In the tundra's cold expanse, lived a Prince of sword and lance. Vasilej, a peasant at birth, his retinue of Bogatyrs who fought with valiant worth.
Two months wedded to Princessa Lorina, five since the Astral Plane's spell. He rose to Prince, his deeds renowned, yet shadows lurked where light was found.
At the feast in Palischuk’s hall, King Markus turned to Vasilej’s call. “Boyar Igorr’s death is grim, ride to Rolovsk, find the fate of him.”
Vasilej paused, then gave his word, “By dawn’s first light, I’ll ride, undeterred.” Lorina watched with love and care, as Vasilej left, his heart laid bare.
The Bogatyrs prepared to go, through the tundra’s ice and snow. To Rolovsk’s ruins, they made their way, seeking clues where ashes lay.
In the chapel’s solemn light, Father Mosalev spoke of night. “No glimpse of killers, none to see, but uncertainty haunts our serenity.”
At the pub, the truth was sought, nothing was found, yet whispers were caught. The dead unavenged, the manor in ruin, Relkov's name was done, all of their kin.
The night brought dreams of doubt and fear, as Igorr’s ghost did Vasilej hear. “You let my son die far away, you’re no hero, just an actor at play.”
Morning came, with armor donned, to the chapel, their hearts drawn. Vasilej kissed the priest’s cold hand, a promise made, and a duty planned.
Leaving Rolovsk, the road was harsh, fireballs struck, while Bogatyrs marched. Assassins fought with spells and might, but Vasilej’s sword cut through the night.
Amulets found on fallen foes, a note revealed dark plans arose. “The Usurper’s hand strikes at will, ensure the Druzhina are killed.”
Back to Palischuk they rode, bearing news of dangers that bode. The King, concerned, gave his decree, “Find their outposts, and set this land free.”
That night with Lorina by his side, Vasilej spoke of threats, untried. “I’ll teach you, love, to wield a blade, for in you, Shieldmaiden, my trust is laid.”
But sleep brought danger to their bed, an assassin’s blade, meant for her head. Vasilej fought with all his might, slaying the foe in the cold night.
As the wind howled through the door, Vasilej and Lorina swore, To stand together, come what may, as a bitter wind blew across the way.
Chapter One - SELÛNE
Under the crescent moon's dim light, the Bogatyrs pondered, discerning a fight. Selûne above, half in shadow, a sign of battles yet to follow.
Bertryll stood watch as the Prince slept, Ivin by his side, his vigil kept. As dawn broke over tundra’s cold, the Bogatyrs readied, brave and bold.
Vasilej sought Captain Gudvær’s aid on battle's field, to find and kill the Warlocks concealed. “Eastward lies a hidden threat, but give me a day, and I’ll be set.”
With plans in mind, they marched away, hugging the river, through pines they’d stray. Vladis taught Ivin the ways of trade, as spirits rose, fears began to fade.
By the river’s edge, they made their camp, Bertryll’s balalaika lit the damp. Vasilej watched, his heart at ease, longing for peace in times like these.
At dawn, they found the telltale smoke, a Warlock camp, their resolve awoke. Bertryll scouted, the enemy spied, the Bogatyrs prepared to strike with pride.
In ambush swift, they struck with might, though Bertryll was wounded in the fight. Vasilej, fierce, brought down the foe, while Ivin’s skills began to grow.
An Order jack was spared, his secrets told, of other soldiers and plans so bold. With their mission done, they camped once more, reflecting on the battle’s score.
Under Selûne’s watchful eye, Vasilej prayed to Gospod, his hopes set high. “To Lorina, I’ll return one day, to raise our family, let come what may.”
Chapter Two - RIPOSTE
Back in Palischuk, the Bogatyrs bold, Prince Vasilej’s news of Warlock Knights told. “In the foothills, we struck them as they come, But more squads aim for our Kingdom.”
Captain Gudvær nodded, his forces thin, “The Guard must stay; the threat’s within.” Vasilej agreed, their plan in mind, “The Bogatyrs will hunt, or track behind.”
At the castle gates, Vasilej found Lorina, his love, where strength was bound. “Our love will endure, through every test, One day we’ll find as we pray, peace and rest.”
In the tavern, the Bogatyrs drank, Kvass in their cups, their spirits rank. Bertryll gambled, his gold well won, Then rejoined the group, their task begun.
With farmer Kavel and Nikito, they marched away, the two armed with crossbows, to hunt by light of day. In the foothills, Bertryll heard the sound, Of enemies near, their fate now bound.
Bolts flew swift, the Warlocks fell, Vasilej stood firm, defending well. Mort the spearman, the last to stand, Surrendered his fate into their hand.
“They march to Rolovsk,” Mort did say, “To finish their task before break of day.” The Bogatyrs marched, with Mort in tow, To save the village from the cruel foe.
