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My own Ravenloft Mini-Stories 
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Post My own Ravenloft Mini-Stories

Justice from out of the Mists
© Andrè M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved

Ravenloft Fan-Fiction Short-Story for “The Mists of Ravenloft” at http://pietroschek.deviantart.com

This very small text was inspired by reading and art-watching through the “Mists of Ravenloft” gallery.


“May those who have the need to separate the world into a contrast of good and evil decide themselves which side to chose.” Varian Fidelio, Mist-Born Avenger.

The roadside Inn was shrouded in darkness. Mist formed an artful underlay to it. At least for those not easily spooked! Dread was in the atmosphere and the few travelers all seemed cautious, as if the slightest outburst could summon vilest Evil.

Bernelle had already earned her living when she encountered Varian. She was a nomad by passion, another soul wandering the realm. Her secret lay in her heritage. She was Half-Vistani and had learned long ago, that some customers can be eased by more than storytelling, song and tune.

Varian felt sad. He would have to repose the charming female bard even though he sensed no ill-intent in her approach. All she wanted was a look into his future. Sadly though, Varian had no future, as only Death and Damnation remained. Bernelle just shrugged and turned her attention to the next patron of the inn.

Varian paid his due and left. Back into the night, back into the nocturnal embrace of darkness and mists. There was just one task left for him to do. And it was the time to do it now. Fidelio followed the road which once had seemed like the path into life and fulfillment to him.

Short before midnight he had returned to the village of his rebirth! It did no longer hurt him to call it such. It felt no longer sickeningly and wrong. He knew the old stone surrounded by trees. He knew that his target would be there.

Her wards could neither warn her of his approach nor keep him at bay. It was the moment which had to come. Varian struck her from behind. A deed as craven and free of honor, as she had earned it. Yet she had earned so much more and Varian wanted her to get her due.

His right index finger punched into her left eye, merely a precaution to disable her abilities of unleashing certain unspoken curses and spells. When his left fist punched into her side she had to gasp, just like Varian had to bite her tongue-tip off! There was no hate involved in his deeds, that proverbial fire had long burned out.

Smacking his right elbow brutally into her stomach he ensured, that she would remain on the ground while he called the others. And they appeared. Spectral forms of three fellow villagers who had once been his companions.

United again! For one moment pain, cold and torment were forgotten and the four were simply friends meeting each other.

Yet their task was a grim affair. Marielle whom they had once called their Mistress lay on the ground, choking and bleeding. Yet her pain was nothing compared to the torment she had wrought upon the four.

In unison the four companions decided what there was to do about her. And in horrid silence did they cannibalize her life away. Starting from the arms and legs towards her torso. The Mist began to creep through the wards of her hag-born witchery as her life faded away.

Dropping a letter for the four families and a bag of gold coins Varian finished his quest and dropped dead, just in the moment in which his old companions started to dissolve out of reality forever.

And on the next day there was much debate in the village. About a grisly murder at the shrine and the letter accusing the harmless herbalist to be a hag-blooded she-fiend who had committed human sacrifices and worse. Four families could finally mourn their deceased and slept better from then on. The truth though, depended much on whom was asked. Was justice finally done, or was it another villainous lie? Each bard has the own interpretation...

For now this is THE END...



Ravenloft Fan-Fiction 2: Dutiful Pedagogue
My 2nd mini-story for http://mists-of-ravenloft.deviantart.com
© Andrè M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved

“That is, why you will remain an assistant for several years onwards, Aleph. Nobody discriminated against you, do you understand it clearer now? For now you simply lack the mindset needed to apply academic formula to practical work.”

“Thank you for the clarification, Boss. I will remember it well.” pretended Aleph.

The nocturnal landscape of rural Barovia, along a well-traveled road there once stood the Coach and Crown Inn. That inn is the place, where both, Aleph and the Pedagogue, learn some lessons of life and the mists.

“The cellar is for the brewing. A smart use of the structure, especially since the steam-pipes and ventilation have been improved.”

“Oh, yes indeed” replied Aleph.

“And here, the kitchen, for the staff to prepare food. Watch the wooden panel of the reach to the bar. It is a well designed work of craftsmanship.”

“Pavel the Innkeeper must have really loved his job.” noted Aleph.

“Oh, he still does. It is only logical, that routine can drain us of motivation once in a while.” lectured the Pedagogue.

“Now Aleph, do not get lazy. Look into the commoners' room, it is directly besides the main room on ground level! Using the steam-pipes of the brewery to heat the room for the poorest in winter is another sign of academic lore bringing relieve to the hard working populace.”

“Indeed, you must have been very proud about your achievements.” guessed Aleph.

“And deservingly so.” judged the Pedagogue.

