W/N:(Weird Note) If you have bothered to read the A/N and Disclaimer of the last chapter ignore this one completely. If you haven't read last chapters A/N and disclaimer I suggest you do so because it's far more interesting then this chapters. A/N and Disclaimer. Only difference is that I want 10 reviews now.
A/N: I got all reviews & now I'm posting. (To all who reviewed): THANKS!! Since you where kind enough to write (at least) just a sentence in the little box at the bottom of the screen you and all those unappreciative dolts who found writing a sentence beyond their mental capability will get to read chapter 3 in….White Clerics, Black Magic!!!! (You lucky ducks, you!) I want 10 more reviews to keep going. (Prove your intellectual capacity beyond that of my brother and write just a sentence in the li'll box!)
Italics=thinking (in the story, you idiots)
The use of all three font changy thingies usually is used when referring to Raistlin without saying his name such as: He, His, or other things regarding HimDisclaimer: The characters used to produce this narrative belong to Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. The plotline, idea, and rest of the story belong to me, and if you try to steal from my clutches, pass it off as yours, and/or make money by selling it in mass production (Ha. Ha. Ha.) I'll lock you in a extraordinarily boring dungeon, secured by magic, with one extremely bored kender who has taken a liking to whatever items you have on your personal. As for your house, I shall let a thousand kender have leave of it, and whatever is left I shall give to gnomes and their department of
Ourstudyinthedwellingsofotherracesfarlesssuperiorthanourselvesandourstudysonhowtoinproveandrenovatethemwithlittletimemoneyorspacewithonlytheusageofsmallhousholditemsthathaveallbeenslightytamperedwithbyourselvesandoursuperiors (thegreatgnomishcouncil)andweassureyouthatyouareperfectlyandcompleatlysafeforusandoursponcershavetestedthemmanytimeswithonlya68%fatalityrateandtheexplosionsyoumightormightnotofheardecoingfromourbuildinsareall(weasureyou)afigmentofyourimagination…. ext…ext…ext….
And now on with the story…
~Lady Crysania Majere
White Clerics, Black Magic Chapter Four: Revelations, A Meeting, and the Fall of an IllusionBy Lady Crysania Majere
**** Still in Flash Back****
She didn't know when she had stopped falling, but she obviously had, for beneath her she could feel the softness of bed sheets and her head was resting on a pillow. Opening her eye's the first thing she saw took her breath away, the ceiling was made of pure crystal, not glass, crystal, and beyond that the sky. But a sky like one she had never seen before, the rich purple that bordered almost on black was dotted with not three, not one, but five moons, not to mention unfamiliar constellations of stars. The first three of the five moons she was familiar with, ice white Solinari, blood red Lunitari, and (she could only make it out because of the mysterious lack stars in a circular area) night black (literally) Nunitari. As for the other two, they puzzled her thoroughly. One, the same size as the three well-known moons was a velvety blue. One would think that having a sky of purple as background would make it as invisible as the black moon, but strangely, it stood out as much (if not more) than Solinari. It attracted the gaze of the beholder -if she where to be the judge on how the beholder would react- yet even as it drew her, the moons dark gaze repulsed her slightly, like him….She shivered, and then an unbidden thought rose in the Reverend Daughters mind. What if….No. It couldn't be, he was dead, plain and simple. Resting in redeeming sleep if you want to put it that way, or just happen to like that version of the tale better. She was being ignorant and silly. Still….
'The other moon' she made her self think 'think about the other moon.' Slowly, and more than a bit reluctantly she forced her mind off the blue sphere in the sky and turned to the next of the strange moons, twice as large as its fellows, the site before her was the most beautiful yet most horribly revolting thing she had ever seen. Colors swirled and danced across its surface making her feel both exhilarated and queasy at the same time, and….Oh!!! Crysania had not consciously realized she had gotten up (probably to get a better view) but now she sat down hard on the freezing stone, feeling cold. She could see. Palidine be praised, she could see! Tears of wonder sparkled in gray eyes that had now lightened to a misty blue.
'Stop it.' The voice of calm depressing reason commanded her. 'It could be a dream.'
'But what dream' She countered back, still dazedly 'could be this vivid?'
As if in answer, colorful scenes replayed themselves inside her head, some staining her cheeks a rosy pink.
'I could always be dead…' that indeed was a thought. It would explain her sight, for in Palidines' paradise, who would walk blind?
'But what if this wasn't that paradise?' Another unbidden thought. 'The gods have left and who is to say they did not take that particular afterlife with them?'
'It could still be a dream.' She reasoned, trying to suppress the fear that was bubbling up inside her. Her only answer, the replaying of some of the more vibrant pictures.
