The Accident; The Fight

[Melpomenne 1552]

Spoiler

 

I do not own ANY of the artwork.

The original artists are credited.

 

 

 

 

---

 

 

[Yuri Hill]

 

 

This is NOT PUBLIC knowledge.

Please refrain from metagaming.

 

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THE ACCIDENT

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Nothing could draw Mischa away from the thick, northern woodlands. Not her mother’s words, her mentors, nor the blood of men painting the forest paths. Recent months had been hard on the young woman. All she wished for was a moment of peace, and she found her solace beside the lake of Old Dobrov, so there she went. Vladrik was waiting there, her dearest friend.

 

He looked different under the black sky; Vladrik was trembling, eyes throbbing with something primal. Her brave Vladrik, afraid? She came to him, wanting to give the comfort of company. 

 

“Vlad,” she spoke, lowering her lantern. She was answered, but it was not his voice she heard. An eerily delicate whisper that sounded all too dreadfully familiar, a voice that made her tremble too.

 

 “The traitor should have never come back.”

 

It was as if she was behind her. Predator to prey. The lantern fell from Mischa’s hand, crashing to the ground. A cold, heartless breeze pierced her pale skin, parting the leaves above and killing any flames the lantern would have spread. The shadows of the branches grew like sable tendrils and nature‘s songs were hushed. 

 

Vladrik pulled Mischa deeper into the woods, across the Dobrovi lake to join two others. Gaunt men perched on the hill, like gargoyles in highborn clothes. There was a regal air about these strangers, yet they looked like they belonged in this dirty, forgotten place. There they stood, silent, waiting for something. Mischa cowered within Vladrik’s tight embrace. With every crack of a branch, every rustle of a leaf, Mischa shook more — sinking deeper into his arms, as if she could escape through a door in his heart. The unnatural cold bit away at any remnants of hope that lingered within the usually sprightly girl.

 

She knew.

 

The tree line ahead of the group rustles and heavy steps strike the earth, growing louder and louder. Then there was nothing. No crunching leaves, no whipping branches. A shadow crept overhead. There was nothing to be done when Mischa felt something wrap around her stomach. No one saw it at first, the gnarled branch-like fingers squeezing the life from her. 

 

Vladrik was the first to notice, but the young man’s strength couldn’t compare to what had taken hold of her. She was lifted with ease, the Forest Spirit bringing Mischa high into the air. The Lesanov could not fight, would that she could, its grip only tightened. Mischa understood what she had done. Mischa understood why she was upset with her. 

 

This is my fault. I deserve this.

I should have listened.

 

Bones began to snap. It grew hard to breathe.

Below, the men tried to convince the being for mercy.

──────────────

 

VLADRIK

The young man saw the beast pull his friend from his fingers. He felt weak, hopeless, but he fought and fought. Vladrik pleaded.

 

“Nie! Nie. . please!”

“Vy can have eam, please!” . . . “Please! Take EAM!”

 

“Ea'll get vyr children!” 

He howled, tears streaming down his cold cheeks.

“I swear it!”

──────────────

 

KAZIMIR

One of the men on the hill, and an acquaintance of Mischa. He was shaken as he watched. The panic that overcame him drove him to speak, to say anything.

 

“Th-This girl speaks of the ‘Forest Mother’ . . . highly!”  

Rapid words fell from the Raev, petrified mere seconds before, but fear was a mighty thing. 

 

“If there are any who have trespassed against thee or your lands, t'is us. Her presence could only have been to warn against our stupidity, to turn us away.” 

 

“She aids you greatly, does she not!?” 

He asked, sharing a swift glance with Vladrik.

 

“Tools b-blunt, but one can sharpen an axe anew. . .” 

 

“It seems little sense t-to simply toss away w-what has taken so long to make. . .” 

Kazimir’s teeth chatter. 

 

“Vladrik offers himself to y-your roster, just as the girl h-has. . . As do I.”

 

“Your influence s-swelled already — greater your power and reach can be!” 

At the end of his attempt at reason, Kazimir’s breath struggled to catch up.

