ct199

Шᴀшᴋᴀ

^✜

"I cannot forecast to you the action of Russia. It is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma: but perhaps there is a key. That key is Russian national interest." - Winston Churchill, First Lord of the Admiralty, 1939

Dmitry put on a suitably mild smile and assessed the situation in front of him. He knew Annushka was more unsure of her situation than her strong facade was admitting, and the man also knew that her ability to keep up this false but entirely befitting and in no way dishonest facade betrayed a true inner strength that she was only beginning to come to terms with. It was his role in this adventure to protect the fragile and tarnished flower that sat before him, and shelter her through the winter so that she could blossom fully as a full member of their Host. The matters currently before them were but small details in this larger endeavor, and it was his duty to balance the need to fully engage in the moment whilst not losing sight of the bigger picture, but yet, fully engage in the moment he must, and so with this moonlit backdrop in mind he leaned back, took in a deep breath and clapped his hands together suddenly, a boisterous “So!” lightly booming from his chest in suitable concert with the frost and snow which cascaded from his thick leather gloves, “You feel you can improve the food around here?”

“A welcome addition you will be indeed!” Dimitry let back a small chuckle with his jest so as to lighten the mood in the darkened night in hopes of making Annu feel more at ease. “But you do know it is not all fun and games, even with our less adventurous Host, no?”

Annushka’s eyes narrowed, peeking in amusement at his comment, all joyous and cunning at the same time. Dmitry seemed to be up for whatever direction she so chose, ready to to hunt her down and bring her back. “Hopefully you will not grow tired of such domestic things, even though we will ask more of you, and lose your calm, returning to the deep Ukraine like an untrained Mare, no?” As he spoke, the trees were tending to the forest, covering in snow and watching under the trumpets that he reigned. It was difficult not to fall under his influence. This was his territory, a blessing of the Host.

Not minding her surroundings or his previous comment about being a welcome addition (even if she was relieved to be such), she answered in two-fold with one word, “нет,” Annushka spoke, falling deeply embedded in his comment, and she fell more than she ought to have been considering his jesting nature. He had caught her, again, again, and again. There was not much the man could not foresee. The threads of this knowledge were carefully beginning to weave this bit of knowledge to her, and still, she wanted to refuse its offering despite how truthful they were. Her rejection, as internal as it was, planted slothful patterns into the journey by making it ever more tiring in her perspective, already worn from a long days worth of contemplation, “I spit upon the witch,” and with that comment, she feigned the rights of disgrace upon the evil one by motioning her head quickly and falsely spitting to the ashen snow, no longer skirted by her long wardrobe, which was hiked for dramatic banality.

After the gesture was completed, a dark mit tapped her mouth, feeling the warmth of the fabric against her lips, not caring for the childish display to cause calloused discomfort upon her skin. Annushka let the mit rest now in her lap, not making a return to her shashka. Dmitry was disarming her, and it was foolish for her to continue in such a brute manner. A man of his type could read her with no such problems like the men she had grown accustomed to entertaining. He was a livelier man, in more ways than one, and she was thankful his eros could give such an attentive nature to her. Although, the jest still remained inevitable, and allowing him to come to close so early on was always unwise.

Dmitry enjoyed seeing Annushka rebuke his critique of her untamed tendencies in such a rogue and equine manner, and was glad to have her along for the journey, even though the journey was entirely caused by said equine manner. Though in his maturity he often seemed to have foreknowledge of some events by virtue of his experience, this actually was quite often not the case, and in many instances what appeared to be sagely wisdom was simply him applying what he knew of his own untamed and wild nature to the situation. Which is not to say he did not have some insight to Annushka’s state, having many times veered off into the wilderness on rogue journeys in his younger days before marrying his late Evgenia and rising in the ranks of the Zoprozhian.

“Well, it is of no concern. I am sure in no time you will see our journey to be worthwhile, and you will be reconciled fully, both to the past, in the present, and with your more certain and right future.” Dmitry paused to see if his words had a soothing effect.

Having lost herself in a dear childhood memory of her eldest sister’s friend who later joined the convent undertaking Saint Mara as her Patron. It made her wonder who she was truly spitting upon during that Hellenistic moment. She decided to pay this thought no mind, not wanting to hold any sadness of how she longed to embrace her sister once more. Dmitry seemed to pay no mind to her absent mindedness, and his words extended. His tune was strong, and it was for that of a leader to keep the Host in line as his conversation did.

