Disclaimer- I do not own any of Margret Weis and Tracy Hickman's stuff, but If I did I would chose Raistlin and Haplo. But sadly I don't... except for the Raisty-plushie that I made myself, by hand, last weekend!!!
Sorry for short chappie! I don't know if anyone will read this considering how little Death Gate ficcys they are. But... as it is said the show(story) must go on. There will probably not be many chapters for this. (I'm actually writting this for a report) but I may exspand upon my report writing ability (my teacher will hate me if I write to much) if you review that is. And plez do I don't get many reviewers!!! Also please don't correct me on grammar or spelling. I know I'm horrible at them already!!! But if you must FLAME ME then do it positivly please.(or give me suggestions, I LOVE those) My spirits are already at an all-time low...
The black-robed monk with the laughing eyes was once again at Hugh's side. The monk would not laugh however, for he was a Kir monk; though he at that present time probably wanted nothing more than to snicker at The Hand's predicament.
Hugh the Hand was once again pinned down by the Kir monk's bony and deathly cold hands, singing with the dreaded, well remembered tune, on his lips.
… each new child's birth,
we die in our hearts,
truth black, we are shown,
death always returns …
The Kir monk chanted the song repetitiously, always inserting the word "with" after the word "returns". This made the frightening song come full circle; being sung as "death always returns with each new child's birth".
The Hand felt, and much less heard none of the black-robed monk's song. His mind was clouded in the fogs of the poison, so none of his thoughts or senses were mobile. (Not that they really could be active considering his deathly dilemma) The only thoughts that remained with the assassin were the last one's he had before he was taken down into death's dark folds: those thoughts being of Iridal.
Hugh had wanted nothing more than to help that young maiden. He didn't know why. He until practically less than a month ago, had a finely constructed fortress around his mind; not letting any emotions in or out. That citadel had never, ever been breached before, up until his first encounters with that kid, Bane. After Bane he had met a few other individuals who had started chipping away at those sturdy walls, finally ending with the charming, feminine, magus Iridal; who had finally made the first hole in his bastion.
"Yes… Iridal," Hugh thought. "What happened to me? I was an assassin, the best too," this brought a small chuckle to the dyeing man's ashen face. "The name itself, "Hugh, the Hand" stroke fear into the most powerful, Hugh mused, yet… I die to free a mother and a child, who I don't even care about, from their wrenched father. Is it because I am noble and honorable? When I get to the High Realms," The only problem with that statement was that Hugh was already there, or better said, had died there.
Yet, there in the back of his mind, in which the light was starting to enter, Hugh new the shattering truth and he knew that it could possibly change him forever. He knew, right before the monk of the monastery of death had come, that he was falling in love with that fair, female, mage.