4/17/2023 0 Comments Ilift twin brother![]() Ī hoarse, bellowing yell of fear and horror shattered Crysania's sleep. For them at least, death had come swiftly.įor those who survived the immediate destruction on Ansalon, death came slowly, in hideous aspect-starvation, disease, murder. The sea water within was so dark and chill that even these elves, born and bred and living beneath the water, dared not swim near it.īut there were many on Ansalon who envied the inhabitants of Istar. There was nothing there now but a deep black pit. Even those sea elves who ventured into the newly-created Blood Sea of Istar looked in wonder at the place where the Temple had stood. The great Temple, where the Kingpriest was still waiting for the gods to grant him his demands, vanished from the face of the world. The sea waters, taking mercy on the terrible destruction, rushed in to fill the void. The sky rained fire, the mountain fell upon the city of Istar, plunging it down, down into the depths of the ground. The dark waters of time swirled about the archmage's black robes, carrying him and those with him forward through the years. "This face! His face! Not mine! Not mine! Who am I? I am my own executioner!" "I am Master of nothing! All this power, and I am trapped! Trapped! Following in his footsteps, knowing that every second that passes has passed before! I see people I've never seen, yet I know them! I hear the echo of my own words before I speak them! This face!" His hands pressed against his cheeks. "Master of Past and Present!" Raistlin laughed hollowly-bitter, mocking laughter. Clutching at his head, he tried to banish the evil visions that haunted his dreams continually, night after night, and lingered to disturb his waking hours as well, turning all he ate or drank to ashes in his mouth.īut they would not depart. "My face!" Raistlin murmured, his fear spreading through his body like a malign growth, making him sweat and chill by turns. The executioner, laughing, removes his hood, revealing "My head!" Raistlin whispered feverishly, twisting his thin hands together in anguish. The axe falls, the victim's severed head rolls on the wooden platform, the hood comes off Looking up, I see the scaffold, the hooded figure with its head on the block, the hooded figure of the executioner, the sharp blade of the axe glinting in the burning sun.
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