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Very sloppy, translated summary from Morrowind: The Temple has been tainted due
the selfishness and policy of it's members. The deviant priests are convinced that the
leadership and strong arm of the temple are speaking for themselves instead of for the
tribunal. Inquisition and application of terror and torture: It's public knowledge that
kidnapping, terror, torture and secret arresting happen to suppress heretics and
deviants. From the deviant point of view these are the tools a corrupted leadership
applies to keep itself in power. While the deviant priests and heretics know that
many common priests are a honest lot, they sense the madness and criminal taint of
the established high-clerics.

Welcome to „Anathema – the skinhead revelation“

Idea and Text © Andrè M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved Pretty adult &
® ™ Morrowind © Bethesda Softworks/Ubi Soft
skinhead content!
A new way of note: While I mention that any mentioning of persons, artworks and
company stuff is never a challenge to their legal rights, trademark or else and making
money, it's crap. I mean for sure, pirate pages offer your entire product line and I
can't hype your stuff? No pc-game which cannot be illegally downloaded and sad
truth for any book one could scan. I am no software pirate but an author struggling in
a wonderful world full of poverty, suffering, corruption and war-crimes.

Even though world-wide evidence has been found that our splintered church was
dumb or pervert enough to allow seriously disturbed and pedophile scum into their
ranks, this file remains fantasy fiction in my own unique style or lack of a same. I
start my idea in Morrowind setting and switch to D&D Ravenloft in the second. The
third is deleted for it was too easily twisted into Nazi agenda. I combined some real
world experiences and emotions with those moments of gaming to make the German
original have a notch more „life between the lines“. This version is shortened and cut
for I dislike another unpaid translation only to be insulted and discriminated again. I
can stand with justified criticism for I am aware that I made mistakes and sometimes
I couldn't correct them. Anyway this doesn't mean I am too dumb to sense your
charade. It may take readers a while to realize and admit that what they mistook
for my flaws is a skillfully writing intended humorous, critical or sometimes
really sad.

sed et in tua doctrina ecclesia effecta est rationalis, propter Deum

My translation: Making the church come to clear senses by this writing, for god.
Enough of this nice guy mask & good-guy badge.

Permission: Until it violates laws or my rights, which I reserve all, as noted above,
you may email this file to your people and have my permission to display it
(unmodified) at any legal homepage.
If you are not used to my style or lack of I seriously advise you to either read my
author info at www.e-stories.org/ (click our authors and find me) or you stop reading
this text right here!Let me tell you of my first steps in this new found freedom. Please
accept my apology, when I will here and there step a notch away from the de facto
truth, to enjoy my clumsy artistic expression or attempts to add to a legend. Be
reminded that while what I tell you are just words from your perspective, I struggle
with painful as pleasant memories of my life, which had it's overdose of hardships
and trials and was lived through more than those moments I articulate. Sometimes it
is easy to make it through dire situations only to find that it's living with what one
has done and who one is, which becomes a real burden.

But I am a skinhead. Born as a bretone, raised by monks, nuns and witch-hunters,

who inspired me in their darkest hour and the way they dealt with it. It was the fight
against the unexpected enemy. The perfidious evil. While monks and nuns dedicated
their time to body as soul and witch-hunters fulfilled their duty to society, the real
enemy had fortified . The true enemy was within – or better said in us, with us and
all around us.

The sacred tribunal temple itself was the devil they claimed Dagoth Ur and the legion
at the red mountain to be. Even the emperors legions, which valiantly as dutifully
risked their life in the lands of the dunmer, were infiltrated and tainted. They seemed
to be everywhere, the fanatics and misguided. The perfidious evil which often claimed
to do it all for good, in lawful ways and towards societies benefit. In truth they
commit mass-murder and atrocities versus the free people of the world to make their
career.

My story starts in Seyda Neen though. I am yet younger and just had been released
from prison on behalf of the emperor himself. I still feel the joy for life and confidence
of the youth in me. I happily face the future and waste no time on even a thought
about revenge. Within the trading post I can get a set of fresh traveller-clothes and
equipment. Clothing, spiked club and a lantern for the basics. Well made bread and
dried meat for a ration. Good wheat beer, for a well earned rest. I am skilled with
some sorcery, ready to heal minor wounds or make a curse to impact my enemies. The
atmosphere did me nearly as good, as the minor tasks I accepted to earn some coin.
Prison and slave-ship had demanded tribute from my health and I began to recover
what I could.

I go to gather funghi and patrol the village, preparing my weakened body to the
wandering which awaits. Somehow I still enjoy life, despite all repercussions. But
sorrow and frustration I can't deny. Seriously they impact my soul.
Fortitude does not mean the villains had any right to do this to me. Within the trade
post I rent a room and have my first sleep in a fresh, real bed for years.

