THE RUSSIAN STORMS

RISE OF THE TSAR BABY

Long ago, just after the creation of Russia, the great motherland blessed her people with her child. That child was Tsar Baby. His great tale begins on the coldest night, of the harshest winter, atop the tallest mountain. There, a small baby hand is sticking out of the snow, dragging the rest of itself out of the earth it has been born from. Then, Tsar Baby emerged, in nothing but a diaper. He studied his surroundings, using his small, squinted baby eyes, that held a look more grizzled and experienced than even the oldest and wisest of veterans. He started his long, cold descent to his country, far below.

Tsar Baby, more intimidating and fearsome than even the largest and fiercest of armies, was marching down the mountain when he came across a great bear, with a body like that of a castle, and limbs like trees as old as time itself. Tsar baby stopped, and looked up at the mountain of a beast, four times his size, still on all fours. Then, Tsar Baby spoke.

"Comrade," the small Tsar said, his voice deep and rumbling like an army of avalanches converging on their target. "Come with me, and we shall be partners, protecting the motherland, and helping her and her people prosper."

The bear did not pause in his response "No, I am king here, and no one has challenged that in a thousand years. Instead of helping the weak humans, I shall kill you here." The bear proclaimed. Then, he rose up on his back legs, doubling his already massive height, and roared a roar that shook the earth itself. Then, still roaring, the masculine beast brought his fury down upon the small child, as if the world itself was ending.

And so the bear died.

From comrade bear's fur, Tsar baby made his first hat, and continued on his journey to claim the throne of the motherland.