I was born beneath the red moon to a mother whom I do not remember or miss. Unbeknowst to me is her very name as my father, Justarius, never disclosed it. I was raised in the art of magic: my first memories being those of a fledgling mage. My first readings were simple cantrips and the study of runes, and there was never any question what I would become in the future. My father guided me in the ways of Lunitari, and taught me the ultimate power of the balance and the role the red mages play in protecting all of Krynn from the evil greed of Takhisis' faithful and the pious self-righteousness of the followers of Paladine.
When i was but 13 years my father was called to Wayreth. I was given the oppurtunity to leave Palanthus, the city of my birth, and further my studies alongside him in the Tower of High Sorcery. I obligingly complied, eager to be surrounded by the art and immersed in the ways of the most powerful in all of Ansalon. I was lonely at first and curious about the things that were happening outside the Tower. (It was not until much later that I learned of The War of the Lance.) I was sheltered by all and lacked nothing, yet even the magic could not fill the unsettled knot I bore in the base of my being.
My father was with me as much as he could be, but as a High Lord wizard he was a busy man, and had many things that needed more attendance than I. Ironically it was my loneliness that allowed me to truly find myself.....
In the spring of my 14th year I began to find ways of being with others even if they did not know it. With my spells of invisibility and my inherent shapeshifting abilities, (passed thru my mothers line...many whisper that she was a vampiress...), I would devise ways to visit official meetings that I was otherwise not invited to attend. Thus it was in the form of a spider that I first caught a glimpse of the man who would eventually shape my destiny.
He said his name was Dalamar...Dalamar the Dark. A dark elf, betrayer of his Silvanesti heritage when he abandoned Paladine and donned the robes of black. Under my father's chair I crouched and listened to him speak, spellbound by his grace and power, my eight eyes never leaving his beautiful face. He told the conclave that he had been sent by his "Shalafi"....some Raistlin someone. I knew that name from my early childhood. Many were the days I gazed across the city of Palanthus towards the Tower of High Sorcery.
Speaking with passion he drew back the shoulders of his night black cloak to reveal five holes...the finger tips burns of his shalafi. I gasped at the beauty and horror of him....feeling his desperate plight of servitude in the marrow of my bones. It was then that I first felt the stirrings of the passionate woman inside the fourteen year old girl.....there I vowed that someday this dark elf and I would meet again.
Years passed and I excelled in my studies. Often I dreamt of the dark elf but never did I see him again. By and by my father died in a horrible magical struggle against some renegade wizards in gray robes. Fearful of his vindictive enemies within the Tower I removed myself and relocated to my home city of Palanthus where I established a quite reputable mage ware shop, and took up residence in Villa Rosad, my fathers late home. Not truely tested, I had not yet earned the status of a true mage, yet I managed to pass myself off as one and indeed I possessed more arcane knowledge, power, and artifacts than many who laid claim to the title.
I prospered in Palanthus and ever kept the silhouette of the Tower in my visage as well as the memory of the mysterious beings who dwelt within. I heard rumors whispered now and again of the dissappearance of Raistlin Majere and his sister, the dragon highlord Kitiara Uth Matar, who had become Dalamar's mistress. My heart burning with jealousy and desire I began to plot a way to usurp the position that the dragon witch had stolen from the dreams of my childhood.
Glaring into my mirror I studied the female I had become; raven haired, fair of skin, red of lip, passion flushing the heigth of my cheekbones, breasts rising and falling beneath crimson velvet. I saw myself; a sorceress, a seductress, capable of attaining anything that I desired. I was 14 no longer and in my woman's heart I vowed to find a way to win the love and inspire the passion of the dark elf within the tower.
My chance came rather unexpectedly. it was a cool evening when the door to my shop opened and in came the Lord Dalamar. I gasped and rose, dropping the magical components that I had been filing. I had not seen him in years, not since the day of my arachnic espionage endeavour, but he had not changed. If anything he was more beautiful than when I last had seen him...more confident....no less haunted. His soft robes, the color of the darkest night, rustled around his ankles. The breeze carried the delicious scent of him to me...lilac, spices, power... I would have recognized him anywhere. Sensed his aura had I been both blind and deaf. How I wanted this elf.
Rising I bowed in deference, lowering my gaze lest he see the intensity of my rising passion. I held out my hand in greeting. He raised his own slender hand, but instead of taking my own he raised it to my cheek and caressed my chin bidding me look into his face. Looking up I was caught in the depths of those dark eyes which instantly knew me for everything that I was. Lowering my eyes hastily I flushed the color of my robes and bid him good eve.
He introduced himself, although he and I both knew that there was no need, and asked for a few simple spell components to add to his stock. He claimed that he had ran out and knew my shop to be reputable. I complied although I knew this to be a falsity...the herbs he had requested were too simple and common to be of much use to a sorceror of his expertise. Wondering what he was about I studied him from the corner of my eye as I prepared his herbs. Dressed in the black robes of his office, Dalamar stood tall and slender, his angular features and dark almond eyes marking his elvish heritage, as well as the pointed tips of his ears that were just visible through the silky black screen of his shoulder length hair. I watched covertly as he drifted like a shadow around the display cases of my show room pausing now and then to run his fingers over an interesting arcane object.
My task complete I turned back to the Lord and handed him his bundle of components. Gathering the herbs from my extended hand, I shivered at the sensual way his cool fingers lingered on my palm. He crammed the bundle into a pocket of his robes, and taking my hand in his own brought it to his mouth. He gracefully leaned over it and sniffed at the fragrance on my wrist before placing cool moist lips on the back of my hand. He graduallly raised his head to look into my eyes once more....."You are much lovlier...in person". With this and a wry chuckle he drifted out of my shop and vanished.
