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Justice from out of the Mists

Pietroschek's Ravenloft Fan-Fiction

Ravenloft Fan-Fiction Short-Story for “The Mists of Ravenloft”, some worthy art you can find by following the attached LINK. Ravenloft for those who don't know: Imagine the time of 'The 3 Musketeers' or 'Pact of the Wolves' mixed with 'Dracula' & 'Frankenstein'; in the province of Barovia Count Strahd von Zarovich holds domain, a vampire driven nigh-mad due losing his love, pacting with Eternal Evil to rule over 'us' lesser mortals! That is a vague description of the dark, horror-bend world, and the heroes & heroines trying to survive in it.

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...