He saw that Annushka said nothing to his response and proceeded with his service, “As you know we will be traveling up the river and will arrive at Trinity Monastery, I’m sure your offerings and prayers will be accepted, and that the calm of the dormitory will bring you much calm, and a much-needed new beginning to this chapter of our tale.” Dimitry paused to study Annushka’s face for signs of softening before resuming. “Some council with the Starets I think will do you well, and though his critique of your deviation may be harsh like the the Siberian winds, cutting through the icy landscape, he will be sure to apply this cold to aid you in keeping your heart warm for the coming months.” Seeing her veiled coldness re-cloak itself in a smattering of fearful joy, he continued “I know you are fearful of this reconciliation, for it means you will face your shame, but fear not, Our God is a Forgiving God, and you seem to me quite like the woman who feels much relief despite herself after the reconciliation is complete. Of course we will be with you in our contrition, many of us facing far worse sins than do you! Do not fear, little Annu, all will be well.”

It seemed unreasonable to Annushka that God should be ever merciful to her. Her mind could not understand how Dmitry could talk so whimsically and surely about something so great and mysterious. Her impression of him never seemed to falter, not since she had met him, “I enjoy your confidence, dearest Misha,” she looked downward at the seat he had yet to take. It was useless to ask, again, and his words were fearsome and bothersome in their comforting style. An impatience no longer wanted to hear his lecture, and for such a reason, her mit re-tucked the lines of her pants into her boot, “How is your confidence with dancing, then. Just as pious?” She feigned to stand her body upwards, next to the large man. He continued towering over her, and yet again she felt the same adoration for him, even if she could not yet show the proper respect.

Despite his general sense of confidence and his strong duty to display leadership at most all times, especially those such as this, Dmitry always felt a little bit unsure of his direction when faced in the presence the glow of such an intense and serious ember as Annushka. And all the more so owing to her most particular and unique ferocity in the world of all embers. It always made him chuckle to himself a bit, or perhaps feel a bit terrified, depending on his level of self confidence or self mockery, that he should be so strong in matters so unimportant, but in things such as these, so utterly without direction. But of course these were things he could never admit publicly, and tried to keep out of his mind, lest he dwell on them too much and unravel the many threads of woolen fabric he had woven together over the many years of harsh winters and terrible struggle. So he quickly placed the question out of mind and and hitched up his Sharovary with his heavy leather gloves, pivoting on one boot with some gusto to plop down dramatically with a sigh on the log about an arshin or so away from Annushka.

“You know, Annuska” Dmitry began with a slightly solemn and caring tone, “I do know it is not as easy as I try to make it sound sometimes. Many times I too face my own uncertainty and yearn to have a clear direction, or the strength to face the clear direction in front of me.” Dmitry peered out into the wilderness, glancing over to ensure Annushka’s attention as he confessed this to her, hoping to provide some assurance both of his assurances and of their true commonality despite their vast difference in years. “Thankfully,” he continued, “God has granted me great responsibilities despite myself which provides me with much motivation when I might not find it otherwise. In my younger years I would have rebelled against such things, but there came a time when I had to seek a different approach, finding strength in the challenges before me.” Dmitry paused, rebuking himself slightly in mind despite the generally good advice, for sounding too pompous and leaderly. It was a hard habit to set aside at times. Suddenly, he tilted slightly to the side and made a jesting face in Annushka’s direction. “Hopefully I listened!” he said, slapping his knees slightly to emphasize the point, and also the jest.

A small smile quipped upon her,“I wonder if your ears ever rest.” Thoughts cast through her head, now that she had more of his attention. It was in vanity, and she wished they had gone to do something else. However, she respected his decision to continue talking instead of dancing and being so merry with the rest. Such was for her ability to ask, “May I ask you something?”

“Of course, indeed I probably talk too much and listen too little”, Dmitry nodded gently, imploring her to continue.

“No, no…” Nushka's smile remained, despite the looming disposition. The man was jolly and light with his humor. His comfort was a Trisagion to her, “Do I mourn too much?” She cast her eyes away, embarrassed, and her fingers shifted towards each other, mitted with fabric.

