Vudash Hexenwahn – The guild of Zion, from 2007

© Andrè M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved

My „Appetizer“ for the NWN module „Thief Prelude“ created by TSP under use of Biowares ® & © Neverwinter Nights.

Dear readers, in this text we will venture into the nightly side of the imagination. The story is about a small thieves guild. Set in a realm, where there is sorcery, where undead dwell and druids can do magic with nature and animals. Evil is neither less competent nor less omnipresent though.

Vudash was a half-orc in his 21st summer. As many others of his species, the stigma of his birth was not always pleasant. He was declared a monstrous and criminal psychopath the moment he got tucked from mommas womb. Orcs, dear readers, are really sadistic and brutal man-slayers, which celebrate their cruelty. Vudash had to add something to this heritage though. He had a balanced confidence, a clear mind and a certain talent for …the other side of the law. Due half-orcs like Vudash the city guard would stay in business without any worry about lack of missions.

Vudash had cultivated his passion for fun, sex, drugs and minor not so legal activities in recent years. He was on a journey to reap the fruits of his investments by now. The thieves’ guild of Zion had accepted him as a member. Breaking out of the squalor of a grudgingly tolerated tribal culture and opposing the constant menace of racism, whenever he had not to evade the minions of the law.

Vudash looked forward in anticipation for the guild. He learned early that in his profession every spoken word came on one unspoken as one between the lines.

Vudash didn’t start his journey naked though. He had his reinforced fur armour and a well-balanced dagger with him. His agility and training with the blade would convince more than one footpad or highwayman to strategically retreating. At the thought of cutting the face of some human scumbag he couldn’t fully hide a rather orcish grin. Vudash was aware that the real threat was not due criminals mostly. He had earned his name in the tribe for a reason. Vudash was no sorcerer, but he had a real instinctive talent for using their magical staffs. Few of the spell crafters could do it better. He could activate this eldritch magic from scrolls and so he started his career as a witch hunter.

Vudash thought this sounded much better than the evenly true statement that he broke into houses and lodges of wizards to steal their stuff. In bad nights he had been caught doing this and cutting a warlocks throat is better than tasting the steel of the guards oneself? Vudash had the muscles and temper of a half-orc, yet he couldn’t duel with a real warrior. He was talented, but not yet really experienced.

It did cost him some weeks of wandering to reach the outskirts of Zion short before nightfall. Hexenwahn held his eyes open for an inn. He was tired and then the thoughts of Gerstensaft (beer) and prostitutes were better signposts to the realm of dreamy slumber.

His first night in Zion was full of good sleep on a small bedroll for Vudash Hexenwahn. Seems half-orcs never got the real comfortable beds in their proper size.

Vudash awoke before the roosters cry. His ears had caught the sound of wooden bowls. There would soon be breakfast and he had some silver coins left. Pie made of grain and vegetables. Vudash found it tasty enough and grunted happily. Burping and farting were taboo when in presence of others. Humans and elves were only reassured in their hostile prejudices due such misbehaviour. Same was true on scratching this itch between the legs in front of others. Women rarely appreciated it. And if Vudash was about to jump into the bath, his intention was not to stay there in solitude.

Vudash knew where his appointment had to be made and was still intimidated enough not to steal within the city before he contacted the guild. He was already on the way, so what? Diving into a smaller street he started to look for the cellar entry. Today the virtue of patience was with him.

He had more than the luck to be unnoticed. The stairs down to the cellar door were trapped with some simple devices. For rogues it was obvious, that what could be deadly surprise to others, was a nice gift to the competent. Seemingly there was a bliss of generosity in the streets of Zion. From a half-orcs perspective. He would have to work a week as rat catcher or carrying rubble. Vudash picked the lock and carefully entered. (Here the module “Thief Prelude” begins) Vudash was just through the door when he made his first contact with Soppy. Soppy was a halfling with a certain charm. Vudash stated his business and was welcomed friendly enough. Soppy showed him around and gave him a quick lesson on the codex of conduct.