──────────────

 

AVRAM

Opposed to the other two, Avram took the offensive. He readied his arm with sorcery unknown, fog seeps from his fingers — a mist the beast was familiar with. Avram whispered a phrase only heard by the Forest Spirit, and the Forest Spirit returned a whisper.

 

“Is that so?”
“Do not be rash, Carrion bastard, it will not end well for you.”

 

“W. . . Wouldn't it anyway?” 

He said back at the beast, even after his one strike had fallen apart. 

“You tell me one thing, then another. . .  I see you for what you are.”

 

“Close enough, Barrow.” 

_____________________________________________

 

The beast did not give him the reply he wanted. It continued to drain the life from the woman, Mischa now limp within its grasp. Blood seeped from her eyes, nose, and mouth. Vladrik couldn’t hold himself any longer, he had to do something. His aurum dagger hissed free of its sheath as he ran forth, swinging at the being’s form. His efforts proved futile as his dagger bounced off the bark with little to show for it. Vladrik then discarded the dagger, opting for the hanging axe on his back, slipping it free and raising it high. He swings, trying to hook the arm that possessed Mischa. The towering beast raised its arm beyond Vladrik’s reach, pulling Mischa away. Its other hand went to swat him away like a fly, enough strength to launch the poor boy into the lake.

 

It released Mischa, her shattered frame falling from a nauseating height, and her landing heralded by the cracks of the few bones that had remained intact. The woman was still, skin grey, nearly transparent. The outline of her bones was prominent beneath her flesh. Little life remained within. With the little strength she had, her arm reached out and called a single name.

“Vl-. . ad.”

 

“Alive, are you?” The Forest Spirit hissed. The creature drew forth, pressing a foot of clawed branches down on her waist until a snap brought her to silence.

 

From the lake’s bend, Vladrik staggered back. The crumbled armour was heavy on his ruined leg, so he crawled. The moment he caught sight of what was left of his dear Mischa, anguished screams of pain poured out as he dragged himself closer.

 

“Get out of the way!” Vladrik said, stopping at Mischa’s side. The squire sobs, pleading, “P-Please Mischa. . . Mischa.

 

Oh, mea Godan! Why was she here!”

 

“We . . . cannot leave her here,” murmured Avram.  “I'll use her if she remains.” His words struck a chord with Vladrik.  “Don't touch her!” He moved to lift the body, crying the longer he looked at her; how delicate she looked with her head dangling off his elbow. “What am ea gonna do!”

_____________________________________________

 

By the grace of something, Mischa endured. Avram and Kazimir carried the injured pair back home, leaving them to rest. For the weeks to come, Mischa remained in Vladrik’s care, who helped the nurses however he could.

 

It pained Mischa to move, to breathe. Walking was now impossible. There was nothing left for her. Vladrik tried his best to grant Mischa some hope and happiness, and for a time it worked. Mischa asked a nurse to aid in writing a letter and sent it off.

 

 

---

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

I do not own ANY of the artwork.

The original artists are credited.

 

 

_____________________________________________

 

[William Adolphe Bouguereaul]

 

 

This is NOT PUBLIC knowledge.

Please refrain from metagaming.

 

______________________________________________

 

THE FIGHT

 

---

 

Exactly one month after the accident, Mischa found herself laying beside Vladrik in his quarters; he was sound asleep. Every wheezy gasp aligned with the ticks of the clock on a shelf opposite the bed.

 

 Tick. . .

“Breath in”  

Tock. .

“Breath out”

 Tick. . .

“Breath in.”

Tock. .

“Breath out”

 Tick. . .

“Breath in.”

Tock. .

“Breath out”

 

That last breath ended with coughs apt to tear one’s chest in two. Vladrik moved, rolling over. It had not woken him. Mischa pushed herself up by her bruised elbows, carefully peeling off the satin sheets. A seat fit with wheels sat beside the bed. Mischa snuck away, seeking solitude. She aimlessly wandered the long halls of Jerovitz.

 

“Lady Lesanov! Lady Lesanov!”

 

Mischa turned her cheek, offering a small smile at the handmaiden.