In my dreams, the near future begins to announce it's arrival, the new day. I do the
ritual washing and clumsily try to do some martial arts. I probably will never become
a master. Yet I was a real unwelcome pupil in plenty of schools and monasteries alike.
Somehow I am very well-known, just lacking sympathy which bards usually mean
with it. I am a bretone adventurer with a shaved head. Amen.

My goal will be drakes Yes, drakes, the heavenly fields of Morrowind. Usually they
come along in the form of metal slices which we use to finance our existence. From
what is possible I only lack money for body and a contemplating soul I am myself.
Sorcery, too, for in early youth I already managed to snatch scrolls from my mother
and study them. With practice I became a formidable spell-chanter. Don't be allured
here, I remain the violent prone, deviant adept and mystic. Craven thugs, who
assassinate our kind, are depicted as honorable heroes. Even worse plenty of disturbed
yokels believe this hypocrite propaganda.

Our crime? We sided with the messiah and remained loyal. We didn't turn traitor,
even as all the traitors joined to bring war against us. We never reduced ourselves to
savage vice. We made our stand and fought for our ground. We could have been
heroes. We are the loyal vassals of the king. We are the noble houses Dwemer and
Dagoth Ur. Denounced, back stabbed and banished from grace we still remained
undefeated. Without us the world does not want to be and we opposed the criminal
inquisition from the hour it was founded. For opposed to the fallen noble houses we
had no fear of death nor would we fall to their lies.

ES3-Quote: „How then could advisor's be „loyal“? We are only loyal to the old ways
– it's important to keep mind and eyes open in the real world while we still live the
spiritual realms. Therefor a humble advisor has just one master, his or her own clear
mind.“ Today, as I stand as speaker of my house and Bal of the rogues, I get
celebrated. Yet wasn't it you who sheer me who discriminated me as I made the bitter
path from Seyda Neen? Clad in rags and justified without a reason, for you thought
that would make the villains give you a share of what they stole from me?

Didn't I tell you, that the baron of foxes wouldn't accept a compromise with the
enemy? I never fell prey to your vice, it just took some years until I had the power to
cleanse an entire realm. Today the cries of the guilty can be heard where under your
dominion the victims had to suffer.
Balance will be restored and I told before: I am a monster to some, a saviour to
others. I lived the path of revelations. I admit back then real miracles would have
been the greater benefit. I just had stuffed some funghi when, by random chance, my
view fell upon a quite hidden cave-door entry. My path began with walking the
plank and now I would venture into this hideout. I was not mistaken when I
thought that my inner harmony made me seem slow.

A criminal, drug-crazed harlot stormed towards me, willing to stab my guts. My

limbs functioned though. The spiked club accelerated due my muscles, changing her
direction when I landed a quite powerful hit. Her stench was of urine and drugs. I
struck her again. My toll in blood was comparably low. Some bandaging and a minor
healing chant to avoid infections would do the job of treating the slashes and stab
wounds.

I had my first revelation. The spontaneous threat was possible everywhere in the
world. Dedicated action allows often to remain maker of the own destiny (instead of
just being victim). The key I found when looting the harlot would lead to my second
sign of revelation. I just unlocked a door and ventured forth when I had to perceive a
slave-bin. Saving souls. The wisdom of creation made some of us feel well when doing
the proper action. In the monastery we called it the gift to sense gods will.

Yet a third sign wanted me to notice it. Camouflaged as the power of strangeness I
would have nearly missed it. The sign was responsibility. And I fought again. A vile
warlock had unleashed it's diabolical fire against me. I jumped into cover, hiding in
the slave-bin to heal scorches and prepared my counter-attack. What a damn coward
I had been. Any warrior will have noticed that I completely abandoned the slaves
well-being to save my own life. They survived by luck and their own reactions.

So I spilled blood again. That is evil. Forcing a decision which one does not want to
make at all. I have my martial side and crushing a warlocks skull with a spiked club
is surely not the most difficult task anyway. Yet I didn't want to fight, even when
victory was mine. Perhaps that's why we wasted so much time on contemplation and
self-mastery in the monasteries? It was easy to interpret signs instead of
understanding them. As easy could be self-absolution instead of correcting mistakes,
which I had to do for the slaves. It was my path to improve my self here.

My victory had the price of clouded thinking. As soon as I knew the slaves had left
unscathed, I became sloppy. The fourth sign came in the form of a throwing knife
which hit my left shoulder. It was named the price of delusions. It was beautiful in
it's own way. The pain was dire and the wound deep.
Anyway, for an instance I only perceived the crafting of the metal and the fluent,
competent moves of my adversary and the gratitude of having lived at all. She had the
second throwing knife ready when I took cover. Close to the grotto I fought for my
life again.

