Vitalie Dragunov - Vānător

[Cursed Ink]

Vitalie Dragunov

[Cursed Ink]

I was born Vasil Dragost Zarovan id Manusa d'Baloka to my mother Ettetania on the outskirts of Invidia and Barovia.

My mother was a wise and virtuous woman.

When I was born she named me for her father, attempted to erase the terrible truth, that I was not fully of the blood, that I would never be privvy to all the truth of our people.

My uncle Sdjajov, her brother, always despised the stranger she had laid with in a moment of loneliness and need. This, in a small way led to a secret even to himself, hatred of me as a I grew, for I had my fathers eyes.

My cousins however did accept me, when we were children, they saw little difference between I and themselves, out games were carefree, without burden or difficult. Until my fifth, or perhaps sixth year of life. Aderres Pogrom began. My life changed forever.

[Cursed Ink]

I remember, a few weeks after the family celebrated the day of my birth, my cousin Hakan came running to the camp. I will never forget his face, we had rarely spoken before, he had little interest in the son of his cousin, and less interest in the half blood pretender to his familys heritage.

His face was like the moon, pale and wide, sweat dripped from his moustache giving it a bright shine, he screamed, green eyes, more jade and emerald then they had ever been. Pupils pin pricks against a circle of verdun.

He had no time to speak, or I simply remember nothing coming from his mouth as the sound of life was overwhelmed with the sound of hooves against soft peaty earth. Red banners few from pikes and a force of horsemen crested the ridge, it was initially, one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

At the head of the force a man, with an angelic face sat atop his steed, "Vistani of Invidia, your days of undue, unearned, and unending influence and protection are over. . ."