In Rolovsk, they flanked the fight, Saving peasants from the Order's might. Vasilej struck the sergeant down, And the village was saved from these deadly hounds.
Father Mosalev thanked them all, But Vasilej knew the priest stood tall. They took a prisoner, back to the keep, Where Gudvær and Grivor the secrets would keep.
But in the night, a shadow fell, As death crept close, with a silent knell. The prisoner was slain by dagger’s thrust, The Telos Brethren’s plot a cloud of mistrust.
Yet through the storm, they’d stand once more, The Bogatyrs’ strength, like dawn’s first roar. For in the end, their love and land, Would be defended by their steadfast hand.
CHAPTER THREE - WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING
In the twilight of evening, as pine trees did sway, a figure in darkness to Palischuk made way. In the war room he stood, with a cloak torn and frayed, Iram, a revenant's spirit, in chainmail arrayed.
His village of Brasta, by fire laid low, now driven with vengeance, his presence enough to show. He had scars on his face, rotten and grim, and pledged his blade to the Bogatyrs' hymn.
Prince Vasilej, with Lorina his Princessa, found solace in the night, in her aura. Danger loomed close, with shadows in play, an assassin's blade will soon strike one day.
At dawn in the Castle, the Bogatyrs dined, speaking of murder, with justice in mind. Lorina resolved, with sharp, steady hand, to find the assassin and take a stand.
She sought the King's blessing to search his room, while Iram searched high and low for impending doom. Bertryll sought rumors, from whispers he gleaned, a dark handprint found, where assassins had been.
To the dungeons below, the heroes did go, to question Jailor Baigan, and secrets to know. Three prisoners they found, but one was odd, silent in slumber, with suspicions they prod.
Baigan dismissed them, with venomous pride, but the Bogatyrs knew, in him did guilt reside. To Spymaster Grivor, they brought news of foe, a high-ranking traitor, whose deeds would soon show.
Back to the dungeons, with weapons in hand, they confronted Baigan, who made his stand. Shouted Vasilej: “For treason and murder, your time’s to end,” But Baigan, with malice, would not yet bend.
"We are Baigan, killer of kings, and hubris of generals", his body transformed a demonic peril, Serpentine limbs and a face full of sin, The battle began, with the Bogatyrs all in.
Ivin’s shot flew true, and Iram’s spell flew, But Baigan withstood, his vengeance he threw. Lorina’s blades danced, and Vasilej struck, Bertryll’s halberd found flesh with a final luck.
With a mighty blow, Baigan’s head did fall, The Bogatyrs stood victorious and tall. In the aftermath calm, they searched the remains, Finding a note with sinister gains.
"Two assassins would come, through the secretive drain, To Father Benedikt, their refuge to gain." With haste, they set forth to Palischuk’s church, Lorina led him to the Castle, where truth would perch.
Bishop Kalyu deposed him, his priesthood undone, The Varangians took him, their victory won. Though traitors were found, the tension still tight, But hope had returned with the first morning light.
Chapter Four - BROTHERS-IN-ARMS
Between the capture of traitors and the coming storm, Bertryll crafted a weapon, of a new, deadly form. A blunderbuss he called it, inspired from afar, from visions he saw, beyond the Astral stars.
With Ivin by his side, in the Galena’s cold height, they found a crypt, letters glowing with light. When attacked by ice wolves, fierce and gray, a spirit alike Ivin on command arose, to keep foes at bay.
After Baigan’s fall, and the court secured, King Markus had plans, a new path ensured. He sent Princessa Lorina, with Bogatyrs brave, to the Tuaksin Cossacks, their land to save.
Northwest to Koloya, then northeast they went, to the Great Grass Sea, where the cossacks are sent. By Lake Kagazan, they camped for the night, but in the dawn, they’d face a fight.
Ambushed by bandits, three cossacks rode fast, yet another appeared, from shadows he passed. Chios the Fell-Soldier, wild and grim, joined the fray, his axe at the brim.
Lorina’s voice calmed, her words reached deep, the Princessa spoke of unity, promises to keep. The raiders withdrew, to their stanitsa returned, and Chios, now allied, for revenge he yearned.
At the Tuaksin stanitsa, Bertryll’s name held weight, his past as a cossack opened the gate. Hetman Mikael laughed at Lorina’s plea, “Prove your worth, then brothers we’ll be.”
A raid on the centaurs was the task at hand, to earn their trust and form a warband. Through dances of war and prayers by night, the Bogatyrs readied, with dawn’s first light.
At the Tengu tribe’s camp, by their oasis lair, Vasilej led the charge, men raining bolts from the air. Bertryll and cossacks rode to the fight, Lorina, Chios, and Iram fought with all their might.
Centaurs fell to the Bogatyrs’ skill, but the battle was harsh, many cossacks killed. Bertryll’s halberd struck true, in a deadly chase, as Tengu Noyan met his final grace.