Valor. I drew the knife out of my shoulder and hurled it against my opponent. The
moment of her dodge was the moment of my attack. We both paid in blood. I
triumphed, if you would define my continued existence as a triumph. Today I do this,
looking back. I had learned, while my sorcery worked as a healing balm I scanned my
surroundings for further possible threats. The fifth sign I understood just recently.
The blessing of uprightness.

After I plundered from the slavers and could afford to pay the slaves a journey home,
I made my way back to the village. Indeed, I was no rogue sneaking back to avoid the
guards or cautiously meeting the few like-minded fellows. I could walk straight to the
guard, report what had happened and go for a deserved rest in the trade post.
Citizens, contemplate the benefits of the lawful, too. Rogues are rarely the noble souls
which bards make of them.

I would learn to grow now. In the sign of modesty I admit though that I will never
be the great baron of foxes I considered myself to become, sometimes in secret and
sometimes outmatching most braggarts. ☺My soul found peace when I accepted who
I am. I never said it was always easy.

With the years I would display signs of greatness as signs of merciless blood lust. I
said it before, monster for some, saint for others. When I awoke in „the one bed“ I
prepared to leave Seyda Neen behind me. It was easy to realize that haggling was
beyond me when I tried to do it by selling the loot and improving my gear. Temporary
drake-bliss. The strider would take me to Balmora. What cute creatures replaced
horses in these lands.

I walked down the plank straight into the bustling core of Balmora. Here I would
spend several months with study and practice of my own skills. I even improved my
equipment to a satisfying degree. Due to insight into the soul of the Mer I gained an
arcane silver staff. Not by enchanting, but by knowing that I just had to sell it to
Galbedir and check with her later. This way she did it on innate habitual impulse
instead of me having to pay her an additional fee for enchanting. Patience opened the
road and by intuition I could harvest what opportunity offered me.

Perhaps some would like to know that in Balmora I made my rank as a marauder?
Today the local thieves guild is under my control, as I was once in the gentle claws of
the honey mouthed Khajid. Retrospective, she was a blessed teacher. Truth is, for
those who are destined to sneak on the path of night it will always unveil on it's own
whim. The thieves craft is far less fascinating then bards can imagine it. In a way it's
the dry routine which makes you prosper here. I just couldn't deny my roots. As often
as I felt like it I visited the mages guild and temples or shrines. When I had coin, I
invested more in study and practice then for wine and whores, or bards. Perhaps I
was too long with the monks?

I had to gratefully decline the implication following the order which made me aware
of Balmoras existence first and foremost. I followed the order yet took my leave from
the royal blades. I didn't need time to think. An agency sending a drug-addict to boss
me around has nothing to offer and therefore gets nothing at best from me in return.
I didn't know my future. I was still weighing my options about which noble house
would make me prosper more when a political murder went down in Balmora. A
council member of house Haalu had been assassinated. It was not really heart-
touching to me. Back then I didn't belong to a noble house and was completely
oblivious to the etiquette and art of fighting the competition among noble houses.
Further I hadn't joined the house of honour yet and therefor was not aware what
rotten bunch of criminal , eldritch evil were hidden in noble cloth here. I would learn
it with time as whim.

Camonna Tong. The organisation of spontaneous bloodshed. I would have to do

plenty of investigations before I would learn that they were just puppets in the hands
of a mad traitor. Two times our ways would cross and two times I would defend my
life to the best of my abilities. They were racists. Radical dunmer (rabble is said to call
them dark elves), who tried to shake the emperors rulership and the safeguard his
royal legions tried to guarantee by committing serious crimes in series. Their resolve
and fighting prowess wouldn't have been misguided if they just had the political
cunning and cultural flexibility. But they were more than just competition to our
thieves guild. They encouraged and performed random violence against all foreigners
and didn't shun to make their own people suffer without a real good reason. No
surprise they hadn't that many fans.

The threefold career for the emperor. A lesson about cash and conscience. In the royal
cult I could make a choice. Would I decide to emphasize the way of the healer, the
preacher or the warden? I made the journey into the capital and received my initiation
in the chapel of the emperor. Again, the modest saintly-seem unveiled a mundane
well-being. I sacrificed from my own pockets to help the poor in crisis.
The tokens of gratitude which the royal cult gave me in return compensated for those
losses even at the pawnshop. I helped the people and was allowed to prosper by doing
it my way.

The guild of thieves. I joined greedily and fixated on gain. It took my some time to
learn, how prudent this choice was. I made money with no need to cause or suffer
harm. Many efforts later I would even do my share to revive the Bal Molagmer. And
the day did come when I myself put on those gloves and did the deeds to help the free
people.

