Post by Coconut on Jan 11, 2009 4:30:33 GMT -5
[shadow=red,left,300]Anya Nyetlenko[/shadow]
Анья Ниетленко
Name: Anya Nyetlenko
Age: 23
Race/Affiliation: Russian (Cossack tribe)
Weaponry: Cossack blades, hunting rifle, sniper, shotgun.
Biography: Russia! The Motherland is a place of such beauty and splendour, and yet a place of wildness and untamed energy. And yet from such a land springs a flower, a flower that, at first, appears so beautiful and frail that, at a moment's notice, it might snap and break, all it's beauty lost in the blink of an eye. And yet what if this little flower were to have an inner, hidden strength, a strength of mind and a strength of heart and even, to a degree, a strength of mind? Then you would have beauty with strength, two valuable assets in a young woman. For, of course, will the coarse, shallow men follow an obese, saggy old witch? Of course not!
It is not the appearance of a woman, though, that matters as much as the heart. If this were echoed by many, I don't think Anya Nyetlenko would lose much of her splendour anyway. Born into the Moskvarian province, where the great city of Moscow stood of old, Anya came into the world, a squealing, tiny, defenceless infant, just two years after the destruction of Moscow had occurred, just after the Great War in which men and women turned against each other in anger and burnt through the sky with their terrible weapons of gas and flame! Injustice, I cry, injustice, that such a young infant must be brought into a volatile atmosphere such as this! Yet Anya was not the only one, no, not by some way! Do not protest against the injustice, protest against the war! Why may men and women not have the right to believe in what they want, unhindered by others? Communism is no crime! And, if it is, where then will the line be drawn upon the extent of our so called 'free will'? If we have not the right to decide upon what we believe, then do we have the right to choose which religion we follow? Where, I cry, will the line be drawn?
Yet we are getting off topic, and back to the young lady Nyetlenko must we return, the winds howling about a small Cossack tent, the ramshackle, yet strangely large, settlement battling it out against the storm together. The night is pitch black, rich black, the colour of an oil ditch black, punctuated only by the glimmering light of the moon, neutrally gazing down upon the snowy planes upon which the Cossack tribes camp. The North Star, however, gazes down bright upon the pregnant mother lying on a bed of furs, straining to help the baby from her womb and into this new, strange world. Yet Anya is not some whore's whelp, nor is she the daughter of some insignificant Cossack washer woman; no, Anya Nyetlenko is the daughter of Vladimir Nyetlenko, commander of the old and forgotten Red Army of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics and leader of the Cossack tribes! His wife is tired, she is weak. This ordeal is putting far more strain on her limbs and body than the Doctor's, with their measly array of equipment, had hoped.
Before the night is over, a new babe will have entered into this strange new world, that even grown men and women are like babes to; the world has changed, and is different from what people remember! In such an environment, are we all not as babes exploring the world for the first time? Are we all not as infants trying to navigate our way around life? Well, of course that is opinion. When Anya Nyetlenko, the first born child of Vladimir Nyetlenko, entered through the gates of life, her Mother passed out the opposite way. Did they meet at the Dark Gates and speak, as Mother and Daughter, for the one time in both their existence? For both their sakes, I hope so. Yet the answer to that question will remain hidden until the day you and I pass through those gates, into the paradise beyond. Yet what do I hear the cries of? The men cry "A daughter, a daughter!" And leap around the fire in celebration. Yet the wife of Vladimir Nyetlenko is dead, and so the woman weep and wail, tearing at their hair in a gesture of sorrow for the loss.
And what is this I hear your now ask? Sole child? Yes, that she is. When her father passes through those same gates in pursuit of the wife he lost that cold, Winter's day, Anya will inherit the right to rule on as leader of the Cossack tribe, Anya will have the right to place whatever child she bears as leader after she passes through the gates, hopefully many years in the future and not some time soon. Yet Russia is almost in a Civil War, the various tribes vying for power and supremacy over one another. The Cossacks, an assortment of tribes from the edges of the sea on the North coast to the end of the Moskvarian province, are an obviously powerful tribe. They raid their neighbour's land and take it for their own, raping, pillaging and burning whatever they cannot take with them. Is this right? Who are we to declare ourselves arbiters and judge?
Yet such raids will be the death of Vladimir Nyetlenko. The Tartars, another tribe of equal power and reach, are the main contestants with the Cossacks, and in a raid in Tartar territory, Vladimir Nyetlenko is shot! Woe upon the Tartars, for bringing about the death of such a man! For Anya Nyetlenko is a mere slip of a woman, just eighteen years of age! And it is now her right to lead the Cossacks, lead every man, woman and child in their nomadic existence around the province, raiding and pillaging. Anya does not support the raping and slaughtering of those who do not fight for her enemies, yet she cannot quench it in her troops completely, try as she may. At first, Anya was derided as a leader for her lack of age, yet when she ended the nomadic existence of the Cossacks to set up a new, permanent city, in the place of old Moscow, for the Cossack tribes, they begin to love her as if she were their daughter.
Which, in a way, she is. Anya Nyetlenko is the daughter of a Cossack, one of them, and their leader. She is almost their daughter, and they love her as if she was their biological daughter. Under her, they begin to enjoy a time of opulence and splendour, the raids becoming more successful than ever. The Tartars hold a grudging respect for her; they call her the 'Wildcat of the North', yet is that the name her people give her? Well, of some times; I think she quite likes the name herself. Yet for her they hold a special name; the 'Rose of the North'. it is now, in this time of trial for not only Russia but all of the World, that her plan begin to grow. What if she could unite Russia once more, under Communism as the Cossacks now live under and as Russia once lived under? What if, what if? Dreams, mere thoughts blowing on the wind, for now. Yet they could, soon, become a reality.