Vsevolod Petrenko (Now with more vodka!(Finished))

[Maxodis]

Name: Vsevolod Petrenko
Age: 34
Birthplace: Closer to Central Mossflower, not more than a few hour's walk from Redwall
Gender: Male
Species: Ferret
Job/Position: Former Army Captain, Moody Drunk, Woodsbeast, Tracker

Physical Description: There is little about Vsevolod that separates him from others of his kind, at least on the surface. He is slightly above average height and built rather lithely. His upper body displays a significantly higher degree of conditioning than the rest of him, though not outlandishly so. While thin, his muscular frame fills out more of his shape. His fur is primarily dark brown, with patches of lighter fur scatted irregularly throughout his body. His fur is thicker than other creatures', enlarging his appearance even further. There's an exhausted glimmer of intelligence in his dark green eyes that cannot be entirely extinguished. Heavy callouses cover the pads of his paws. Although he is well past his best years, he retains an excellent physique. The only indications of his age are slight wrinkles around his brow from a lifetime spent scowling dispassionately.

Belongings:

Besides his clothing, and weapons, Vsevolod keeps a single personal trinket: a small gold ring on a fine silver chain worn around his neck and tucked into his shirt, out of sight. He hides it not as much out of concern of somebeast thinking to take it from him as for the fact that the sight of it, and the memories it inspires, tend to drive him to drink himself unconscious.

For weaponry, Vsevolod favors a time-worn simple longbow. Though it is clearly an old weapon, the worn wood of the weapon exerts such an aura that it's strength is almost palpable. With it, he keeps an equally aged hard leather quiver filled with arrows of his own making. They are slightly longer than normal arrows, each is as straight as a die. They are fletched with black feathers. The quiver is attached to a relatively new leather belt that he fastens around his waist, the quiver hanging at his side along his thigh for easy access and a fluid transition from drawing the arrow from the quiver to aligning it on the bow.

Previously the owner of a strangely-designed cleaver, this weapon was lost on one such long drinking binge, and has since been replaced by a uncharacteristically elaborate shortsword. The mastery in its creation is evident in its design, a sturdy dependable weapon which while beautiful and elegant, is clearly meant for more than just show. From the carefully engraved blade to the gem-set pommel, it is a weapon which certainly looks out of place in the paws of a woodsbeast, much less a drunk, and he keeps it wrapped thickly in a black cloth and strapped to his left leg, out of sight of prying eyes.

Personality:

A ferret by nature, Vsevolod has cunning and deviousness to spare. He is a driven creature, aware of the existence of morals but ignorant of them when they threaten to get in the way of his objective. His father's training has shaped him into a hardened individual, despite his otherwise sympathetic nature. He feels this sympathy, as much as he would wish otherwise, but manages to pretend that the emotion does not exist most of the time. He has been known to take great delight in the art of persuasion, tending to the intricate lines of deceit in careful conversation. He can be very amicable and pleasant, though these sides of him are only present with effort or alcohol.

For the most part, however, Vsevolod is moody. Self-disgust, disappointment from long-failed goals and promises broken, weariness of the state of his existence, all these things contribute to his unsociable temper. He keeps to himself and refuses to suffer the company of another for long. He's a torn man, split by both the ideals he believe in and those he was taught, fighting an endless battle within him that has long since grown irrelevant. He lives by the day, and is unpredictable in that he will do whatever he fancies at the time.

It should be noted that he is unquestionably addicted to alcohol, and though he highly favors the tasteless, completely distilled and relatively hard-to-get spirit of vodka, he will satisfy his addiction with whatever is available. It should also be noted that he keeps a surprising quantity of vodka on him at all times, most stored in small sealed flasks within his coat, but at other times he will carry a large drinking pouch on a sling corded around his neck. He is often seen sipping from one vessel or another on a regular basis.