When the battle was done, the foals were chained, but with Lorina’s plea, the cossacks’ hearts gained. They set them free, as the tribe lay lost, and back to the stanitsa, the warband crossed.
Hetman Mikael, pleased with the day, gave Lorina a bulava, a brotherhood’s sway. She returned to Palischuk, with the mace in hand, where King Markus lifted it, uniting Ostraland.
The Varangian Guard and court did cheer, for the Tuaksin alliance, now crystal clear. The winds had shifted, favoring their side, as Palischuk’s strength began to rise.
Chapter Five - STORM OVER BRASTA
Through Koloya’s cold, Bertryll and Ivin rode, To free the fort from bandits’ cruel abode. A hunter’s guide, a blacksmith’s plea, Led them to the fort by the frozen trees.
With sword and faith, they claimed the day, as Ivin’s blade struck the chief in the fray. Yet peace was brief, as spring now calls, for Brasta’s war and bloodied walls.
In the shadow of dawn, 'neath skies dark gray, stood the ruins of Brasta, where ash yesteryear did lay, Prince Vasilej led, with his Bogatyrs bold, to this town of death where a tale of courage be told.
His wife and Princess Lorina stood beside him, her saber in hand, Bertryll, the cossack, blunderbuss grand. Young Ivin, eager with a heart of fire, and Chios, a warrior to fight one would not desire.
The Warlock Knights marched, and with sheer malice did came, across the Malenkiy River, seeking Palischuk to tame. Yet the Palischians stood, even through fright, in the pass of Brasta, they'd stand with dawn's light.
Captain Gudvær and the Varangians stood with their Prince, held in reserve in case of a pinch. Boyars Piotr and Taisa, their spears held high, Tuaksin's cossacks and Rolovsk's volunteers, underneath watchful sky.
Telos' horde charged, but the pass was tight, Taisa's wisdom guided the Palischians' fight. He pulled back the spears, letting foe advance, into a vicious trap, without a chance.
Boyar Piotr to the east, Taisa to the west, Gudvær to the north, Palischuk's best. As each of Order's companies entered, they met their doom, cut down by spears, unable to fight, no room.
The Varangian Guard descended, axes in hand, three times they struck, as if on command. The Warlock Knights fell, their might undone, The Palischians stood, their victory won.
But dark was the hour, through portal Arofryr appeared, into Vasilej's camp, with hatred seared. The battle was fierce, but the Bogatyrs stood, their courage unyielding, and their faith good.
The Princessa's sabers danced, swift as the wind, Bertryll's blunderbuss roared, and Ivin's crossbow pinned. Chios with axe, brought death to foe, and Alastor, the dragon paladin, delivered the final blow.
Knight-Council Arofryr fell to the ground, and Palischians' cheers the only sound. The Warlock Knights were cut down, or fled in fear, with the path to Castle Perilous stood clear.
So sing of the battle at Brasta's pass, of Vasilej's valor, a tale to last. The Palischians' strength, and Bogatyrs' might, in the ruins of Brasta, where they conquered the Knights.
Chapter Six - ROLOVSK'S STAND
In the wake of Brasta’s mighty fight, Prince Vasilej rode with dawn’s first light, To Rolovsk's aid, with Bogatyrs bold, For Dranja’s tribes would soon take hold.
Ivin and Chios stayed behind, To Castle Perilous, duty aligned. But Vasilej led his noble band, To shield Rolovsk, to make their stand.
Alastor, dragon knight, stood tall, Built palisades to guard them all. Bertryll forged guns with iron might, While Iram flew through shadowed night.
Lorina spoke with wisdom keen, To make a peace with Dranja’s queen. But there came Sir Erik with pride, Who sought to lead the people’s side.
The Headman Volymir, with voice so free, Declared the village’s sovereignty. But Father Mosalev, wise and kind, Urged them both to save their kind.
So Erik and Volymir did unite, To lead the people through the fight. With arquebuses roaring loud, They faced the bandit’s brutal crowd.
The bandit chief, with fire and rage, Led his men into the village’s cage. But Vasilej, Erik, and the rest, Fought them back with all their best.
Bertryll’s guns fired bright and clear, As bandits fell in waves of fear. Iram soared high, a deadly might, And Alastor’s blade turned dark to light.
But in the fray, with arrows flown, Volymir fell, a fate to protect home. “Protect Rolovsk,” he whispered last, As bloodied skies turned overcast.
With the bandit chief at death’s cold door, Iram’s gaze chilled him to the core. “You’re no man,” the bandit cried, And as Iram took his head, the villain died.
Rolovsk stood, its people strong, Boyar Erik now to lead them long. And in the ash of battle’s end, A boy learned craft from Bertryll’s hand.
The village saved, the Bogatyrs stood, In service of this land's good. But Father Mosalev warned with care, Of trials waiting, unaware.
To Dranja’s heights, they’d march once more, With battles yet still left in store.
