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Yuri, nominal hero, WAS having a grand old time in the land of Albion. He WAS going around slaying bandits, slaying hobbes, salting dogs, slaying crunchy chicks, and slaying whoever and whatever he was paid to slay.
And then he married fifteen women. And then these fifteen women every day took five hundred gold coins from his pockets mystically while he was halfway across the world slaying things. And then a man named Kenneth demanded money or he would expose to each of the fifteen women, the existence of the other fourteen, and then Yuri the Hero would die, or at least lose major street cred.
Accordingly, he had to discover a way out of his terrible, unforeseeable conumdrum before absolute bankcruptcy, divorce, loss of property, and single parentage descended upon his hamdsome head.
"Vitya, today I embark upon a quest which henceforth promises to solve all my problems. If I do not return by sundown, search for me at the Oakfield demon door. And bring forth vodka, for I shall surely want it." he said, to his best friend and neighbour, Viktor. Neighbour of one of his houses, that is. The most important one. The castle.
Viktor, a man with only one wife and one house and decent clothing and blond hair and a halo and an honourable job chasing balls around muddy fields for the entertainment of the masses, looked up from the garden patch he was tending, and narrowed his eyes at the flamboyant pimp-king staring down at him from a balcony of the castle.
"Why are you speaking like that, Yura?"
Regardless, he agreed to come to the hero's aid if need be, and off Yuri went, after getting his wand sharpened and his robes dry cleaned, of course. Can't slay or solve anything without being absolutely pristine and dripping with style.
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A horde of children, seemingly fully half of the child population of Albion, accompany a famous hero down the road to parts known and unknown, as they always do whenever he leaves the city. Childish song accompanies the trilling of panpipes and the rhythmic flying of luxurious robes over the mud and grass of the path. It's a beautiful day, and sun beams fall through the strong and gnarled arms of oak trees, from where birds stand and sing. Bright green grass sways in the warm and fragrant breeze, accompanied by the cheerful buzz of insects.
Some miles down the road, a travelling merchant comes upon the horde of youth and their flute playing leader, recognising the latter after a moment or two of deliberation.
"Oh, your majesty! How good to see you! Fancy having a look at my wares?" The man makes the monarch a showy bow.
"No." says the hero-king, momentarily removing his creepy instrument from his mouth. His gang of delinquents peer at the stranger from around and behind his back, their eyes bright as those of foxes.
"Well then, where are you off to with all these children?" The number of dark eyed, sly faced children and the fluting of the panpipes begins to sow disquiet within the merchant's breast, salved only by the beauty of the day.
"A heroic summer camp." says the hero, briefly pausing his playing once again, a twitching beginning in his left eyelid.
"Hmm…the Guild runs things like that?" The merchant takes another look at the spectacle before him. Takes another look at the hero in question, the most notorious in the kingdom. Takes another look at the lean form, the black and grey robes, the aggressive wand at the silver belt, the black and curly hair through which the nubs of horns jut, the pale skin and goatish facial hair, the wasps and hornets following in the man's wake, and most striking of all, the blood red eyes narrowed suspiciously at him over the top of ancient panpipes.
"They do now. But why are you interogating me about what I'm doing with my own offspring?" hisses Yuri, softly. "You're screwing up my tune. Don't make me hex your ass straight back into the tenth century."
Not long afterwards, a huge black wolf is seen galloping away from the scene of a horrific crime, galloping across a bright yellow rape seed field, panpipes in its mouth, crown on its head, a little girl on its back, and a horde of children of all ages skipping and running and leaping after it merrily.
Later, back in Bowerstone, Viktor checks his pocket watch. Beyond the wall of his cottage the sun is kissing the horizon with its full red lips, and yet his best friend is not back from whatever he was going to do. The life of a hero is difficult and dangerous, so he doesn't take a case of a missing hero lightly. At least he doesn't take the case of a missing Yuri lightly. Other people and their issues he doesn't involve himself with.
