Malakai Chmelyk // 'Volos' (volos) wrote in utr_logs,
Malakai rolled his shoulders so he could lie flat on his back, wanting to take the pressure off of his injured arm.
"Tell you about what? My life?" He seemed to consider that, before going on. "I lived... about four centuries ago, in what is now Chechnya. My father was a vodka maker, and by merit of that, a drunk. When he died, I followed in his footsteps, at the shop, making alcohol. We barely made enough money to eat, half the time we drank our own vodka just to have something in our stomachs.
"After I died, I could no longer work, since I was unable to be in the shop. So I took to following gypsy camps, helping in their schemes, taking their women, their sick, their money. After a time, a few generations, I grew into legend. I was assumed to be a local god of Earth and mischief, since my appearance never changed. They were kind to me, in a way. It was a life, but never as decadant or easy as some, who would steal their way into politics or royalty."