Olga "The Destroyer" Volkovich and the Battle of the Bogs

CHAPTER ONE: THE ASHES OF GOROD KRYS

"Fedor, darling, would you please wipe that putrid blood from your face." Oxana scoffed at her husband, pinching her permanently upturned nose in disgust. She held out an elaborately detailed handkerchief in his direction, all the while launching an almost comical assault of haughtiness and silent disdain at the large, balding man.

Fedor carefully took the napkin from her hand and began to wipe the small red droplets off his skin. "Oh my True God, that was fun, wasn't it, sweetpea? We are truly doing His work here, cleansing these lands of the Beasts, the Rotten and the Unworthy. Daddy will be so proud....shame about the mess though." Oxana snorted to herself, while Fedor remained quiet and unmoving. 

He was just made to perform the sacred act known as "Rat-Bashing" by his young bride. His eyes began to trail over the bloodbath once more.

Tiny rat guts were strewn over the ancient trees of the forest, their blood colored the snow. Fedor's dreams would forever be haunted by the screams of Plague Rats as his "bita" descended upon them and their children. Oxana cackled once more, "I love how their little bodies exploded when you whacked them! You did this Fedor, my love, you are a master massacrist!"

A small tear rolled down Fedor's massive cheek. The Big Bad Slavic Rat God, Chernobog, bellowed a thousand curses at him from his throne in the below-world. He was now keeping a close all-seeing eye on the unfolding events.

"Let's burn them!" Oxana squealed with delight at the sound of her own idea, removing a box of matches from inside the folds of her annoyingly exquisite dress. She lit one, the flame reflecting in her mad "siniy" eyes, and threw it onto one of the many little rat huts--erupting with over-the-top, maniacal laughter as she watched the wooden sticks of the hut burn. 

Fedor remained still, he thought for a moment that he could feel the earth beneath his feet shake, but quickly brushed it aside. His mind was far too preoccupied with thoughts of death and destruction and dare he say, consequence?

A tree branch crunched somewhere in the distance, light footsteps could be heard approaching the site of ultimate slaughter. They belonged to a teenaged Olga, enveloped by a black tattered cloak, looking quite emaciated--having long lost her baby girth by surviving on nothing more than diseased rat-milk and tree bark for sixteen harsh winters. 

She had gone out into the wide expanse of wood to gather sticks and toadskin, for the purpose of keeping her loving rat family warm. Mother Rattus had promised Olga a treat when she returned from the short journey. This made Olga's usual scowl turn into a slight smirk.

"Oh dear Dark one, most Unruly one, most Sexy, Chernobog bless this toadskin for Mother Rattus. I pray that my treat will not be a vial of Goblin urine this time." Olga whispered to herself, while maintaining a steady pace in the steep snow, speeding up when she saw the tiny spiky gates of "Gorod Krys." 

But wait, something was wrong. 

Olga stopped suddenly. She saw small plumes of smoke rising from just beyond the gates. She took a big sniff of the air and the strong, rancid, all-too-familiar stench of death filled her nostrils.

"Hooy Morzhovy!" Olga cursed under her breath, hesitating for a moment, before stepping into Gorod Krys and almost certainly, her doom.

Oxana and Fedor froze as their eyes met Olga's. The human couple had never before laid eyes on such a repulsive yet oddly enchanting creature before. 

Olga's gray, slightly sickly skin glimmered with what could either be copious amounts of sweat and grease or glitter milked from nearby tree-nymphs. Upon digesting Mother Rattus' own milk ages ago, it seems Olga's genes had mutated, making her 1/16th Plague Rat (blessing her with a few, subtle rodent-like features such as her nose) and a vessel for a myriad of uncomfy ailments.