“Then these must be the stairs to the more luxurious rooms? The four rooms you had told me about? I really lacked imagination, it is so much more transparent now.” concluded Aleph.
“A proper deduction, my humble assistant. Indeed those four rooms are well known to me. I already worked within each of them for years. Years in which I helped dozens of people into a better life.” prided the Pedagogue.

The Academic was so eager to spin-forth the memories of his work for the people, that he nearly dragged Aleph through the first two rooms on the Inn's upper level. Aleph listened and learned.

When the Pedagogue entered the third room, a frown signed itself upon his face! He was not amused, for sloppiness is not to be tolerated in underlings, be it wenches or housewives! Anger swelled up in the man and soon an accursed nausea impacted the actually quite bright mood of the Pedagogue.

Aleph looked past the Pedagogue and saw that the window had been left open. At the damp time of the year, it had mad a misty fog cover the ground of the otherwise stainless room. Though it pained him beyond words to express, he entered the room.

“I should have known! Why, Aleph?” the Pedagogue turned to face the assistant “Why did you poison me?”

Aleph held the gaze of his accuser without any effort. “I did not poison you at all, Sir. Maybe this room has just...”

“Do not lie to me! I recognize foul play when it is against me! And I recognize the subtle streaks of murder in your personality, Aleph. What have you done?”

Aleph still stayed calm. “I did not poison you. Maybe the mists have a bad smell. Murder? Yes, there was a murder in this room indeed. What I have done? I listened to you, as I told you, that I am eager to learn your truth.”

His head was proverbially spinning as the Pedagogue was busy discovering the truth while staying wary of his, obviously psychotic, former assistant.” Flashes of Insight and Flashes of Nightmare did battle in his mind.

“My daughter was nineteen when I decided, that she should have a better life than the crude existence as a hunter which was all I could secure for myself. It damned me to a life in poverty, yet I managed to send her on her way to the new van Richten university. I had trained her for the journey and truthfully, I was proud of her choosing the wayfarer tradition to her goal.” tears rolled down Aleph's face while he spoke.

“I never knew you had a daughter. And already nineteen?” the Pedagogue stumbled, nauseated and sickened, while nightmarish twists of perception threatened to drive him mad.
“I once hoped, you would remember her. She was one who met you here and you taught her precious lore for her life as a student.” Aleph lied.

“I vaguely remember encountering a female student here.” the Pedagogue felt confusion mixing into the alienating malfunctions of his mind. Headaches and dizziness threatened to overwhelm him.

“Yes, you did. And that, while I slept just one room away.” accredited Aleph.

The Pedagogue felt struck, as if by lightning. Aleph spoke words which made sense in an abysmally dreadful way. The petty underling must have assumed that immoral activity would have spoiled the work of the Pedagogue, yet it has never been like that. The Pedagogue was a cultivated man, no cruel ruffian who would force himself upon a woman!

Aleph shivered while the mist began to fill more of the room. “I learned long ago, that you really perceived it all differently. Some theories implied that was your self before you snapped...”

“Snapped!” more lightning flushing the surreal scene. The Pedagogue remembered the cheerful crowd on ground level. Images of guests came to his mind, a long list. Yet he was a professional, he had never lost his focus for his work! Never!

“Time runs out, Sir. Please remind me, whom did we locals call the Pedagogue?”

The Pedagogue felt forced to reply. As if it was the only way to bring back the order of logic into this chaos of nightmare and accusations.

“The locals in this area, in a grim sense of humor about the undeniable, entitled a delusional killer to be the Pedagogue. The most popular theory is, that he murdered gruesomely while his madness convinced him to socialize and interact professionally with the local populace. One autumn night the Pedagogue was stopped from further misdeeds, when the father of his latest victim shot him in the back and began to beat the brain out of the murderers skull in a desperate, mournful frenzy.”

The Mists had risen to hip-level already and Aleph knew it wouldn't be much longer. So he spoke his farewell. “So you can remember. And by murder we both had damned ourselves. You to haunt this inn until the Mists arise to drag you away once more and I to face you knowing, that it would be wrong to forgive each other, even if it means we both will never find salvation.”

The words could not hold back the madness of the Pedagogue and his ethereal form was already drawn back into the Mists, to serve on with the dark destiny so ill-earned in blood...

THE END for now...


