A Singular Author's Note

As will be usual at the start of my fanfics, I have a few comments and then you folks won't be hearing from me. (2019 edit- This was a lie. My steady readers have been wonderfully interactive and I end up responding in Author Notes for whatever is the most recent chapter update when it won't overly interrupt the flow of chapters. Thanks for keeping me going folks!)

This fanfiction is approximately 95% canon compliant. I can't say 100%, otherwise I'd be unable to write it. It is going to take place in 4 story arcs, or installments, weaving in between the plots of Soulforge, Brothers in Arms, and up through the Dragonlance Legends (Aka the Twins Trilogy).

As will be obvious from the summary, there are OCs involved with this story. More so than any of the other fanfics I'm working on. The reason being, the setting is not Krynn. Unlike a lot of "Raistlin comes to our world and shenanigans ensue" fics, I'm attempting to make this be a serious fic, with its own background and reality, and therefore having a fleshed out cast is important. Especially as there is a love interest down the line for Raistlin, and she has a life of her own in this world, which will impact Raistlin as he's interacting with everyone.

Also, because it's causing two very different worlds to collide, the first part of this installment moves slower than my other fics. The first "Book" (following the pattern of Dragonlance novels naming each act a "book" because the stories are supposedly excerpts of books written by Astinius the chronicler) of this installment takes place over a single night. The first five and a half chapters are establishing the main cast of characters and background. We'll get a little cameo from everyone's favorite senile 'mage', Fizban, during that time. Raistlin makes his appearance at the end of chapter 6.

While I know some people may be irritated with how long the first night takes, I find it highly unrealistic when fics drop Raistlin into our world and no questions are asked, he's perfectly at ease with the situation, and little to no adjustment is needed. Character development needs to happen, certain realizations need to be made, and a rapport between the two main characters needs to be shown growing. It's a world-changing event happening, so it needs to be shown due respect.

Book 2 covers Raistlin's first weekend in our world, and Books 3 and 4 progressively cover longer spans of time as routines become established and time skips or montages become feasible. I initially set out to make this paperback book length, but as you can tell by the word count if you're reading this in 2019 or beyond, I lost that battle. I admitted that towards the end of Book 3 in an Author's Note. I'm also a D&D DM, and my brain treated this like a long haul, starting level growing to epic level, campaign and not a book. I'm not apologizing, I like how this is turning out.

Also, I ask that you keep in mind that this first installment is Raistlin as depicted in Soulforge, before the Test and his choices during it damage his health, before many events cause him to become a bitter, jaded man. This is a Raistlin who apologized truly and profusely to Lemuel for being rude to him while distracted in studies. A Raistlin who fell in puppy love with a pretty girl who batted her eyelashes at him and said a few kind words, seeming to prefer him over his twin, and was subsequently ready and willing to even GIVE UP HIS MAGIC if need be to be with her. (And no, Raistlin will not be repeating that foolish idea, I'm simply pointing out the facts.) A Raistlin who was willing to put his life on the line to bring down a cult, spurred to action in part because an innocent grieving mother was being tormented by said cult, even if a significant portion of his actions were also ambition and revenge.

This story's Raistlin is that Raistlin. In later installments, you'll be seeing the steady transition into the Raistlin we know from Chronicles and Legends. I've tried my best to portray Raistlin In Character for every evolution of his being, profiling out what may have changed and why.

Also, this story is rated M, mostly for the action/violence that will take place in later chapters, and occasional swearing. (2019 edit, and now also for a bit of "romantic situations" between Ria and Raistlin, as the story has evolved a little faster than initially planned.)

And finally, I will place the disclaimer that all places, historical persons, cultures, mythos, music, and other such aspects of the real world, including the obvious inspiring source of the Dragonlance books, that appear in this work are used for fictional purposes, ones that I in no way profit from, and artistic liberties are knowingly taken to tell what will hopefully be an immersive story. Do not take them to be actual reflections of reality; nor a reflection of ill will, disrespect, or personal endorsement on any aspect's origins for the usage, (except Dragonlance, as I think it's fantastic and everyone should go buy and read the core books.) As someone who has studied many cultures with genuine interest and appreciation, I understand it's important to be sensitive of how certain aspects of other people's cultures are depicted. All elements of this story, real or imagined, were chosen with careful consideration as fitting embroideries of the tale being told, sometimes changed to help weave the world of Krynn with our very different world, and are only meant to be taken in that context.

