Oksana's defiance had carried her so far, a solitary reach forward in fact, before she had to find support at the base of the tree. She breathed heavily, panted and cursed in such colourful fashion that would had even caused Petya to blush had the time and place been any different.
“Maybe a little help.”
Petya approached Oskana with some hesitance, a wolf may lay dying but it's bite still remains the same, he felt Oskana was no different. He hooked her arm over his head and with a huff, lifted her up in both arms. “I'm sorry.” Petya said from under his breath, he did not know why he felt compelled to apologise, yet, he did. Being in such close proximity of her, it appeared to Petya as the most comfortable thing for him to say.
“Old Pavel instructed us to all group at the tavern,” Petya said, turning to the younger, much alive, Pavel. The outline of the tavern's lights cut it's figure out in the distance, it appeared unharmed in the ensuing darkness that came, and it seemed the wisest decision, the tavern was large enough to house the majority of the village, and it was stocked with fresh bread, meat, fish and ale to survive long enough in the night until the sun's dawn. Petya had little to say as he followed his original path through the snow back to the village, Oskana still in his arms and Pavel following, he didn't know what to say; beyond questions of who was alive, who was death and if anyone was injured, there was very little to say. “What were you doing so far out?” A question coming to the forefront of his mind as they reached the outlying houses of Adishi.
“I won't tell anyone if you followed us on the hunt.” Petya bit the bottom of his lip, something in his head told him he had said the wrong thing, feeling incredibly patronising, like a child in study with the other children, one of which had just committed themselves to something naughty without being discovered by the adults and the other's then trying to find out, promising they won't let the secret slip.
Out of the snow, his pace began to quicken as his boots marched up the similar dirt roads he had ran upon as a child, at the peak of the road came the tavern, the reward of those for their hard-work as the sun set, a number of figures gathered.
Oksana had always been different. She lacked the femininity of most women her age in the village and was fierce, independent, steadfast and stubborn, had she been born a man, had they had found a boy out in the woods following them all of those times, they would of laughed and put a bow in his hand, however, she was Oksana, and she had been laughed at and told to head home. Had she been born a man, her qualities in a small village such as Adishi would have been lauded, but such qualities in a woman caused you to stand out, and not for the right reasons.
Petya watched her as she turned down his offer, and with defiance, attempt to steady herself. Petya felt a pang of pity as he watched her, pity and guilt, he had never laughed at her or mocked her, but nor did seek to defend her either. Petya did not really pay her any heed, he simply didn't care of what she had wanted or what the others would say of her. It felt selfish, especially at this moment, as their homes and their neighbours lay in ruin, wasted by spectres and a wave of darkness that he still struggled to comprehend, it felt selfish that Petya had never sought to care.
Oksana's defiance had carried her so far, a solitary reach forward in fact, before she had to find support at the base of the tree. She breathed heavily, panted and cursed in such colourful fashion that would had even caused Petya to blush had the time and place been any different.
“Maybe a little help.”
Petya approached Oskana with some hesitance, a wolf may lay dying but it's bite still remains the same, he felt Oskana was no different. He hooked her arm over his head and with a huff, lifted her up in both arms. “I'm sorry.” Petya said from under his breath, he did not know why he felt compelled to apologise, yet, he did. Being in such close proximity of her, it appeared to Petya as the most comfortable thing for him to say.
“Old Pavel instructed us to all group at the tavern,” Petya said, turning to the younger, much alive, Pavel. The outline of the tavern's lights cut it's figure out in the distance, it appeared unharmed in the ensuing darkness that came, and it seemed the wisest decision, the tavern was large enough to house the majority of the village, and it was stocked with fresh bread, meat, fish and ale to survive long enough in the night until the sun's dawn. Petya had little to say as he followed his original path through the snow back to the village, Oskana still in his arms and Pavel following, he didn't know what to say; beyond questions of who was alive, who was death and if anyone was injured, there was very little to say. “What were you doing so far out?” A question coming to the forefront of his mind as they reached the outlying houses of Adishi.
“I won't tell anyone if you followed us on the hunt.” Petya bit the bottom of his lip, something in his head told him he had said the wrong thing, feeling incredibly patronising, like a child in study with the other children, one of which had just committed themselves to something naughty without being discovered by the adults and the other's then trying to find out, promising they won't let the secret slip.
