“I never thought I’d return to this land. See familiar sights again. This world…These places…The gloom and doom of Ravenloft feels more jolly than the Yeulestadt now…Or rather, what remains of it. Isn’t it funny, nephew? All my life I thought I wanted nothing more than to see the Peppermint forests again…The Gingerbread thatch and gumdrop chimneys of my people. To hear toys whirr and trains blow horns. Yet here I stand, in the crumpled, desecrated ruins of our homeland…And my heart feels broken. You, and many others know me as a brave, jolly, if not naive little man. But the truth is…I felt more brave staring down the face of death, more jolly in the face of despair. Ironic, isn’t it? Surrounded by pain and terror, my voice rang through the night like the Saint’s bells on his sleigh. But here…There is nothing. What can I bring to this place, after what I’ve wrought? I sold my sound sleep and guiltless heart for your safety, and to show for it, there is nothing.” 

Uncle Dunkle sat on the stoop of a dilapidated gingerbread house, leaning against a railing lined with old crusted frosting. A layer of snow covered the steps, and he held a small block of wood, fit for carving. A small knife danced across the surface of the pine, and coiled flecks rolled and fell to the side with each stroke. 

There was no answer for Uncle Dunkle this solemn night, for the one he spoke to no longer existed, and had no voice in these lands. The hour was late, and the sky was dark. Not many stars were left to adorn the sky, and the ceiling of clouds loomed over the ruins of Toy Town, once a proud and bustling corner of Yeulestadt like a disgruntled man blowing the foam off his pint of ale. 

No birds chirped, no bells rang, no carols were sung. Not even his companions were here to distract him from the weight in his heart, for they were off on official Yeuletide business, and he had elected not to join them. He scoffed, and put down his block of wood, dropping his knife next to it, and stretched.

Overlooking the remainder of the gingerbread residency surrounding Toy Town, he thought of what his companions might be up to, who they might see, what they might hear. The discussion with Sahani in the bar before his departure played through his mind like an old reel of footage found in a dusty box. He was glad that his companions saw more good in him than his people. He was grateful that their bitter words did not cut as deep into their trust as it did into his soft flesh or heart. 

“Perhaps they’re right to fear me…Or hate me. After all…”

Suddenly, a large bell was rung. From the center of town, a brass bell hanging on a lonely string crashed against another, and the silent night was broken, the line of thought lost. Followed by this sound was the galloping of hooves on ginger-carved cobble.

“FIRE! FEAR! FOES! AWAAAAAKE! RETURN NOW TO THE TOWN, RETURN NOW OR FACE THOSE WHO SEEK TO BRING YOUR HARM, YOUR MISFORTUNE! FIRE! FEAR! FOES! AWAKE! AWAY NOW! AWAAAAY!” 

Uncle Dunkle quizzically looked up to see Ser Gynger riding her faithful stallion through the town square, galloping heartily, a fierce expression in her eyes. She repeated her phrase, sounding a smaller bell of her own once more, before brandishing her firm lance, and halting her steed shortly and abruptly. Her eyes met Uncle Dunkle’s visor, and there was no denying that it was him, for all the Yeule Gnomes in the land, none were famed for their creations of war such as he was. Or rather, none were as infamous. 

“Ye there, Warmonger. Dweller of the darkness. Did ye not hear the toll of the bell?? The sounding of the alarm? Surely you’ve not been far away enough from home to forget the meaning of such grim words in this winter wonderland?!”

He puts a hand up, and presses the other against his visor, releasing the magnetic clasp, and allowing him to remove it gently.

He now wears bags under his eyes, indicative of a lack of sleep, and a mind bustled by more than thought or nostalgic belly-aching. 

“Nay, fair lady Gynger. I hear your call. I respond in kind – what is it you seek of a gnome such as myself? A would be bringer of Yeuletide cheer, who has been outcast by his people. Deemed a traitor, or worse.” 