 

“Vy should really stay in bed,” the nurse urged, shaking her head as she took a hold of the chair’s handles. Mischa lowered her head, nodding as she quietly tapped a sickly finger upon the armrest. 

 

“I know,” she whispered in return. “I jus’ needed some air, Miss Theodosya”

 

“Very well, then.”

 

Mischa did not speak as the nurse wheeled her through the corridor, past a lavishly decorated living room, and out the doors. “The garden, Lady Lesanov.”

 

She spent hours well into the night seated against a maple tree, watching the horizon lined by the moon’s pale shine. Everything is so quiet, she thought. Birds flew from one branch to another as bears roamed the grasses beneath. A painting. Mischa wanted nothing more than peace. She didn’t want to feel pain or to depend on a rickety chair. She wanted to fly, so she opened an old book and read.

 

The encroaching trot of hooves striking gravel grew louder, disturbing the little painting in her head. A knight, Vladrik’s father, a merchant. Mischa thought of who the unwanted visitor could be, and whom to call to be rid of them. Only to her surprise, she was happy.

 

“Mischa,” Nikolas called, a slow approach. She shied a small smile, but the prince did not return the gesture. Instead, his rigid face softened. Nikolas brought himself before the injured girl with a sack at his side. He had asked what happened, she replied with a short: “It was an accident.”  — “A mistake. . . she didn' mean it, I know. She was jus' mad.” Nikolas was quick to understand and quick to change the subject. The two were close, often found leaning on each other during trying times, and it was Mischa’s turn to be held.

 

Nikolas offered gift upon gift, seeking to help the girl the only way he knew. He then sat, and they spoke. For the first time in an entire month, she wasn’t seen as someone who needed more tea or bandaids, or someone who was better off in bed, or someone who shouldn’t be out smoking in the night. He saw her as her; Mischa, his friend. And she couldn’t have been happier. Silence filled the cold morning air as the two enjoyed a rosemary cigarette.

 

“Mischa, come back to bed?”

 

It was Vladrik, bearing  a pensive glare smeared in disappointment, nailed against the two as they smoked. Nikolas and Mischa were quick to flick their cigarettes into the grass; Nikolas rose. She asked forgiveness, explaining how her counterpart had come to visit and she solely wished for some fresh air. Vladrik was not receptive to her words.

 

“Why? He didn't think to take you to the medic first!” —  “And vyr just smoking, like nothing happened.”

Vladrik neared with a limp, enraged by their carelessness.

 

“Ea risk mea life! An-. . And Ea'd do it again. It seems all that is at stakes now is some cigarettes and a date.” 

 

Vladrik’s chest rose and lowered with heavy, angered huffs as his eyes trade between the two. Mischa did not speak. She held her head low, eyes closing. Nikolas, on the other hand, shot out from his seat. His silent disposition was replaced by fury. He barged up to Vladrik and went to shove him in the chest.

 

 “Who the do vy think vy are?”

 

Vladrik did not cower. His gaze met with the other with just as much vigour.

 

“Her best friend. Who're vy, Nikolas? The prince? 

The prince who wasn't there to trade vyr life for a sliver of hers?! Ea watched her body go LIMP!”

 “Ea watched a behemoth monster - call. . . Call her a traitor and crush her under its paw!” 

_____________________________________________

 

It all happened so quickly.

 

Blink.

The olive-toned skin of his knuckles paled as he balled his hands into fists.

 

Blink.

A fist, aimed straight for the Kortchevich’s face.

 

Blink.

Vladrik reels back. Blood spat from his curled lips.

“Do it again,” he beckoned. “Do it again if vyr so mad about her being alive.”

 

Blink.

Mischa pushed herself up against her legs. Her numb limbs were held up by thin splints bound to her in leather. 

“Nikolas!” She said, pushing herself away from the tree. “Vladrik- please!”

 

Blink.

“The sick colour of vyr eye shows the envy of vyr soul, vy mongrel,” Nikolas yelled, voice thick with resentment. 

 

Blink.

Another punch aimed for the head, striking the Kortchevich. Nikolas was losing control.