“Ohh.. poor Annu” he exclaimed softly, yearning with his heart to gently sweep at the frosty hairs peeking out from her hat to comfort her, but stopping himself short as he knew her present fragility and didn’t want to be too familiar with her, lest his touch be misconstrued as somehow inappropriate and therefore damaging. “You care so very much that you chop yourself up with your own guilt.” At a time long ago, Dmitry too had such a butcherly problem, and so he knew it well. It took him much struggle to see and forgive himself his clear and obvious faults and yet also to see the damage the knife of his self criticism was causing, a task which was made all the more difficult by the fact that the knife was initially turned inward out of a desire to protect those whom he used to stab with it. “One can never mourn too much, and yet one must also still live the life one has yet before them. It is a difficult thing to balance on a log such as this. In my dark times, it took me much failing to find my true mourning, but also to let go of it when the time had come. I had to see in my own stubborn way that this particular contrition, while still seeming true, was keeping me trapped in the dark, and so it was still all the more hard to move on, when leaving it behind seemed so foolish and lighthearted by comparison. And so I still must go back there at times to make sure it is still there, should I need it and should my current path prove incorrect, as it still so often seems. Which is not to say contrition is wrong of course - it is the true path. But, if we deny joy we also deny the love of God. Such is the puzzle of our lost way in this world."

Annushka remained silent. His words were helpful and thoughtful, but she had nothing in response. The overtone of the conversation had turned her, and she was unable to say anything. Instead, she sat, staring at her mittens, where light snow had fallen and was suckling on the ruffled fuzz of the fabric.

Dmitry sat quietly with Annu in the cold stillness, the silence somehow made warm by their solitude in the wilderness. The stars twinkled softly in the distance, and the winter spread its comforting but harsh coldness over the scene. After a short time, the sound of the encampment grew impatient with their departure, and Dmitry sensed Annushka’s response would remain silent like the nature of their wider surroundings, for the moment anyway. “Perhaps, my words are too much for the moment,” Dmitry began, brushing the frost from his legs as he stood up. ”You are right! Tonight affords us a chance to escape such solemnity and be merry with the group!” And with one nearly incomprehensible motion, Dmitry unsheathed his shashka, twirled it several times above their heads, and spun himself whirredly in the air, landing in a crouched cossack dance position with hand extended to pull Annushka off of her perch and lead them both in a most comradely and jovial spirit back to the camp.

Шᴀшᴋᴀ

^✜

"I cannot forecast to you the action of Russia. It is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma: but perhaps there is a key. That key is Russian national interest." - Winston Churchill, First Lord of the Admiralty, 1939

All the bustling sound of much bivouac activity echoed through the darkness as the Host flagrantly and boisterously began to make camp. Shuffles of feet against the hard snow and conversations that distracted the minds from their habits turned the melancholy tunes of the a long-winded travel and deadened night into a lively performance of some ancient dance that only the true elect of the Holy Rus could have inherited.

Mishka and Vasily with their large frames, bodies like bears, began to chop wood for the fire, while Andrusha and Bogdasha unloaded the cart in order to prepare the tents. Two large bundles of cloth and wood were carefully unleashed and slid out from between the side rails on each side of the cart, and the large cotton walls were slowly unravelled from around the wooden poles which would form the spine of their nights dwelling. Though custom and propriety would typically dictate a separate arrangement dwelling for Annu and any other females along for the journey, the spartan necessity of this journey’s proceedings and the intense cold dictated they all stay together, despite the unpleasant physical and also perhaps socially unseemly odor of the men, for the heat of the group would do much to insulate them against the cold. Ivan laid out his accoutrements and began chopping vegetables to add to the stew’s pots. which had been unleashed from the wagon of the group. Horses were tethered to nearby trees and amidst the smoke, Dmitri surveyed the horizon. It was long and full of hard earned victories. This land was of the Zeporozhian’s sabers.

Dmitry thought to himself that it was a good place to set camp - the cloudy moonlight afforded a good view from the top of the hill, and the tall, leafy trees (standing straight and strong with snow upon them) nearby offered good cover so that their caravan and group would not be as visible from afar. As it were true that they were technically in their own territory, the Hetman was verily aware that this was still the borderland, and any illusions of safety were only fleeting and guaranteed by the blade of the shashka.

As the form of the palatky which would form the group’s temporary shelter against the cold began to arise from the softly packed snow, Dmitry looked over the landscape with his telescope, traded many years ago in Riga from a curious old man in exchange for the net efforts of a long and arduous quest which shall be revealed at a later date, and in his peering out was relieved that the horizon seemed largely uninhabited and empty. A small cluster of small farmhouses was visible some distance away, with a few more small tenant huts and cleared land scattered about. Anyone hostile to the host inhabiting these dwellings would be hard pressed to muster any attack and more than likely terrified to do so, given the number and strength of size of men in Dmitry’s camp.

