Vsevolod Petrenko

[Maxodis]

Your character's full name: Vsevolod Petrenko
Age: 33
Species: Ferret
Gender: Male
Appearance:

Vsevolod is of average height and build. His torso and upper-body is significantly more defined than the rest of his body, due to the daily training rituals that he has practiced for as long as he can remember. His fur is a dark brown and is unusually thick, even when he is in his summer coat. The pads on his paws are heavily calloused. He has a thin line branded on his left arm, beginning at his wrist and running up to his shoulder. His face is eternally set in a grim scowl.

He wears a simple, unadorned, black sleeveless shirt and thick woodlands pants, patches of it are a dusky brown, other sections of it are a deep emerald color. The pants are tucked firmly into his pair of hardened leather boots. The boots are cracked with age. He often wears a dense long-sleeved coat of a dark tanned color. It has a few pouches that contain several small tools.

Belongings:

Besides his clothing, and weapons, Vsevolod keeps no personal effects. For weaponry, Vsevolod has 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 over his back.

He also carries a curious cleaver-like weapon. It's blade is short, only about a foot long, though it compensates for this with it's width. Like most cleavers, the bladed side is straight, the edge shallow. The other edge of the weapon, unlike most cleavers, is serrated, the edge in an unusual wavy pattern. He keeps it in a leather sheath that is looped to a belt that he wears about his waist.

Job or Position:

Horde Captain, Strategist, Tracker

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 made him cruel and hard, he feel little sympathy. The faintest spark of insanity glimmers in his eyes and pervades his thinking. His methods are brutal in their simple efficiency. He does not trust others, nor does he gain many creature's trust. He can be highly unpredictable.

History and Background Information:

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 have passed. Vsevolod is now a ranked horde captain. No other beast in the horde is as skilled as he with his bow, though others have come close. He is not a social beast, and carries out his orders with a quick and brutal efficiency. He has proven himself to be highly competent with the tactical nature of war, and has been deemed one of N'Tashi's personal tacticians.

Though he tries to hide it, it is apparent that he is driven by an ulterior motive, perhaps that oath of blood that he swore so long ago.

Any other details:

Preforms a rigorous two-hour-long exercise routine every morning and can often be seen on the ramparts, alone to his thoughts.

Though his speech does not carry any sort of unusual dialect, he has a slight accent that causes his words to adopt a peculiar rolling sound to them.

Code Words: -correct-

[Treble Tiderunner]

Accepted.