Svetlana Leveton, NPC's page

Svetlana hugs Tityanna and steps back, smiling radiantly. "I thank you for your well-wishes! You've gladdened my heart, you have, and I promise I'll say nothing about what you've shared with me!"

"I'm only needing a basketful of the radishes," she says. "I can give you a basket, if you've none of your own. I think I can eat a little breakfast, now, and I say thanks again for your help!"

Giving Tityanna another grin, she leaves for the market yard, humming.

Svetlana shares Tityanna's blush, looking away. "Oh . . . I've offended you! I'm sorry I've dragged you into my affairs, I am! I don't want you thinking I'm a sneaky sort; I'm . . . well, Oleg's had moon radish soup I've made before, back when we lived in Restov. It did him fine, it did, and he told me how much he liked eating it. I thought if I fixed him some again, it'd remind him of the old days, before these recent troubles. Do you ken?"

Svetlana appears to be busy scrubbing the worktable inside the stables with a large cleaning-brush. Noticing as Tityanna enters, she sets the brush beneath the table and approaches her.

"Sir Shantral's a good man, he is, but I fear I've said more to him than I ought. Aye, old Svetlana's tongue does wag more than a little sometimes, unless I pay it a mind."

She regards Tityanna with a pained expression, nervously chewing on her lower lip. "I'm happy that these bandits you've beaten today can cause us no more harm, I am, but it got me thinking of how hard it is, out here in the wilds. If it's not Happs and his men, it's Kressle or hers; and if it's not them, it's some other evil thing that might come to visit. Winter always follows spring, you ken--but I'd enjoy life out here if I could, winter be damned."

Svetlana smiles, although her eyes still look subdued. "I want a family, sister. I want a son to learn how to stable a horse or patch a roof with his da; I want a daughter I can teach to cook a meal or sing Erastil's blessings in the morning . . . but it's not for help around the Post, ken. A family--even a little one--would complete my heart, it would. These bandits' ends've been like a splash of river-water on a Kuthona morning, if you ken my meaning."

She looks toward the stable door, as if looking beyond it. "My husband's not been himself since these bandits've come calling, as I've said. Besides his mood, it's changed . . ." Svetlana reddens. ". . . the way he tends to his wife's garden."

Svetlana turns again to Tityanna with questioning eyes. "Tell me, Tityanna--have you ever heard of moon radishes?"

As she stirs bubbling gravy in a large pot, Svetlana smiles weakly at Haldaval. "Aye, the day's been trying, Sir Shantral. If I'd have it my way, there'd be no more like today. My worry isn't these dead men, or even their mates at Thorn River, but what they stand for."

She grabs a nearby plate of broken bread and ladles gravy over it. After setting it back on the table, she turns to Haldaval and lowers her voice. "When Oleg took me as his wife, I took his name and the duties that come with it. He, in turn, has provided for me out here in the borderlands, and protected me as best he can."

Svetlana's eyes begin to shimmer with tears and she wipes them away, almost angrily. "I love my husband, but I want a family, as well. I see children playing in the market yard in my mind's eye, and it does me fine . . . nay, it does me perfect. But I worry about all the evils out there in the Narlmarches, in the Kamelands, and gods know where else; I worry for the children that haven't yet been born to me, and I worry that all dangers of living in the Post'll make Oleg un-"

She stops suddenly, turns a deep shade of crimson, and claps a hand over her mouth. "Oh, I've forgotten myself! I cry pardon, Sir, but I'll not burden you with my woman's troubles! Please, send Tityanna my way when you can, if it does you fine . . . it's woman's business I have, and I'd speak of it with one, not meaning offense!"

Svetlana executes another clumsy curtsy and rushes off to the stables.

Svetlana eyes Happs's dead form with a dazed expression as Haldaval speaks to herself and Oleg. "Aye, Haldaval. I'm thinking I've work to do in the main house, if it does you fine. I can't say I'm sorry for Happs, given all he's done, but I also can't say I'm happy for you, either; this is grim business, it is."

She meets her husband's gaze and quickly moves to the main house.

Svetlana steps closer to her husband, touching his shoulder lightly. "I'm sorry to hear of his family, if he's telling the truth. But if he's not man enough to provide for his children, it's just another crime to throw on the heap, if you ken. I'm in the way of believing Restov might have use for him, if he's wanted there."

