Prologue: A Chance Rescue

"What do you think you're doing?" A hooded young woman gripped her bone white staff, a sky blue flame flickering atop its gnarled cage of a crook.

Five bulky, strong-looking men had surrounded her, their odor oozing through her skin and clothes. It filled her with an abominable feeling of nausea. Was it because of their unwashed leather armor? Or their own bodies?

Either way, her fright overpowered her instinctual disgust, and thus did not eject her breakfast onto the man in front of her. Only the Coruscated Wildfire knows what would've happened if she did.

One of the men, a blond-bearded brute, smirked wryly. "Why, you gotta pay the toll, little miss. The baron has some strict rules. No money, no passage!" The other four grinned as they swapped glances.

The woman's legs quivered as sweat rolled down her hands, her voice steady. "So how much? The toll, that is."

"Why, it's only a mere 50 emberpence." The man's eyes wandered down, as he could not see her face.

An inexplicable shiver creeped down her spine. "F-Fifty? I don't have that much! Please! You must let me pass!" She raised her voice in surprise, and her hood slipped down, revealing golden hair and crystal clear eyes.

The man whistled "Well that's too bad…But, maybe I don't have to report this…You could pay by other means, after all."

"I'm not sure what you mean, good sir." Shockingly, the woman didn't understand the implication.

The man cackled as he grabbed her by the waist, pulling her closer to his body as he took in the sweet fragrance of her hair. "These are dire times, and brave, brave men like us have been cold and alone for many nights now. You can pay by helping us warm our beds!" His grin curled maliciously.

"S-Sir. I'm sure you'd have much better chances with a bigger bonfire and a warm prayer to the Wildfire. A-And…Could you please let me go? Your grip is very strong." The woman's fright returned as she turned away from the man's horrid breath. Her arms and legs weighed her down like large bricks of ice--heavy and cold.

The man's smile disappeared as his brow furrowed. "Listen, little girl." His grip tightened on the woman, and she cried out as she felt the strong outline of his leather gauntlets. " I don't have the patience to–"

His terror inducing words were interrupted by his own pain as the woman plunged her heel into his boot. He let go, grunting in pain as she took the chance to turn around and flee. Only to bump into one of the other four men, falling to her feet. Her staff clattered away as it escaped her clutches, the blue flame continuing to flicker with life.

"You ash-trodden witch's mongrel! Grab her, boys! We've got a new–"

This time, there was no cry of pain as a large axe embedded itself into the man's skull.

Before anyone else could react, two more axes found themselves in two of the other men's skulls.

The woman screamed as the bodies thumped into the mud, splattering her clothes and face.

One of the two remaining men drew a blade, an insult to swords as it was terribly maintained. He roared, challenging the unseen threat. "Come out, you blithering bilgeful toad! Fight me like a true warrior! With honor!" How ironic, a brute asking for a fair fight.

The other, however, trembled as he pointed to one of the axes, its handle engraved with intricate wolf carvings. "Bo-Bogatyr!" His knees turned to mush, and he fell backwards. "Bogatyr! Oh Bogatyr! Spare me! Anything but my life!" He scrambled away as he pleaded. But alas, it was to no avail as a fourth axe came out of the brush, stopping the irritating whimpering. The fourth man fell into the mud, just like the rest.

The final man's gaze darted to the brush, just in time to see a fifth axe flying towards him. He ducked, forcing himself to the mud. Although it wouldn't make his attire any more dirty, it was still wet and disgusting. The axe struck a poor tree, the trunk visibly shaking from the impact. The man leaped up, standing once more as he looked back at the brush, his body shaking, but his mind bold.

Covered in head to toe in onyx armor, a man marched out from behind the brush. His helmet had but a mere slit for sight and air. His armor clicked together, echoing in the forest as he approached the fifth brute of a man. From his side, he takes out a short flail, swinging it and filling the air with a whir.

"I'm not scared of you! You'll die like all the other bogatyr I've slain!" A blatant lie would not protect the brute as he swung his blade, aiming for the neck, the weakest part in any heavily armored man. Or so he believed as the blade scratched the armor, bouncing away and throwing the brute off balance.

The Bogatyr swung his flail upwards, striking the brute in the chin, and sent him flying backwards and down into the mud. He never moved again.

The woman looked in shock as curled up, finally realizing her staff wasn't in her hands. She scrambled forwards, grabbing it and squeezing it with all her life as the Bogatyr approached her. "Don't come any closer!" She struggled to shamble away as her hand and boots slipped in the mud.

The Bogatyr ignored her until he kneeled beside her. She closed her eyes, whimpering.

"Your ankle is sprained." The woman opened her eyes, finding the Bogatyr with her ankle in his hand. She didn't even feel him taking off her boot. The metal of his gauntlet was cold, yet it provided her a level of comfort. "You're not going anywhere like this at this hour." His voice was muffled, of course, but it sounded strong and refined.

"Pardon?" The fear and adrenaline died down, while the severity of what had just occurred hit her like a blazing earthquake. Her complexion paled, her body stiffened, and her ankle finally screeched in pain. The woman fell, her head thumping into the mud as her body collapsed from the ordeal.

She heard the Bogatyr sigh as her vision dimmed and hearing deafened. "How troublesome…"