Author Topic: The Forgettable Tale of a Barovian Stray - Andrei Reznik  (Read 866 times)

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The Forgettable Tale of a Barovian Stray - Andrei Reznik
« on: November 18, 2018, 02:16:01 PM »
"A Fork in the Road"

 Vallaki, Barovia  - 773 Barovian Calendar


He held his head low as the rain pelted relentlessly upon his cloak, the grey cobblestones of Vallaki composing the monochromatic blur he absently stared at with unfocused eyes.  The last week had been a blur of uncertainty, chaos, fear, and anger.  He'd been beaten, bruised, run tired, and tested.  Even now, in one of his first true moments of solitude and reflection, he found himself unable to tear his mind away from the events of the past few days.  He closed his eyes, allowing the cold rain to wash over him as he tried to still his mind. 

Just as his breathing slowed, and serenity threatened to bring him just a moment of peace, he saw them again in his mind.  A shadowy man, a large, fearsome rat with a wide twisted maw.  Mitrea's piercing shout over the din of the fray, calling out to shake him from his stupor.

"Get inside, now!"

And just like that, fear washed back over him, threatening to dominate his thoughts.  His chest grew tight, his heart was racing - accented by a rhythmic thump in his ears, backed by the soft rushing of blood.  He recalled the splatters of gore that painted the cobblestones near the guardhouse.  The severed head's lifeless eyes and limp jaw, as if the body's spirit was calling out to him from beyond the grave, lamenting it's final painful moments in a silent scream.  He wondered, only long after the battle had subsided, who the man was.  Would I too, end up little more than a macabre decoration used as a cheap fear tactic for the nightly siege of the city?  A million grim thoughts filled his mind, he was drowning.

He suddenly noticed his hands for the first time, shaking, clenched, white-knuckled, numb.  He forced a long exhale of breath and leaned limply against the stone wall, resting his head against it's cold, wet surface.  He slid down to a sitting position, dirtying his cloak and uniform, his backside coming to rest in a small rain puddle that had formed on the side of the path.  He buried his face into his soaked hands and let loose, a wave of emotion pouring out of him.  He sat there, sobbing like a child in a mix of rage and fear.  He remembered the others looking at him like there was something wrong with him.  He remembered the guiding hand of Ernesca trying to lead him away, like some shepherd guiding a goat back to its pen.  He remembered Nistor's condescending offer to train him.  The other recruits trying to order him around like some kind of boy

Just as his heart filled again with fire, he was interrupted - a young boy in ragged clothing, no older than 10, stood there watching him.  He'd come across his quiet place, a back alley near Strada Moarte where people seldom walked, especially during a storm.  Though the child seemed concerned, he had a familiar look in his eyes.  One Andrei knew all too well.  He quickly shut down his display of weakness, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes and finding his feet.  His uniform was dirty and soaked, his features ragged, and his hair unfixed.  The child tentatively spoke to him.

"Domn garda-  are you.... are you alright?  Why are you-"

He interrupted the child, his voice low and honeyed, he leaned in and spoke with a practiced demeanor refined through years of survival on these very same streets.

"Now, now, my boy.  Not all questions have worthwhile answers.  But, I could tell you, in trade for something.  Say, in trade you tell me where you got that thing you're trying to hide from me, eh?"

He pointed to the boy's left pocket, which was only partially hidden behind one of the child's hands.  He'd been resting his hand on the pocket, favoring it, and it had given him away.  He looked up at the uniformed garda in shock, fear filling his young eyes.  Andrei spoke to him again, the merciless sneer of a man who knew he was holding all the cards forming readily on his face.

"That's what I figured.  But you don't have to worry about me asking you about that, do you?  Because you and I, we never met.  I was never here.  Run along now, child.  We both have work to do."

The boy stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, then nodded and ran away as if not wanting to wait for the garda to change his mind.  Andrei fixed his clothing up as much as he could, adjusted the sword scabbard on his hip, and left the alleyway at a businesslike stride.  Lightning lit up the sky, accompanied by the roar of thunder as the downpour picked up strength.  The rain washed away the dampness around his eyes, mixing water with dirt as it ran down his face in a discolored streak.  He continued on, filled anew with purpose, a look of relentless determination on his handsome features.  He'd come too far to fail, this time.  There was no turning back. 

