New beginnings, and lessons learned

[Karelinkski]

((This Thread is a Solo bit, Accidentally left that out of the title.))


Ok, how did I get here?

Well, here on this bench was easy, he had walked. Sergei still wasn't entirely sure where 'here' was, but that wasn't the point. HERE, the larger sense of the word. This world, that felt like the correct word, Sergei was fairly sure that he wouldn't be able to go home via a train or steamboat. Where the hell was he?

He breathed in deeply, the evening air was clean and crisp, the smell of ozone lingered after the light thunderstorm that had passed through in the early afternoon. It was approaching dusk now, the heat of the day was dissipating, still the lingering warmth was a welcome reprieve from the insufferable cold he'd been living in for months. He'd removed his greatcoat and carried it for the past few days, the humidity and mild warmth made the heavy coat unbearable.

Three days, hardly feels like I've been here three days. How time flew by when the enemy wasn't trying to kill you minute-to-minute. He chuckled deep in his throat, his stress, his tension still slowly melting away. I suppose I've earned a little R&R. The big man sighed, remembering other faces that deserved a little rest, and some that had earned eternal rest. "Za teh," Sergei Raised his glass to the sky, and silently completed the third toast. It was tradition, the toast for those who were gone.

The beer went down silently, and Sergei stood from the bench when he was done. It hadn't been hard to accept the change, he'd left nothing behind, a family run to ruin by the Bolsheviks, then destroyed by war. Parents that had died of poor health years prior, while Sergei had been away to the west. No brothers or sisters, his last friend had died the day he'd been taken, there was nothing but endless war for him back there. No, he was more than willing to accept this new place, a new start, but something was nagging at him. Something had saved him, something wanted him alive, more specifically alive 'here'. What would that Something or Someone want?

Sergei drifted back to 'here', the sign he'd seen entering town from the north road had read Underwood, and under the woods it was. Towering trees encroached on the outskirts of the town, and even here behind a quaint little tavern, Sergei felt like he was deep within the woods. It was a peaceful place, and since it was the first place of any size he'd come too, Sergei had stopped for respite and information, and of course, to sample the local brew.

[Karelinkski]

The Island was called Coroné, he'd been travelling south from Radasanth, a large and powerful trade city. Sergei had been traveling south simply because it was the only route available. Well, I could've taken a boat, he thought, but it seemed silly to pay for passage to some other unknown land. So he'd set out to explore the place he'd be dumped, and perhaps find a few answers. The past three days had been interesting, and not entirely uneventful, well to be truthful, they had been educational in the extreme. Sergei touched a bruise on his ribs, that was a lesson he'd remember.


----- Three Days Ago -----


A huge cityscape spread before him, sprawled out below the citadel in every direction. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust after the dark cell, but as his vision cleared the reality of his situation truly sank in. This was most definitely not Russia, or anywhere near Russia for that matter. The bright sun, the heat of the day, to say nothing of the strange dress and architecture he was observing. It was all foreign to him, foreign but remarkable and intriguing. This city was massive, clearly teeming with life and absolutely bustling with people. It seemed so alive, after the cities of the dead on the frontlines of the war. The steps of the citadel gave way to huge thriving markets, and busy commerce filled streets. Soon Sergei found himself completely lost within the maze of streets alleys and byways.

It that man carrying a spear?

He was in fact carrying a spear, a sword, and a short bow. His uniform marked him as some sort of military, but it looked like something Sergei had seen in a book, centuries out of date. Sergei hadn't given thought to the horse-drawn wagons, the wooden implements, the ancient tools he saw in shops and along the streets. In Russia, the peasants often used the same tools and methods of work they had for centuries, but something was different here. Sergei looked again as a wagon rumbled past, the driver wasn't a poor peasant, his clothing marked him as a decently well off merchant. A well to do merchant should've had enough money for a more modern mode of conveyance.

I think, perhaps I should find a place to eat, and ask some questions.

The grinding of his stomach sealed his decision. So he meandered off, into the chaotic crowds in search of food and answers.