Having found satisfaction with the surroundings and breathing calmly knowing that the likelihood of a sudden skirmish was slight tonight, Dmitry turned his attention to the preparations underway for after the day’s long trek, he was eager to being discussing the pending journey with his advisors and enjoy a mug of grog and a hot bowl of stew, and he wanted to ensure that the steps necessary for this to occur were happening at the appropriate pace. Now, with eagerness to set the tone for the nightfall and to ensure that his men did not become too lazy with that passionate demon of sloth or lose sight of the goal, Dimitri began to issue orders in a stern but firm manner, reminding all the men that their duty was to the group, and that even if their task was not called out that a certain pace and rhythm needed to be followed, to ensure that the opulence of the camp was set forth and upright before their hunger and the evening turned too sharp or that a delay of the night might spill over into the next day.

“Mishka! Chop the smaller trees to the north, they will go faster and fuel the fire more quickly! Vasily - bring the wood to bogdasha and begin preparing the fire - the sooner you do, the sooner we all eat! Bogdan! — good work with the tent poles! if you keep up the pace I might loan you my spare fur for the night!” The orders continued sporadically as Dmitry paced and considered the agenda for the evening’s discussion, as well as the taste of the stew he would soon be consuming. He also considered the situation of the young lady who had inspired the particular mission. He knew she was a fierce and adventurous lady, who was happy to help make camp - and who might even be offended if not included in the proceedings, but he also knew that she had had an extremely rough few days after a rough few months of strife and so the time alone would be good for her to gather her strength for the journey ahead.

As men sometimes do in their own different ways, Dmitry could feel remorse for the young lady’s sufferings, despite his opinion of her companion who had found himself at the end of another man’s shashka. By the looks of the scene, the Hetman, having lived so many years in his upbringing as a Cossack could find no surprise in the death of the man’s pale and lifeless skin predictably slain during a Cossack battle. However, it was true that Dmitry was not a cold hearted man and understood that The Zeporozhians were a much tougher group of folk with higher standards and capability (why look at good ole Mishka!). This was not to say that he thought lower of the precious Annyu and all her nuances (or some such), because he would not have allowed her this token opportunity to join the Host if he thought anything less of her. She was of the right stature and frame and wore her determination in the colors of a mitten still holding fast to her shashka. even amongst the merriment of his dearest, most cherished men.

Quietly considering the proceedings of their current journey further to himself, all the while less quietly continuing his role as timepiece to the camp making, Dmitry continued his pacings and considered the topics which required immediate discussion during the evenings meal. Certainly, the plans for the evening defence and for the next days travel should occur. Less certainly would be the talk of their discussions with Ivan Ivanovich, leader of the Donets river Stanitsa of the Host. It was important to have some manner of plan in this matter, but such discussions would better be held in a less conspicuous and more circumspect manner, owing to the sensitivity of the plans and the fact that the most critical Annushka, while seeming sincere in her desire to shift allegiances and join their clan, had still yet to fully prove her her loyalty to her new allegiance in a more meaningful and significant way, and until then, Dmitri was cautious of discussing anything which might compromise the greater struggle with the Raskolovici as, while this particular journey, while relevant, had only a smaller part to play. Of course, also to be discussed would be more mundane manners such as the necessary supplies to obtain from the Torgovetsi, Boris and Elisaveta, the additional details of the next days journey, and so on and so forth. Having tallied a mental list for the evenings proceedings, and his appetite gaining more strength, Dmitry turned his attention to the silhouette of Annushka, who seemed to be meditating on her current predicament whilst perched atop a nearby log. Sensing that it would be best to provide some encouragement and reassurance that her presence was indeed a good thing both for herself and for the entire Host, and that she was making the correct decision in breaking with her recent past and trusting herself to his band of less-than-savory characters, Dmitry began to walk slowly but purposefully in her direction.

“Annushka!” Dmitry called out as he neared the young lady stewing chillledly on her log, “I certainly welcome the clarity of a frozen winter evening but I do not think Marena needs any help tonight in bringing us a chill!” he jested with a laugh as he placed his boot firmly on the other end of Annushka’s makeshift winter-queen throne. Pausing for effect, and taking in a deep but lighthearted breath, he let out a sigh before hitching up his Sharovary and slowly to her left to inquire of her current state and mood. Glancing carefully at her face and posture, for signs of her current temperament Dmitry turned to her and began with a simple but direct question - “So, How are you holding up after the day’s Journey?”

Шᴀшᴋᴀ

With the short hours of the long day fading behind them, and the arrival of the cold night enveloping them with its own peculiar style of blanket, the group trudged northwardly onwards through the wilderness.