“Hmph. The prattlings of the spiteful mean nothing to those who deal in valor, Uncle. The town is under attack. As we speak your companions venture into the black licorice forest, to quell the darkness that plagues this land once and for all. To stop that vile witch…The one you know…Or knew, so fondly. Until she is slain, all of our people are in danger. There’s no doubt that her toys will be able to breach the barrier Lord Moonracer has erected. We need every able hand we can get. I pray that Chuckie knew what he was doing when he selected you lot for such an important task. But until my doubts are stifled, there will be much work to do. Will you fight for your people once more? Or have you forsaken us as you have forsaken the art of war?” 

“I will never forsake my people, no matter how ungrateful or ignorant they seem. The innocent nature of this world is as close to my heart as my nephew’s memory. Let it be the way it is…Perhaps it is better than the truth, which is far less holly, or jolly, than the costume I wear. And this costume isn’t meant for the Yeuletide galleria. I fashioned this to protect everything I hold dear…To wage war.”

Syr Gynger grins a devilish, frosty grin. She points her lance at the gnome who stands before him. 

“Good. I expected nothing less from the Iron Gnome. Hop on my steed, and we’ll be off.”

“Not yet, fair lady. Do you think I’ve been sitting on this stoop brooding all night? Since I left my companions in the bar, all that time ago? If who you’ve suggested is responsible for this is at large…And my companions face her…We will be facing her toys…And they will not know valor, nor fairness. The gnarled lord who sits on his prickled throne will rue the day he made an enemy of me, and my companions. Let it be known that the Iron Gnome stokes the forge once again!”

With that, Uncle Dunkle kicks the door of the Gingerbread home behind him wide open, revealing what can only be described as an impromptu toy trauma center. A hot forge sits in the middle of the open living room, stoked with coal and supported with wooden beams where the gingerbread was caved in. Multiple boxes of munitions were scattered about the room, filled with jerry-rigged ornament bombs, glitter cannons, and sharpened peppermint sticks. Uncle Dunkle walks into the room, picking up his trusty bag of holding, and scoops a handful of provisions, as well as a handful of munitions into the already bursting sack. Then, he takes a long peppermint lance, fitted at the end with a glistening silver tip, and hands it to Syr Gynger, who promptly drops her dulled Gingerbread lance, and exchanges it eagerly. She twirls the lance gracefully in her cookie palms, and then cries out a fierce battle cry.

“We ride now, Iron Gnome! Let this night be a night of Yeuletide Cheer, and hard battle fought! Let not a single foe be left unstirred. Not even a mouse!”

Uncle Dunkle nods solemnly, and hops onto the back of Syr Gynger’s stallion, who whinnies triumphantly in the cold winter air. It rears back in preparation, and breaks off into a loud gallop, passing through the ruins of the Gingerbread village, towards the edge of Lord Moonracer’s force field. Already in the distance, button eyed horrors can be seen slinking through the shadows. 

“Oh Melinda…What have you done…Why…Why must things be the way they are…” Uncle Dunkle thinks quietly as the cool night air passes by him. 

… 

By the time the heroes of Ravenloft would return from their quest, the scene in Toy Town was one of shock, and awe. Dunkle’s trusty companions wasted no time slaying Melinda’s Gingerbread Dragon, rescuing Gingey from the clutches of her torturers, and defeating her, perhaps once and for all. After the mere mention of taking Little Hilde from the party, Raven saw no room for diplomatic relations, let alone a discussion or explanation, and made the first move. Their prowess proved greater, and Melinda lay dead in the ruined Krampound, as poor Mr. Cuddles nuzzled the corpse of the only woman in the world he sought to protect. His heart felt swollen and his mind confused. What would become of him, or his best friend, would remain a mystery for now.