-------

The restaurant had no discernible name, its front room was tiny providing only two small tables, a couple of rough-looking chairs, and a narrow, cluttered counter. Behind the counter, a mountain of a man stood talking to a few of the customers. He nodded to Sergei when the big Russian entered the door and motioned towards one of the tables. Sergei settled himself into the one of the sturdy little wooden chairs and leaned back. The smells drifting outside had drawn him into the little hole-in-the-wall diner, they had been mouth-watering outside, in here they had become heavenly. It was just the sort of place that Sergei loved, what the restaurant lacked in upscale class, was more than made up for with character. The walls were lined with various plaques, medals, and awards. A broken sword hung on one wall, a plaque beneath it sporting a huge silver medal. The opposite wall was shelved, the shelves lined with helmets, nearly all of which showed some degree of use. A short bronze skullcap had a furrow plowed along the left brow. An ornate but aged full helm with a two inch hole punched into the right temple. A tall princely looking helm, with the tatters of an old plume, it's face caved in nearly a hand's breadth.

[Karelinkski]

"I'm a collector, as you can see." The proprietor, Sergei assumed, had wandered over the table while the Russian had been admiring the decor. He was a large man, advanced in years, but he still looked tough as iron. "Names John Vallon, used to be a city watchman, was a soldier for a while too. Some of this is mine, some of it collected of the field. These days, more of it comes from the newer boys of the watch though." He had a deep gravely voice, and even Sergei, confident as he was, did not want to imagine meeting him in a dark alleyway late at night. "Haven't seen you in here before, usually just the regulars this early in the morning. New in town?"

Sergei took a liking to John immediately, he was reminded of some of the older sergeants, the ones who had trained Sergei years ago. They had the same confident bearing, and easy nature that John exuded, the Old Breed he'd heard them called before. The men who taught the youngsters, really taught them. You learned a bit from training, and the officers always thought they new best, handing down words of useless 'wisdom'. The real knowledge came from the old breed, they taught you little tricks, like taping the end of your barrel to keep the water out, could still fire right through the tape if you needed to. They taught you how to survive, and other important things, like where to stash your liquor so the officers couldn't find it.

"I'm Sergei, and yeah I'm new in town. Hoped to find somewhere to get a bit of food, and a few questions answered."

Sergei extended a hand to John, his own not-inconsequential hand completely engulfed by the huge meaty hand of the old man's.

"Welcome to Radasanth then, let me be the first to welcome you to our city of merchants, miscreants, and wonder." He laughed heartily at his own joke, "I can set you up well for food, but I don't know what sort of answers I can offer."

"Well you've managed to answer one already, Radasanth is an interesting name for a city."

"Interesting eh? Well, I suppose so. Depends on what you consider normal really though, doesn't it? Where are you from."

Sergei chuckled, "Your right I guess, I'm from a city called Omsk, in Russia."

John seemed to think about this for a second, "Nope, never heard of it. Though if you ask me, Omsk in Russia is a much funnier name than Radasanth." He turned towards the kitchen, "Well we've got ham, bread, eggs, and grits this morning, and thick black coffee, this sit well with you?"

"Sounds good to me John," Sergei replied, without any idea what 'grits' were. He'd never been picky before though, and the last warm meal he'd had was months past. "Bring it all on."

[Karelinkski]

-------

"Well John, that was the best meal I've had in ages." Sergei lounged back in his chair nursing a cup of coffee, the piping hot and heavy black beverage was wonderful. Field coffee was always nasty, and often not really coffee, this was heaven in a cup.

John had joined him at the table, and attempted to answer as many of the Russian's questions as possible. It hadn't been terribly difficult, the old guard was fairly well-traveled, as a soldier he'd gotten around a bit. The first questions had been confusing in their simplicity, "This is Radasanth, on the Isle of Corone. To the north is the big continent, with all the different lands." It'd seemed like Sergei was searching for something, but wasn't sure where to start.

Well that settles it, whatever happened, it didn't just take me away from Russia, its taken me away from.. earth? that world? that universe? Guess it doesn't really matter beyond a certain point, this is home now.

Sergei suspected John had a few questions of his own, but the man was being polite for now. He just eyed him quizzically and continued to answer questions on simple geography, political situation, technology. It would be obvious to a much less intelligent man, that Sergei was either amnesiatic or lost, and very LOST at that. Still the man patiently answered, refilling their coffee during pauses while Sergei processed what he was hearing.

