The calm, incessant voice called her. She followed hurriedly, gladly. Crysania
flew into the room below the temple without a second thought. On entering, she
came to a dead stop. She glanced around uneasily, her pulse threatening to choke
her. her heart leapt into her throat.
She had seen none of what had befallen the temple. At this moment, she looked to
her bloodstained robes - wondering how the blood had gotten there. Yet here, in
this one room, everything stood out very distinctly, though the only light in
the laboratory came flowing from the crystal atop the Staff of Magius. She
stared around the room, awed by and fearing the evil that she felt.
Arcane objects, both horrid and beautiful lined the shelves. She stared at them
in terrified fascination.
Something brushed against her arm. A living thing - she hoped. It grasped at her
white robe and clawed at her arm - creating more red patches on the already
ruined robe.
Crysania screamed in terror and backed away form the grasping creature. it sat
in its cage and stared with hunger at her mortal flesh. The others howled in
anger, seeing the blood, but not able to taste the bitter-sweet substance.
Crysania backed into an oaken coffin. It swung open, revealing what might have
once been a living human. Now, its leathery skin was stretched taught against
its bones and its lips were curled in a perpetual grin.
Crysania tried to gasp, yet no sound came from her dry throat. She was chilled
to the bone with cold sweat. She held her head with hands that might have been
inflicted with palsy. She tried to block out the horrible sight The world
slipped beneath her unsteady feet. Her mind was willing to let go. The next
tremor nearly shook her off her feet.
“Come to me,” the voice that had brought her hear sounded again. “Come. You will
be safe with me, now. These evil monstrosities of Fistandantilus’s evil wouldn’t
dare to harm you while I am here.”
“Fistandantilus? He made these creatures?” She stared in disgust and horror at
the creatures that surrounded them. “He built this?”
“Yes. Centuries ago, he built this laboratory beneath the temple, without the
clerics knowing. He burrowed like a worm through the stone, recreating it to
,make trap doors and stairways. No cleric knew of its existence. Hardly anyone
else, either. He showed it to very few. He was a fool to show it to me. Yet, let
us not linger on the past. Now, it is mine. I have destroyed the evil that
created this -”
He was rudely interrupted by Crysania, who had once more become a proper Revered
Daughter of Paladine. “You destroyed the evil,” she stated, her faith regained
completely, “To replace it with another.”
Damn, I’m losing her! His black robes rustled around him as he took a step
towards her. He remembered the ecstasy he had felt when he held her in his arms.
He was forced to remember that he was a mortal man, and would readily succumb to
mortal pleasured.
“Raistlin,” Crysania spoke softly to him. She, too, remembered that night. It
brought a flush of embarrassment to her pale cheeks. “You can always turn back
towards the light! There are much more possibilities in it than in the darkness
in which you have enfolded yourself.”
Raistlin stared at her, as if considering, for a few moments. A sardonic smile
passed over his thin lips. “Come over here.”
He led Crysania to the back of the laboratory. A large, wooden desk sat there.
On it lay a silver bound book. Behind, was a circle of powder that matched the
book binding perfectly, as if reflecting the color.
A Shadow appeared in the doorway. It happened so suddenly, it made Crysania
shriek. Raistlin glanced up. “Ah, enter, my brother.”
Caramon! Crysania turned, a greeting to the jovial warrior on her tongue. The
words died before they were spoken. She didn’t see the happy, fun loving
mercenary that she knew. She saw a stranger with a look of determination on his
face. The darkness in her heart deepened upon his arrival.
“I was just thinking of you, my brother. Of course,” Raistlin’s face lost a fair
amount of color, “that reminded me of the Test.
“Speaking of tests,” his leering smile widened, “I see you passed yours. Do not
get me wrong, brother. I am truly glad. The time and place we are headed to is
dark, and this lady,” he pointed to Crysania, “will need a body guard. It is
always pleasant to have one I know and trust.”
Raistlin’s biting sarcasm shocked Crysania. It had a worse affect on Caramon. He
flinched and took a step back, as if his twin had punched him.