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Looking around she discovered that she was in a small house, in fact, probably one of the most beautiful houses she had ever laid eyes on. The walls, like those in the sunken temple of Palidine back in Istar, where a pure, white, snowy, marble, unflawed. Yet, they where very different from those great Istarian walls, for no small veins of blue or expensive, yet useless baubles and trinkets marred their smooth, seemingly delicate (but very much not so) surface. There where four rooms in all, she had discovered, and in most of them (or at least a good three out of four) the loveliness that positively radiated from the walls came from pure genius, and mild sense of simplicity. The small bedroom in which she had woken up was circular and had a high, domed ceiling, that was, as she had previously observed, pure crystal. Mirrors decorated the upper most part of the walls, slanted and turned, they caught the light of the moons, and bathed the floor around the bed in the middle of the room with deep blues on silver-whites, on crimson, on black, out lined in sort of a dancing rainbow that made her head spin. The other rooms consisted of a tiny bathroom; whose walls where tiled with a curious yet beautiful blue stone and in whose middle was a small fountain. The size of one of the temples birdbaths it was made of the same marble as the walls, its basin lined in mother of pearl, its water, cold and sweet, reminding Crysania of cool mountain springs. The kitchen too was small, its pure white walls contrasting oddly to the marvelously worked mahogany that served as cupboard, chairs, and table. She found the strange mixture of wood and stone oddly delightful. But it was the last room that most satisfied her knew hunger for the sights in the world around her, and perhaps…something else…. Like the bedroom, it was circular, like all the other rooms for that matter. A fire flickered and crackled merrily in a stone hearth, throwing the white walls into shadows, and the many books that sat in shelves on those walls into an even deeper darkness. Couches of rich material adorned with cushions of even richer cloths, were huddled around a table of marble and crystal, in which whose center rested a bowl of strange exotic fruits. But it was none of these things that made Crysania like this room best. In fact, she usually had a severe disliking to such flaunted wealth. But it reminded her of a room, in a tower, whose walls were obsidian black, whose shelves where also lined with books, but with either night blue or black binding. But most of all her mind wandered to the owner of such a room. Saw once again the mirror like eyes, the….
'NO!' she thought viciously, slamming the thought down into the nether regions of her mind. She seriously couldn't believe herself. Even in dreams (for she was now certain this was a dream) she thought of him. 'I will not think…' she couldn't bring herself to go on. Even as she commanded her insolent thoughts to be still, they threw memories at her. Memories that, even now, caused a strange pang inside her. Abruptly she turned round and left, slamming the door behind her.
Upon her reentrance to the bedroom she flung herself onto the bed, doing the perfect imitation of a sulky child. 'Why?!' she asked herself, scowling fiercely at the strange sky through crystal. 'Why can't I just move on?! He found-was granted-' she corrected herself, 'peace. Why can't I just forget….' Pointedly ignoring the whispering, traitorous voices in the back of her head she turned her head to her pillow and tried desperately to blot out all conscious thought.
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It was too much. Sight. Moons (one of which made her feel distinctly uneasy and another which made her feel doubly that). New. Reminders of Old. Reminders of him. Tears pricked her eyes. It was way too much. Too soon….In the end she let that, and everything else, overwhelm her.
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She didn't know how long she had lain there, grappling at what she believed to be at least a part of her sanity. Finally she gave up. HE would have scorned her for such weakness. Or not.
If it suited his needs.
If manipulated her so as to fit into his web.
If it trapped her.
And it always did.
Raistlin was most skilled that way. And yes, she now spoke his name to herself, if only in the deep recesses of her mind. For she figured what she was doing before (ignoring or trying to ignorer him) had not succeeded and that another remedy was indeed in order. Her previous method was like being in a completely white room, a room whose only color was a pink spot on the ceiling, and then trying not to look at the spot. In doing so, you only kept it in your mind (the spot), focused on not focusing on it and thus always it was a center of attention in all conscious moments. On the other hand, if you continually stared at the spot it would soon get as boring as leaves on trees and you could begin to turn your mind onto more important things, like getting out of the room for example. Speaking of escape, she had noted that the rooms (lovely as they were) had no doors or windows, save for the doors used to enter, or (if the next even counted as a window she was not sure) the crystal ceiling. And, if no means was provided for escape, one could assume one was being held against ones will, and if one was being held against ones will, one should always try to find some way out of the situation. Perhaps in her shock at sight and sites she had missed them (the doors or windows). Maybe. What a strange dream this was. Sighing she got up, trying in vain to get a look at herself one of the rooms high placed mirrors. Then walked over, opened the door….
And blinked.
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Then blinked twice.