After one such pause, when Sergei's curiosity seemed to have run its course, John broke the silence. "Well son, there are quite a few strange types floating around this world, heroes, villains, magickers, priests, and weirder. You don't strike me as the weirder type, you carry yourself like a soldier, spotted that when you came in the door, and you've looked over your shoulder at least a dozen times in the past fifteen minutes. You dress plain, if in a style I don't know, and I seen that pistol on your belt, only seen one of those maybe a couple times, but I know what it is. You seem too normal to be the 'hero' type, no offense intended, but they're always swaggering here and there, flashy with their weapons, flashier with their talk and bravado. You ask questions like a noble, but you speak like a commoner. Who are you, lad?"

He'd known John was intelligent, but his perceptiveness still surprised Sergei. "Its an interesting story, one I'm not sure you'd believe, seeing as I'm not really sure exactly what happened yet."

"Go ahead and try me."

[Karelinkski]

So Sergei did, he told him of the war, of his family, of the Bolshiveks and the Commissars, of the Germans, and the bloodshed. He spoke quietly of his last few battles, leading up to the courtyard where he should've died with Siminov and Nikolai. John sat silent as Sergei spoke of the voice, and the strange sensation of rapid movement, of waking in the citadel confused. The story took less time to tell than seemed right. Sergei's whole life had changed in a few minutes of story. "That brings me here my friend, to your doorstep."

Silence hovered between them for a few moments, Sergei feeling a bit vulnerable under the raptor-like gaze of John. The cook shifted forward in his chair to rest his elbows on the tabletop, in turn resting his chin on his clasped hands. All the while, looking Sergei in the eyes. "Well, you don't think your lying, so I guess I'll take your story at face value. Wouldn't be the first time someone came to this world from another, there are stories and rumors. Your pistol for one, that gives creedence, there are others in this world, but they aren't something native to us."

"Hah, sadly, its broken." Sergei unhooked his belt and slipped the holster off. "Here, take this as payment for your answers, add it to your collection." He fished a couple gold coin from his pocket, "And here's for the meal, finest I've had in some time."

"You do me credit Sergei, I thank you for that."

Another hour passed with idle chat as Sergei learned something of the customs and peoples of his new land. John was a fountain of information when it came to the city of Radasanth and its outliers. They spoke of the military, and how they fought, comparing war stories and scars. Talk slowly fell to Sergei's plans for moving forward.

"You know lad, you'll need work and a place to stay. I think I could help you out with both, I know people in the community, the commander of the watch. He'd take you in a heartbeat."

"Thats kindly of you, but I have a little money, and I'd like to see some of this world. I just got here, I don't think I'm ready to settle down yet. Maybe I'll find something that can explain my situation, what I'm here for. I want to find my purpose."

"I understand, if you change your mind you know where I am."

-------

[Karelinkski]

It was mid afternoon, and the market was awash in strange smells. Cooking food from every culture found in Althanas, spices from the four corners of the world titillated Sergei's nose even as full as he was. The sun blazed away just past its apex, baking the air heavy with the scent of thousands of lives crammed into such a small area. A tannery spewed out its wretched stench, but most people seemed not to notice, a few stopped to inspect its merchandise. I large woman loudly haggled with a spindly young farm hand, who was selling fruit from a handcart. In general life was teaming all around Sergei, a cacophony of noise, smells, color, and movement.

The crowd jostled him some, but for the most part made way for the large figure. Street people have a sense about danger, and though Sergei made no effort to be menacing, he cut an intimidating figure. He paid little attention to specifics, but took in the whole of the scene. This city was thriving, money changed hands everywhere, people were buying and selling, and mostly seemed happy. It was refreshing to see a city filled with life, not hounded by the dogs of war, and haunted by the ghosts of revolution.

"Oof!" Sergei staggered one step, someone had bumped into him. "What the hell?" A boy, little more than a child, bolted off into the crowd something silver glinted in his hand. "Chyort voz'mi! That little rat." He set off at a run, plowing through the crowd, gaining rapidly on the little thief as the boy ducked into an alleyway.

"Get back here boy!" Sergei barrelled around the corner into the alley at top speed.

The alley was narrow, made more narrow by eons of old trash left lying in piles. In the tight confines there was no airflow, the smell of baking trash was overwhelming. Sergei dodged piles of trash and plunged deeper into the alley. "I know you're in here, give me what's mine and we'll have no problems."