The day had been a long one - awakening before dawn to finish their travel preparations, which were many, and to receive a travel blessing from bishop Innokenty before setting off on the long overland trail to the northern Don river fortress.

Under normal circumstances, the group would have simply taken the winding path
around the eastern river crescent, allowing the winter ice to ease their burden and, thereby, more than make up for the longer distance. However, at present, with the scoundrel Zapadkov and his many bands of renegade factions loose in the east such an idea would be, as they say, not the brightest of ideas. Although Dimitri and his closest group of Zaklucheks and their men did not cower from a fight, they also didn't foolishly plunge themselves into one, and, given the current political
situation, this meant taking the more difficult and lesser known overland route due north instead.

The singular aim of the day's activity was to march northwards through the fields as much as was tolerable, stopping to hurriedly prepare camp after dusk and consume a quick evening meal of dried fish and bread before turning in, as the lengthening of today's journey would only serve to shorten the duration of tomorrows, and thereby provide them with more time to rest in the relative warmth and safety of the northern Don Cossack outpost which was the ultimate destination of the first leg of their journey.

The critical factor for Dmitry, at least as concerned his present duty as head organizer of the expedition, was to properly gauge the strength of the company, and to balance this against time so that camp was set none too early and none too late in their journey, and given that the early sunset and late sunrise of the deep winter, he currently estimated this to imply one to two hours of hiking after the sun set over the horizon.

As the last sliver of cold grey indigo winter dusk departed from the edge of the horizon, Dmitri pulled the reigns on his dear Zakluchek and gave a subtle nod and gestured to Michael Michaelovich Sokolov, his chief Starshyna, indicating that it was time to break and prepare the oil taper from the supply wagon. "Ostanovit!," Misha called out lowly, his voice creaking slightly from the silence of the journey and the cold weather, and with a slow and almost imperceptible motion the group lazily lurched to a halt. Dmitri and Michael Michaelovich abruptly dismounted, followed by the rest of the group, those in the wagons climbing down
as well so as to take advantage of the brief respite afforded by the activities of the lamp lighting.

Zakluchek, also being familiar with the evening routine, lowered his long muscular neck to and began to lap gently at the snow, balancing his thirst against his instinctual and animalistic desire for self preservation against the freezing of his extremities. Dmitri observed his breath and manner, gauging his strength against the other horses - as the Equestrian Hetman of the group, it was important Zakluchek be in good strength lest the other beasts also grow tired in following his lead. Zaklucheck snorted slightly, tiring of his snow drink, and raised up his head, glancing slightly at Dmitry as if to reassure him of his suitability and fitness for leadership as he did so.

Reassured by Zakluchek's foalish display of stamina, Dmitry Ivanovich chuckled slightly to himself, and, taking a flask from underneath his overcoat, took a deep draw of water, at a glance surveying their surroundings to his satisfaction. He
looked over the rest of the unit, some of which were retreating slightly to a nearby clump of trees to tend to the sort of natural requirements necessary to a long journey in wilderness but not necessarily to the fitting narration of our present tale.

"Five Minutes!", Dmitry announced out to the group, as Misha finished filling the oil reservoir on the candle-lamp and began to measure a length of wick suitable for the correct estimation of their after-dark travel. Dmitry glanced over at their unexpected guest, Annyuska, who was the primary excuse for the present expedition. Annushka sat patiently with a far off look, expressing neither contentment, nor dissatisfaction. Seeing that Annushka Yuryevna was not so as distracted as miss his words, Dmitri Ivanovich called out "So that you are aware, Annitka, we are stopping to prepare an evening-taper to measure the travel at night, and will be stopping in some two hours to make camp. If you wish to tend to
any personal needs, this would be a good time, since we will not be stopping still to make camp for many vershts yet." Annyushka, deep in thought as concerned the various matters leading to her present circumstances, slowly rotated her well bundled and delicate face towards Dmitri Ivanovich and issued a subtle, almost imperceptibly slight nod accompanied by a nearly as subtle and imperceptibly slight smile of gratitude at the gesture of hospitality displayed by the Hetman to his Guest.

As the time for their departure drew near, Michael Michaelovich returned to the front of the group with the now-prepared oil taper and retrieved the perpetual fire-lamp from the supply wagon. Handing the taper to Dmitri Ivanovich, the two men turned to the east and began their usual prostrations. The rest of the group assembled behind them and began to do the same, preparing to begin the ritual of the lighting of the evening taper that would signify the beginning of the last phase of the days - or, as it were, nights - journey.

