As The Crow Flies

[Komodo 140]

Kraltan strelts

 

 

Clip clop splash. Clip
clop clip splash. The sound of the horses’ hooves echoed down the dead roadway
as the small company made its way along the King’s Road.  Rain drizzled
onto their heads and down their threadbare cloaks. The day’s travel had been dreary,
as the weather reflected. The rain started as the cloaked figures rode out of
Kralta and had beaten down on them since. At least now the worst of it was
over. This however, didn’t raise their spirits.

Riding at the back of

the company, a gruff voice grumbled complaints.

“Rain, rain, rain… We’ll

all be shriveled beets by time we make it to Bresi. We should have waited in
Kralta for rains to let up. If I had it my way-“

A rough voice spoke up

from the front of the company.

“Ey! Make shut that hole

of yours! We already waited two nights, and his lordship wants able streltsy in
Bresi. I am tired of making wait.”

The first speaker spoke

back up again.

 

“Can we at least stop

for some time? We are almost there, and I would like to dry. Heartlanders will
turn up noses at wet strelts.”

The rider up front

scratched the stubble on his chin, ‘thinking’ before speaking.

“Da, let’s stop. Look,

there is shelter ahead! Looks to be some tavern.”

The party ushered their

mounts off the road and onto the rocky trail leading towards the building. Of
large proportions, the structure appeared to be some sort of tavern.  It
stood upon a hill, ominously looking over the road. Despite its age, the inn
displayed signs of Raevish architecture. The streltsy cobbled their horses in
the yard and the first rider ordered a man to stay under the awning and keep
watch. The strelts filed in behind the rider as he slowly creaked open the
tavern door, letting the light pulse in the dusty common room.

The tavern was clearly abandoned.

Mugs and bowls littered the tables, as a thick layer cloaked it like freshly
fallen snow.  No log sat in its fireplace and no kegs were tapped. The
leader of the party rubbed the back of his head, taking in what he saw.

“Search the other rooms,

and see we are only ones here, da.” He crowed. “Make it quick”

The other strelts

searched the inn to find it empty as expected. Upon hearing so, they retrieved
logs from outside the back door and set the tavern’s hearth alight.

“Vassily,” asked one of

the four brothers travelling with the party. “What is this place?”

Vassily, the ‘first

rider’ and company’s leader, grunted.

“Is Rat and Crow Tavern.

This is where Carrion and his streltsy stayed when they landed in new land.
This is old building, a legend in folk tales.”

The men warmed

themselves by the fire as they thought about the voices that had echoed through
these halls, of all the strelts and other Raevirs that had come before them.
 Despite the fire, a chill ran through the room.

Pious Borik, most holy

of the strelts and a priest of God, spoke up.

“You have been quiet

most of today’s ride Vassily. Is there some trouble?”

Vassily looked up with

something of a start. The Raevirs are a cold, pessimistic people. They do not
trust or open up to strangers easily. Though, they are steadfastly loyal to
their friends and family. There is perhaps no greater bond of comraderie than
between two strelts.

“Niet, no trouble” replied

Vassily.

“Vassily,” pressed

Borik, “Out with it”

The strelt sighed.

 

“Bresi is far away. I did not want to leave Kralta. My home is at Crowsfield.
We must follow lordship, da, but…”

The serf shook his head.

 

“Streltsy are scattered and mismatched. There will be no place for us in Bresi.
Heartlanders will see to that.”

Borik stared into the

fire, tapping his stave. After a time, he spoke. “Streltsy must gather. We
cannot lose Raevir ways and custom to Heartlanders in Bresi.”

The life worn man that

is Vassily nodded in reply. “Da. This is true,”

He looked around the

room, at the dour faces of the men around him. Borik, the holyman. Bjork, a
steadfast mob-strelt. The Krawfyod brothers, all of them strong soldiers and
hard workers.  All are strelts, members of the great mob that is Kralta.
Though, the mob was dwindling, its numbers fading each and every day. He could
not allow this.

“My friends. Brat’ya. We

are streltsy of Kralta.”

After looking a moment

around the tavern common room, he addressed them once more.

“We will rally our

strelts to this tavern. Spread word. We will meet at the Rat and Crow. From
here we will set our camp as the rest journey to Bresi. Once we all reach
Bresi, there shall be a gathering. I will have all Raevirfolk meet and decide
our fate in our Emperor’s city. And if I have it my way, we will not break. I
will not have our people scatter across Bresi.”