Meanwhile, in Toy Town, button-eyed dolls lay strewn about the streets. Evidence of a great battle, and a great deal of destruction was all around them. Those who were not defeated in combat fell to the ground inert as soon as Melinda’s clutch on them was lifted, and though the corruption of the button-eyed curse lay upon them, no further harm could be wrought by them. The party returned by means of Choo-Choo Charles, who proudly bore the saviors of Toy Town despite his reservations about what’s become of his form. After all, the trains in Yeulestadt were always known to run on time, and he was not about to give up hope again. Nay, a restored vigor beamed from his heart and filled his eyes, as he bellowed 

“CHOO CHOO! CHOOOOOOOOO CHOOOOOOOOO!”

The inhabitants of toy town at first were slightly alarmed to see Choo-Choo Charles, who was thought dead or worse, but eventually they cheered. Streamers burst and handfuls of glitter were tossed about in the air, and freshly lit candles of holly and allspice wafted in the air. Gladdened bells rang, as Lord Moonracer himself flew out of his tower, and landed proudly in the open town square next to Uncle Dunkle.

Uncle Dunkle himself was holding a large shield made out of hardened peppermint, lined with steel, and a curious gadget in his hand. A gadget that seemed similar to the ones used by the Duerger employed by Krampus himself. He holstered his weapon, and removed his helmet with a friendly, but solemn smile, knowing what their arrival meant for him, and his friend from another life. 

“Everyone everyone, Gather ‘round! The time has come for tidings of cheer that have not been known in these parts since before our realm was shunted into darkness by the Krampened one! Know now not fear or uncertainty, but gladness, and hope! For our good friends, these champions of the nightmarish realms surrounding our jolly village have defeated the darkness that fell upon these lands. These fair folk…And their trusty point of contact, a man you all know…Have proven their mettle, and that Yeuletide cheer is alive and well once again! Be merry!” 

An explosive cacophony of cheers and shouting filled the square, as Raven stepped off the caboose of Choo-Choo Charlie, confused by the outlandish cheeriness of the realm he unwittingly found himself in. Bex chirped in his ear, scoffing. 

“Peh. These fools…They have no idea what true darkness lies beyond the veil of this realm’s waters…The sooner we leave here, the better. Do not think for a moment that I’ve forgotten any of our agreements or arrangements. These delays are for naught.” 

Raven smiles, and shrugs his shoulders, patting the bird on the head brazenly. She shakes her wings, and flies off, doing a circle around the train, the square, and eventually landing on a lamppost not far off from Renvarin, who approaches Uncle Dunkle with a relieved expression.

“I’m glad to see you’re well. When you were off without warning, none of us assumed you were in any danger…But knowing is better than wondering. Perhaps next time, you ought to be more clear about your plans.” 

Tobias stood behind Renvarin, nodding, but understanding perhaps above all that some men are condemned to their secrets, and in order to do what is right, be it for themselves or others, they must walk their paths alone from time to time. 

Uncle Dunkle nodded at the both of them, and bowed respectfully.

“My sincerest apologies friends, but after much consideration, I felt there was no more time to waste…I had a feeling these people would need defending, and if not them, then you would need some sense of support for your mission…” 

Without further explanation, Vimak rushed Uncle Dunkle interrupting his conversation to scoop him up and hug him tightly against his hardened muscular shoulder. They both laughed, and Yoshi could be heard trying to butt in;

“Mr Vimak sir! Mr Vimak! I found Uncle Dunkle! And I see Lord Moonracer! We’re in the town square and everyone is here and-” 

“I see that, Yoshi. Very good! You’ve done well as always!” 

Lord Moonracer smiled warmly, and his tail pattered back and forth as he purred deeply, greatly pleased by the jolly, loving display before him. 

“If you all would gather please, if but for a moment, I have some important business to discuss with you…Regarding your payment, and what comes next. Please, after you’re done celebrating in the town square, join me atop my tower.” 

With that, he was off, fluttering his wings mightily, leaving behind a draft of snow in his wake.

“Perhaps we should go right away. We have important business to attend to following the completion of our duties here. Not just involving Hilde, but resuming our duties aboard the River Dancer.” Rayner suggests, patting Vimak on the shoulder before walking past him. 