Aghast, i shrugged off the chills of pleasure racing through my body and regarded the back of my hand. There, where his lips had pressed, was the light form of small spider. He had known. He had always known. Flushing at my own indiscreet stupidity I returned to filing, twisting my mind trying to find someway of seeing him again.
This problem solved itself as day after day Dalamar visited my shop. Always he purchased some useless item, conversed with me briefly, and then vanished wihout explanation. I knew that Kitiara had perished at the hands of a death knight so I took great pains to make myself appealing to the Lord. I was about to give up, having made no progress whatsoever when one day he presented me with a gift.
Into my palm he placed an amulet of black obsidian. With it he gave me the invitation to visit the Tower and partake of wine with him. Eagerly I accepted, and thus began my nightly visits to the Tower of High Sorcery.
One evening a few months after I stopped by a well reputed inn with the thoughts of indulging in some Silvanesi wine and catching up on some of the local gossip. Much to my dismay the innkeep was fresh out of wine but a lone elf seated nervously at a table offered me a flask and invited me to sit with him. I accepted the wine and sat beside the elf, curious as to who he was and where he was from. So began one of the most profitable friendships I had ever known. He was Quidor the wanderer...a thief obsessed with the death of a lost love and hunted by assassins. I saved his life that night, and we were bound by a kindred spirit that I shared with few others. I invited him back to the Tower to fellowship with others who might be able to help him in his sad plight, and he in turn introduced me to his friends Amylase the Plane Shifter and his long time companion...Lord Sekin, a death knight of questionable character. These three and I shared many deeds together, but these are other tales.
Life had a way of flying by amidst the magi of the Tower, and my days passed in a swirl of white, red and black robes. Beneath the tutelage of the lords of the Tower I gained heights in the art that I had ere to thought to be impossibly inattainable. From Lord Salanathin and my cousin Arabelle I came to appreciate the benevolent deeds of the white order, and forgive them their weaknesses. I realized the necessity of their philosophies to my own and learned to treat them with the respect that they deserved. From the Lord Raistlin and Tauron the Darkone I lost a good deal of my revulsion towards the orders of the black. Beneath their dignified ministrations I came to terms with the fact that the dark magi were just as indespensible to the balance of Krynn as I was myself. And many were the nights that I spent in introspective contemplation with Lord Malikite my mentor, for it was only within his prescence that my true balance was found. My most revered Brother and Master in Lunitari taught me not only to see the balance of the world around me, but the one within me as well.
And of course my truest friends the Lord Dalamar, Lady Shaldow, and Quidor filled my days with the paramount of delight and enjoyment. Many were the nights that Shaldow and I took humorous pleasure in irritating the Lord Sentinel or his brother Faolan, and discussing the trials of womanhood as we spoke together of our lovers. Quidor, my dear Quidor was ever at my side. Oft times I paused to bless Lunitari that I had run across him that fateful day in the inn for my life should surely have been different without him. And of course my Lord and life Dalamar, the days and nights I spent in his prescence compared with no happiness I had ever imagined. As i passed through my 16th and 17th years he was there to guide me in growth in the art and in love and life, and I grew to love the interior so much more even then the exterior i had been attracted by.
And so as all things pass, my days, of course, did as well, and we move to the tale of my death. Unintentional, unheralded, and unexpected my death caught me off guard as much as everyone else. As my memory serves me, it was towards the early hours of a day I had spent most profitably in the company of the Lady Waxier and Lord Scream. Upon a whim I felt compelled to go to my chambers above and collect the dagger that i had bought with Quidor on our holiday in Schallsea. It had been such a merry time and I had not as yet shown the beautiful Baenre dagger to my comrades. I entered my room for what would be the last time and was caught for a moment by the elegance and beauty of the red chamber that Dalamar had given me. I trailed my fingers over the cherry wood of my four poster bed and fingered the scarlet silk of the sheets. Saying a brief prayer to Lunitari I removed Baenre from its walnut box and caressed it lovingly thinking of Quidor. Thoughtfully I removed my jewelry and examined the peices recalling the memories caught up in each: the amulet from Siltrion, the gem of five from Zephlore, the amulet and ring from Tauron, and lastly my sacred garnet amulet...the symbol of my pact with my goddess. It had not left my throat in four years, not since Malikite and Dalamar had awarded it to me at the conclusion of my test when i was but 14 years old. Taking the amulet I layed it reverently upon my bed and drew a deep breath.
At the top of the steep winding stairs I paused and clutched Baenre in my hand my last thoughts turning to my beloved friend Shaldow and the cleansing fire that had destroyed her flesh and freed her soul but weeks earlier. I remember catching my toe in the hemn of my gown, but I do not recall if I screamed. It was so long ago and it seems so unimportant now. I do remember that I felt no fear and no pain as I began my descent. I heard the Lord Scream chant a bit and suddenly Baenre flew from my hand...pity, I had wanted to die with Quidor's blessing. Clutching for the dagger I twisted into the final throes of my descent and hit the cold stones below..my neck broken..the blood from my mouth running down to pool upon my throat where my amulet had lain...
It is pleasant here..with my father and Shaldow. Lunitari has seen fit to grant me my reward for faithfulness and I study the art in the halls of my ancestral magi. Oh, I still visit the Tower from time to time...when the red moon is in wax I often compel Quidor to play Pachelbel, or comfort Waxier, or listen to Malikite, or love Dalamar...though few of them realize I am there to do it. I have watched as my cousin has usurped my position...and daily my rest becomes more disturbed. Oft times i feel compelled to contact Tauron the Darkone, for I know the necromancy he works and his ways with the undead...and still the spirit of the vampire lurks within me...my mothers only gift...