Who is this that stands before me? The first to visit me in my prison seven hundred years past.
Seven hundred years? All alone in a barn?
Huh, those winter nights must have just flown by.
Silence, ignorant heretic, or I behead you!
Leave him be!
For the child has spirit, but what is that?
When this island is littered with the bones of holy men.
My gift to them for their spirit in obstructing me from claiming my rightful inheritance.
And this inheritance, I would wonder, would be some way to explain
why your walking and breathing when you should be gone long past?
The inheritance is the gift of eternal life.
Contained within an ancient scroll. Concealed by the dullard Abbot and his cohorts.
The scroll, which draws forth pale demon blood through my veins.
I am no longer man. I am one for the earth and one for above the gaping abyss of Hades.
So why stay on the island?
Came for a holiday and fell in love with the scenery?
Hold your yapping tongue for want I clip it!
Boils and plagues plaster over this island and its treacherous inhabitants!
For it was they, and their ox little abbot, who plotted to incarcerate me in this dungeon hall for an eternity.
I, Vladimir Kaleta, who worshipped in the first Kremlin,
who butchered the Swede under Nevsky on the banks of the River Neva. Incarcerated within this prison of flowing water!
Running water... You're trapped here by running water!
Demons cannot cross running water.
Indeed. The abbot's final trick before I was transformed.
And you shall find a way to shore up this stream
or your holy man shall be opened up and gutted like live fruk.