“Indeed. We ought to check on the girl and make sure nothing happens. And up to this point, I’ve managed to avoid any aggressive felines…I’d like it to remain that way.” Sahani adds. 

“Mm, perhaps you all may go ahead, and I will discuss some business with Syr Gynger…” Ozzy muses. Before anyone can react to his insinuation, the noble Knight gallops past the party, and she leaps off her steed into the arms of Gingey, who is crumbly, mangled, missing a gumdrop button, but alive.

“Erm…Perhaps not tonight…But I shan’t give up hope.” He says with a smile and a wink.

…

And so the party gathers, and reconvines atop Lord Moonracer’s tower. The air is fresh with snow, and the night sky twinkles with stars for the first time in perhaps a long time, as the darkness of the realm slowly begins to fade. Not to say that all the lasting influence of the Kramp has been dissipated, but it was certainly a good start. 

“Welcome, welcome, noble heroes. I’m gladdened by your presence and the success of your mission. Though the things we’ve discussed have deeply troubled me, this is all for the best…That that woman was stopped, and the terrors of her corruptive influence have been put to a halt.” 

Uncle Dunkle looks at the ground, saddened, but understanding. 

“At any rate, heroes of your calibur deserve payment…You’ll find the provisions in this knapsack to be sufficient not just for you all on an individual basis…But for your noble mistress, the captain of the River Dancer as well. Were it not for her leniency and help, you never would’ve made it here or been allowed to carry out this task in the first place, and for that we are ever grateful. I see now why Chuckie selected you lot to undertake this task, and why he was so insistent that she was a dear friend of his. Now…In the truest tradition of not just Yeulestadt or The Saint, but of all Yeuletide itself…I offer you all this – A gift! One each, as always. You’ll all find presents tagged with your names. Open them at your leisure, I’m eager to see not just your reactions, but wonder how you’ll all put them to use!” 

The first person to open his gift is Renvarin, who is clearly offered the smallest package. His box is palm sized, and adorned with glittery gold ribbon, surrounding a red and green box of stereotypical Yeuletide fashion. He pulls the ribbon apart, allowing him to pop the top off the box, and looks inside. 

Lord Moonracer smiles eagerly, watching his expression, as Renvarin returns it in kind with a muted, monotone look on his face.

“Wow…Surely this is some form of amusement for you, or Dunkle? A lump of coal? Really?”

The others in the party chuckle at his expense, and Dunkle smiles, knowing that even a lump of coal in this land is not what it seems.

“Oh ho ho! My dear friend, be not alarmed…You were not on the naughty list this year, though some other bringers of Yeuletide cheer might have some qualms with your prior decision making…You’ve turned out to be a fine young man, and done well to amend your demeanor as a grinch towards the youth of this world…And you have steel in your heart, fire in your veins. This gift is of such a kind…Useful not as fuel, but to stoke the fire of your steel, if you understand my musings. Let it sharpen and hone your blade so that it may strike true and mighty, for now you are a champion of Yeule!” 

Renvarin nods, trying to make sense of the metaphorical way of speaking Lord Moonracer has, and steps back, inspecting his gift more closely, sensing a value beyond what it seems.

Next is Rayner, who is given a box that for a dragonborn of his size is palm sized, but is slightly larger than a box of coal. The ribbon is also gold, but the box itself is purple and black. Amused, he tears apart the ribbon, opening the box, and finds in it a beautiful, ornate snow globe. The glass is clear, and cast perfectly. Inside the snowglobe, nothing clear can be seen, and taped to the bottom of it is a turnkey which is clearly meant for a slot on the side of the globe. He shakes it up, but the image inside the snowglobe is opaque, static. 

“Is it…Broken? Of course it’s not…But how does it work?” 

“Ahh…My dear friend…This is a globe of Whence and Will! It shows you something that you may not understand now…But will illuminate things for you, not just the past, but perhaps even your future. Peer into it at your leisure, and decipher its images with grace and wisdom. For no man who peers into it sees the same thing, and for you…Well…This orb was particularly crafted to answer questions you may not yet have!” 