The halfling seemed much too friendly for his dark leather, but Vudash knew that more than traps could deceive the eye. He never had any personal contact with halflings before and as far as he knew pureblood Orcs took pleasure in torturing and eating them. Soppy didn’t seem to be a coward to him. For someone who was just big enough to bite Vudash’s belly that seemed worth noting back then.

Vudash and Soppy spend a while testing each other in practise. They compared their talents and tricked each other where they could. Vudash was talented, for many young rogues such nonsense had ended with mutilation or death.

Disarming an acid trap while doing pranks? Few could say this truthfully about themselves.

If rogues by their very profession would not have such a dire allergy to publicity the bards could add some sharp-witted lines about the argument if it is a half-orc dagger or a halfling short sword at Soppy’s belt.

Soppy introduced Vudash to “peg leg” later on. The dwarven guild member worked grudgingly as a merchant for weapons and armour here since an accident did cripple his leg.

For Vudash this remained information, he lacked gold. But Soppy saved his day. Pointing at three chests in the main room he said:

„These are for training. If you manage to get them open the loot is yours. If you get hurt doing it, we will just watch you suffer though. You are welcome, but incompetence we cannot afford to continue. Think about it, none here care if you do it or not. If you are hot for the gold, go and take the risk.”

Vudash had heard the words through an icy mood that befell him. The first chest, he sensed it for sure, had an especially weird trap. That was the energy that witches, crones and hags had in their aura! That was unworldly evil. The lock itself would not be much of a problem.

To Vudash it seemed as if his deepest fears rose up to sabotage his struggle with the witch-trap. This trap was dangerous. The slightest mistake and he would feel all strength sucked from his muscles and his life force drained away. Normally, so Hexenwahn thought, that was what happened when a witch gave one the eye. This evil eye was just more than a look of mortal eyes. A powerful witch would look through enchanted glass and give you the eye from far away! Vudash focused on neutralizing the trap’s mechanism again.

The dark night of the soul he had heard once. Vudash didn’t know what was meant with that. His own imagination made up a pretty scary spectre from it. He had offed the mechanism and finally heard the relieving click when the lock snaps open. He withdrew his tools carefully and took a deep breath. Hexenwahn took the time and effort to deal with all three chests.

When the work was done he began to appraise his loot. He got a studded leather armour, a masterwork dagger and a magic ring. He couldn’t grasp his luck. The risk had been high, but this would help him to increase his chance of surviving future adventures! He was still on his first day in the guild and had earned around a thousand gold pieces. His greed and his realism forged an unholy marriage of impulse.

Hexenwahn decided to keep his fur armour for now and sold the studded leather to peg leg. His old blade was sold, too. The ring now was on his left ring finger. But the guild had even more to offer. There was the mistress of masks, selling disguises well made. The half-elf Tally was an archer and sold quality ballistic weapon. [Readers, we are talking 0815 and at best +1 weapons here].

An alchemist had been hired by the guild, too. He sold potions, some even magical. Then he had his first chat with “the great Herald”. This gnome was some kind of mage and sold tools of his trade. For Vudash that meant buying some magic scrolls which he knew how to use. Time passed by and the young half-orc scouted his new opportunities. Meanwhile he could gut-stab some training puppets and learn firing a crossbow.

He would spend his nights in the guild for now. He had by now realized, too, that this was a rather small outpost. Coming from the poorest suburbs of his town, he enjoyed this little luxury anyway.

The next morning he awoke when Soppy managed to leave a bleeding cut upon his skin. The halfling and his “long-dagger”. Hexenwahn knew this lesson; he had a pretty deep sleep. Compared to his talents with traps and locks his awareness was mediocre at best. Drunk or drugged he would be easier to assassinate than those training puppets.

The new day brought along some new faces, too. The guild master Tobin was present now and Nora appeared. She was a specialist merchant dealing mission based equipment on Tobin’s behalf.