It became a way which made pilgrims do comparably less wandering. It wasn't all
gold and glamour, we took from the corrupted and share with the deserving poor as
much as we could muster. Here I learned more worldly talents as within monasteries
and arcane orders. An altmer (high-elf) would later teach my enhanced security
techniques as the guild appreciates it. Not without proper payment though. Some
moments I still keep in memory. Once I had to visit the small town Pelagiad. My
sweet meowed mentor wanted me to make her wish come true there. One of our guild
was allergic to prison and deserved his prayers to become answered. It just took some
humble research and well chosen words into the ears of a gorgeous orcish woman. I
regret I made wrinkles show on her face the moment she understood the price for
meeting me. Blackmail for fun and freedom. Perhaps I should send her roses and a
really personal letter.

I was reaching readiness. Faster than I had expected I would meet the master of our
guild and become accepted. In the maze of weird craftsmanship called Vivec as in the
extended sewer system below I had to work my way. Though smelly and denied by the
bards, here the true rise of the Bal Molagmer was initiated, whispers among rats.
More and more thieves would join the masters crusade. In all parts of the realm
suffering was eased, damage compensated and more Camonna Tong was prevented.
At least we really did anything to better the situation at all.

Looking back it seems so simple. I was a lieutenant of the guild if I am not mistaken.
The ash lands had much trouble brewing and the plaque storms hit harder and harder
already. I yet didn't know why though. Luckily I am not the Nerevarine. I am just a
baron among foxes. (vulpes inter pares). My journeys had made me to be a free citizen
of the world though. Cultured which were cloudily rumoured about I had met for real
and often on friendly terms. Truth calling.
Note: The plaque-storms were intended by a tragic hero, to purify the realm and drive
the invaders out. If my little baron would have fully known, he would have respected
the effort. Though it was a notch misguided perhaps.

Today the urns of history are filled with the ash of Haalu, Redoran, Telvanni as other
treacherous maniacs. The house of honour re-claimed it's place in the natural order.
The mourning for house Dwemer was a shame no longer. The price for this freedom
was between responsibility and self-reliance. It still is.

Dear readers,

I take the time to write when I see no chance to improve my real world existence or
when my „heart“ longs for it. I once called it the kiss damnation (ahem my muse)
gave to me. http://www.e-stories.org/ to find more from this author.

Dark Revelations, real world

By chance I heard a radio interview with church stuff. A priest from south America
(Brazil and so) where death squads and militia make life harder for people. It was
about that those who bring peace would be biblically called sons and daughters of
god. The hermetic satanist within me woke up. Wait a minute? What happened to
that last son of god, usually called Jesus Christ. He was betrayed, tortured and killed.
Thanks for the warning, priest. Peace bringers will suffer ? I really thought my wrath
and polemics would have been a minor flaw instead of a merit. Thanks god. Only
benefit – now women too. Ohm daughters of god how eager are you to be betrayed,
tortured and killed? Sorry, would like to bring more pleasant hints. The death of F.
Roget seems another sad moment of truth. If I would be just dumb, it would be easier
for humanity, yet suffering is often a real dangerous global player. Do more than
prayers to save your life and soul (or mine if I fail to).

Change for some, continuous for others

The more empathic or skilled psychologists or gifted might have sensed some truth of
my life in the writing above as between the lines. Don't worry, if you didn't, it's just
personal stuff, no ticket to get rich or laid. Now you can read my attempt to write the
same figure (concept/idea) from the realm (background) of Morrowind into the one
of my dark D&D Ravenloft approach. D&D once had a bard subclass called gallant.
Key principle was these bards make the experience before they dabble about it. I
found this inspiring for my attempts to be an author.
Further you may notice that I just as I wrote in my file „Vudash Hexenwahn – the
guild of Zion“ have learned to keep silent in my own ways.

It doesn't need too many real world news to sense that I set the contemplation into a
fantasy realm where happy ends are possible and all can be made proper again.
Maybe I will one day publish a book or so, yet maybe I die before my real world
„time comes“. Sleep apnea drains me plenty.

The German original of this file began by impulse and still I appreciate it's context
even years later. Besides dealing with unpleasant moments I guess if any younger
skinheads start thinking instead of joining Hitlers heritage I might even have done a
favour to democracy. Titles like baron come more from occult dabbling in my past
than from nobility which I don't really belonged to ever. This is a fantasy text I do not
hide an occult coding here at all, in the years I was active you could have asked me
straight. Personally I am out of „active“ participation since 2000.

