Ghosts, Mere Ghosts.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for the plot.
A/N: I just had a dream like this where I went back to my elementary school. This is after the War of the Lance.
"What am I doing here?" Raistlin wondered to himself as he hurried down the corridors of his old school, his black robes flapping around his ankles in his haste.
Early that morning, he had been wakened with this strange compellation to visit his old school. He had left the Tower of High Sorcery, trusting that his magic could save him if it was a trap, which was what he suspected it was.
"Who dares to challenge me? I'll teach them a lesson."
When he arrived, he was shocked, but also rather satisfied to see the building abandoned, the place abandoned and downtrodden. Turned out that Plague had hit Solace, a strange malady that left the victims running a high fever and having hallucinations that forced the victims to kill themselves, to escape the "demons."
Master Theobald and his students had been the first victim. They were all put into quarantine, and since them, people had been rather wary of sending their children somewhere that could possibly infect them. Raistlin's teacher died of the disease.
No one had bothered to clean the building and/or maintain it. No one even bothered to burn the building down. Everyone was too busy fighting the Plague. Raistlin sighed, rather regretfully, if he had gone back to Solace after the War, he could've contributed so much, given his knowledge of herbs.
But, Raistlin's lip curled into a sneer, he was no longer a low-level mage who needed such things to keep in food and water.
The corridors no longer rang with the laughter of children, no longer smelled like overcooked cabbage. The once polished floors were now covered in dust and cobwebs. Rats skittered out of the way the light that welled from the Staff of Magius. The corridors were damp; cold, stagnant water dripped onto Raistlin's uncovered head. He drew his hood over his head, then folded his hands within his voluminous sleeves.
Raistlin's feet turned towards the doors of his old classroom. He entered, and was confronted by an amazing sight.
He saw all the children he had been tormented by, and Master Theobald, even though Raistlin had been present at his funeral a year ago. He saw the blazing fire that had always been present during his school days. Everything was transparent. He saw all this but he couldn't, no, wouldn't believe what those eyes of his showed to be true.
His eye was caught on a small boy, his thin figure laid out on the floor, his soft auburn hair on the dirty floor, his eyes closed in the exact replica of death.
The archmage remembered, the memories painful, his wounds reopening. But, no! This particular.scene, was one of his favorite memories, where h showed them all how absolutely stupid and useless they all were. He had probably given them all the scare of their life! He chuckled to himself, remembering how he had effectively fooled them into thinking he was dead, teaching his teacher never to touch him again.
Then the same thing that had compelled Raistlin to go to this place in the first led his footsteps to the old grove, which in his childhood had had comforted him with its peace and solace. What was this strange compellation? Why.? His eyes widened, his breath came short.
Turning from the dreadful horror he had seen, Raistlin ran out of the place, forgetting he could transport himself in a second to wherever he wanted, forgetting he shouldn't push his body so hard, forgetting everything in his blind terror.
He ran and he ran, not wanting to stop, but forced to. Panting, he slumped on the road, the image burned, seemingly forever, into his mind: his body, the stomach torn and shredded, his inner organs laid clear, blood upon his lips, his eyes almost dead..
Then he saw nothing but blackness, warm, comforting darkness.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for the plot.
A/N: I just had a dream like this where I went back to my elementary school. This is after the War of the Lance.
"What am I doing here?" Raistlin wondered to himself as he hurried down the corridors of his old school, his black robes flapping around his ankles in his haste.
Early that morning, he had been wakened with this strange compellation to visit his old school. He had left the Tower of High Sorcery, trusting that his magic could save him if it was a trap, which was what he suspected it was.
"Who dares to challenge me? I'll teach them a lesson."
When he arrived, he was shocked, but also rather satisfied to see the building abandoned, the place abandoned and downtrodden. Turned out that Plague had hit Solace, a strange malady that left the victims running a high fever and having hallucinations that forced the victims to kill themselves, to escape the "demons."
Master Theobald and his students had been the first victim. They were all put into quarantine, and since them, people had been rather wary of sending their children somewhere that could possibly infect them. Raistlin's teacher died of the disease.
No one had bothered to clean the building and/or maintain it. No one even bothered to burn the building down. Everyone was too busy fighting the Plague. Raistlin sighed, rather regretfully, if he had gone back to Solace after the War, he could've contributed so much, given his knowledge of herbs.
But, Raistlin's lip curled into a sneer, he was no longer a low-level mage who needed such things to keep in food and water.
The corridors no longer rang with the laughter of children, no longer smelled like overcooked cabbage. The once polished floors were now covered in dust and cobwebs. Rats skittered out of the way the light that welled from the Staff of Magius. The corridors were damp; cold, stagnant water dripped onto Raistlin's uncovered head. He drew his hood over his head, then folded his hands within his voluminous sleeves.
Raistlin's feet turned towards the doors of his old classroom. He entered, and was confronted by an amazing sight.
He saw all the children he had been tormented by, and Master Theobald, even though Raistlin had been present at his funeral a year ago. He saw the blazing fire that had always been present during his school days. Everything was transparent. He saw all this but he couldn't, no, wouldn't believe what those eyes of his showed to be true.
His eye was caught on a small boy, his thin figure laid out on the floor, his soft auburn hair on the dirty floor, his eyes closed in the exact replica of death.
The archmage remembered, the memories painful, his wounds reopening. But, no! This particular.scene, was one of his favorite memories, where h showed them all how absolutely stupid and useless they all were. He had probably given them all the scare of their life! He chuckled to himself, remembering how he had effectively fooled them into thinking he was dead, teaching his teacher never to touch him again.
Then the same thing that had compelled Raistlin to go to this place in the first led his footsteps to the old grove, which in his childhood had had comforted him with its peace and solace. What was this strange compellation? Why.? His eyes widened, his breath came short.
Turning from the dreadful horror he had seen, Raistlin ran out of the place, forgetting he could transport himself in a second to wherever he wanted, forgetting he shouldn't push his body so hard, forgetting everything in his blind terror.
He ran and he ran, not wanting to stop, but forced to. Panting, he slumped on the road, the image burned, seemingly forever, into his mind: his body, the stomach torn and shredded, his inner organs laid clear, blood upon his lips, his eyes almost dead..
Then he saw nothing but blackness, warm, comforting darkness.