Soppy summarized it in his own words: “Tobin is not really one of us. The real bosses have hired him to take charge of the guild for now. Nora there is another class. You should treat her real friendly unless you get your jobs done with malfunctioning or none equipment. She only deals with you if Tobin tells her to do so.”

Vudash understood. He paid Tobin a visit as fast as he got an appointment. It was not half as impressive, as the half-orc had expected. Tobin was exactly what people accused half-orcs of being. Sadly, Tobin was human, so one could guess that he reached this degeneration, disgust and vice due his own efforts.

Hexenwahn had to swallow that brainless cheek kissing counted more than professional work. Between the lines and unspoken he had already figured out his solution to the problem of unsuited leadership.

But work has to come first. His first assignment would be to retrieve some evidence from a local merchant. All necessary means were acceptable. The self-righteous dude seemingly boasted in public how he would turn the thieves guild in to the guards. Vudash noted that to know anything about the guild the merchant must have some kind of connection to it. It being unspoken he knew not to ask right now. Watch, contemplate and learn.

Hexenwahn managed to unearth one real treasure while preparing for the task at stake. Nora swapped his fur armour with the so-called “suit of Zion”. This was light leather armour crafted especially for those of the rogues’ profession. It was darkened, oiled and bolstered with light metal bracers to allow blocking a knife. Vudash looked and felt better.

Being not really born for spell-craft he was fascinated to learn that Raibek, mage of some order, had the power of teleportioning! He wouldn’t have to sneak endlessly through damp and dark alleys; his first mission would start weird but comfortable. Vudash didn’t really understand this, yet this may make for a good escape if the situation turns sour. The guild had taken care that the owner of the Flying Scimitar had a certain degree of pity and understanding for the guilds not any closer specified needs. Raibek had done his fierce rituals in one of the back-rooms and could teleport a group or smuggled wares now to or from this spot.

Vudash had wished for Soppy as his companion, but was too sly to ask. Soppy had his tasks within the guild and would have offered his aid by now. So it had to go without halfling short sword or long-dagger. The guild had someone else for this role though.

That was the day that Vudash Hexenwahn and Saman Menneseph formed their pact of mutual support.

Menneseph was a cultist skinhead, whom the citizens would despise even more than the average half-orc scum. Saman didn’t even try to hide his greed for forbidden fruits, sex, drugs and violence.

The skinhead had realized that an alliance with the guild could be helpful when nobles and clerics would more than happily eradicate the entire cultist-plaque.

Menneseph claimed that he was once a monk and had in later years overcome his fixation for physical prowess. He had cultivated his potential as a sorcerer instead. Vudash noticed that Saman was pretty untamed where Raibek seemed disciplined. Vudash couldn’t know if the skinhead would be worth his pay, yet doing his first mission in an unknown city maybe some ward against violence won’t be wrong. Hexenwahn paid 200 gold to the cultist. He expected the skinhead’s blade and sorcery on his side for now.

The two listened to Raibek’s instructions and for an instance their world blurred. They found themselves in a room with the obvious sounds of a pub all around. So it really works.

The flying scimitar had not too many customers as they found. Nodding a gratitude to the owner they made their way upwards. He had told them where to find their target.

A guardian right at the upper end of the stairs intercepted them. Vudash decided for a little white lie. Claiming to be some business partners from another city made sense. They were so lightly armed, that they had no problem with a superficial inspection anyway.

While Vudash looked at least normal in his suit of Zion, Menneseph wore fine robes, rarely the clothing of thugs. They could have been some lower merchants looking for the target by their looks.

The force of intuition became revealed as they, following the guards descriptions, came to the turn of the corridor. Further guards were posted before one door. Two stood at the sides of the door, while two further guards stood on the corridor. Those at the door were clad in heavy splint-mail with long-swords at their side. The other pair of guards was clad in light armour with maces. Obviously two trainees for the risky business of guard profession. Menneseph repeated their story with wild gestures, drawing attention away from Vudash. They had an ace up their sleeves yet. Vudash had his hands on a scroll of invisibility and Saman, claiming to be thirsty, took a little bottle from his pack. The guards just turned away from them as they dealt their magic while opening the door to the target. Invisible they entered the chamber of the target.