The title of the following chapter hints at a very dire, criminal psychopathy
chapter of German history. In case any Israeli reads this file, please be prepared
and informed that I am not trying to make any connection to the first one or any
other anti-semitic stuff. Truthfully. Some of my readers are Nazi and I have to live
in Germany, so let me decide how I handle my stuff. I am on a Nazi hit list already
for real, just because this Bavarian asshole caught me being smarter than his
madness. Oh and Israel never helped me either.

Oh and how much mystical power did it need to make the SA thugs beat anyone who
doesn't wear their insignia be beaten into bloody bone pie (entire families, children
included) before they could freely vote for the party of their choice (election)? It was no
miracle but madness and academics already worship it again. Oh a memory from my own
field research-experience:

„1945 haben sie uns Haus & Hof genommen - Lassen seitdem das ganze Land verkommen.
Denn sie spüren ja selbst die ganze Zeit - wir kommen wieder im feldgrauen Ehrenkleid.“

Translation of the meaning of this Bavarian Nazi chant by Andrè M. Pietroschek:

1945 we (democratic monsters) stole their rightful place (as lords of planet Germany)
since then everything here goes down because we sense all the time I never said the scene
that they will return in the honorable uniform of a real Nazi slime. in “Banish with
Laughcraft” was
Kinda “the south will rise again” from Nazis? autobiographical.

A very simple truth remains. The elite of the Nazi regime had it all, indulged passions and
perversion. They had good years and gave a damn that millions suffered and died. The fact
that the Nazis were stopped but the attitude (or lack of) still ruins the world today shows
what a deficiency our societies still continue because each time the own career is more
important than responsible actions. Life really is
no wishing well for the majority of humans. The green part is from a real world note I
made part of “The Hillenbrand
Agenda.pdf”. See it as a minor hint that I
am not serving their cross either?
The situation of the next chapter: The author, a pauper, tries to write a lesser baron
speaking to his unwelcome guest. The readers hover around the scene, like wraiths. Or
the unwelcome harlot if it makes you feel better. This part lost length and finesse due
my translation, no good work. Ravenloft is an official Dungeons & Dragons role-playing
campaign world. The core story is about the (by now) vampire Strahd von Zarovich. Strahd
who had been a great hero and adventurer until he defeated the former lord of castle
Ravenloft and seized it for himself and his family. With the powers of evil and a certain
tension within the family the decline started: His younger brother brought along the woman
he intended to marry – Tatiana. Strahd fell in the most twisted compulsion which one could
ever dare to call love with her. He became a rival to his brother and finally assassinated him
with a blade born of evil – the Baal verzi dagger. Deluded that he could now claim Tatiana
he pushed forward until she flung herself into the depth. She was a woman rarely met, pure
of heart and loyal to Strahds younger brother. Dying only to be reborn later. By then Strahd
had already become a vampire due to a pact made with the forces of Ravenloft. Primordial
and godlike powers of evil. He thereafter slaughtered most of his family, disgusted by the
hypocrite bullshit they offered him as advise. Another notable fraction are the Gypsies –
Vistani. They will haunt anyone in the realm of Ravenloft with some moralist prophecies
which usually are never hint enough to fight the evil. The conflict in many approaches is
mostly a psychological or spiritual one.

Crystal clear night Nr. 2

The nightmarish journey from Morrowind straight into the domain of dread shouldn't
disturb you too much. The powers will get all of us anyway. I am violently forced to
pledge my loyalty to Strahd von Zarovich now. Or better for now. Don't fear, you
won't have to accompany me straight to castle Ravenloft. Still I should perhaps
mention that your damnation is imminent and the hidden powers are already after
your flesh and soul, not just mine. That's nothing special, even the commoners bleed
and suffer to find this out in this weird, inescapable catharsis. Perhaps a Christian
could understand easier when I say that it's as if Lucifer would be the Almighty
now?

Welcome in my new home. It is already damnation, yet we go rapidly down even from
here. Let me offer you some of the heavy wine and please, accept me as host. I still
live the path of revelations and please forgive me my honesty, in person I wouldn't
even like you as a sex-slave.

I just offer you a chance to rest and prepare so you can finally fall prey to your own
nemesis. Maybe it is fatalism, yet not only me did waste the best years of my life on
trying to improve or escape my destiny. Believe me or not, the facts remain. Even if
you understand, the minions of my enemies already are after me and I can't escape.
Will it be swiftly over with me? Not probable. Will it make a difference if I make a
famous last stand or surrender to be stabbed down or poisoned?
I will live and die with my decision or failure. Did you at last understand it will not
only be me?