Taking a deep breath, and admiring the barely visible beauty of the rapidly darkening winter horizon, Dmitri began the familiar evening ritual. "Through the prayers of our Holy Fathers, lord Jesus Christ our God, have mercy on us and save us, Amen." The prayers, however shortened to suit the earthly necessity of the journey and the late hour, were always a solemn time to strengthen and unify the group before the evening, and it was times like this that he was proud to be Hetman, leading his people to unity under God in the struggle for the magnification of their Rus' Nation. The abbreviated service went quickly, first through the usual prayers, then the short recitation of the memorized psalms and the our father, the lighting of the lamps and finally the commemoration of the saints of the day. Finishing as he began, Dmitry Ivanovich Krepchenko uttered the last familiar phrase before he and the now fully gathered unit crossed themselves, said the final 'Amin', and climbed into place for the final stretch of the day's journey.

The time went quickly, with the reward of the evening meal and rest inspiring the group to a good pace, which was also accelerated despite their weariness by the requisite need to stay warm in the bitter winter cold and wind.. Seeing the oil line in the tapers window approaching the second line, Michael Michaelovich quietly notified his friend and superior that the time was near, and Dmitry began scanning the short length of the visible path for a suitable campground, which was found as the group entered a small clearing very shortly thereafter.

Much as before, Dmitry, with a loud voice commanded the group to stop, only this time with a bit more joy and relief in his voice. As the group compressed lurchingly to a halt behind him, the Hetman began the boisterous call of the old familiar dialog

"Though it is great to travel through the land as bretheren..."

pausing to await the response from the group, which after the long day
was not long in arriving..

"It is better still to sleep separately as Men!"

"And so", he continued slowly, pausing to take a breath for emphasis
and fortitude, "until we lie united with our women in our Fortress..."

The group, having left their prior solitary thoughts and now fully aware of the
present proceedings, paused to take a collective breath of relief, finished the
refrain with a shout and a cheer:

"Make Camp quickly, and let the Eating and the Drinking Begin!"

Шᴀшᴋᴀ

❝_{If it wasn't for the word, what else would we stand upon?}❞
_{- Milos Obilic before the Sultan in the Film *Battle of Kosovo*,
Zdravko Sotra}

_{N A M E}

Dmitry Krepchenko

_{N I C K N A M E / A L I A S / R A N K}

Nickname:
Rank: Hetman of the Zeporozhian Cossack Host

_{P A T R O N S A I N T}

Heiromartyr Demetrius of Thessaloniki

_{G E N D E R}

Male

_{A G E}

61

_{N A T I O N A L I T Y}

Ruthenian

_{C L A N}

Hetman of the
Zaporozhian Cossack Host

_{A P P E A R A N C E}

A tall, portly, and svelte barrel chested man, with the round face and high cheekbones to match, Dmitri Krepchenko was at the same time as fearful as he was welcoming, as cheerful to his friends and peaceful strangers as he was prone to anger at injustice or dishonor.

His steely blue eyes poked out from his pale, rosy face with a vibrant humor - both joyous and wolf like, with thick crows feet tracing the path of the years in his cheeks, still pockmarked lightly from youthful scars and delicately latticed with the frost of tiny blood vessels etched in not least through years of exposure to the elements, but also not most of which being homemade vodka and beer, in addition to the harshly inland winters along the dnieper and the strong northern sun of the long summer days in the fields of golden grain.

His hair glistened slightly from the virility generated by sweat and oil, a dense reddish brown 'chupryna' forelock pulled back into a tied pony tail across his otherwise shaven skull, accompanied by a similarly long and flowing handlebar moustache, in the typical manner of the cossack.

Beyond his superior drapery, modest despite its intricate weaving, his girth and stature indicated his high rank, the successful confidence of his many trials radiating from his person, his ability to maintain some measure of heft despite the hard life showing his favor among those many kind muzhichky who showed him their hospitality, and further still, also belied his fond enjoyment of the many nights by the fire in the wooden Sich eating Kolbasa, Smoked fish and cheese, sharing tales of adventure and lively debate of all things masculine over a warm mug of grog; whether the subject philosophy, ukrainian politics, heroic tales of past cossacks, or lewd and boisterous humor, held always with a tongue firmly in cheek to both dissipate the strong desires of the men and yet protect the virtue of the prized and cherished divichy by self deprecation.

