Tales of Ancient Times

Beautiful and rich is Rus’.

From sea to sea its forests and fields stretch out, its stone cities scatter across boundless expanses. The princes sit in their own kremlins, swashbuckling heroes gallop in search of feats, and the ringing bells bloom in tune above God’s temples.

And in the middle of the bare wasteland of Koshchei’s Realm rises the gloomy citadel of the Bone Palace. A bony old man sits on an iron throne with dead eyes. His treasury is bursting with gold and silver, yet the crown on his head is forged from pure iron.

Hiss! Hiss! Hiss! The black sword of Koshchei the Immortal shrieks furiously—and it won’t be long before the skies over Holy Rus’ are clouded. Thick, hopeless clouds are already gathering, and from all corners of the earth hordes of the inhuman are already assembling.

The final battle is near.
The Battle of Life versus Death.

Heck. Heck. Heck.