Tales of Ravenloft
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A collection of short stories set in the Ravenloft world of vampires, werewolves, and other monstrous creatures features the talents of P. N. Elrod (creator of Count Strahd Von Zarovich), James Lowder, J. Robert King, Elaine Bergstrom, and others. Original.
the manor, though not before throwing the THE HOUSE OF A HUNDRED WINDOWS 51 wretched throng a few coins. She shut the massive mahogany door and turned to wander through the grand hall, running her hands lightly over ancient vases and expensive tapestries. She reveled in the ornate beauty of the hall. It was hers now. All of it. The folk in the village below had taken to calling her the Lady of Evenore. Clarisse supposed the title suited her well enough. Humming dreamily to herself, she made
simmering circle of faerie fire, which now outshone the dwindling embers of cloth on the torch, and he could hear the graceless shuffle of even more approaching. "The Vistani do not travel the roads," intoned the raspy chorus. "They travel the Mists. Most likely they are in Barovia by now, for they are Strahd von Zarovich's toadies, and he grants them asylum." "Barovia? But that must be four or five days' ride from here." "For them it is not an hour's walk." "Then my son is lost!" moaned Van
and I struggled for composure. When his laughter subsided, he stood, walked around the desk, and sat in the chair next to me. He leaned forward, his elbows resting upon his knees and his girth spilling out of the confines of the chair. His gaze was steady and even amused, though now tinged with a malice that matched the darkness of his beard. 150 D. J. HEINRICH "I find I cannot allow that, Lord Henredon," he demurred, the mask of elegance once more in place. He tidied a turned-over ruffle
resumed as the unearthly wind pulled abd-al-Mamat into the central court. The whirlwind passed over the vizier time and again, and with each passing collected a bloody trophy at the end of one blade. Abd-al-Mamat raised a hand to ward off the blow and had it severed at the wrist. He raised his other hand and lost it as well. Then the arms, the legs, and the features of his face—lips, ears, nose, eyebrows, and eyelids. Great strips of meat were pulled from his torso, and the vitals of his body
travelstained cloak and sheathed his blade. He then took up the small leather purse hanging at his belt. "There's an entry fee, I suppose," he said, extracting a silver coin. "Is this enough?" "Enough to stop me from pounding you into the turf like a tent peg," the bouncer growled. He reached one beefy hand forward to snatch the coin from the gambler. From what Oliver could see of the brute, framed within the inadequate bounds of the doorway, his body was completely in proportion with his huge