 

Blink.

Vladrik answered every punch with a spur of distasteful words for the Barbanov. His face was stained in blood and bruises.

 

Blink.

The knuckles of Nikolas’ hands were malformed and red. He did not stop. Each strike seemingly stronger than the last, fueled by anger. Mischa continued to scream in vain.

 

Blink.

“NIKOLAS!” She stumbled, landing against a weathered chair. Her legs trembled, splints beginning to crack. “Please. . O’ Please stop! This is mad!”

 

Blink.

At last, Vladrik sought to fight back. Two palms pushed against Nikolas’ chest.

“Get off of eam, vy madman!”

 

Blink.

The prince reeled back, but he wasn’t finished. He clings to Vladrik’s sleeve and aims a blow at the Kortrevich’s afflicted leg. His breathing thickens at the exertion, hands becoming shaky from the sores forming on his knuckles.

 

Blink.

Vladrik cried out in pain. He crawls onto the table beside him, in front of Mischa. Her eyes widened; frozen in shock. Her sobs grow as the glass cups and plates are swept to the ground and the tablecloth tears. 

 

Blink.

As Nikolai turned in pursuit, he caught Mischa’s eyes. The weight of his world crashed, but not fast enough to prevent the final blow: shattering a cup against the back of Vladrik’s head. Crack - Mischa’s splints gave out and she fell on glass-ridden ground. 

 

Blink.

“Stop it. . PLEASE!” — “NO!”

Vladrik was limp on the table. The weight of his armour drags him to the floor, face down in front of Mischa.

 

The fight concluded.

_____________________________________________

 

Nikolas withdrew himself. He leans against the table, catching his breath. Twitching, bloodshot eyes study a beaten Vladrik, then Mischa. She holds the unconscious man on her lap, hastily wiping at the blood marking his bruised features. “No. . no- Vladrik, wake- please!” A wave of guilt and realisation washed over Nikolas. No more hurt could be brought if he were not here. He had to rid himself. Nikolas disappeared down the road.

 

Mischa wailed, cradling the fallen man. “Please- please! SOMEONE!” She pulled her hand from beneath Vladrik’s head, met with a palmful of blood. 

 

“Vlad-. . Vladrik!” — “I'm here now. . He's. . He's gone, you can wake up. Please!” 

 

Around an hour had passed. Vladrik’s breathing was low, shallow. Blood pooled the ground. As cold rain poured, the sounds of a whip cracking echoed against the keep’s exterior. Riding through the Jerovitz roads was Princess Analiesa, her veil stuck against her face as she called in a panic. “Mischa!?” — “Vladrick!?”

 

“Here! Here, Analiesa!” — “O’ Hurry!” 

 

Analiesa raced closer. She flings a leg over her saddle and lands with a soft thud. Glass cracked beneath the woman’s riding boots, squelching into the muddied earth as she ran to attend the two. “Oh, Godan!” She called, shaken as she examined the gruesome display. “What has he done?” Mischa shook her head. Her focus was upon Vladrik, unwavering. She sucked in a breath and spoke, “Th- There was a fight, Analiesa.” — “It got out of hand. . He didn't mean it, Analiesa. .” She looked up towards the Princess, pleading, “Vladrik needs help. . Please- please take him.” Analiesa hesitated, but alas, she agreed. The two were off as soon as Mischa had hoped. 

 

The morning sun just barely peeked through the canopy of leaves above Mischa. She eased her way down to lay atop the ground, her nightgown mingling in the puddle of blood. She did not mind. I want to fly, she thought as the world weighed down on her eyelids. There, she laid throughout the rest of the morning. 

 

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Spoiler

 

Thank you @Bonito for the great event. 

 

Thank you @Cally, @Bones, @GlassySkies, @louislxix, and @PerfectlyPeachy for the great RP!

Feel free to leave RP comments.

 

Thank you so much for proofreading, Kujo

 

 

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[JARVISPOSTING 308]

Spoiler

 

Jarvis, what an incredible piece of writing and storytelling. Give congratulations to all who helped out.