A third time for good measure.
She could have sworn…. Wasn't that?!…. Damn!….
The door that had, just a moment ago lead to the small, double door bathroom, lead there no longer. Instead, a library, greater even than the one in Palanthas stretched before her, its ceiling so lofty that even her newly gained eye sight could not pierce its shadowy heights. Cautiously she shut the door, and with equal caution she reopened it. The library stood there still, the spheres of flickering mage light (for that was all it could be) in their stands, eerily illuminating the shelves upon shelves of books, winking at her innocently as if they knew something she did not.
'And that may very well be.' She grumbled to herself, 'Oh well, it's just a dream. Albeit, a very strange and vivid one. I never knew the subconscious had such a vibrant imagination.' Still mumbling under her breath she entered the library and closed the door.
She knew at once it had been a mistake. Perhaps some long forgotten instinct awakened from dormant slumber a moment to late. Even as her hand snaked back to grab the handle, the doorknob, doorframe, and door itself, melted silently into the wall. Had she known any, she would have uttered a very foul curse. As it was….Sighing in frustration she turned from the now blank wall and headed down the isle of books.
Upon further exploration Crysania discovered that, centered in the heart of the great library was a large mahogany table complete with chairs and such. Most importantly however was the glow that shown from the numerous mage lights that were placed everywhere around the desk, creating an island of light in a sea of darkness. It was not the blackness itself that made her edgy however, for (being blind up until now) she was much accustomed to the absence of light and seemed to have a strange affinity to it. It was the silence that bothered her. That, and the shadows. For, to one blind, touch and sound are the only things that give you any idea about the world around you, and even with her new sight, old instincts are hard to suppress. In the silent dark she knew the panic would rise in her, to kill all reason. She had never feared the pairing of silence and darkness in her youth but now….
Having nothing better to do, and wishing desperately for the accursed dream to end, she grabbed a book from the nearest of the shelves, sat down in a chair and began to read.
The book was called, The Mists of Avalon and she found it fascinating. Though many parts she didn't understand, and the world in which Morgan lived was strange as were the gods they worshiped, she loved it greatly. Never, in all her time on Krynn had she ever encountered such a work. It was too preposterous, strange, and some would say blasphemous to exists. But the characters appealed to her, and Morgan's work as a priestess was enthralling, even as it so greatly differed from her own experiences. Admittedly some parts where more detailed then they out to be, but nothing you wouldn't find in a two copper piece novel.
One other strange thing about the book was that, as she read, time made no evidence of its passing. The library stayed dark and completely silent (save for the occasional turning page of her book) for what she knew had to have been at least ten hours. Finished with the first and with little else to do, she started another book, which she had nabbed from one of the shelves just within the reaches of the many mage lights.
The Fellowship of the Ring began within a world far more like her own, and with semi familiar species (though Hobbits where a complete mystery). The vague likeness to Kyrnn was disturbing but drew her more into the book. Leaning forward she read,
"But I have so little of these things! You are wise and powerful. Will you not take the Ring?"
"No!" cried Gandalf, springing to his feet. "With the power of the Ring I should have power too great and terrible. And over me the Ring would gain a power still greater and more deadly." His eyes flashed and his face was lit as by a fire within. "Do not tempt me! For I do not wish to become like the Dark Lord himself–" At this point Crysania reached to turn the page, but even as she did so, a hand of a goldish hue reached over her shoulder to keep the page from turning. As if the owner of the offending limb was finishing the last few words in the sentence seconds after the Reverend Daughter. And indeed, in what seemed like three seconds the hand allowed the page to turn and Crysania to continue with her reading. Which she did. She did not need to turn around to know who it was, she just knew. And that fact that it was he hardly surprised her at all. After all, it was her dream. Without slowing in her reading, missing a single word or any other such offence, she spoke.
"Greetings Raistlin."
**** Still in Flash Back****
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Like it? Hate it? Ha! CLIFFHANGER!!! ^_^ . Anyway, my friend
thinks it's below him to read my story. I think he's being an idiot. In your review tell
my friend he's an idiot and to get his ass down on a computer chair and read my story
which happens to be the best story you've ever read (Right???). I'll be eternally great full…. It's annoying the hell out of him. ^_^ Which reminds me. Thanx to
Tenchi-kun
Arabwel
Happy smiley person.
Who all told my friend he was an idiot. You might want to hear that he told me to tell the you to do something I can't possibly tell you to do without dramatically increasing the rating on this story. So now you have a reason to tell him he's an ass.
Thanx,
~Lady Crysania Majere
OMG!!! I Can't believe I posted the other one, I'm so Sorry!! Thanx Shannon Holmes