The wine makes sleepy and numbs my senses already. For an instance I enjoyed the
thought, yet I am not Strahd. Neither are you my immortal but insane true love nor
am I willing or able to partake such carnal passions. I am Baron for too long. I still
enjoy memories of such moments though. Well, my ego remembers that kind of role.
The well clad, noble villain who takes you and goes unscathed. Until some valiant
hero confronts me, or perhaps even the humble lady herself? If the noble would only
be stronger in all us mortals... It wouldn't improve anything either. Of course you
doubt me, yet this abbey is now the seat of my barony. We are in Ravenloft,
somewhere and somehow. Perhaps it was naive of you to think I meant it as a subtle
threat. The lady could kill me with a dagger worn hidden and she still would suffer.

I was not your enemy, I hardly recognize you as a humane soul to be taken serious. I
am the Baron who always found more comfort in solitude. Indeed my monkhood is
long left behind me. You are just so far below what fascinates me at all. Perhaps the
ladies incompetence and simple mindedness made my interest fade into oblivion. If I
ever waste such feelings on you.

Personally I suffered when the real ladies had to make place for harlots and whores.
Yet if this is so then I belong myself to a dying breed. Again I can sense my own
damnation. The powers of evil can be my salvation. What will be the price? And why
then wasn't I at least allowed to stand at that pentagram and chant to haggle for
futile crap with some sulfur bathed demon? (Goethe? Never liked this freak and I
could fuck a maiden myself). Because I am on the path of revelations. The signs don't
ask me if I am ready to perceive or handle them. As a mortal I just have to live with it
as best as I can. Some consequences were nearly bearable.

I made the lady get the cape for here on the top the winds can be bitter cold. From
here we will have a wonderful view for this crystal clear night. It's part of the path.
Why I am drinking wine myself? Besides that I never intended to pretend being a
vampire lord? The night can give us comfort yet my new lord has other priorities. Oh
and yes, Sir Strahd von Zarovich came back as a vampire lord. I returned as myself
more or less, in a way.

As my guest the lady has the right to know that I am a simple revenant. And baron is
far below a lord. Not any less damned than most officials here. It's just different from
vampires, which I find more dangerous, even on equal levels of competence. To
destroy one I would run a high risk of suffering at least mutilation.
Revenants have been blissed by death, to return and return back. Vampires are
predatory blood-parasites with superior racial gifts compared to our kind. The damned
themselves are our rabble.

They are stuck with what they were in mortal life, just damned in addition. The curse
has devoured their soul, leaving only torment, vice and sorrow. All without gaining
preternatural prowess. Vampires are gifted in an evil way and can learn much, too. I
only have the second option, besides awakening as revenant made some options easier
reached. The ascension by death would be a clouded thought. Death is death, no
ticket to supremacy or sorcery.

If I sense motives or understand then because I learned to succeed. If I am fighting

better, than due practice, experience or sheer luck.

As I sense that you neither ever felt true love nor had been truly loved then because
pure blessings make me sick, at best reminding me of all I can never be or gain. A
couple in true love could scorch me like holy water could scorch a fresh vampire. The
damned never mind, busy to remain the scum they always were. Despicable as mortals
and despicably for eternity. Damned and enslaved due the consequences of their own
impulses.

Returning from death is an experience and if rumours are true I didn't handle it too
badly. Yet i am no necromancer, destroying my body would mean I can't return again.
Death itself rejected me. Or if you like it this way, god knew who I am and was so
disgusted that he send me back to suffer more. Beware, in this domain curses and
blessings can be quite hard to distinguish. A mortal dilemma, played down by
desperate bards to shock less. Again my words are meaningless. You, dear lady, will
only be able to sense the truth of my words when it is too late to make use of it.
Vicious circle of Satan.

I invested this honest attempt because your presence was enforced upon me and
etiquette forbids me to kill you just for being born. For now. Maybe the insulting
posture you have chosen to greet me with will backfire sooner than you expect. Please
don't insult me with feeling threatened. I cripple or kill before I give a warning in
form of a threat. Let me try to quote from the peasantry:

Some people stare at you to serve their lust, others just because they would like to eat
you. How often did only your dumb ignorance make you believe yourself to matter?
Are we all pervert and twisted? Or couldn't you handle what you really perceived?
I looked at mortals straight, allowing them to see the wrath in my eyes, a non-verbal
promise of bloodshed.

And what degenerate creature would feel horny in presence of it's killer? Even
animals have sharper minds and things like you consider themselves cultivated by
phrases and postures? I wouldn't join a club which allows creatures like you to
prosper. Maybe even you can sense that you couldn't make good what your vice
destroyed? Now that your own life depends on it you found a conscience? I am no
longer a Christian for Christians die and remain dead. I have the pleasure to suffer
another life of disgust. Seems I will do it with drugs and excess this time, moralists
and hypocrites may find Strahd doesn't need them anyway.

For this domain one thing is certain. The powers in command like no compromises and
will haunt and torment whomever it brought here. They don't need a reason, they can
make their will be your reality for life. Welcome to the nightmare realm.
Did you really think I would have to gift you such privileges?