Excerpt: Felled Saints & Unsung Heroines (Gender Equality Patch)

1st note, these are my copyright and contain no Open Game Content at all. © Andrè M. Pietroschek

Through the scrying-glass the view fell upon the group of heroes. Better said, the view fell upon the surviving members of the group of heroes. Four adventurers, bloodied and battered, on their return from the showdown with Evil. Kigali Graybeard was the by now famous dwarven warrior who had come downwards from the mountain village to help. He carried Brimstone now, the female Tiefling Bard, she looks very sick. Avariel Silverhair sneaked along, too. The vigilant and stealthy Half-Elf rogue was another compatriot who had arrived just in time to help. In this case he came forth from the wood elf village in the western forest. Regina of the Flaming Heart next to him, visibly exhausted yet grabbing her holy symbol to protect Brimstone from certain death. With just two years of service in the village chapel, the woman clearly kept her faith even in crisis. Last yet not least strode Malabo Spellchecker, Disciple of Shamrock from the Cloak Tower, constantly supported by the quickly darting and easy-striding Avariel. The magician was still young as well, had he no more than three years as the villages' apothecary and alchemist after all.

Yet the group moved swiftly and clearly full of conviction. They had sworn to protect the people from vile evil and they had faced that evil and fought a desperate battle against it. Still they had paid a high price for their tactical victory. Theorem the valiant Monk from the Abbey at Hillside had been slain and devoured by the foul Undead. Hrothgar Bloodaxe, Wasteland Dwarven Compatriot to Kigali, had managed to close the crypt door with heavy stones, yet was felled while doing this via a craven strike from behind.

Kigali panted heavily, the weight of his armor and gear added by carrying the Minstrel took toll on his stamina. Yet the small barbarian had sworn never to leave those who fought by his side behind. Hammer and Shield flew sideways as he discarded them for later retrieval. He would fight in two-handed ax style, if need arose so soon again. His eyes rolled upwards, making out the forest outskirts close to the village of Curbstone.

Half down the path from forest to village, the heroes were spotted by the village watch and the humble little place came to life. Shouts were heard and movement came up everywhere in the small walled sanctuary. High-Priest Theodosius of the Flaming Heart even jumped upon a horse and tried to close the distance between the group and the chance for healing when he saw Kigali carrying a humanoid shape. Those were simple people, yet they were good people and had their honor, Kigali knew.

Theodosius stopped the horse, already busy jumping off. His senses had not betrayed him and sadly that remained true. Only five of the heroes had made it back from the forbidden crypt and obviously, only four had survived that ordeal now. Brimstone was dead, all efforts by the Dwarf proven futile in consequence.

“May the gods and your ancestors bless thine honor nonetheless, Kigali Graybeard.”

The dwarf needed an eye-blink before he realized the meaning. He carefully dropped the corpse from his arms. Last week in the Inn he would have wished the pestering and ever-pranking Tiefling back into the Nine Hells. Yet a lot had changed in the meanwhile. She died because she had fought by their side, not because she deserved a pyre for worshiping a Demon as so many of her species preferred to do. She died redeeming herself and overcoming the curse of her parentage. She fought courageously and had died with honor!

The group circled around their fallen comrade and prayed a silent prayer. Theodosius focused on healing the survivors and shared in the silence. As her closest they did the inevitable, beheading her corpse so she would not be forced to rise as an undead mockery of herself. When they walked through the Gate of Curbstone Village, shocked gasps and whispers of concern were heard.

At nightfall after the most enervating week in their lives only one thing was left to do. Getting drunk in the Inn. Not even Regina would attempt to find restful sleep by prayers alone this night. And truly, she had prayed more during and after that fight, then ever before. The heroes drank themselves ready for slumber. A numb and dream-free slumber, as they hoped to get...

Next morning the outriders stared in disbelieve at Theodosius. “Ride towards the Town of Haulage and call reinforcements from the Order of the Flaming Heart immediately!” Theodosius repeated. “Ride for our lives! If you will not be back with paladins at nightfall, there may be no living soul left in Curbstone!” And so they rode, wasting their horses and praying for godspeed...

Theodosius knew too well, what had happened. The moment four beds in the Inn were found empty and the Gate-Guards were reported missing! The unholy fever had felled Curbstones latest heroes and heroines cravenly. To make it worse, as is Evils nature, they rose as Undead and would reopen the crypt which their living souls had sacrificed so much for to get closed... Theodosius began to search for clues of the Risen having had any help. Horrid, if there would be a Necromancer or Vampire commanding the Undead...


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Last edited by Pietroschek on Sat Nov 17, 2012 1:06 am, edited 5 times in total.

Fri Nov 16, 2012 11:21 am
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Joined: Fri Nov 16, 2012 11:14 am
Posts: 3
Post Re: My own Ravenloft Mini-Stories
Thanks to Joel I contributed my first 2 mini-stories. On retry the coloring of the writing succeeded, too. Still I had to increase my Linux-Gamma by 50% to make this site visible enough on my screen. I hope it is readable to others without giving headaches. My regards: Andre` M. Pietroschek :lucas:


Fri Nov 16, 2012 11:25 am
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