Dear Diary,

Gossip is a horrible thing. It leads to unpleasant assumptions and even more disagreeable outcomes. Take my great-great granny Albina, for example. She was the kindness of Babushkas and the gentlest of magic bearing souls, but one single little misunderstood incident involving the unintentional beheading of a bewitched questing prince and his inadvertent baking into a mince pie and she goes down in history as a heartless, flesh-eating monster. Worse still, poor, sweet great granny Vasilisa's only claim to monstrosity was a hunched back and a dark toned, single haired mole right at the tip of her rather icicle-like nose. Granny Izolda says it is just plain meanness to label a good fairy a witch just because of poor genetics. I personally think Albina and Vasilisa had it easy. Last time I ventured into the village, Granny Izolda was being labeled a word that rhymes with witch, but is probably a better reflection of the housewives' frustration with my granny's incredibly good looks and magnetism than her ability to do magic. If you ask me, they should do better bringing their men to task for salivating over an unknown woman, than criticizing the boon of eternal beauty she received from great granny Vasilisa at her birth.

Anyway, I seem to have derailed a bit from my initial purpose. Gossip is unspeakably dreadful for one very serious reason – it transcends time and people. Take the Baba family, my family, for example. It has been hundreds of years since the womenfolk of my line started practicing the craft, but do people remember our heroic contributions? Nay, I say. Instead, one little accident, one little misfortune on Albina's part has forged a new identity for us. And the worst part? Tomorrow, Granny Izolda is planning to retire and bestow upon me her responsibilities. I shall become the new Baba Yaga of Westfolde Forest. Any other day, I would have received these news with a glad heart, but today?

Today, I heard some gossip.

There is a witch hunter in town and, by all accounts, he is not entirely friendly.

Ancestors, help me.

Illena, Baba of Yaga

...

Journal of Taras Illarionavich, from the Ryazan province.

- 11th sunrise of the 6th month.

The sun has barely risen, yet I am already riding with purpose towards the west. It's been about 2 years since I've left my home, and started my life as a slayer of the monsters that disguise themselves as magical "humans". There is no such thing as a magical being being "good", much less being in any way similar to us, at least, not in soul and emotion. There are many who would believe in "fairies" and benevolent spirits, but I've yet to find one that doesn't carry with it an ulterior motive or ambition, or that want to toy with us and humiliate people by having them perform these so called "tests". Of course, more ignorant people or with a lessened sense of dignity are none the wiser and will happily fall into their traps. But I, being an Illarionavich, know better, as has my family for several generations now.

However, I write into this journal not to speak of my personal life, but as to keep a record of my journey henceforth in the event that I end up being trapped, kidnapped, trans-mutated, enchanted, cursed, murdered, or worse, mind washed by the foul being I now seek. It is the intent that whoever finds this journal, can learn from my findings and experiences, as they could let them succeed where I have failed. I also encourage anyone finding this journal, that they continue it, or create one of their own, lest they end up like my great, great Grandfather, Prince Illarion. Who, failing to keep record of his adventures, left his distraught family with no record or details behind his gruesome demise. Details that could have aided in finding the wretched witch that decapitated and ate him.

Indeed, this is the same being I now pursuit. Despite barely being 23 years old, my extensive training as a child despite my family's wishes, and my two years as a full fledged professional have now endowed me with enough experienced and confidence to finally follow trough on what my family has lacked the nerve to do so far: Avenge the name and heritage of my family. Two years may not sound like much, yet when one has been successful in already slaying fearsome creatures such as Rusalkas, Vilas, Vodniks and even a particularly insidious ancient witch, that enticed children with her cabin made of chocolate, only to then eat them. Well, one might as well start their ultimate purpose while they are still young and alert, lest they become dull with age.

While this short autobiography may sound like a grand digression from the purpose of this journal, it is important that the finder knows of my background, so that they may notify my family in case something were to happen to me. Maybe then they'll find the nerve they lacked in the past. One can only hope.

It is now evening, the sun now starts to set, and with it, my journey seems to reach a halt for now. I've made contact with the first village that lies nearby the forest in which the creature I've been seeking dwells. Unfortunately, my first encounter with the villagers leaves less than desired, as they seem to be major a superstitious, easily manipulated bunch. I know however, better than to try and dissuade them from their foolish beliefs, better to just keep my distance, and find the information I require quickly. Of course, the best place to do this is usually the Village's local Tavern. Such places can often bring dangers in themselves though, so I shall end this entry of my Journal for now, and update it with my findings tomorrow, in the event everything goes well tonight.