Disclaimer: don't own DragonLance . . . don't own TSR . . . don't own anything 'cept imagination . . . blah blah blah ya know this already why am I bothering to even say it??
Ugh! My cat ALWAYS does that to me . . . and the worst part is that she's fat as hell . ..
OK, back again!
OVER TEN REVIEWS! shrieks with joys and caters around room, making the cats yowl . AWESOME! Wo-hoo! Yeah!
ahem thank you all for the reviews, I really enjoy reading them.
A note: Peche is pronounced 'peach'. geddit?
Now read.
The Inn of the Polka-Dotted Parrot.
Raistlin sighed, then rolled out of bed, landing unceremoniously on the ground with a light thump. It was a day since his 'dream' as Kitiara had put it. Both his siblings had wanted to know what the heck had happened, and Raistlin had simply said that he'd been very tired and had fallen asleep. Kit and Caramon accepted that with ease, and Raistlin had been put back to bed almost immediately. Now he had awakened.
Getting to his feet, the six-year-old child cast a look at his sleeping twin, then out the window. It was day. Caramon was tossed on the bed, sleeping on his back, limbs askew, blanket tussed. A mischievous grin touch Raistin's lips as he crossed the room to get a better look at his sleeping twin. Then Raistlin climbed onto the bed and parked himself cross-legged on his brother. With his delicate fingers Raistlin reached out and rapped his twin on the head.
"Rise and shine." he said simply, rocking on his knees on Caramon's stomach.
Caramon started at the sudden weight on his chest, then tried to swipe his smaller twin away with a browned hand. His eyes opened, then widened. "Raist!" he cried out accusingly. "I was sleeping!"
"Good morning to you too, my brother." Raistlin replied, and, seeing that his twin was awake, jumped off his brother and slid to the floor.
Caramon rolled out of bed, rubbing his head where Raistlin had rapped against his skull. "Why does morning have to be, I dunno, so damn early?" Caramon whined, grabbing and tugging the sheets and blankets into something that faintly resembled a well-made bed.
Raistlin shrugged, In truth, he was not really listening to his twin, and was far more busy studying the room.
It was a small room: consisting of a rickety, old, stained wooden table and two small, hard beds-his and Caramon's. A single, small window let a little light in, peaking shyly through the dirty, limp curtains. There was a burn on the floor, and several stains that smelled suspiciously like dwarf spirits. A chamber pot in the far corner, within easy reach of the beds, did nothing to contribute to the smell of the room. Raistlin wrinkled his nose in disgust. Stepping deliberately over the stains, the little boy peered curiously out the door, where smells of breakfast drifted up the stairs-rather old, worn stairs, now that he had time to observe them. Giving his head a shake, Raistlin cast a look at his clothes. He had fallen 'asleep' in them, and they were rumpled and dry and smelly. Going over to his bundle of spare clothes, which had been thrown at the base of his bed, Raistlin dragged out a yellowed shirt, worn pants, patched leather vest, and threadbare socks. Yanking off his clothes, he simply tossed them onto the floor, then tugged on the new ones. Turning, he saw Caramon waiting impatiently for him at the door.
"Raist . . . c'mon, they have food. I'm starving. Hurry up!"
"Coming, Caramon." Raistlin joined his twin, and the two went down the stairs.
The downstairs was no more pleasant than the upstairs.
The only light was from the many cracks in the walls and ceiling, giving the large room a mix-match appearance of shadowy black and bright white checkers. Tables, old, stained with countless spills and meals, stood around, empty. Chairs and stools-those still standing, a few were strewn around the floor, as if kicked over during a fight and then promptly forgotten-were as aged and stained as the tables. The bar was too stained, and a surly-looking man glared at the two brothers from beneath a grey bandana wrapped around his forehead, leaving his oily, thin grey hair for display. The only other occupants at the ill-looking Inn were a mean-looking group of rogues and rangers, a dark-robed figure huddled in the corner, and Kitiara.
Kitiara, lifting her head, caught Raistlin's stare. She was dressed as she had been the other day, and was talking pleasantly to a rogue, slapping away his sly fingers as they fondled her money pouch. Grinning crookedly, the young woman rose from her chair (first flicking a sharp knife warningly at the would-be thief) and swaggered over to her brothers.
"Look who decided to wake up!" She exclaimed, winking at her brothers. "Come over here, I want you to meet someone. Yes, Caramon, I'll buy you breakfast, you too, Raist. Just get over here."
Raistlin and Caramon followed Kitiara to the table, where the man who she had been talking to leered unpleasantly at the children. "Midgets, uth Mator. Midgets."
"That's uth Matar, stupid, and they're not midgets." Kit slapped the man on the cheek, wiped her hand on her pants afterwards.
The man rubbed his cheek, which spotted a very red mark in the shape of three of Kit's fingers, but said nothing.
"This is-why don't you tell them your name?" Kitiara started to introduce the incredibly dirty man but ended with a disdainful wrinkle of the nose and a meaningful stare.
The man muttered something.
"Sorry, didn't catch that." Kit said good-naturally, clapping the man on the shoulder. Raistlin could see her fingers grip the man's scrawny bone in a grip of iron.