Rayner nods, and bows respectfully, appreciating his gift tremendously, emboldened and curious now in a way that he perhaps has not been in a good long while. He thinks of the past, and what Lord Moonracer’s words mean to him, but finds himself longing to ask questions that do not have words attached to them. 

Following Rayner is Vimak, who can contain his excitement no longer, shredding the wrapping paper of a cylindrical package to find a flute. But not just any flute – an expertly crafted, homey, beautiful wooden flute. Made with love out of a tall and noble Fir. He immediately puts it to his lips to play it, but Lord Moonracer raises his paw.

“Ahh, Vimak. The Word-Painter. I know you must be excited to test your new flute now…But allow me a brief explanation of its capabilities. When you play that flute, you may use it as you would to play any merry old song…But if you channel its Yeuletide magic, it will summon toy soldiers to your aid! Ho ho! These hardy wooden soldiers will be a boon to your party and protect you as best they can, so long as they live! You’ll find its magic and scope limited, but still highly useful I hope!” 

“Wow! Thanks Lord Moonracer! This is amazing! I’ll be sure to paint lots of words as I tute this flute!” Vimak exclaims, immediately pressing the flute to his lips and testing its scope of ability. 

Lord Moonracer Chuckles, and nudges a large, heavy box towards Raven, who stands, amused, with his arms crossed next to Renvarin, a grin spreading between his lips. He eyes Renvarin, who is toying with his coal, half annoyed, half intrigued, and then he eyes the large box being pushed towards him.

He goes to lift the box, and realizes it’s far heavier than he anticipated, as the box is almost two feet wide. He opts to leave the box on the ground for ease of access. The box itself is simple – a black box, monotone, with no distinguishing features besides a single thin red ribbon wrapping it up neatly. He slashes the ribbon apart with a small knife, pulling apart the lips of the box, and furls his brow. Bex on his shoulder tilts her head, and proverbially narrows her brow.

Inside the box is a large book – truly massive in size. Bigger than a dictionary, wider than a cinder block, and thicker too. The title of the book reads in Italic, stylized script:

B.I.R.D LAW 

“…Bird Law? I don’t…” 

“Oh ho ho ho ho! Dear Raven, this is not just a book on BIRD law…but a book on B.I.R.D law! I’m sure you’ll understand, your wit is sharp, your mind keen!” 

Raven picks up the book, inspecting it more closely. Underneath the italicized script, the title appears to be an acronym.

BOOK of INFERNAL RHETORIC and DEALINGS: A guide 

“I believe that book will help you settle disputes in the future…Or approach them more delicately! Oh ho ho ho!” Lord Moonracer says with an exasperated laugh. 

Raven Smiles, saying no more words, and backs away, taking his book with him. Bex is not amused.

Following Raven, Ozzy is handed a small package. The box is fancy, gilded, and gaudy by all accounts. The paper is bedazzled and shiny, and expresses an impressive luster. He tears it apart eagerly, despite feeling firmly in his heart that the true treasure, the true present he has or will ever receive is on his side – his trusty Red Rider Crossbow.

Inside the package is a curious device. It appears to be a lens attached to a metal framed box, with a bright red button on the opposite side. 

Without a word, Ozzy instinctively presses the button, and a large spotlight appears out of thin air around him, giving him a sense of bravado beyond his usual swaggered self. 

“Now this…This is an excellent gift. I’m most grateful, Lord Moonracer.” Ozzy says, smiling, moving around inside the spotlight, testing its bounds. 

“You’re most welcome dear Ozzy! I trust you’ll need no explanation regarding the value of a personal spotlight, usable at a whim, any place, any time! Morag…I think you ought to open your gift next. You’ve been awfully quiet since your return to town! Perhaps you are…Hungry?” 

“Hungry?” Morag thought. Was this a slight, or a thoughtful remark? He supposes he could always be hungry. Whether or not that was what was most pertinent to him at the time was another question.