_{P E R S O N A L I T Y / T R A I T S}

At one time, many battles ago, Dimitri's angry temperament and nearly insurmountable desire for all manner of conquest earned him him the adapted surname of Krepchenko, or, 'the mighty', as well as several other less noble titles long forgotten even to his cohort and not dared to be repeated here, if not for their lack of currency to our tale, then at the very least for the possibility that your humble narrator might be narrating in mixed company..

Nonetheless, as the pain of his difficult youth faded away into the more painful bloodshed of many fallen brothers in many long ago battles, the distance of time aided further by his elevation in the ranks of the Zoprozhian Host and of husbandry, this perhaps ill-reputable temper was now tempered into something of a functional character, much like the blade of his Shashka, focused into a strong and crisp blade, sheathed quietly and nearly invisibly beneath his long 'burka' outercoat, yet always nearby and ready, should the honor of the Host and of the Cossack Code need be defended against knowing aggressors.

The detail of Knowledge, so important in the above, was a key part of the honing of his angry blade as he grew into manhood; as he came to train the younger members of the Host, and of his own sons, the cultivation of his gentle, boyish and loving patronal side which was previously hidden under the sort of brittle metal armour so
foreign to Cossack dress became increasingly important to him, most especially as he grew in his true Obedience to his fair bride, Evgenia Ivanova Kovalesky.

But now, even some of these younger memories sadly faded, as his daughters married into leaders of the Host, or to lesser Nobles, his sons sons departed this realm, lost in battle or to illness, and his fair love Evgenia fell away in the cold and near starvation of one particularly harsh winter..

Although he was immeasurably sad for these irreparable losses which he mourned with every available thought, he knew that carrying more loss and sadness was part of the price he paid for his longevity, and for the good of the Host, the losses strengthened him in giving him patience, balance, and foresight to shrewdly and cautiously lead the host in the extremely delicate and dangerous reality that was survival in war-torn lands of the Ukraine.

_{S K I L L S}

Though once the best swordfighter and fighter in the whole of the Zaprozhian Host, and quite possibly Sloboda Ukraine as well, these days his still formidable strength and agility was best kept in reserve, and applied more philosophically in the development of training and skills education of his troops.

Other time spent now, when not mourning the loss of his family and kinsmen, was better spent in deliberate council with his trusted elders, and reviewing tactics and techniques, both hard and soft, so that his ability to lead in battle and in trading and political negotiations with friend and foe alike were always beneficial and just, for both the Host and the Right-Believing Rus nation.

On a less formal level, he was an excellent story teller and listener, always happy to lend an ear or play a game of draughts or gorodki with his Cossack family if time permitted, so as to provide assistance, direct or indirect to his tribe, and perhaps even venture to earn some measure of forgiveness for the many sins and shortgivings incurred in a long and violent life as a soldier in the Host.

Although at one time an excellent Balalaika player, he now gave this up, preferring instead to listen to his younger kinsmen, especially since after the loss of his dear Evgenia, the playing of the old familiar favorites, once performed together for all during the many cold but celebratory festal campfire nights now made him prone to bouts of intolerable loneliness and drunken despair for her loss, which at the very least would be a shameful set of habits for a man of his important rank to cultivate, let alone to even further dishonor her beloved and cherished memory in such a unfitting and ungreatful way.

_{G E A R}

As a Hetman of the Zaprozhian host, Dmitry requires little in the way of gear - but the few items he did posess were treasured as priceless. Of all, the most important of course was his cross necklace, a smoothly warn hand forged affair of simple metal given to him to replace his infant baptismal cross by his Godparents upon becoming a full soldier in the Host.

After this, in keeping with values, which placed god first, family second, and tribe next, was the small locket he kept in his pocket, with a tiny oil portrait and two locks of his dear bride, the first taken on their wedding day, and the last taken mournfully from her at her burial.

Lastly, were the three emblems of his role in the Host - First among these was his Nagaika, the whip given to him in childhood to aid in his equestrian training, the seed of its firmly implated muscle memories later bearing fruit as a young man as he began training with his second possession, the shashka sword. Both of these invaluable items were handed down from his grandfather, in typical cossack style, with his father's nagaika and shashka being given to his son Illya In this way the active and living adult males would be duly armed according to the custom of the Host, with neither being able to break the tradition solely of their own accord. Such was the sense of honor and fidelity entrenched in the blood of the cossacks from an early age.

Lastly of his prized cossack possessions, aside from his horse, zakluchek, meaning the wind gust, was his Kokarda, the metal emblem worn on his fur hat, symbolizing his leadership of the Host, a ukranian trident formed into with a 3 bar cross at the top, its base seated firmly atop an inverted crescent moon, held aright by a lion on the one side, and a cossack on the other.