The heavy rhythmic thump of his boots on the grey stone cobble became the only noise to his ears.  The rain, the passer-by, the ox pulling the cart down the road, hopeful trader perched atop - it all faded away.  The world was grey around him, distant.  He was resolute in focus, clear in purpose.  He walked back toward the looming Citadel in the center of the city with a burning in his heart.

He knew they'd see him soon enough.  But they'd be too slow off the start, too heavy to swim in the deepening water they all found themselves in.  Mitrea knew.  She'd seen right into his soul, she knew who he was more than any of the others.  The thought had scared him, before.  He felt like the emaciated predator, entering the hunting grounds of another wolf in search of a meal.  A spider, crawling greedily after the fly in a web he had not built.  But yet, he could't turn back or look away.  He was drawn to press on, compelled to continue to play the game he'd found himself so entangled to. 

He wasn't sure of much, anymore.  Who he was.  Where it was all going.  How it would end.  This new feeling of freefall was both intoxicating and terrifying in equal measure.  He knew only that he would not relinquish his seat at the table.  As the next hand was dealt, he intended to play.  And play, he would.  Until he'd laid down every last card.

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Re: The Forgettable Tale of a Barovian Stray - Andrei Reznik
« Reply #1 on: November 25, 2018, 05:03:57 PM »
"Two Corpses in One Grave"

He sat there in the ornate cathedral of the Ezrite faith, eyes blankly staring ahead as the voice boomed from the front of the room.  The words washed over and around him, but he was a million miles away.  Another place, another time.  His mind worked like a clock, hands spinning quickly out of control.

He was on the western wall, darkness heavy around him.  He was looking up to the mighty beast before him - a rat with a wide and twisted maw.  Spittle flew from the creature's mouth as it let out a shrill shriek, but it made no sound.  The entire display was vivid.  Each detail exactly as he'd experienced it the first time.  He could feel the tightness in his chest, the fear threatening to overtake him.  He felt his blade gripped tightly in his hand, his shield moving to meet his opponent.  But still, the sounds of the world were muted. 

He blinked once and it was gone.  He was leaned up against the grey stone wall, his breath hanging in his chest.  He felt a great nauseousness, and his gut began to clutch and spasm.  He doubled over against his will and felt the acidic sting of vomit push it's way up his throat, out of his mouth to stain the ground in front of him.  He coughed, fighting for the breath that had abandoned him.  As he screwed his eyes shut, gasping for breath, he was suddenly back in the cathedral.  The familiar voice of the Warden Barbarigo again filling his ears as calm returned to his mind.  He nodded along with the message being spoken, fixing an understanding look on his face.  In that moment, he was ashamed.  Worried that they could see the weakness within him.

"The Legions of the Night fell before us, one by one...."

This man, holy as he was, had faced the same things as him.  Andrei wondered if he too had dreams about it.  If he was haunted by the screams of men who were not prepared to die.  If he tried to run, but his legs were heavy and weak.  If he awoke each morning, muscles tense and brow sweating, unsure of where he was.  Probably not.  No, his Ezra would never allow her flock to suffer so.  This man had something he did not.  This man was the cobblestone road to Andrei's rocky forest path.  He represented everything that he detested, yet still, he could not find hate for the man.  He'd helped Teresca in her own struggle.  He was kind and put others before himself.  Foolish, but admirable.  A weakness - but one they were beginning to share.  How could he condemn this man for his heart, when he too had a flaw in the armor that kept him whole?

"...take a moment to gaze upon those present at your side this very moment..."

He looked over at Teresca, his face taking on some practiced look by force of habit, something to not give away the feeling of dread stirring withing him.  It was like he'd felt the noose placed around his neck, and savored the sweet taste of his last few breaths.  It was as if any moment now the ground would drop from beneath him and he would feel a brief sensation of air rushing past him before the darkness lurched upwards to meet him in the air.