Vassily tapped his chin,

put the rusty gears in his head to work.

“Steelwall, he is no

Raevir, though he is strelt. Well trusted by us Kraltans. He offered me a place
above his smithy. Said it was roomy, enough for several men. We could build poorhouse
there, some gathering spot for city-strelts. And as for this matter of us
migrating to Bresi…”

He stood up from his

seat, a bold look in his face.

“I will speak to our

lordship on this. He will understand.”

The other strelts

widened their eyes at such a blatant declaration to make demands to their lord.

“Da, we will make for

Bresi at morning.  Except for Borik and Bjork. You two and Roderick
Krawfyod will go back and gather our brat’ya at Kralta. Bjork, I expect you to
get them Black™ and White™.  Borik will get them settled. Fit them into
rooms, in halls, on cots and tables. Make space in this tavern. Plant wheat in
fields by here. Once we are gathered, we will hold council, like sovetski of
old.”

Borik furrowed his brow

at this point.

“Vassily, you said

sovetski. Those were the guilds of Old Raev. The city-strelts, the sovets
united in them to protect themselves from city boyars. You do ne’mean to go
against his lordship do you?”

“Niet, I mean to protect

us from Heartlanders. We will keep strelt interests safeguarded.”

Vassily removed a flask

from his travelling pack and raised it high above his head.

“Sovets, here is to Lord

Carrion. Here is to Kralta. Here is to Mother Raev! Glory to our Sovet!”

The strelts, the sovets,

echoed his cheer,

“GLORY TO SOVET!”

OOC: Now on to the matter at hand. As is the typical Raevir fashion, I shall be straight to the point. As strelt activity has declined in Kralta as of late, it has been the wish that all Raevirs/Ruskans make the move from Kralta and/or other regions to Abresi for a more centralized roleplay experience. Our first goal however, is to gather our numbers at the Rat and Crown Tavern on the road to the capital. We are working on plans for where the strelts, or sovets as city-strelts are called, will be living in the city. Already, Lark has generously granted us the flat above his smithy to be used as a private tavern for Raevirs only. If you play a Raevir or are interested in playing one, then I recommend you contact Borik, or Vassily, aka myself, aka (Komodo445). Here you can get in contact with the Abresi Sovetski. I encourage all strelts to make posts here every so often. I will be keeping track of how many strelts we have as apart of the Sovetski, and we shall hold an official meeting in Abresi or in the Rat and Crow in the near future once I deem our numbers large enough to progress to stage two, the move to Abresi. This will likely be a forum based meeting unless all strelts can log on at a single time. Look out for future posts regarding the Abresi strelts and the Sovetski. Until later, God over you.

 

[seannie 7443]

Ivan Ruthern hearing of the news, claps his hands eagerly for once and says out loud to the Raevirs around him, "Finally a man who is doing something I couldn't do! Maybe I can make use of longships with these Raevirs, for I have too many of them."

 

Ivan then makes a man write a letter to the man in charge of the Raevir population in Abresi, stating; "All Raevirs are welcome on the Ruthern islands if they wish, where I have many ships for using in training young Raevirs. Although I do not know what my younger brother shall think of it, for he is now the sole leader of the islands."

 

The letter is stamped with the Ruther Crest in wax.

[Komodo 140]

Vassily puzzles over the letter. After squinting for some time trying to make our the letters, he turns to Borik. 

 

"Eh, I cannot read. Borik, you learned to read from God's holy books, can you make out this?"

 

The strelt holyman looks over the letter a few times, seemingly comprehending it with greater understanding. He reads it aloud to Vassily. The field-strelt grunts and nods. 

 

"Da. This is generous offer that Ruthern sends. Though not what we want. Sea-strelt isles are further even than Bresi. Pen him letter thanking Lord Ruthern but declining."

 

A crow flies from the Crow Club, carrying the response.

[Lark 2227]

Lark finishes installing his Never-Empty Kegs™ in the Crow Club with a grin.

 

"Blessed by Godanistan 'imself. These will keep everyone 'appy fe' a long toime."

[bungo 3965]

Vladislavistan stuffs his face with rock-hard muffins baked by Joferik.

 

[Komodo 140]

Vassily nods to the young boy, offering him more rock-muffins. He confirms that this is indeed young Vlad.

 

            

((Vlad.                             Vlad))

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.