History:

Vsevolod's story begins with that of his father. His father was born to a prestigious family in a land to the far east, in a place where winter's ferocity is unmatched by any other force known in this world. Out of that cruel climate a great nation rose. The whole of Mossflower would easily fit into the smallest corner of that vast country. A great army was spawned forth from the motherland. Vsevolod's father was one of it's many honored generals. Some unforeseen event gave him reason to flee the great country, to find a place far away from it's reach to settle down into a new life. After many years of travel, Vsevolod's father found himself in Mossflower country. Here, he found a mate and settled down, haunted by the ghosts of his past. They had three sons, who he insisted be named in his native tongue. They were, in order of age, Demyan, Innokenti, and Vsevolod.

Vsevolod's father was a skilled woodsbeast. He claimed he could track any creature that roamed the earth on tracks that were a month old. His statement, though purely fictional, was well founded, As were his boasts on the feats he could achieve with his bow. The old ferret was extremely prideful. He was also a extremely competent tactician, and had many a story to tell his young sons of hard-fought victories and battles fought in the bitter cold.

He taught each of his sons all that he knew, but only one showed an active interest in what there was to learn. His youngest son, at the age of four, demanded to be allowed to take part in the lessons that his older brothers were receiving. After much consideration and an understanding in the fierce determination that burned in Vsevolod's eyes, his father relented, but showed no pity when the young ferret was unable to keep up with his older brothers.

After some time, the father cleared a small plot of land by their small cottage, leaving the area bare of everything save for the rich black soil. He would form small rises and scoop out low valleys, sticking leaves in the ground by their stems to form forests, pouring and damming up quantities of water to form lakes and rivers. He created a respectable battlefield. He carved a great many figures out of wood. Some were ferret archers, others were stoat pikebeasts. Yet more were rat footsoldiers, weasel siege-weapon engineers, among a great many others. Each carved figure would represent a unit. With this, the father taught his sons the art of war. Again, only one son showed promise and an active interest in the strategies. The two older brothers would, when the other was not looking, suddenly shift around the units and cheat, denying at the resulting accusations any sort of foul play. Their wars usually ended up in vicious brotherly fights that would rage loudly until their father, or worse, their mother, would come to separate them. Only Vsevolod would calmly appraise the situation and contemplate his next move. Only the youngest son would wear a blank expression as he took a victory or defeat.

After a time, when Vsevolod had reached the age of 9, his father stopped forcing his older siblings to learn the lessons that their father was trying to teach them. This brooked no argument from the older siblings, after all, who wanted to stand around in a field all day shooting a dumb painted target, or run from sunup to sundown through the wilderness of Mossflower? Now finding himself with plenty of time and an eager student, the father was able to refine Vsevolod's knowledge of his father's teachings until they were almost equals.

Vsevolod's life began to change in the year the turned thirteen. The family had known of the large sandstone building that was once called Redwall. They knew of the current inhabitants and of the way they governed the land they owned. At first, it was no concern of them, as their home lay well beyond the sandstone building's sphere of influence. Something changed, however, and they found themselves under the cruel claw of oppression. A tithe was ordered of the poor family with little more than their home to their name. As an alternative, The oldest brother agreed to go serve in the warlord's army. He was never seen again. Their life continued, untroubled, for four more years.

It was the end of yet another lazy summer day. The sun was hovering on the horizon, it's color becoming a more vibrant red as it sunk. The family were all inside their cottage. The mother was preparing their dinner, the father was whittling at some block of wood. The two sons gazed into the fire with boredom. An air of tranquility hung over the air. The peace was shattered as the modest door was blown inside, it's hinges still attached to the door frame. Before a member of the small family could rise in alarm, they were beset upon by a vengeful hedgehog in armor, wielding an immense battle axe. Vsevolod could only watch in speechless horror as his father's broken and severed corpse was flung from the old chair that he loved so dearly, as his brother was cleaved nearly in two as he collapsed to his knees, pleading for mercy, as his mother flung herself in the way of the crazed beast to protect her youngest son, as she too was cast aside like a broken doll. His legs gave out on him, and Vsevolod fell, trembling so violently that he couldn't even prop himself up on an elbow. He met the eyes of the murderer, his mind in a state of sheer panic. Remarkably, a change occurred in the hedgehog's eyes. Sliding into the edges of hysteria, Vsevolod watched as the hedgehog's eyes began to mirror the fear that was in his own. The great beast fled, leaving as suddenly as he had appeared.