The crowd noises were muted by the narrow stone walls, the air still, warm and fetid. The sound of glass lightly scraping stone somewhere ahead in the gloom marked the shift of a trash heap. Sergei crept slowly towards the pile, intent on grabbing the child before he realized he'd been found out. He'd give the little bugger a clip on the ear and send him on his way with something to think about. Sergei didn't sense the danger, didn't notice the two figures lying in the garbage, now behind him.

[Karelinkski]

Two spindly massed rose from the refuse behind the big Russian, so silently an observer might question his hearing. The two had blended right into the piles of trash, the gloomy half-light filtering in from the street and above aiding their disguises. The board across his back was the first warning Sergei had of danger. Whack! Breath escaped his lungs as he stumbled forward under the weight of the blow. He halfway tucked into a roll, banging his shoulder against the stone violently but sparing his face, distancing himself from the two thugs. Sergei landed on his feet, and pivoted towards the new threat his trench-knife bayonet out like a flash. He was seeing stars, and his right shoulder felt broken, but damned if he'd let them know they'd gotten the best of him.

"Give us your coin and you can get along," a scrawnier man Sergei had rarely seen, but he recognized the intelligence in the little man's blue eyes, he was the leader. He stood on the left, shoulder to shoulder with his mate. "You'd best be quick about it, Thirk doesn't like to talk he just likes hitting people with that big board of his. Hurts quite a bit, but you already know that." Thirk wasn't much bigger than the first man, but he was heavier with some obvious muscle even under his loose ratty clothing. As a soldier he had dealt with thugs before, the army had been full of them. Every unit had a few men who made it their job to spread misery distrust and fear via theft, lies, and random violence. Sergei also knew without a doubt that he could take these two, without surprise they'd not get another good blow like that.

Time seemed to slow for Sergei, as it always seemed to in battle, adrenaline coursing through his veins. His grip tightened on the bayonet, his muscles tensed, and he sprang at the larger of the two thugs. The ferocity stunned the man for a moment, one moment was all it took. The Russian was on him, his left fist met rib cage with all the force of the charge behind it. Something resisted for an instant, but then gave with a pop. Sergei allowed his momentum to carrying through the assault, plowing into the man, slamming him into the ground with enough force to throw the wind out of him. The thug gasp, his eyes wide with shock, he moved him mouth struggling to speak. A shallow cough brought blood as the man struggled to breathe in, the final death rattle sounding shallow and weak.

Rolling off the thug, Sergei pulled his right arm from under the body bringing with it the bayonet, covered in blood. He crouched, his eyes settling on the other thug, the slighter of the two. The man's eyes were wide with shock, he had his right arm extended, and his mouth was moving slightly, as if he were searching for something to say.

He'd picked the wrong mark, but Sergei wasn't going to let him live to learn from the mistake. He had no mercy for thieves and thugs, men who'd cut your throat for a penny. The muscles in his legs tensed, bunched, ready to lunge. He shifted his grip on the knife slightly, balled his left fist. All of this in an instant, and span of a breath, and in the next instant....

[Karelinkski]

BOOOM!

Thunder echoed down the alley, a rolling wave of sound and force. One second Sergei had the man right where he wanted him, but his outstretch palm, something had flashed. It was like being hit by a hammer, one the size of his whole body. Sergei felt the impact, felt his feet leave the ground, felt the wall give slightly at his impact. The big soldier slumped to the ground, his head was throbbing, his ears ringing, he couldn't hear. He tried unsuccessfully to get to his feet twice before gaining his footing, albeit unsteadily. As equilibrium returned, so his vision cleared, the scrawny thug was bolting down the alley away. "Stupid punk," He muttered, "Come back and I'll give you another." He slumped back to the ground, his back against the wall. He didn't think he could live up to the threat, probably lucky fact that the man had run away.

What the hell was that?! Heavens, it felt like a mortar went off under me. He wasn't even touched.

Silence reigned in the alley, slowly Sergei regained his hearing, the persistent ringing refused to abate, but he could once again hear the sounds of the market crowds. He noticed a few faces peering into the alley, a small crowd was gathering, muttering and pointing at the prone body of the former thug. No doubt there would be trouble, guards looking for someone to blame, which left Sergei directly in their sights.