"Sweetheart, I'm going to fish Yura from whatever bad spot he's got himself into. I'm not sure when I'll be back, so don't stay up." He says to his one wife in his one kitchen, once he's all decked out in golden armour interspersed with blood red accents. Like his bestie, he's also a wizard, and wields a wand rather than a sword, although a legendary sword does hang from his belt. Hanging one there is a great tactic to make bandits and monsters imagine one is going to draw a blade on them, only for one to hit them in the face with a spell.
His wife, a beautiful girl, hugs her newest baby in her rounded arms, her skin glowing peachy pink, her eyes happy as can be. "Okay, Vitya. Be careful."
The couple share a kiss, then father kisses baby, hefts a sack full of vodka bottles, and off he goes, whistling to himself while he strolls through the streets of the city, people greeting him from left and right, handing him free pies, free drinks, free this, that, and the other thing.
Some time later, a more or less incredible time later, deep at night, he approaches the demon door his friend claimed was going to solve all his problems. The thing is part of an ancient structure mostly overgrown with trees and heaped with soil so that it appears to be a hill. Only upon approaching the north side does one come upon a face carved into a stone wall. A face that will open its eyes and speak, to the right person. Not being fond of being tempted, Viktor avoids them like the plague, but he long ago gave up attempting to dissuade his ambitious friend from dallying with them.
But instead of finding a door, he finds a portal where a door was, and nothing but am empty chamber beyond it. A single gold coin lies on the stone floor.
"So you succeeded. But where have you gone now?" Viktor says to himself as he stands there, wondering where his brother-from-another-mother has got to. Swiping the coin from the ground, he flips it up into the air and catches it as he walks back out, thinking on where Yuri might have gone. With gold in hand he would probably head straight to a bank, leaving the road and cutting across fields and through forest, as is his way. Well, nothing for it but to take a swig of healing vodka. This Viktor does, since otherwise he'll have to cast a spell upon himself to keep warm under the cold stars.
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After a series of adventures involving dwarves, hobbes in bloomers, and old women attempting to shill him suspiciously red apples, Viktor finally catches up with his friend, in the middle of a pine forest. Gold surrounds him as a moat surrounds his castle, but sadly he's turned or been turned into a marble statue, and cannot respond when Viktor stumbles over and slurs at him.
"Yurets??! That yooou? Were your horns alllways so big?"
The answer is no. The king's horns now rise above the pyramid points of his crown, something they were only beginning to do before. The statue clutches a round ball in its right hand, a round ball with a chunk missing, as if some animal with funnily shaped jaws took a bite out of it. Viktor, reeling back and forth, attempts to focus on it, but it keeps splitting into clones.
"What haf you ben up to, maaan? I hope you didn't marry another woooman," falling down on the pine needle and gold coin strewn ground, Albion's best footballer takes a moment to drink some more and stare up at the statue. "I'm gonna kick your marble ass if you haf."
After passing out and arising from fitful sleep still tipsy, he wanders off to give his gold coin to a passing beggar, before returning to attempt to talk the hero out of his confinement.
"Oh, Yura, please wake up from this stone nightmare. Without you I'm just a man with a wife, and I can't talk to her about my manly feelings." Tossing his flesh and blood arm around the stone neck of the statue, Viktor begins sobbing manly tears, directly onto the stone chest. The magical, emotion enhancing powers of alcohol come together to make him plant a kiss on the stone cheek of his childhood friend.
A rumble begins deep in the marble. Once he realises something is happening to it, Viktor released his grip and steps away, only to trip over his own feet and land beside his sack of vodka, now half empty.
But half is still more than good enough. Marble flakes off the statue in huge slices, blocks crashing to the forest floor in a shiver of cream coloured dust. When a man steps out of the remains, he lifts the apple he's holding, glares at it, and flings it away into the undergrowth, wrapping that hand around the neck of a vodka bottle instead. After taking a long swig of the firey liquid, he checks the sky, hoovers up the dropped gold with a spell, and addresses his rescuer.
"Thanks, Vitya. I'd love to stay and pass out in the woods with you, but I'm late to pick my children up from Heroic Summer Camp."
Viktor, happy as can be, sniggers from the ground. "What about Kenneth?"
"Oh. He's dead." And with that, the King of Albion arches a black and vaguely villainous eyebrow, transforms into a wolf, and gallops away into the shadows of the trees.