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Chapter Two: The Creeping Forest
"Hurry up elf!" shouted a white robed mage, "we must reach our destination by sundown." The elf, drudging farther behind, was forced to run in order to catch up to the light-footed mage. "Tell me something sir mage?" the young elf questioned, "Why didn't you ask my name?" The mage's voice was as sly as his great uncle's.
"If you manage to accompany through the Forest of Wayreth," his tone was grim, "then perhaps I'll ask you of your name." Continuing toward his goal, Seraph Majere barely paid attention to the voice in his head. "His name is Asylthas, son of Gilthas, grandson to Tanis. He is your cousin." So abruptly the mage spun around, the elf nearly toppled over the young wizard. "Who are you, and why are you telling me this?" the mage questioned, "show yourself you daemon, or are you a coward?"
Sensing the anger and hostility in the reply, who or whatever was out there, wasn't happy. "I am no coward!" the voice pierced Seraph's skull as if it were split in two. Seraph instantly recognized the spidery words of magic, once the ringing in his ears dissipated. "Nor am I a daemon...Dulak!"
An uneasy darkness descended upon the two travelers, too afraid to move in fear of attack, the mage and elf stood helplessly still. "Shirak..." A faint light began to glow atop a crystal adorned with a dragon's claw, positioned upon a delicately carved wooden staff. Slowly, the being in possession of the magnificent staff, began to part the darkness with the light.
"An old oak staff, adorned with a golden dragon claw, and a magical crystal..." thought Seraph. "The Staff of Magius!" the mage realized as the magus in control of the staff stepped forward into the light. Dressed in the delicate Gold Robes, sagging upon the frail body beneath, a mage with golden skin and hourglass eyes approached. His steps were so light and quick, no trace of his presence was visible, and the only sound of his approach was the ruffle of his robes.
"Yes Seraph, the Staff of Magius...One that hasn't been seen on Krynn for nearly a century. Why?" the mage asked with sly whisper, "because it has been with me in the Afterlife. I am the Demi-God of magic, wearer of the Gold Robes, and the greatest archmagus to ever live. My name is Raistlin Majere; I am your great uncle..."
Trying his hardest to make any sense out of this, Seraph unintentionally passed out. "Asylthas, help him to his feet, we are expected." Raistlin commanded. Obeying the soft but harsh whisper, Asylthas ran over to the white robe and helped him to his feet. Once assured he would not fall, the elf slowly took a step back, awaiting any further orders.
"Rais...Raistlin Majere?" Asylthas murmured. "You knew my grandfather, didn't you sir mage?" Assured that Seraph would be fine, Raistlin turned his attention to the elf's question. "Yes...you are the grandson of Tanis Half-Elven. I traveled with Tanis many years ago, during the War of the Lance. I never met your father, Gilthas..." Raistlin was forced to stop, overwhelmed by a coughing spasm. Picking himself off the ground with his staff, the archmagus carefully wiped the blood from his lips.
"Tanis died the same year I returned from the Abyss, the same year I met my nephew Palin Majere. Your father was Palin, was he not Seraph?" The young mage turned and started to head toward the horizon, without so much as glance at his supposed great uncle. "Seraph..." Raistlin called out, "do no worry about finding the Forest, it has already found us." What Raistlin had said was true, new trees surrounded them, decaying and desolate, the Forest of Wayreth.
Chapter Two: The Creeping Forest
"Hurry up elf!" shouted a white robed mage, "we must reach our destination by sundown." The elf, drudging farther behind, was forced to run in order to catch up to the light-footed mage. "Tell me something sir mage?" the young elf questioned, "Why didn't you ask my name?" The mage's voice was as sly as his great uncle's.
"If you manage to accompany through the Forest of Wayreth," his tone was grim, "then perhaps I'll ask you of your name." Continuing toward his goal, Seraph Majere barely paid attention to the voice in his head. "His name is Asylthas, son of Gilthas, grandson to Tanis. He is your cousin." So abruptly the mage spun around, the elf nearly toppled over the young wizard. "Who are you, and why are you telling me this?" the mage questioned, "show yourself you daemon, or are you a coward?"
Sensing the anger and hostility in the reply, who or whatever was out there, wasn't happy. "I am no coward!" the voice pierced Seraph's skull as if it were split in two. Seraph instantly recognized the spidery words of magic, once the ringing in his ears dissipated. "Nor am I a daemon...Dulak!"
An uneasy darkness descended upon the two travelers, too afraid to move in fear of attack, the mage and elf stood helplessly still. "Shirak..." A faint light began to glow atop a crystal adorned with a dragon's claw, positioned upon a delicately carved wooden staff. Slowly, the being in possession of the magnificent staff, began to part the darkness with the light.
"An old oak staff, adorned with a golden dragon claw, and a magical crystal..." thought Seraph. "The Staff of Magius!" the mage realized as the magus in control of the staff stepped forward into the light. Dressed in the delicate Gold Robes, sagging upon the frail body beneath, a mage with golden skin and hourglass eyes approached. His steps were so light and quick, no trace of his presence was visible, and the only sound of his approach was the ruffle of his robes.
"Yes Seraph, the Staff of Magius...One that hasn't been seen on Krynn for nearly a century. Why?" the mage asked with sly whisper, "because it has been with me in the Afterlife. I am the Demi-God of magic, wearer of the Gold Robes, and the greatest archmagus to ever live. My name is Raistlin Majere; I am your great uncle..."
Trying his hardest to make any sense out of this, Seraph unintentionally passed out. "Asylthas, help him to his feet, we are expected." Raistlin commanded. Obeying the soft but harsh whisper, Asylthas ran over to the white robe and helped him to his feet. Once assured he would not fall, the elf slowly took a step back, awaiting any further orders.
"Rais...Raistlin Majere?" Asylthas murmured. "You knew my grandfather, didn't you sir mage?" Assured that Seraph would be fine, Raistlin turned his attention to the elf's question. "Yes...you are the grandson of Tanis Half-Elven. I traveled with Tanis many years ago, during the War of the Lance. I never met your father, Gilthas..." Raistlin was forced to stop, overwhelmed by a coughing spasm. Picking himself off the ground with his staff, the archmagus carefully wiped the blood from his lips.
"Tanis died the same year I returned from the Abyss, the same year I met my nephew Palin Majere. Your father was Palin, was he not Seraph?" The young mage turned and started to head toward the horizon, without so much as glance at his supposed great uncle. "Seraph..." Raistlin called out, "do no worry about finding the Forest, it has already found us." What Raistlin had said was true, new trees surrounded them, decaying and desolate, the Forest of Wayreth.