A rustling in the trash drew his attention as he once again rose unsteadily to his feet. A dirty face poked out of a heap, not five feet way. The young boy sprang out of the pile, and made to juke away from Sergei and slip around him. He was terrified by the look of his face, pale white, eyes wide with terror. Sergei grabbed him by the back of his collar, "Listen here son, give me what's mine, or I'll hold you til the guard get here."

It didn't seem to register for a moment, the boy flailed and cussed him, but it was evident that Sergei wasn't letting go. The lighter landed on the ground, and the boy took off, disappearing into the crowd in an instant.

"Some things never change." Sergei admonished himself on being so careless, the cities back home were dangerous places. He should've been thinking, shouldn't have had his lighter in an outer pocket like that. Shouldn't have blundered into what was obviously a potential trap.

[Karelinkski]

-------

The guards wanted to talk to him, but after a while and some help from John, whose name he'd dropped, they let him free. The thug was a known entity, and no one was particularly sad to see the end he'd met with. He'd asked a few questions about the other man, the smaller, and the strange thing he'd done. He questioned, now, his own recollection of the event. Did he really just point his palm at me, and cause... well whatever that was?

He recounted the story to John after the guards had left, "Ah yes, that'd be Slick Mathias, he's got a wee bit of magic. That little trick he does, like thunder with no lightning, murderous nasty it is. They call him "Slick" because he's always getting away, what with the guards always being on the ground while he's doing the running." Of course this led to a spirited discussion of magic, that mostly began with Sergei swearing.

"Magic? Like.. real magic, not the warts and fair-tale bull-shit you hear as a child?"

"Yes, real magic." John had responded, it took some time, but eventually the bruises on Sergei's ribs helped to convince him.

A world of magic? Wizards, witches... what the hell have I gotten into?

John had once again proved a fount of knowledge, and a welcome friend. He'd brought Sergei back to his home, seen to his wounds, and given him a place to sleep for the night.

"If you're really intent on getting out of the city, you might try the south road." John answered the next morning over his coffee. "Like I said, if you need work, I can find you some though."

"I appreciate it John, but I think I'd like to get out of the city, the quieter pace of life in the back country seems like a nice vacation from all this. I haven't relaxed in so long, I've almost forgotten what its like, and I can't really relax in this big city.

So He'd set out that morning. He was still a bit sore but, as it turned out, nothing was broken. The Concordia forest had been a balm, quiet, empty, restful. He'd not slept out of doors, without guards, watches, and fear of artillery, for years. He saw few people, only a few passing merchants. A few loggers guiding a wagon of fresh lumber north toward the teeming markets of Radasanth.

[Karelinkski]

-------

Sergei drifted back to reality, smiling to himself he took comfort in know that even as he'd lost some friends, he'd gained a new one. Life was ever fickle, but it kept moving onwards. He breathed deeply of the clean forest air, the wet forest exuded life. The fresh scents of pine, clover, honeysuckle, mint, and other things graced the evening air. The light of day was failing, casting long shadows from the great tall trees. The air was cooling fast, and the forest growing silent as the creatures of the day made way for the creatures of the night. Somewhere an owl announced the coming of dusk, his called repeated far in the distance.

Light flared from the silver lighter, so happily recovered from the grasp of a street urchin. Smoke curled from the end of a homemade cigarette, the sweet tobacco usually associated with pipes adding its own flavor to the night-air. The lighter closed with a snap, but the cherry red glow from the burning ember lit up the engraving on the lighter. A flowing 'K', in an ornate block script. It had been a gift, years prior, from his father. Rynadlir Karelinkski had been a good man, he'd raised Sergei as best he could in the trying and desperate times between the two wars. This little piece of that man, that beloved father, it was priceless to him. He slipped it quietly into an inner pocket.

Sergei sat for a few moments more before turning his attention to the empty mug he still held.

"Well this is a problem quickly remedied."

Inside the bar was beginning to draw its late evening crowd as Sergei returned to the bar. There were still several stools free, and he easily grabbed the attention of the barman as he took a seat.

"Help yah to another friend?"

"Aye, more of the same. As a matter of fact," Here he spoke up, "The next rounds on me!" A ragged cheer sounded through the bar, his neighbors at the bar slapped his back appreciatively. He took up his newly refilled mug, turned, and raised it in toast to the room.

"We only live once, so we'd better live as best we know how!"