Out of the snow, his pace began to quicken as his boots marched up the similar dirt roads he had ran upon as a child, at the peak of the road came the tavern, the reward of those for their hard-work as the sun set, a number of figures gathered.
I have a day off today, so I'll get started on my next post. Oksana is going to be an incredibly fun character to interact with.
Yes, that is a better opinion, truth be told. And thanks, Igraine, it helps a lot too when you're surrounded by talented players/writers. It helps to provide that little extra. :)
Posts are like buses. You wait for one all day and two come along at the same time. 
Torches held aloft, the small company of hunters made their way through the wounded Adishi. None spoke. There were no words of which to speak, none of light-hearted raillery, none of inquires into life, none of comfort. They marched in silence, a solemn march of mourning. Petya looked amongst the faces of those he had grown to know, there were gaps in their formation; lost eyes and ears – the old man would not be the only causality amongst their ranks this evening.
There had been very little time to mourn to old man's passing, the village – for what was left of it, as it rested in silent slumber of what previously been a merry eve of festivities – was their concern. If they had ignored the old man's last instructions and attempted to bury him or give him form of final honours, the old man may of sprang from where he lay, handing out a stern lecture on disobeying the orders of an elder. “Children,” the old man chided whenever his words had not been heeded. Memory flooded Petya's mind; blinded by his arrogant adolescence around his sixteenth name day, along with Dmitri, they had extended their reach beyond the boundaries which the old man had set and came across a grazing herd of roe deer, only in youthful exuberance could Petya had truly believe he would bring home the entire herd. He had spooked the herd and sent it fleeing into the forests, in turn, spooking the rest of the animals. “Children,” the old man stressed, passing his pipe from one end of his mouth to the other, he had been particularly hard on Dmitri, being the elder of the two. He had never been the old man's anger that Petya feared, but his disappointment. “Children.” His voice hoarse and dry, the voice of the forest, “Can you hear that, child?” Old Pavel asked Petya. The boy shook his head. “Listen, the groan of the mighty pine, the chuckle of the branches in the wind. The trees are whispering, I can hear them.”
“What do they speak of?” Petya asked in return, once his courage to speak to the old man had returned and he felt he was of suitable position to do so. “They say; 'Maybe this boy should listen to the wisdom of his elders if he wishes to eat well this winter.'”
A strict teacher, but a beloved one. Petya smiled, briefly forgetting the events that had surrounded him. Then, a sadness filled him, he thought of his mother and his father, he had very little memories of such calibre of his parents.
“Halt!” Dmitri threw a hand up, they all came to a stop. Leadership had fallen upon Dmitri, Petya did not know if the others had simply decided to let Dmitri call the shots or if he had simply taken charge of the situation. Dmitri and his parents were the closest living relatives to old Pavel, at least, supposedly they were, “He's my great-grandfather or great-uncle, or something great.” Dmitri told Petya once when asked. Dmitri was a decent hunter, one of the best in fact; however, he had always been lectured over his lack of maturity and lack of motivation, preferring to drink and gamble with dice. Yet, Dmitri displayed shadows of old Pavel as he led them through the wounded village.
“A voice.” Petya stepped forward. A woman's voice carried on the wind towards them, Petya cast his gaze out towards the mountains and the hills where a figure shifted under the blanket of night. “The creatures?” Dmitri asked, “I don't think so.” They all had were ready to loose arrows if needed, Petya felt much more the soldier than he did the hunter.
“Is that Leonidovich?” A whistle went out that stole their attention, another figure with a flickering light above them signalled to their attentions and headed off towards the figure. “Oksana?” Petya would had laughed, had the occasion been different. 'Oksana the Hunter,' they called her, it was a mocking title that Dmitri had dubbed her with behind her back after he and Juho stumbled across Oksana in the duration of her own private hunt, a half-ruined rabbit that she had attempted to skin at her feet. It had not been her last attempt at proving herself a hunter; time after time she would sneak out on her own or follow their expeditions out, and time after time, the old man would reject her. After a while, Petya began to feel some pity for her.
“Stupid girl,” Dmitri spat, “I bet she followed us.”
“I'll go fetch her and bring her back to the tavern.” Petya volunteered with no resistance from the others. "Dmitri, make sure my brother and niece are amongst the living."