"I wasn't present when all this happened with Haldaval, but I've something to say on the matter, anyway. These men, as you say, are used to violence and terror; aye, I'd wager they expected as much from the knight, or any one of you. But I ask you this: does this make your words any less true, to your thinking? Are you willing to give up so easily on what you believe?"

Svetlana takes a step back and smiles, although it is a hard smile. "Tityanna, you've been raised a noble, and are used to the nobles' ways, for good or bad. But I find it hard to believe that you'd cry failure, and let what you'd see happen go so easily. Is this so different from your court in New Stetven, sister? Were there times you prevailed, even against such odds of failure?"

She gives Tityanna a quick hug. "I'd not forgive myself if I let you surrender so easily. I'll stand with you, even if no others do. This is a promise I'll keep, for you've proven your worth, and I'm proud to call you a sister."

Svetlana steps closer to Tityanna and takes her hands. "Tityanna, the look on your face cuts me deep, it does! You really don't want anyone to suffer, even bandits, do I say true?"

She lowers her head. "I've only been met with threats and fear by these men, and I'll admit to having wanted to see them dead. But I think that's my own fear talking, and my own petty vengeance wanting a bite out of them. In my heart of hearts, I know I'll be happy just to be left alone by these men; I needn't splash their blood around, you ken. I ask you, sister . . . do you know of a better way to deal with these men? We've no jail, or the want to build one. If you have a plan, I'd hear it. I say true, in all honesty."

Svetlana looks into Tityanna's eyes and squeezes her hands gently.

Svetlana smiles at Tityanna, although she still looks a little nervous. "Well done, sister! I hope you like my cooking, as you'll see plenty of it, if it does you fine."

She cranes her neck over Oleg's shoulder, trying to see out the door. "Are the bandits dead, or did they run off to where they came from?"

"They've come to an open gate each time, as we've been told by 'Kris-or-Kres' to expect fire or worse should we bar it to them."

"Aye, they bring in their horses to carry our furs," Svetlana says. "It'd get cramped, as you say. They lead them in place of riding them, as I've seen so far."

She points to the oilcloth-covered cart near the stable. "You could move yon cart to a more out-of-the-way place, if it does you fine. Then you'd have more space to move freely."

Svetlana, having cleared the dishes and cookware for washing, approaches the group. "If you're wondering what the hooded longbowman looks like--the one who called the hatchet-woman 'Kris' or 'Kres', you ken--he's much like the others: dirty green-and-gray clothes and hooded cloak, unshaved and with bad teeth. But he sticks out, that one. He wears that hood no matter the weather, and he carries himself like a preening bird, all full of himself and boastful. Then there's his stag's skull necklace, if you're remembering. Aye, I'd spot him right quick, I would."

Svetlana visibly relaxes, giggling a little. "I'm skittish as a thylacine pup, I am! Fear'd get the better of me, were it not for you calming my nerves with reason."

She continues to speak as she removes the pot from the firepit. "You say true about the wilds. There's not much out in the Greenbelt that'll give you shelter, aside from at hunter's camps, should you find them. Old Bokken's set up shop southeast of us a ways, and Vekkel Benzen's stead lies northwest of us, at the Narlmarches' northmost tip. Vekkel's retired, he is, but his youngest keeps the place up well enough."

"You're welcome to sleep on the floor, if it's more to your liking, but I'd add that a cot might be cozier."

Svetlana looks up at the watchtowers, considering. "I'm not in the way of knowing if a watch'll be kept, but I trust you can decide that between the five of you. Me and my husband'll lock the gates overnight and be up before dawn, as we always do. Are you thinking the bandits may come during the night?"

Her eyes widen with anxiety.

Svetlana approaches the trio sitting at the tables. "I beg pardon for interrupting your planning, but I'd have you be told how sleeping's to be arranged. There's only four beds in the guesthouse--we've mostly not so many staying at once, you ken--so I've laid a cot in the dining room for one of you, may it do you fine. It should be just as warm as the guesthouse. There's still a few hours of sun left, but I thought I'd prepare you before your eyes grow heavy."

Svetlana rubs her chin, lost in thought. After a moment, she snaps her fingers and leans toward Tityanna. "Aye! I remember seeing both the hooded man and 'Kris-or-Kres' wearing some sort of silvery necklaces; each looked like a stag's skull, they did!" She beams, seemingly pleased with her memory.