He approaches a large box meant for him, wrapped in orange paper with green ribbon, and opens it as delicately as any of his kind might. He sees a strange contraption that appears to be a small portable oven, with a simple door, and a tray at the bottom. 

“This, my dear friend, is an E-Z Bake Oven! A gnomish contraption of popular renown that can be used to make any baked delicacy, with any sort of ingredients, so long as they fit inside the oven! You’ll find your treats in the tray when they’re baked to perfection, and I have a feeling you’ll be most pleased with the results, time and time again, ho ho!” 

Morag grins, and thinks of all the things he can put in the oven, ranging from berries to meats to toes, and will no longer have to suffer the absurd jeering or ridicule of his party who does not appreciate the value of good, honestly baked food the way he does. 

Following him, Sahani approaches a small bag clearly intended for him, Unlike all the other gifts, instead of it being a box of some kind, the gift is placed inside a decently sized gift bag, filled to the brim with tissue paper. He pulls the tissue paper aside, and pulls out an even smaller bag tied with simple, but exquisite gold ribbon. He reads the side of the bag, and almost throws it across the room, snarling irritably. 

“Oh what the fuck is this?! Catnip? Really? This is the best you have to offer, Moonracer?!” 

The entire group laughs, Raven even putting his book between one arm and pointing with the other, elbowing Renvarin with a snort. 

“Oh ho ho ho! Don’t be so quick to judge a book by its cover, a horse by its mouth, dear Sahani! I would never offer a gnome a poor gift, for your kind are dear to my heart and have always been, even if you are a little more special or different than most! If you put your mind to it, you will find that that catnip is exactly what you need…And it will be a great boon to you!” 

“Yea, sure…Thanks…Can we go home yet?” Sahani says, annoyed, immediately pocketing the catnip without a second afterthought. 

“Oh but not yet…There is one last gift I have to offer…One for Tobias!” 

This gift was in an ornate luxury gift box, made out of ebon wood. No ribbon adorned it, but rather bright brass clasps. He snaps them open, and pulls out what can only be described as a scale, wrought in silver and gold, split down the middle evenly. As he holds it, the weights immediately adjust themselves mystically, and represent something that doesn’t appear very clear at first.

“These are known as the Scales of Scale. They will weigh something beyond grams, my dear Tobias. These scales are not for weighing fruits, or metals…They’re for weighing something far different, more complex…Something closer to your heart. If you meditate on what this means, you will understand in time, and as you journey onward, you will find the scales to just appropriately, depending on your actions, and where you stand, in some way…This is all I shall say!” 

“Interesting. Thank you, Lord Moonracer. I’m eager to give them a try, and decipher what you mean.” 

“Oh ho ho! But of course! The pleasure is all mine!”

“Hey…Didn’t we all get a gift? What about Uncle Dunkle? Just because he didn’t help us take down Melinda doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve a present!” Vimak objects as the party begins to wrap up their meeting and leave.

“Don’t worry about me, Vimak. I already got my gift.”

“Well? What was it?!”

“I have you all. My newfound friends and family. Traveling companions worth more than gold or trinkets. Together we’re going to spread lots of Yeuletide Cheer!” 

Lord Moonracer belly laughs greatly, and nobody in the party seems eager to challenge what Uncle Dunkle means by this, seemingly grateful that he’s back to his normal, quirky self. Whether or not he was truly given a gift or meant what he said would remain a mystery for now.

“Before I forget, take this as well, a token for the party, so that you may always return, should you find the need or the time appropriate!” Lord Moonracer says. 

He hands Renvarin a small glistening Yeuletide Bell made of silver, clearly a token for mistwalking. 

The party thanks Lord Moonracer one final time, and he thanks the party once more for their services – wishing them great fortune on their travels, and a merry Yeuletide season. He nods knowingly at Uncle Dunkle, who returns the gesture with a nod, appreciative, and they depart. 

And so thus concludes the business of the heroes of Ravenloft in ToyTown, derelict inside the  world of Krampenstadt, a confused, terrorized corner of the realms of torment.