The storm that followed the hunting party back home had came to a halt, with it leaving a waist high level of thick snow that even Petya struggled with. “Pavel, Oskana.” Petya lowered himself beside Oskana, he traced the numerous cuts across her body, losing himself in thought as it was a miracle she had survived both the storm and the darkness. “The old man told us to gather the survivors and head for the tavern,” that word again, survivors, it still felt unreal to say it aloud. “We must not idle here, the darkness may yet return.” Petya slung his bow over his shoulder, offering an outstretched arm to Oskana for support, “I can carry you if need be.”
There had been very little time to mourn to old man's passing, the village – for what was left of it, as it rested in silent slumber of what previously been a merry eve of festivities – was their concern. If they had ignored the old man's last instructions and attempted to bury him or give him form of final honours, the old man may of sprang from where he lay, handing out a stern lecture on disobeying the orders of an elder. “Children,” the old man chided whenever his words had not been heeded. Memory flooded Petya's mind; blinded by his arrogant adolescence around his sixteenth name day, along with Dmitri, they had extended their reach beyond the boundaries which the old man had set and came across a grazing herd of roe deer, only in youthful exuberance could Petya had truly believe he would bring home the entire herd. He had spooked the herd and sent it fleeing into the forests, in turn, spooking the rest of the animals. “Children,” the old man stressed, passing his pipe from one end of his mouth to the other, he had been particularly hard on Dmitri, being the elder of the two. He had never been the old man's anger that Petya feared, but his disappointment. “Children.” His voice hoarse and dry, the voice of the forest, “Can you hear that, child?” Old Pavel asked Petya. The boy shook his head. “Listen, the groan of the mighty pine, the chuckle of the branches in the wind. The trees are whispering, I can hear them.”
“What do they speak of?” Petya asked in return, once his courage to speak to the old man had returned and he felt he was of suitable position to do so. “They say; 'Maybe this boy should listen to the wisdom of his elders if he wishes to eat well this winter.'”
A strict teacher, but a beloved one. Petya smiled, briefly forgetting the events that had surrounded him. Then, a sadness filled him, he thought of his mother and his father, he had very little memories of such calibre of his parents.
“Halt!” Dmitri threw a hand up, they all came to a stop. Leadership had fallen upon Dmitri, Petya did not know if the others had simply decided to let Dmitri call the shots or if he had simply taken charge of the situation. Dmitri and his parents were the closest living relatives to old Pavel, at least, supposedly they were, “He's my great-grandfather or great-uncle, or something great.” Dmitri told Petya once when asked. Dmitri was a decent hunter, one of the best in fact; however, he had always been lectured over his lack of maturity and lack of motivation, preferring to drink and gamble with dice. Yet, Dmitri displayed shadows of old Pavel as he led them through the wounded village.
“A voice.” Petya stepped forward. A woman's voice carried on the wind towards them, Petya cast his gaze out towards the mountains and the hills where a figure shifted under the blanket of night. “The creatures?” Dmitri asked, “I don't think so.” They all had were ready to loose arrows if needed, Petya felt much more the soldier than he did the hunter.
“Is that Leonidovich?” A whistle went out that stole their attention, another figure with a flickering light above them signalled to their attentions and headed off towards the figure. “Oksana?” Petya would had laughed, had the occasion been different. 'Oksana the Hunter,' they called her, it was a mocking title that Dmitri had dubbed her with behind her back after he and Juho stumbled across Oksana in the duration of her own private hunt, a half-ruined rabbit that she had attempted to skin at her feet. It had not been her last attempt at proving herself a hunter; time after time she would sneak out on her own or follow their expeditions out, and time after time, the old man would reject her. After a while, Petya began to feel some pity for her.
“Stupid girl,” Dmitri spat, “I bet she followed us.”
“I'll go fetch her and bring her back to the tavern.” Petya volunteered with no resistance from the others. "Dmitri, make sure my brother and niece are amongst the living."
The storm that followed the hunting party back home had came to a halt, with it leaving a waist high level of thick snow that even Petya struggled with. “Pavel, Oskana.” Petya lowered himself beside Oskana, he traced the numerous cuts across her body, losing himself in thought as it was a miracle she had survived both the storm and the darkness. “The old man told us to gather the survivors and head for the tavern,” that word again, survivors, it still felt unreal to say it aloud. “We must not idle here, the darkness may yet return.” Petya slung his bow over his shoulder, offering an outstretched arm to Oskana for support, “I can carry you if need be.”
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