Finally the night wind wakes my soul. My guest whore somehow drops with guts
slashed open for that was really my goal. Getting rid of another rich harlot who
considered herself to be smarter and more important. Didn't she listen? I am send and
seated by the powers. Damn bitches, so much they lack, the wrong pair of lips always
hyperactive, talking shit behind the back. Even a quick kill is better than wasting my
life an hosting such whores.

When my soul died and the powers took tribute, it was just done. Pain and sorrow
were not as alienating as those moments when just the absence of the soul could be
sensed. It feels what most call painful, yet even pain is absent. Maybe identity and
oblivion don't get along either?

I believe that Strahd gathered such freak legions to keep us from ever turning against
him. Or perhaps he dislikes us. From my point he is a selective genius, yet blind for the
signs. Or perhaps he just gives a damn. The elusive, dark sides of truth which neither
rabble nor nobles ever really learned to handle. Do you get this meaning of honour?
Honour among evil means that it is a real conflict, no bardic legend or glorified
backstabbing.

Being damned to remain meaningless is an interesting way to keep hubris in check.

Notice that evil never restricts itself from prospering. God mustn't be dead –
suffocated due vomiting when god perceived our souls. God is doing the real miracles
while we just pretend and claim greatness only to wither and die in the end anyway.
The time between birth and death, to god merely the blink of an eye? And what could
we do for god? Breeding more sadistic assholes who torture his son to death? Another
Judas? Atrocity, squalor and ignorance?

Would a pair really feel romance when living as Jesus and Maria Magdalena? And
how the world would respect them! The damn vintage of Ravenloft. Not even drugs
remain uncursed. God forgive me, I am stupid, arrogant, degenerate and rotten.
Though your original offer was even less fun.

And to respect that hubris is not reserved only to males, here my reply to female
supremacy crap. It's about god being a woman (which would explain the failures and
mistakes quite good). We shall not depict god and stuff:

„When god sucked your dick, she still had much to learn!“

I feel this translation very reduced in quality. Many German sayings which I couldn't
translate and further, this time I wanted the entire note without pointing at the official
product line. In case you lack those sources check my file „Her return to Ravenloft“,
that is written a notch more „in roleplay“ mode.

Nibiru – Between Luger and Lightsabre

Deleted due suspicion of attracting Nazi agitators instead of readers.

On l y i n de ath di d h e g e t h i s
c h an c e to b e c o m e a sk i n h e ad?

A certain, deceased Mr. A.S. La

Vey perceived pallid
incompetence nailed to a tree – I
made use of it instead, my way.
 post skriptum
So the problems prosper. I cannot translate German slang and I feel nearly ashamed
to publish these first excerpts. There is just one comfort. I had to read worse crap in
my life. Further, how much smarter can people be when they do not even notice that I
apply quite some everyday innuendo? I didn't expect it to be all understood or liked,
yet I met many skinheads who lack any of my skills, being busy with racism and
violence exclusively. Oh there were loads of porn epics on those websites.
Remember, pics don't get infected with HIV or worse! If any artist is pissed to see
the artwork he or she made: Go to pirate pages, your entire stuff is there? I
didn't steal or spread it. No bluff, am even too poor for that kind of crap. It
becomes futile to type this bullshit legal Yadda when all the time the criminals
get rich while I am poor for staying honest.

Nazi skinheads cripple and kill, go to prison and get a re-education financed. I don't
get a job-chance because I didn't attack foreigners or what? I could have been an
assistant programmer since 2002 which would not be much, yet something goes
wrong in Germany, not just with me.

Bureaucracy became blind to the officials who make and cover the mistakes, delving
in fatalism or pseudo conspiracy theories about enemies of globalisation. I made a
personal statement (as can be expected in my notes). Sadly I formulated it not
detailed enough. Of course when I say or type that “It's my horse-cock and I suck if I
want to” this does not mean that camel-cocks are less respected. It was a symbolical
statement of attitude, no sexual agenda anyway. In the new edition I call it sucking a
flint-cock (sucking a flintlock gun, suicidal artwork) to avoid this misunderstanding.
New ones rise up of course.

Mr. Pie again?

In a way. I hate to repeat stuff, yet not all readers read my author info or my entire
gratis files. Repeating this means I usually copy it in the state that I wrote it
originally, though some of my priorities have changed and not all I write is proper or
still wanted by me.