Svetlana kisses Oleg's cheek briefly before she sits upright and regards the party once more. "That's about all we know of them. I pray that it's all I ever know of them, short of seeing them hung for their banditry. I beg pardon for my anger, but I think that's what they deserve." Her eyes flash with emotion, and bright spots of color appear on her cheeks.

"Aye, it's been the same men each time, but not always the same number of them. When they first came in Abadius, they were a dozen strong, led by a hooded longbowman and a woman wielding twin hatchets. The ten men under these two had swords and bows, but seemed to favor their blades."

Svetlana pauses, a wry smile playing upon her lips. "I suppose most men favor their blades, if you ken my meaning." She chuckles despite herself.

"Jests aside, the woman seemed to be in charge of the lot of them, even the hooded man. She did most of the threatening, and most of the other bandits seemed happy to let her. Her sense of humor--if you'd call it that--was black, it was; she was smiling all the while she told me what the men'd do to me, if Oleg didn't pay their 'tax'."

She shivers at the memory.

"I was scared of all of them, but of her most of all. She asked Oleg which hand 'he kept soft' for me. When he didn't answer--how does one answer a question like that?--she nearly chopped off his hand, twisting the blade as it struck the table just enough to miss his fingers. Then she took my wedding ring right off my finger, saying it was payment for her not shortening Oleg's reach."

Svetlana reaches for Oleg's hand and grips it tightly.

"Aye, the woman is the most dangerous of them; even the other bandits were scared of that one. The hooded man--a right fool, he seemed--slipped up and called her by name: sounded something like 'Kris', or 'Kres', or somesuch. She gave him an evil stare fit to curdle milk, she did, and he said no more about it."

Svetlana slowly nods during Oleg's brief, and is quick to jump in during his pause. "We learned to have the furs ready for them, so they'd leave us quickly. Erastil must've smiled on us, at least partway; they seemed keen to go back to where they came from, once they'd gotten their 'taxes'. I'd wager they camp a day or two away, and in the Narlmarches, seeing as they'd leave as quickly as they'd come, and be heading woods-ward each time."

Svetlana's smile hardens. "You're going to treat our guests with respect from here on out, aye? Is that what you meant to say, dear husband?"

Svetlana hugs Tityanna briefly and steps back, her eyes quickly reddening to match the blush in her cheeks. "I thank you, Miss, for your kind words! I've no words to tell you how my heart's feeling, just thinking of those bandits troubling us no more!"

She sniffles a bit and wipes her eyes, blinking rapidly. "I'll go and talk Oleg out to speak with you. If it'll help, we'll tell you what's happened and what we know of them, so you can start your planning."

Svetlana gives you all a grateful look, followed by another awkward curtsy, and follows her husband into the main house.

Svetlana, after her husband slams the doors behind him, steps next to Tityanna and places a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry you've seen him like this, I am. Gods know he's got a temper, but he's just not been himself since the bandits started coming. Just give it some time, and I can lead him out of his tantrum. I've my ways, if you ken."

She offers Tityanna a weak smile and squeezes her shoulder gently.

"If my husband hasn't angered you overmuch, would you indeed help us? He'd not admit it, but we'd not survive were we to fight them on our own. I know it's much to ask, and you've been treated rudely, but I pray Oleg hasn't whipped the goodness from you, and that you'd help us out of kindness."

Svetlana casts her gaze down, her chin quivering slightly.

She turns to Haldaval, reddens, and becomes suddenly fixated on an unraveling apron-thread. "They come at the month's start, every month for the last three. I'm sorry for pressing you about it . . . I thought you knew."

Svetlana turns an even darker shade of crimson and rubs her chin absently, now looking Haldaval in the eye. "My husband'll be unhappy to hear the news, I'm sorry to say. The Swordlords've been giving us the runaround, in his thinking."

Svetlana places two more filled bowls upon the table, then turns to Harsk, nodding. "Aye, me and Oleg've done some fixing. This place is old--threescore years, I'd wager--and used to be one of Rostland's border forts. We've repaired most of it, though we've not gotten to fixing the catties. We've had since last Lamashan to do it, but mostly fixed the indoors during the winter."

She glances out toward the front gate. "Trouble's less about fixing and more about taking, if you ken it. Those bandits've left the Post itself well enough alone, but they've been taking our stock as 'taxes' these past three months. So, harm done is harm done, even if they leave our buildings standing."