“Yes, I survived your test.” Caramon slowly walked into the dim light of the
staff. Crysania gasped in fear.
“Raistlin!” she cried, stumbling backwards away from the big man. He advanced
still. A bloodstained sword - the one from his ‘test’ cast off an eerie, red
glow. “Raistlin, look!” Crysania nearly shook the dark mage. She backed,
unknowingly, into the circle of silver powder. It clung to her robe, giving off
a faint light of its own.
Exasperated at the idiotic goings on, the mage glanced up from his spell
casting.
“I survived your test,” the big man glared at his twin, “as you survived the
Test at the Tower. There, they shattered your body. Here, you shattered my
heart. In its place is nothing now, just a cold emptiness as black as your
robes. And, like this sword, it is stained with blood. A poor wretch of a
minatour died upon this blade. A friend gave his life for me, another died in my
arms. You’ve sent the kender to his death haven’t you? And how many more will
die to further your evil designs?” Caramon’s voice dropped to a lethal whisper.
“This ends it, my brother. No more will die because of you. Except one - myself.
It’s fitting, isn’t it , Raist? We came into this world together; together,
we’ll leave it.”
He took another step forward. Raistlin seemed about to speak, but Caramon
interrupted.
“You can not use your magic to stop me, not this time. I know about the spell
you plan to cast. I know it will take all of your power, all of your
concentration. If you use even the smallest bit of magic against me, you will
not have the strength to leave this place, and my end will be accomplished all
the same. If you do not die at my hands, you will die at the hands of the gods.”
Raistlin looked at his brother for a few moments. He considered, then shrugged.
Caramon took another step forward - his knuckles turned white as he clenched his
sword. Raistlin gave an exasperated sigh, again, and looked up at his brother.
“There would be another who you killed.” Raistlin set his gaze meaningfully upon
the lady Crysania. “She has done nothing to upset you, has she, brother?”
Caramon glanced uneasily at the beautiful lawful cleric. He sighed deeply,
knowing that it would be awful if he had to kill her to get to his brother. But
I will. He was set on his goal, determined to stop the evil that had been born
the same day the twins were. He would do this by extinguishing the lives of
those whom it followed.
“She will be taken by Paladine. Which is more than I can say for you. Most
likely, you will reach your goal, and end up in the Abyss. Though not in the way
that you had hoped. Your soul will be trapped there, being forever tormented by
Queen Takhisis. In a way I pity you, my brother. You had the chance of a
wonderful life back in Solace with me and Tika. I had a room built for you. It
was all ready. You would have lived in immense comfort. You could have had all
the power you darn well pleased. You threw it all away.”
Raistlin raised an eyebrow at his brother. He shrugged a second time, believing
Caramon a fool. He turned to Crysania to instruct her as to where to stand.
Raistlin took a step back as radiant white light filled the room. Crysania
stared into it, before murmuring something that the twins couldn’t hear. The
light disappeared. With it, Crysania.
“No one to protect you now, Raist.” Caramon advanced. His grip tightened on the
sword. Raistlin looked at his brother in alarm. The warrior was serious, dead
serious.
And that is what I’m about to be, dead.
“Here this one thing before you die. I have a wife that I could have gone back
to, Raist. I am willing to let Tika spend sleepless nights, worrying about me,
wondering if I’ll ever come home. I am willing to let Tanis and Riverwind grieve
for a friend whom they think died without a purpose. I am willing to join Sturm
Brightblade. I am willing to join Flint Fireforge. I am willing to join Mother.
If only to be rid of your evil.”
A cracking sounding - perhaps a peal of lightning - rang through the still air,
setting both twins off-guard. A black figure appeared, cloaked in the shadows.
It advanced upon Raistlin.
Caramon stared at it in horror, realizing that if it killed his brother, he
would never forgive himself. Even though, moments before, he would have killed
Raistlin, he found that if this stranger were to, his heart would tear. What was
left of his heart. He felt a numbness in his heart. He felt weighted down by
emotions too dark to explore.
All the while, Raistlin fought. Not physically, but mentally. Neither of the
opponents had moved, but their thoughts were conveying to each other.