Vsevolod does not remember much of what happened after the brutal slaughter of his family. As far as he can remember, he collected his father's weapons and lit his torn home on fire, leaving a part of himself within it's blood splattered walls to die with his slain family. The only thing from that day that is clear in his mind is the oath he swore on that day.

Vsevolod sought out the place where his older brother had once gone to. He found the building that was called "N'Tashi's Fort", and offered to join the horde. After exhibiting his prowess with his father's bow, he was quickly admitted. He still was put through the rigorous training that all the new recruits were forced to endure, though he was assigned the leader of a small archery unit in respect to his considerable skill.

Years passed. The ferret grew though the ranks to that of captain during his long stay. He gained respect through both fear and competence, allies and enemies alike. Nothing ever seemed stable, there were none truly loyal to him, as he was never truly loyal to anyone but himself. Still, he had grown proud of his accomplishment and ascent to his current place in the world, from having lost everything.

As the events leading to the fall of Fort N'Tashi began to gain momentum, he gave up entirely. Sick of being uncertain of everything, questioning himself, his motives, even the nature of his soul, he indulged a bit too heavily one late evening in his private stash of vodka. He woke up sober a questionable amount of time later, splayed out in a ditch beside a road, carrying what little possessions he cared to keep and a bag heavy with valuable objects looted from the collection of the recently deceased N'Tashi. It didn't take the extremely hungover ferret long to determine that sometime during his inebriation he had decided to leave his life behind him and start anew. Certainly not the best of plans, nor the best executed, but with the assistance of a bit more of the intoxicating liquid, those minor problems faded.

The next year of his life can only be described as a series of nights filled with alcohol, merriment, ignorance, and depravity. While the currency he attained from his stolen items was substantial, it ultimately did not last very long. The ferret found other ways to keep his mind dipped in a perpetual state of inebriation, however. From making bets with other patrons on absurd shots taken from impressive distances at small targets, to participating in drinking contests to deftly persuading others far denser, drunk, and capable of purchasing the relatively costly vodka that he so favored. His days began with stiff doses of alcohol, vodka or otherwise, and often ended shortly after the sun rose the next day. At some point he lost the cleaver in his possession, waking up in a damp alley one evening to find it lost. At another point, he gained possession of his current shortsword, rising from a particularly heavy alcohol-induced slumber to find it loosely held in his paws and covered with drying blood. Neither of these events inspired much concern in the ferret, the significance of both events passed over him completely.

He eventually hit a breaking point one evening, while receiving a lecture on the meaning of life from another patron. The creature was far too inebriated to remember his own name, much less half of the words he intended to use in his lengthy and wayward explanation, but some of them stuck in Vsevolod's mind. Whether it was an actual burst of cognitive theory or simply an alcoholic epiphany on the ferret's part, he stubbornly made the decision to cease his absolute denial of the life he left behind, and with the brilliant planning of one heavily intoxicated, tore himself forcefully away from the world he escaped to and began the week-long trip from the township he had ultimately settled into back to the forests of his youth.

Needless to say, his body did not respond favorably, and at some point nearing the end of his journey, he gave in to his acquired addiction, taking in an impressive amount of the alcohol that he had unsurprisingly brought with him. Thus drunk out of his mind, the ferret staggers onward, far from aware that he has long since made his destination...

Code Words: LEETLE MEN, SANDVICH, MOTHERLAND

[Treble Tiderunner]

Hey, the alcoholic is back.

Accepted. Don't kill me, k Ves?