After a pause, her eyes widen as she regards Harsk with curiosity. "Didn't the Swordlords tell you all this in Restov? They'd tell you some about the job they're sending you for, or am I mistaken?"

Svetlana's smile brightens as she drops Malaswyn a wink. "As promised, Malaswyn Tyddewi; I'm a woman of my word, I am! Yours is a goodly name, and sounds like a summer rain, it does. I mean that in a friendly way, in case my explaining falls on the wrong side of bard-song."

She pours a mug of wine and sets it near the elf. "Aye, breaking bread is always a pleasing way to meet new friends, as my da used to say to me. That, and knocking back a few belts of wine or cider." With another wink, she turns back to the firepit, humming a simple melody.

Svetlana gives the newcomer a radiant smile. "You're welcome here, you are, and your blessings along with you! There's seats a-plenty, and food to match, so don't be shy about having your fill. I'm guessing you've a charter from Restov like these others. I'm happy the Swordlords've sent such as you to protect me and Oleg, I am, and I'd wager the lot of you will teach the brigands the long and short of their wickedness!"

She brings Malaswyn a steaming bowl filled with vegetable stew and bacon, as well as a chunk of bread. "In case you're wondering, I'm Missus Oleg Leveton, Svetlana to my friends. We've wine for you, too, if you've the taste for it. It's a bit strong, but it's easy going down. I'll bring you some, should you want it. And if you'd give me the honor of knowing your name, I'll do it with a wink and smile, if it does you fine."

Svetlana, having noticed Haldaval return from the stable, leaves Tityanna's side and heaps stew and bacon into a bowl for the half-elf. She hands it to him with an awkward curtsy. "Please, lord, sit and ward off your hunger. It's simple enough fare I've made, but it might just do you fine." Her face reddens at this last part, and she averts her eyes before abruptly busying herself at the firepit once more.

Svetlana smiles haltingly at Tityanna's response, and squints down at the charter as Tityanna reads aloud from it. "Aye. I thought Oleg'd made it plain in his letter to Restov. 'Taxes', the bandits call it, though I'd sooner call it thievery."

She snaps her fingers, her eyes brightening in realization. "I'm thinking you've not seen the letter we sent; the Swordlords would've read it themselves and only told you what you needed to know to help us! Aye! They'd have called it strongarm threat-theft, or some such."

Svetlana, busy adding a packet of herbs to the pot of stew she's stirring, lifts the ladle to her lips and tastes the stew, her brow creased in concentration. She nods to herself and replaces the ladle, stirring the pot in several slow circles before turning her attention to Tityanna. "Nay, for the time. This bottle I brung is the last of our wine-stock, til my husband makes nice with old Bokken again. They're stubborn as tatzlwyrms, those two. Bokken'll likely forget he's mad in time, since he's a touch soft in the head at his age. Anyways, we've this bottle for you now, to wash some of that dust from your throat. We'll likely have more goods to sell, now that you've come to aid us."

She leans down to meet Harsk and Tityanna at eye-level. "I know not all your party's gathered here yet, but I'm glad you came when you did. I was starting to think you'd not get here by tomorrow. But here you are, and I'd wager you've got plans a-plenty for the lifting of our taxes, as it were. I thank you, truly, and I'm sorry we've no more wine for selling."

Svetlana nods to Tityanna. "Aye then, and pleased to meet you, Miss Tityanna. You'll find plenty of empty stalls in the stable, and oats to feed him. Don't pay Claptrap no mind; he's a jittery one, but nice as a horse can be. Give him a pat, would you? So he'll not be lonesome?"

She looks gravely at Harsk. "Master dwarf, I'd have you kick up your heels and loosen your belt, for I've a mean meal for you. And my bacon's just this side of crackly, it is, the better to use your hands if you're hungry enough." Svetlana hurriedly fills a bowl for Harsk, going heavy on the bacon.

The woman, not much older than Tityanna and pretty in a small-boned way, offers you a broad and easy smile. ”Aye and aye, you gave me a start! I welcome you to our humble home, I do! Aye, sit and kick the road-dust from your boots, and I’ll stable your pony while you wait for breakfast.” She gives each of you a once-over with bright blue eyes, and motions to the table. ”Sit, please, and make yourselves comfortable. And forgive my rudeness; where are my manners? I’m Missus Oleg Leveton, but you can call me Svetlana.”