"You're dangerous, Andrei Reznik..."

He couldn't shake the soothing siren song from his mind.  He recalled seeing her standing there, as the ground buckled beneath the weight of the massive black bat that had come crashing to the city street.  He recalled the feeling of the hair on his neck standing up, as they searched that dusty basement.  They were, the two of them, chained to this fate.  They made each other stronger, but just as the scarred priest Audric had said - strength only allows you to take part in the more deadly battles.  As you grow, so do the enemies that come to face you.  And the two of them, intertwined as they were, were very strong indeed.  The greatest of foes would rise up to meet them, to stop them, to tear them apart and make them weak again.

In that moment, when he should have felt worry, he did not.  For the first time in days he simply relaxed, enjoying a moment of blissful solitude in that crowded room.  He sat there, aside his greatest weakness and his sturdiest shield.  His poison and his cure.  In the end, when his life was bleeding out from him, perhaps he would look back on this moment and regret it.  Perhaps he would curse himself for allowing such a thing to grow, to take root in his heart and mind.  To distract his gaze, if only for a second, from his goal.

But not today, for today he would revel in the feeling of strength and security that it brought him.  A great beast with two heads.  A team unified in purpose and plan.  Two wings of a creature that would soar high above this city, looking down on all those plotting beneath them in their dark, secluded refuges.  And woe to those who catch the eye of the beast, for it strikes without error.  Death to those who covet the crown, for it is guarded.  And let there be no mercy for those who betray, for a second chance is not something freely given.

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Re: The Forgettable Tale of a Barovian Stray - Andrei Reznik
« Reply #2 on: December 20, 2018, 06:13:54 PM »
"Opening Moves"

"Mercy!!"

The woman's cry came out as if it were a million miles away.  It was a muffled, muted thing, like a whisper from the darkness of a dream.  As Andrei stood near the prisoner, his entire world shrunk down to a few feet around the condemned dwarf.  He was there, and so was she.  His reflection, his fascination, his obsession.  Between them, a wedge.  A wickedly barbed arrow that would have to be cut and pulled through, for the healing to begin. 

As the wide and wary eyes of the onlookers focused upon them, things felt much different from before.  Was it fear of a similar fate that kept their hands bound in that moment?  That reduced the voices that would normally cry out in direct defiance to a whisper of dissent?  Or were they simply waiting for his back to be turned before trying to plunge a knife into it?  Only time would reveal the secrets he sought, but that single moment of hope was all it took to renew his iron resolve for his task.  That tiny, fleeting feeling of control was all it took.  It was an absolute and pure feeling of intoxication.  It was a few crumbs of bread for a withered and starving man.  A scrap of bloody meat, to the emaciated wolf within him. 

His eyes watched the crowd vigilantly as the sword came down upon the dwarf's neck.  Though he didn't dare shift his eyes away to see, he knew the cut had been clean by the all too familiar squish of flesh and muscle parting at the command of a steel blade.  The sound of the dwarf's severed head thudding softly to the grass moments after filled his ears, and in that short moment, a fire was kindled with him.  First Blood had been drawn - a single point scored against the eternal foe he knew he'd now contend with for as long as he wore the colors of the Burgomaster Ionelus.

And just as the man who is struck in a duel raises his own blade to strike back, so to would this new foe.  The greatest swordsmen he had ever known were not the ones who could trade the most blows with the enemy and survive, no.  They were those with the foresight, the cunning, the willingness to end a fight before it ever had a chance to begin.  To do whatever it took to win - because there was no cause more noble than victory.  No faith stronger than the faith that a man could place within himself.

Hours later, he sat within the ornate shelter of the Refuge.  The cool air within was very still, the holiness of the place almost palpable in the room.  The man on the other side of the curtain spoke to him in a quiet, private tone, saying the words he had so long waited to hear.  A slow, mirthful smile crept across his features for only a brief moment.


State your sins, Andrei Reznik...
« Last Edit: December 20, 2018, 06:18:28 PM by Legion XXI »