The man muttered a little louder.
"What was that?" Kit held a cupped hand to her ear, leaning a little closer to the man, winking at Caramon, who was having a hard time not laughing.
"Oh, for-" the man let out a variety of swears that made Caramon's eyes bug out and his mouth drop. Slamming a sordid hand onto the table, he snapped out the word, "Peche."
"Peach? Is that your name??" Caramon asked, laughing.
"Damn right, it's my name, had a -------- fool of a mother. And don't you dare laugh!" Peche glared at Caramon, striking at Kit's hand. She deftly avoided it, smirking.
"Are you hungry? she asked abruptly to her brothers.
"Yeah!" Caramon grinned and nodded his head. "You bet I am! I haven't eaten since-"
"That will do, Caramon." Raistlin reprimanded his brother with a look. He was in no mood to listen to his twin's chatter. Raistlin wanted to know more about what had happened in the past three or so days.
"Kit, where are we? What are we doing here? Why did you leave? Why did you bring us with you? Why are we here?" Raistlin met his sister's eyes with an unblinking stare.
She reached out and lightly smacked him on the cheek. "Those are my answers, and it'll help if you keep your questions to yourself and I'll keep my answers to myself. Ok, Baby Brother?" Twisting in her chair, Kit leaned over the table and shouted, "Hey! Innkeep! Some breakfast for these kids, some breakfast for me, and a mug of ale for Peachy here!"
"Hey!" The man called Peche glared at
"Make that two mugs of ale!" Kit grinned at Caramon, winked. "If you're good and quiet I'll let you have a sip of mine."
A surly barmaid, dressed in a filthy green skit, dirty, lacy low-cut blouse, bearing an array of plates and mugs came over to the table, set them down with a slam. Casting a reproving look at Peche, she stalked away.
"Good morning to you too." Kitiara called after her, wiping a fork and knife one a handkerchief and digging in to the assortment of ham, eggs, cheese, bacon, and maize cakes with the relish of a woman who does not know when the next meal will come. Next to her, Caramon too plunged into his food with gusto, oblivious to Raistlin's look of disgust.
Eyeing his plate, Raistlin grimaced. The ham looked greasy, the eggs looked greasy, the cheese looked greasy, even the maize cakes looked greasy. He picked up a fork-wiping it on his pants first, for it to was greasy-and began to eat, little by little, carefully avoiding making eye contact with the food.
"Eat it all, Raist, yo don't know when you'll eat again." Kit reprimanded lightly when Raistlin put his fork down after only about a fourth.
Raistlin, who wasn't hungry anymore, stirred his food around with the end of the fork and slipped it to Caramon when Kit wasn't watching. Caramon whispered 'thanks!' and began to finish Raistlin's plate with the same gusto. This was nothing new. The twins did this at home a lot.
Bored slightly, Raistlin skimmed the Inn with his large eyes, searching for something of interest.
He didn't have to look long.
Two dark-robed figures slipped into the Inn, and, without even looking at the Innkeep, who watched them in surly wariness, glided over to the table that housed Kit, Peche, Caramon, and a watching Raistlin. Without making a sound, the two dark figures separated and stood, one being Peche, the other behind Kit. With the slightest rustle of cloth-cloth that Raistlin could see was trimmed with silver runes-Each lifted delicate, finely-sculpted fingers and set them on the back of Peche's and Kit's necks.
"Hey!"
Both Kit and Peche turned around to confront the figures.
"Oh. You." Kit gave the figure behind her a cold smile. Gesturing to Peche, who had drawn a wicked-looking knife, she said simply, "I know them." Turning to her brothers, she gestured at the figures. "Kids, this isKieran Shadowsong and his twin, Leila Shadowsong."
As introduced, each figure pulled back its hood, and Raistlin had a good look at the intruders.
They were elves.
Dark elves, to be specific. Each had delicate, finely-molded features. Each had rose lips and violet eyes, each had ivory skin and each had silky midnight hair. The man's fell to his shoulders, but the woman's fell to her wrists, emphasizing the toll the road's dust had taken on her black robes. Raistlin, observing them, noticed that they didn't look a day under twenty, yet he knew that they must have been much older.
"May we join you?" The man spoke in a soft, warm voice, but sat down gracefully without waiting for an answer. The elfwoman did the same, smoothing out her robes as she sat. Kitiara nodded without looking at them, having returned to her food.
"Some drink? Ale, beer, dwarf spirits, wine? What do you elves like?" Peche asked, tapping his knife on the table.
The one called Leila smiled, a cold smile that brought no more warmth to her face than sunshine upon ice. "Wine, please. Two cups."
"Hey, innkeep! Some elfwater for the elfs here!"
"Elves." muttered Kit, pushing her plate away and surveying the newcomers with large, liquid brown eyes that didn't blink."
Raistlin eyed the two. Something nagged at his brain, but he had no idea what it was. Studying the elves's robes, he realized something.
The runes were the same as the ones on the necklace and the note.
Sooo . . . what did you think?
Please review, I'll be eternally grateful.