I defeated you once, Fistandantilus. I can defeat you again.
Do you truly think you can defeat a soul? The stranger in black robes floated
over to Raistlin, and laid a hand upon him. A single, white, almost bone hand.
Raistlin screamed with such agony that Caramon, in risk of his own life, was
about to attack the evil mage that had appeared.
There was no chance. His brother fell, mortally wounded by the arch-magus. His
screams of agony stopped Caramon. Made him wonder if Fistandantilus would do the
same to him. His mind reeled with horror as he saw his brothers’ form
shriveling, being eaten away from within by whatever the evil wizard had put
into him.
Fistandantilus spoke. “I will make you die, mage. I will make it so the you
exist in my realm. The realm of the dead. There, I will torture your soul, as
you tortured my body before you killed me. When the time is right, I will send
you back to Krynn so that you may destroy Takhisis. But here this. If you fail
in destroying this goddess of darkness, then I will help her torture what is
left of your soul.”
Both mages disappeared. Caramon stared in horror at where his brother had last
been standing. He felt an awful emptiness inside. He was now alone. Tas was most
likely dead. Tika probably thought he was dead. Tanis and Riverwind had probably
already planned his funeral.
There was nothing left for him. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to raise his
sword and stab it through his own heart. He couldn’t call the gods to hurry up
and get on with the cataclysm so that he could die. For some reason, he felt a
need to stay upon Krynn. A reason that shone with clarity as he heard a familiar
voice shrilly calling his name.
“Caramon!” Tasslehoff Burfoot waltzed into the room, shaking his head slightly.
His topknot was in a mess. He was trying desperately to comb it into place with
his fingers.
Caramon started to turn around to face his friend. His friend who had ‘fought’
with him in the war. His friend who had stood up for peace - who had destroyed
the dragon orb as to gain it. His little kender friend whom he had thought dead.
“Tas.” His voice caught in his throat. He was almost facing the kender now.
A large piece of loose concrete from the ceiling shook off and hit him directly
on the head. He felt no pain. A bright, soothing flash of light flashed before
him. The soothing light of death.
He heard someone far off in the distance, frantically calling his name. He heard
it no longer. Caramon glanced around this beautiful white light. Figures
appeared in it. Figures that were so familiar that it made tears come to his
eyes.
Flint Fireforge stepped up and scowled at him. “So, you went and got yourself
killed, did’ja? Thought so. Now what’s the kender gonna’ do? He’ll get himself
killed, then I’ll be stuck with a kender in the afterlife. You’re laughing? It’s
not that funny! I’ll be sitting peacefully under my tree, then this doorknob of
a kender will walk right up and disturb my whittling! And where will you be
then? Probably off dating some recently deceased barmaid!”
Flint stopped talking as Caramon ran up and hugged all the breath out of his
celestial being. “You’re just like you were in the old days, Flint.”
After these condolences had been exchanged, the other figure stepped forward.
“Sturm.” Caramon just barely choked out his long-dead friends name.
“It is a pity that I meet with you so early on in your life. You had the makings
of a good warrior in you. You were a very honorable man. But even as I grieve
seeing you here, I am overjoyed. I have missed you, old friend.”
Caramon wiped away a tear that had appeared at the corner of his eye. He hugged
his friend. The embrace was a short one, but it had meaning.
Flint Fireforge and Sturm Brightblade disappeared back into the white light.
Caramon went to follow them, his mind free of thoughts of his brother for once.
A clawed hand burst through the white light, grabbing Caramon. It shattered the
peace, and dragged him back to the pained life that he had left. Dragged him
back to the horror of life.
Tas stared in horror at the fallen Caramon. He had seen some pretty bad things,
but he had never seen Caramon lying on the floor like that. It didn’t look
healthy.
He didn’t have to worry about that fact long. Fire swept down over him. He
realized that the cataclysm had begun.
Tas tried to back out of the seering flame, but it was everywhere. He inhaled
smoke. he coughed, sputtered. Consciousness slipped.
The irrepressible kender was repressed.
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