Hexenwahn believed the bards would loose another taunting song here. The tale of a merchant hearing invisible voices demanding his evidence ever untold. Same on the expression on his face. Vudash finally relieved him from this via a scroll of sleep. He took what they had come for.

As the two rogues became visible again they turned to the door and faking a goodbye to the (sleeping) merchant they left the room.

They were nearly at the end of the corridor when Saman had a simple but decisive question: „How much would peg leg pay as for those splint-mails and swords?“

Hexenwahn couldn’t help it; human life became cheap to him when the price was right. They could have sneaked out here now on “fox paws” but why then his hands had grasp on the scroll “deadly cloud“?

The guards never stood a chance. Wasn’t it Vudash himself who constantly warned about what danger magic is to mundane folks? He knew from experience.

To see how easily a simple scroll brought death to four persons made him fell creepy. Menneseph had finished the remaining guard by slashing his belly with a skilled move.

They secured their loot and used the portal back to the guild...

With the years going by Vudash Hexenwahn became a ranking guild member. He developed as a barbarian (D&D initiates know: level 2) and a rogue (D&D initiates know: level 4) as far as his potential could go. [Feats save soul more often than equal class balance experience]

The conflict with Tobin would, step by step, grow to outright escalation. Even more since Vudash had to endure an ambush by the city guards during one of his missions. He survived by the mercy of the guards. Usually it was rogues doing the ambushes.

Vudash was aware that there was a traitor within the guild. Such “accidents” as that of the crippled dwarf as those of other thieves became now explainable.

For Hexenwahn the time to leave Zion had come. Vudash paid a last visit to the grave of Saman Menneseph. The guards killed the warlock during their third mission.

Vudash paid a last visit to the local brothel, trying to forget. [Dear idiots, in fantasy dying of aids, syphilis or such is less deadly than for real] He wasn’t unprepared. Soppy was alerted and kept an eye open for the traitor, too. Hexenwahn ventured forth by night. He had turned society’s racism against them. As a half-orc he could much easier get in contact with the underworld. His contact was a dread elven woman.

Vudash met the blue-eyed Sicklemoon in the sewers. From here it would be easy to reach the Blackrose elf caverns of the underworld. The were rats were bribed for a save passage with around three thousand gold pieces. Just to avoid nasty encounters.

Those beasts had allied themselves with a cult of plaque bearers to gain influence within the city of Zion. But the Blackrose female stood in those sewers, as if there just was no danger ever. From her perspective this could even be true, Vudash had seen her fight before.

To Hexenwahn even the smile of a vampire would have been more calming than that of Sicklemoon. The elven woman was just too much of an assassin to radiate a feeling of solidarity. Her sharpened teeth didn’t help to make her less dreadful at all.

Still, for now, she was his companion. A mercenary of her guild and the best guide he could afford. The avenging angel manifested in flesh lead Hexenwahn to and through the caverns. Real caverns, which had never seen the light of the sun. The half-orc wandered along with his guide.

It was a new start in many ways. For Vudash the chapter that made him find his way through life was closing. It had cost him two years to struggle with a certain decision. He had nearly joined a mage tower. Though his temper blocked his way there and he had no intention to deny his orcish blood. Damn them; he took them out even less experienced whenever wanted. Knowing by now that trust was seen as a disease in his profession he was prepared. He was warded against venom and mind bending sorcery. The best artefacts he could buy or steal were part of his gear by now. His spell-breaking belt was disguised with simple fur and his ring seemed like rubbish.

Instead of hiding his barbarian roots he had learned to exploit them against racists. He looked like a stupid and ugly orc. More than twenty thugs and rogues died because they fell prey to his optical appearance.

Vudash still wore the suit of Zion but had worked his way to a magical cutlass. The comparatively small blade looked petty when wielded by his strong arms. Yet it could express his wrath with an impact few could survive. Hexenwahn grinned his orcish grin. That grin which many knew as the last view of their vile existences. A fluorescing light lit the caverns here. Sometimes it seemed greenish where fungus had befallen the caverns.

