I, Strahd: Memoirs of a Vampire: Ravenloft The Covenant

by P.N. Elrod

One and all, without exception, the people had managed to gather a gaggle of brats to present bouquets of flowers to me. I accepted their weeds, but that was as far as I cared to take it. If the mothers expected me to reward their offspring with a kiss or a copper, then they would just have to live with the disappointment. During the wars I’d been forced to do many terrible things in the name of duty, but one must draw the line somewhere.

Beheadings are okay, but we must draw the line at kissing babies.

My little brother was righteously horrified and asked to come along. He whooped in a most undignified way when I said yes.

Kid brother things.

Honor has no place in this type of fight. One might as well question whether it is more honorable to kill a roach while it’s holding still or wait until it’s moving. But the fact is, a roach is a roach, and the object is simply to kill it. Five running steps and I’d caught up with this two-legged specimen.

“Let … me go,” he breathed. I gripped all the harder. I didn’t dare yell for help. Our balance was so precarious that anything could upset it. “Let me die alone, Strahd.” “No.” “I’ve no wish to kill you, my lord.” “Shut up.”

They’re gay, sorry not sorry.

“I like to wear black.”

And you look great, my lord.

“Thank you, my lord. I may even find time for a bath.” Having raised a brief smile from me, he nodded at the clutter on my table. “Another magical project?”

He smiles for him, okay?

She was springtime and summer rain, autumn color and winter stillness.

The bats were gregarious, I was not—though I didn’t mind their company, nor they mine. I hovered in place and, with a sudden surge of inner strength, resumed the shape of a man again. There was no light of any sort here, either, but I hardly needed it. The clustered bodies of the bats shed enough warm illumination for me to pick my way around the crypts and piles of guano. A few of the creatures knew me, perhaps recognizing one of their own in some way. They flapped down and lighted on my shoulders and arms, greeting me with joyful chirps and twitters. Two of the more spoiled ones landed in my open palm, allowing me to stroke their backs with the lightest touch of my little finger. Their fur was so soft as to hardly be felt. The ones on my head playfully tickled my ears and tugged at my hair. But it was very late. I had no time to spare for socializing. With a gentle shake to tell them to flutter back to their roosts, I made my way to the right and down some steps

Dark Lord is tender for his creatures.

Almost immediately, the wolves began to howl. They knew me. All the wolves of Barovia did. The call of their many voices was too much for me to ignore. Before another minute passed, I had joyfully assumed their form (the horses, fortunately, were well used to this) and thrown back my head to join the chorus. My four-legged brothers heard me and rushed from their places in the shadows to give greetings. Soon I was surrounded by their slightly smaller but no less shaggy forms, the mated leaders rolling onto their backs and licking my muzzle to show their respect. Others crowded in, whining, tails tucked down, also hoping for some scrap of attention. On any other night, I might have given it, but not this one. I rose high and changed back into a man again and, by means I knew but could not readily explain, instructed them to guard the coach until my return.

Dark Lord is tender for his creatures. Part 2.

Attendance might have been down, either from the indifference of the people or the fact that their spiritual leader was disinclined to believe in the social advantages of soap and water.

He is funny.

“On your journey, in the name of your god and for the greater glory of all the gods, you will bathe every day. In fact, you will bathe yourself every day for the rest of your life.” It was the least I could do for his congregation.

Very funny.