Certainly there were other items of importance kept for him, including many gifts, honors and trophies from his many years of service to the Host, all kept in his wooden house inside the fortress of the Zaprozhians, but, even counting those listed here, as being a man of strong faith, these earthly items carried their importance not as simply material possessions, but as symbols for the virtues of duty and fidelity to his people and nation that they represented, the right to carry each earned through the grace of God bestowed upon him despite his fallen unworthyness as a result of his years
of struggling for righteousness and the Cossack Way.

_{B I O G R A P H Y}

Dimitry was originally born to a lesser-ranking recently ennobled landed cossack family in the Right Bank Ukraine, scholastically trained in the best schools of the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth, owing to their noble rank, he was also trained in the old cossack ways of his family by his Grandparents, who kept the old ways in the Host and were still near and dear to his parents. His parents, devout and pious orthodox, structuring their whole life as service and prayer to god, ensured he would be birthed with St Dimitry as protector, both as a reference to that great martyr of old, and
also as a prayer to end the terrible reign of the False Dmitris over the Rus people in the dark Time of Troubles when he was born.

As the tensions grew between the commonwealth and moscovy grew, and his parents and elders saw the incursion of the Uniates and polish suppression of the ukranian way which they had tolerated in order to increase their lot as increasingly intolerable, Dimitry, with his parents blessing, joined the Cossack Host, initially fighting as a cossack mercenary for the poles in foreign lands, gaining wealth, rank and prestige within the ranks until the time was right for the full rebellion of the Cossack Ukranian/Ruthenian people against the polish incursion began. It was at this time that Dimitry truly came into his own, rising first as a lesser a junior Uryadnik, with several men under his wing, and later into an Ataman, the highest military rank in the Host.

It was at this time at a remove from the daily fray of the cossack warrior life that he wed his beloved bride, known to him to be god-ordained as his partner immediately from youth on, and tended to the raising of their children. This period was his fondest, with his vitality strong, devoid of it's foolish childishness, his previous military skills in battle developed in their application to leadership and strategy, when he was able to devote himself completely and absolutely to patiently and carefully tending to the intense yet gentle fire of love for his beloved and their children.

Yet as all things must, the time came quickly and suddenly to a close, his sons ready to join the host, they were away at battle with the Ottomans in the south when his bride became too sick in the fierce cold and perished while he was gaining the victories in battle and negotiations which earned him his Cockarda as Hetman of the Host. Though the loss was almost too much to bear at the time, and still haunted sharply him to this day, Dmitri viewed it as a terrible but necessary trial and divine provenance, for as those present when she departed told him, she was peaceful and serene, seeming to know him to be safe through some divine source, the vision of this yet still terrible passing of his beloved giving him strength to endure through the fiercest and toughest times as Hetman, the burden of which he all too well knew would have caused her great and nearly unbearable strain. When he was alone at night, remembering the many times they stood together silent and together and in prayer, he was quite sure he could feel her presence, gently leaning into his bosom to hug him dearly, or leaning over to give him the sweetest and most unexpected angelic kiss on the right cheek, and was assured
and comforted that if he performed his duties righteously and faithfully as Hetman, his journey to her through the trials would be swift, and he would be united as one with her again for all eternity.

It is at this point that we find our Dmitri, Hetman of the Cossack Host, carefully balancing his duties as negotiator, leader, and warrior through a most delicate time, since there was great struggle among the varying Cossack bands for the vision and direction of their land, with many opportunists and competing factions threatening to destroy them from within in a far more terrible and vicious way than could ever be imagined by any external threat.

_{V I E W S}

As a virtuous and balanced man, Dmitri's view of faith, person, and tribe can only be described as that of the ordinary kind, in the wonderfully extraordinary meaning of that Word, however, in other more subtle and murky matters with good opinions less clearly proscribed, he had his own clear and definite views.

A cossack of cossacks, yet of semi noble and nominally left-bank birth, he both had a stormy and fierce propensity towards battling for the valor of the True Ideal, yet also a strong and particular desire and taste for balanced nuance and right compromise. It is here that we find our beloved Krepchenko, having been forced to align himself with the more bloodthirsty cossack hosts against his better intention in order to preserve the Hetmanate and the local Cossack unity, but now, with the moon of that time full and the tides changing ever so slightly, seeking to alter course and forge a greater alliance for the great nation and subdue that base and lesser propensity which had been so recently dominant in the post-war
peace.

_{O T H E R}

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