Sicklemoon looked forcefully stern while she walked along. Hexenwahn stared at her armour. The Blackrose woman was not stupid; many of her kind wore armour that was just too light.

Sicklemoon had reinforced her leather armour with bracers for arms and legs. The magical metal of the Blackrose elves protected her guts, too. In this armour she was agile and silent. Vudash really was only interested to receive her visit at night when it was a sexual move. Sicklemoon was his advised acquaintance from the assassins of Zion.

Once she was hired she was through and through professional. Someone could have written a handbook for mercenaries by her experience alone. Among her people she must still have been a young blood. While Blackrose elves usually were wanted for atrocities all over the world she was only hunted for several slaughters in the known kingdoms.

Three days through the caverns to make a way that seven days with a coach would have been above. Vudash enjoyed saving some time. He had made out their escort only after the first night. A bunch of Blackrose elves supervised both of them all the time. Those were sneaky fellows for sure. With more experience Vudash had become a more vigilant rogue.

He was still too young for the professionals, but already distinguished himself from the beginners too much to look back. His experiences had made him become a stronger and more efficient person than he had ever expected. He planned to keep these facts to the grave. Hexenwahn did never rely on “Fortuna”, personally he suspected her to be part of the witch’s coven.

To be continued...?

Deviants & Red, Horned Dragons

Humorous minimalism & flashy fiction © Andrè M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved

It was the age of fairy tales in the wonderful kingdom of Deviancy RT. Long centuries of joyful productivity and happiness were only rarely disrupted by the craven deeds of the wicked. Yet now once again it had come to this. Two evil advisers had convinced the beloved king to accept a 'political-marriage' between the virgin and the knightly horned dragon. The nobles of Deviancy RT, just like the vassals and commoners, found nothing wrong in a sign of tolerance and trust. Though they were, alas, wrong.

Evil had arranged for a virgin who would be all but harmless. Necessarily, as the enormous costs and efforts to keep any evil teen a virgin for years were nearly indescribable. And knowing of the compulsive do-goodhearted attitude of Deviancy RT, Evil could connive at its scheme.

So it came to be that the heroic, horned dragon of Deviancy RT, a unique specimen of his kind, was lured into a sinister trap spun by his fiancee the evil virgin. Long had the fiendish Frigid schemed to thwart the plans of the evil that had dared to force her into a nunnery.

And when she had found the old grimoire she had discovered a way! She would sacrifice the most powerful good soul in all the land to bargain with a demon prince. She planned to sacrifice the honored red, horned dragon.

Deviancy RT had long prospered in peace-time. And still, in this fierce crisis, the people of the realm did not falter. On the contrary, the best heroes and heroines of the Land arose to rescue the good, loyalist dragon from the bewitching virgin.

And so an epic journey began and a mighty quest awaited the heroic souls of Deviancy RT. Many challenges had to be overcome, runs were explored, traps disarmed, plenty of grisly monsters had to be neutralized...

… Until finally, the four greatest heroes and heroines of the nation found the evil virgin and interrupted her satanic ritual. Freed from the wicked magic, the horned dragon himself delivered the false fiancee into the prison she deserved, the dragon's stomach!

The Land having been pacified, he decided to marry a horned she-dragon and waited long hours until the first eggs began to crack and the future of dragon-kind was secured for Deviancy RT. And they lived happily ever after, until this author is merely another fantasist and a liar! ;-)

THE END

Pietroschek's Ravenloft fan-fiction

Justice from out of the Mists

© Andrè M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved

Ravenloft fan-fiction short-story inspired by: http://mists-of-ravenloft.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, even, if just for one precious moment! 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: Dutiful Pedagogue

My 2nd mini-story © Andrè M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved

“That is why you will remain an assistant for several years onward, 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's extended 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 concerning your achievements.” guessed Aleph.

“And deserving to be 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 r