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Chapter Three: The Nightmare on Inn Street
Floor boards gave way as the fire devoured their foundations, the support beams creaked under the pressure of the burning rooftop. The seats, including the bar ignited in flames so hot, death would be more pleasurable by dragon's fire. An ash covered mage, silently walked across the decaying floor boards, and pass the raging fire, to a single clock on the opposite wall. Still untouched by the heat of the flames, the clock chimed twelve just as another mage ran into the burning inferno. Frantically the mage searched, but could not find what it was he sought. Just as the clock finished its twelfth chime, the entire building collapsed upon the mage, stranded under the towering flames.
Just narrowly escaping the inferno, the ash covered mage could hear the screams of anguish and agony as the fellow wizard was burnt alive. As if being pulled from a nightmare, the mage's last sight was that of the building's sign, the Inn of the Last Home.
Raistlin Majere woke up covered in beads of sweat as the clock in the Inn struck eleven. Wiping the sweat from his face Raistlin stood up. "I probably shouldn't have slept next to the hearth," the mage pondered, "The heat must have interrupted my peaceful slumber. It was just a nightmare, nothing else." Picking up the Staff of Magius, Raistlin walked out of the Inn of the Last Home, to catch some fresh air.
"The first night in weeks that the gods haven't interrupted my slumber," Raistlin whispered, "then last night I have a true nightmare..." The archmagus paced for a good half an hour, before his stomach decided it was lunch time. Walking back into the Inn, he nervously glanced at the clock on the far right wall. It read 11:45, in fifteen minutes; Raistlin would truly see if his nightmare was only what it seemed.
Then it dawned on him, the two mages in his nightmare. The ash covered mage was him, and that would mean the other was his kin. "I can't believe I was that foolish," Raistlin murmured, "besides, Seraph wouldn't be that stupid to come back here." As if nothing else was around him, the chime of the clock startled Raistlin, almost knocking him out of the chair. "Noon," Raistlin whispered, "Now we shall see."
Thunder rumbled on the distant horizon, and dark clouds formed above the Inn. Sulfur rained down and devoured all vegetation, burned all the trees, and caught the Inn ablaze. "That was their plan," Raistlin thought, "to eliminate me." The clock chimed at second time. No Seraph, relief rushed over Raistlin, it was only a dream. As the clock chimed its third, the door of the Inn shattered as a Red Robe dashed in.
"A curse to you gods," Raistlin shouted as he dashed to the door to knock his nephew out. The clock chimed its fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh chime before Raistlin made it to where he nephew entered. Coughing from all the smoke that now blocked his sight, the clock chimed its eighth, ninth, and tenth stroke. "No time to worry about Seraph, he can take care of himself. Maybe my nightmare was only the worse that could happen; maybe Seraph can make it out alive." Raistlin whispered to himself as he stepped out of the Inn.
Getting as far from the Inn as possible, the rain of sulfur and storms dissipated as the twelfth chime rang. The building collapsed upon Seraph, and his uncle could do nothing to stop the screams of agony and death that shattered his mind. Flames licked and burned his body; pikes of wood pierced his chest and legs. Magic was bleeding out of him, crimson as it was. Seraph was dying, and Raistlin could do nothing to stop it.
"I can bring you back my nephew," Raistlin whispered, "I have yet to find the key to Godhood." Raistlin raised his hands to the air as a faint gold aura shone upon his palms. Without the need for words, the archmagus directed his magic to the Inn. With a cataclysmic explosion of magic, the golden light devoured everything in its wake, only a massive cloud of smoke stood where the Inn once was.
Turning, Raistlin deserted the final resting place of his young nephew, in search for a greater ambitious purpose. His quest for Godhood.
'A mage of the first three prophecies...Abandons the one he now thinks dead...Disgracing his final resting place the Chosen follows his ambition.' Fourth of Seven, Chaos' Prophecy.
Chapter Three: The Nightmare on Inn Street
Floor boards gave way as the fire devoured their foundations, the support beams creaked under the pressure of the burning rooftop. The seats, including the bar ignited in flames so hot, death would be more pleasurable by dragon's fire. An ash covered mage, silently walked across the decaying floor boards, and pass the raging fire, to a single clock on the opposite wall. Still untouched by the heat of the flames, the clock chimed twelve just as another mage ran into the burning inferno. Frantically the mage searched, but could not find what it was he sought. Just as the clock finished its twelfth chime, the entire building collapsed upon the mage, stranded under the towering flames.
Just narrowly escaping the inferno, the ash covered mage could hear the screams of anguish and agony as the fellow wizard was burnt alive. As if being pulled from a nightmare, the mage's last sight was that of the building's sign, the Inn of the Last Home.
Raistlin Majere woke up covered in beads of sweat as the clock in the Inn struck eleven. Wiping the sweat from his face Raistlin stood up. "I probably shouldn't have slept next to the hearth," the mage pondered, "The heat must have interrupted my peaceful slumber. It was just a nightmare, nothing else." Picking up the Staff of Magius, Raistlin walked out of the Inn of the Last Home, to catch some fresh air.
"The first night in weeks that the gods haven't interrupted my slumber," Raistlin whispered, "then last night I have a true nightmare..." The archmagus paced for a good half an hour, before his stomach decided it was lunch time. Walking back into the Inn, he nervously glanced at the clock on the far right wall. It read 11:45, in fifteen minutes; Raistlin would truly see if his nightmare was only what it seemed.
Then it dawned on him, the two mages in his nightmare. The ash covered mage was him, and that would mean the other was his kin. "I can't believe I was that foolish," Raistlin murmured, "besides, Seraph wouldn't be that stupid to come back here." As if nothing else was around him, the chime of the clock startled Raistlin, almost knocking him out of the chair. "Noon," Raistlin whispered, "Now we shall see."
Thunder rumbled on the distant horizon, and dark clouds formed above the Inn. Sulfur rained down and devoured all vegetation, burned all the trees, and caught the Inn ablaze. "That was their plan," Raistlin thought, "to eliminate me." The clock chimed at second time. No Seraph, relief rushed over Raistlin, it was only a dream. As the clock chimed its third, the door of the Inn shattered as a Red Robe dashed in.
"A curse to you gods," Raistlin shouted as he dashed to the door to knock his nephew out. The clock chimed its fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh chime before Raistlin made it to where he nephew entered. Coughing from all the smoke that now blocked his sight, the clock chimed its eighth, ninth, and tenth stroke. "No time to worry about Seraph, he can take care of himself. Maybe my nightmare was only the worse that could happen; maybe Seraph can make it out alive." Raistlin whispered to himself as he stepped out of the Inn.
Getting as far from the Inn as possible, the rain of sulfur and storms dissipated as the twelfth chime rang. The building collapsed upon Seraph, and his uncle could do nothing to stop the screams of agony and death that shattered his mind. Flames licked and burned his body; pikes of wood pierced his chest and legs. Magic was bleeding out of him, crimson as it was. Seraph was dying, and Raistlin could do nothing to stop it.
"I can bring you back my nephew," Raistlin whispered, "I have yet to find the key to Godhood." Raistlin raised his hands to the air as a faint gold aura shone upon his palms. Without the need for words, the archmagus directed his magic to the Inn. With a cataclysmic explosion of magic, the golden light devoured everything in its wake, only a massive cloud of smoke stood where the Inn once was.
Turning, Raistlin deserted the final resting place of his young nephew, in search for a greater ambitious purpose. His quest for Godhood.
'A mage of the first three prophecies...Abandons the one he now thinks dead...Disgracing his final resting place the Chosen follows his ambition.' Fourth of Seven, Chaos' Prophecy.