Now a repeat of what my author info mentioned since the year 2002:

· Dear reader, http://www.e-stories.org/ displays my first collection of files. If

you don't expect more than what a mad role-player could write upon a role of toilet
paper with his own blood, you won't be too disappointed. Cthulhu, left hand path
drug crap and necromancy are among the contents. Real experiences and my mix of
phantasm with reality. My files can reveal hypocrisy, entertain, inspire or piss you
off. Provoking I managed, too.
· I was born 1972 as a German-Sicilian "doppio sangue" (bastard) in a poor
family and am for now a fat skinhead without political allegiance. I like Italian pizza,
computers, mushien and dropped out of university. Further, I included the files
"catharsis" and "machiavellism", to write how I perceive the world. I am neither an
author nor an artist. I am and will remain heterosexual though I guess getting hot with
ugly whores is not my thing. Just because some braggarts are afraid of gays I won't
wholesale discriminate homosexuals or others. You will judge my files yourself I
guess. Cause I don't get much usable feedback and neither money these samples will
have to suffice. I didn't care back then if mad would be as in insane or mad as in
angry malcontent for example. My key strategy with files I got stuck with was pretty
simple. I made them available on the internet for free and checked what feedback I
would get. My family name. Many would pronounce it in ways which I could hardly
realize to mean calling me. Try to speak “Pea_tro_check” fluently instead of starting
with pie for example.

As far as I know Dungeons & Dragons as Ravenloft are registered Trademarks of Wizards of
the Coast (bad joke:or was it low-level Gandalf clones on a surfboard?). They reserve the
rights for their official stuff! Further, I write my ideas without dependence on the
backgrounds I implement them into to comfort my readers and make associations easier. ☺

Within my soul I know I am defeated. Yet if this note reaches any adept,
know this: In situations like my own, it is often better to die fighting,
taking some of the wicked enemies with you than suffer all the torment they
so compulsively want to inflict upon their targets. I made it through more
years than I had ever expected, yet the facts betray all hope. I will act now
in the spirit of Ferdinand Foch. My situation is dire, no chance for support
and the enemy is already landing critical hits - that's the optimum situation
so I attack! Fate abandoned me as I will abandon life now, my only
tranquility will be in death...
 Boycott of the cost eaters – shaving the head
It's one of those moments in life. You grab some scissors or a hair cutter. You gather your
courage and face the mirror. No, not cocaine line sniffing! I remember the first time.
Standing there, dedicated to make the step. From normal haircut to skinhead.

Of course the prices for haircuts vary and some people by job, social class or girl friend
cannot afford to do it. I was pissed XL when I had to pay 15€ per month for a minor back to
the way you look with loads of new mistakes in it. Hairstylists as barbers should be very
dexterous people by necessity.

When you start cutting of the hair (to make the following shaving easier), there may be a
moment of truth: Around when half the hair is off, you might get this “Hey, if I stop it will
be forgotten in two weeks.” It's one of the decisions some people never made in life. I
decided to continue. It looks like me without much hair on the head if done right. I look like
me with some more scars when my hands shake or I get distracted. I won't do it drunk again.

The choice of tools. I found a comparably cheap solution with the “Wilkinson Xtreme 3”.
It's a plastic shaver with three blades. Funny, that for the face it is not that good with me. On
the head it shows it's main strength. Flexibility. If your head has edges or deep lines then
using these blades properly will not only by eyesight help you. I found it a mundane yet
useful moment to see that the blades adapt to the form of the head. The results show it and I
get 6 for 2,99€ here in Germany in the year 2006.

A personal-proper choice of gel, shaving cream, foam or soap is important, too. First don't
make it sabotage the blades (some soaps, foams). They seem to get dry so quick that I get
angry for having wasted money on the crap. Further even I as a pauper have a 1,45€ solution
to gel with vitamin and skin beneficial stuff (or so is written upon it).

Do not push the blade down forcefully while shaving, either be dexterous or concentrate to
handle the shaver properly. Don't get sloppy, some scars will even be seen when you let the
hair grow again. Learn to shave your face well before risking more? After shave check if
you got all spots, sometimes we leave a little bush of hairs which may look weird. Skinhead
Fate: The farer away your next shaving opportunity is, the more women (or else if you ain't
heterosexual) will notice and tell you that you missed a spot in my experience.

Many expect it to become cold in winter, yet I bought this working class beret for never
needing it. The first summer will be your nemesis. The hair blocked all sun from your head
for years (usually). Buy the very best sun cream or sun blocker with longest and strongest
blocking factor you can get. It's a skinhead phenomena when the skin on your head has dire
sunburn while the rest of your body has not the slightest problem.

I am what is called “traditional skinhead” here in Germany. Skinhead as a way of life, no

connection to our more known Nazi skinheads or religious ones like ancient Egypt already
had them. Don't act cliché or stereotype just because you shaved your head? It's a way of
haircut which is as such open to all people of all gender, all culture and most religions as far
as I know and handle it.