[Lord Anglekos]

I want to start off by saying that this was an enjoyable read, and that it is nice to see someone roleplaying a character from Earth in an actually decent manner. But now, onto what you really care about; the judging. As you requested, this will be the full rubric with full commentary; if you have any further questions for me, you can direct them to my inbox.

Story: 6.5
I was actually quite impressed with this category, especially with the introduction and conclusion parts of the thread; while Sergei's story may be a little open-ended on both ends (the when of Earth he was from, what part of Russia, involvement before coming to Althanas, and any further goals now that he had come to Althanas), it wasn't terribly so, and this helped further put me in his shoes. Your rising action was well-written, but I wasn't too impressed, and the climax of the little spat left me a little wanton for more interaction; in a sense, it was too short, I felt, and could have been expanded upon. Other than that, you did pretty well.

Strategy: 10
It's not often that I give this score, so give yourself a slap on the back for a job well done. The 'strategy' section of a thread is defined as the usage of a character's personality, skills, abilities and background to organize and construct a thread, and you did this, in my opinion, perfectly. Not once did I have to look at your profile to understand a single thing about Sergei; from the way he swore, his comparison of John to the "old breed" to the way he took down the thugs bespoke everything a Russian soldier should be. Once again, congratulations.

Setting: 6/10
This too was done pretty well. From the way you described the smell of the "fetid air" to the room of the diner, I was given a nice seasoning of visuals. However, at the same time, I felt you could have put forth more into the setting, and really given it some vibrancy. A tip I have is to use more descriptive terms; they really make the scene come alive.

Continuity: 6/10
This was another section I felt you did consistent on. Some places you really made Althanas stand out from Earth, especially in your second and latter posts, but I wished you had expanded more on his adaption from Earth to Althanas; such as what had he been doing before coming to this land? Where had first awoken? And most importantly, just when was this going on? That was perhaps the most important thing that I found lacking.

Character: 4/10
While your usage of your character's personality was fundamental in Strategy, I honestly found some things about Sergei to be, well, rather lackluster at times. For example; how he'd seemed to be so accepting that he was in a different realm rather than just a different time period; that threw me off slightly. I understood that he was taking this as a "new beginning", but it all seemed rather, well, too easy for me to believe a former high-performance Russian soldier would take it all in so easily. There were times when this was redeemed, however; especially in Sergei's "old breed" comparison of John and his little ritual in the beginning.

You would have had a higher score, save for the fact I didn't get a real physical description of Sergei anywhere in the thread; leaving it utterly to my imagination. John's appearance was well-written, however, and so was Mathias's; just apply that to Sergei himself next time.

Interaction: 6.5
All in all this was logical and consistent, but otherwise dull, save for a couple instances; Sergei's little struggle with the bandit duo and his initial talk with John, for which I added an extra point and a half in, respectively.

Creativity: 6
There were a couple points in your writing that I felt you were stepping out of the box and pushing the envelope in terms of literary techniques, but they were few and far between. Of note were; "The crowd noises were muted by the narrow stone walls, the air still, warm and fetid. The sound of glass lightly scraping stone somewhere ahead in the gloom marked the shift of a trash heap." And; "John had once again proved a fount of knowledge, and a welcome friend." Both of which were unexpected sentences that impressed me.

Mechanics: 3
Surprisingly, this is where you did the worst. Three words; semicolons, semicolons, semicolons! I can count at least twenty places where a simple semicolon would have turned a run-on sentence into a well-written, descriptive sentence, and would have helped wonderfully in your next section, Clarity. You seem to have trouble connecting topics and separating them as well in your writing; don't be afraid to use the word "and" sometimes. Also, I caught a few misspellings here and there, so be sure to keep an eye out for those next time.

Clarity: 3
This section was the worst at the beginning and ending parts of the thread, mostly, and I won't lie; your lack of using connective semicolons to separate topics in a sentence hurt it. A lot. I had to re-read a lot of the posts to make sure I completely understood what was going on, especially your main combat post and the one where Sergei was blasted by magic.

Wildcard: 6
Despite the issues with clarity and mechanics, this was a quite enjoyable read for a Wednesday night, and I hope to read more from you in the future.

FINAL SCORE: 57/100
Karenlinski gains 650 EXP and 100 GP's.

[Silence Sei]

exp-gp added

Welcome to Thanas. Congrats on the first finished thread.