Let me know if you guys want to see updates :3 New chapters are in progress, though they will be a bit slow in coming. Thank you to those who are reading this, if any are.
~Chapter One~
A New Place
More strange voices, though these were not as harsh as the last. Raistlin opened his golden eyes wearily. His vision was slightly blurred, but he could see above him what looked like a gloomy grey ceiling. The walls were the same color, aglow with a kind of yellow light that could only come from candelabras. Groaning softly, the mage put a hand to his head, alight with searing pain. Unlike the last time he'd been unconscious, he could recall most every detail of what happened before he was knocked out. The strange attack, though a slightly fevered memory, still cast over him a chilling sense of fear and even interest. If Verminaard's flight was indeed ambushed by another Highlord's troops, which Highlord's were they? What had happened to the red dragons? Had they been killed? And what of their riders? Had they escaped the brutal fight and gone back to inform Verminaard of the attack?
As much as he hated it, Raistlin also wondered briefly of his companions, if they had survived the raid or not. Most likely not, without the help of his magic. Not that I'd get thanks, he thought bitterly, his lips curling slightly in derision. He wheezed as his breath hitched uncomfortably in his throat.
"That's the magic user," called a voice. "Now they're all awake."
"You sure?" asked another. "He seems pretty out of it, still. Oh, I know! Let's poke him and see what happens!"
"Are you mad? You know very well what these people are capable of! You might as well be giving him your soul. Back up, I say!"
"I'm not mad," the second voice muttered irritably, and Raistlin got the impression of a hand being waved in front of his eyes, which were half-closed. Then the voice gasped. "See, Aspyn? He's not dead, after all! Hello, there!" it greeted in a manner that was a bit too cordial. Too . . . kenderish.
Now opening his eyes a little bit more, his suspicions were confirmed. The bearer of the second voice was in fact a kender, who reminded Raistlin so much of Tasslehoff that the mage was momentarily taken aback. His brown hair, though shorter than his acquaintance's, was put up in a topknot in like fashion, with a queer blonde strip running all the way to the end of it. His grey eyes looked into the mage's and he started.
"Look, Aspyn!" he cried, delighted. "Have you ever seen eyes like those before? I wonder where he got them. And where can I get some?" He yelled out in protest as he was pulled back by his hair, and a stern-faced elven woman was then in Raistlin's sight. She had bright blue eyes with very light blonde hair that was almost white. She was dressed in dark purple and a sparkling necklace hung from her neck.
"Stop pestering, Kapperton," said the elf, called Aspyn, to the kender. "He is clearly in shock." She looked down on the mage with cold eyes, but there was a hint of irritating compassion. "Forgive him. If you know anything of kenders, you will understand his meddling."
"Where am I?" Raistlin rasped, coughing quietly.
"You are safe," replied Aspyn shortly. "And that's enough for now. Come on, Kapperton." She walked away with the kender, who complained about not getting to properly introduce himself.
His gaze following them, Raistlin was met with bright sunlight spilling in through a window on the far end of the room. He soon realized he was on a not uncomfortable bed, his head resting on a hard pillow. As he looked around, he saw the other prisoners from the flight, sitting on beds equal to his. Aspyn and the kender- Kapperton, apparently- were making conversation with a few of them. Raistlin also saw, to his amazement, that the prisoners' wounds were actually being tended to! Men and women alike hustled around, bandaging gashes, handing out meager portions of broth, or even relieving fears by making friendly small talk. His small cut must be dressed, too, he figured, as his right forearm was strangely itchy. Looking to a small table next to him, the mage saw a bowl and a small cup of water. All his spell components were still on his person, as were his books; but there was still no sign of his staff. A fireplace blazed in the middle of the room, and a linen sheet was tucked around his thin shoulders. It was quite puzzling. If these people were supposed to be his captors, why would they make such an effort to see to his comfort? Perhaps they were fearful, he wondered with a cynical smile. Finally, he thought. Admirers.
Someone approached him, attempting to give him food. He snarled and sent the man away, having no intention of neither food nor interaction. He lay back on his bed and was soon asleep. He couldn't worry now. Whoever these people were, he would surely find out. And whatever it was they wanted with him, he would discover that, too.