So, without further ado and no further gilding the lily, let's kick back with Fizban and some popcorn, and see what happens When Two Worlds Collide.

Book 1

"The sands in the hourglass may stop as they are finite, but that does not mean the sands of time cease. Those are ever flowing and it is a good lesson to learn."

- Ivan Kursoff

Chapter 1

Bookshops and Birthdays

'The twins turned twenty that summer.

Their Day of Life Gift was supposed to have been a joyous celebration. Kitiara gave them a party, inviting their friends to the Inn of the Last Home, treating them to supper and all the ale they could drink, which, in the dwarf's case, was an alarming amount. Everyone was having a good time, with the exception of the guests of honor…'

Argyria placed a book mark to mark her place within the book and set her copy of The Soulforge down on her bed with a yawn, glancing at the cover of the volume of Dragonlance. The glossy book sleeve had a painting of the legendary mage of fiction, Raistlin Majere, depicted on its front. Which was only natural as the book was a chronicle of his early years within the imaginary world of Krynn that had been created by the authors Margaret Weiss and Tracy Hickman.

The picture, done by the devoted-to-Dragonlance artist, Larry Elmore, depicted the future archmage sitting on a chair of warm-toned wood, dressed in his red robes that he had been deemed worthy to wear upon his completion of his infamous test in the Tower of High Sorcery. The equally legendary Staff of Magius was crossed in front of Raistlin, and the requisite spell components and pouches of the aspiring mage hung from a simple belt and fell across his lap. Unlike many pictures of Majere, this painting done by Elmore showed the mage with his hood down, his wavy prematurely white hair spilling down either side of his golden face and to his shoulders. And unlike many of the pictures of Raistlin, this one showed him slender as he was described, but his features were strong and not as sickly and twisted as some showed.

Argyria's favorite aspect of this depiction of the mage, and the one she also found occasionally eerie, was that Elmore had shaded the contours and shadows around Raistlin's infamous golden and hourglass eyes so that they immediately drew the reader's attention and seemed to gaze out from the book sleeve, standing out with surprising realism among the more sedate tones used for the rest of the picture. In the dim lighting of the glass-shaded lamp on her small polished oak nightstand, the captivating cursed eyes stood out all the more, almost catching the light as the books of Dragonlance described and reflecting it back.

Argyria sighed as she looked at the picture, not for even the hundredth time doing the former while doing the latter, looking at eyes even more metallic than her own were.

'Gods above, I wish the world of Krynn was real,' the young woman thought. 'So many amazing places to see, so much variety, and magic having fuller reign and places to learn it. Unhappy as Raistlin may have been with the slowness of learning magic with Master Theobald, at least he was afforded such places of knowledge to study and could put such magic to use, even if it wasn't always liked by the general populace…'

Argyria's silvery-grey gaze shifted from the book and her favorite character in the Dragonlance world to the generic digital alarm clock by her bed, positioned next to the lamp and taking up the remaining free space on the nightstand. She sighed when she saw the time.

1:17 am.

Being a Thursday, Argyria had had a long day at work, and then her evening college classes. Despite her exhaustion, however, when she had arrived at her cramped one bedroom apartment she hadn't felt like getting any sleep. Sleep never came easy to the self-dependent young woman and she had instead reviewed the last of her projects so she would be free of them for the weekend, which would be celebrating her 18th birthday. She had taken a shower to help relax and then settled down to begin re-reading the first book of the Raistlin Chronicles. As often happened when immersing herself in the world of fiction, either another's creation or those projects the aspiring artist made herself, time had flown by and she had finished the first 170 pages without noticing the late hour. But sleep was finally beckoning Argyria as she stifled yet another yawn. She'd have to be up at 5:30 am for yet another day of work at the book shop she worked in.

Argyria got out of bed and rummaged through her closet, finally finding an over-sized pair of pajama pants, Victoria Secret's "Boyfriend PJs"- a Yule gift from one of her best friends, Lexi, who knew Argyria liked comfort over fashion. Lexi had joked that seen as Argyria hadn't been in anything even resembling a relationship in over a year, she could at least pretend she had a boyfriend to steal pajamas from and try to be a little less like a crazy cat lady spinster. Argyria grabbed a light green tank top to go with the black pants and changed into them, finding it both comforting and amusing how comfortable the gigantic pants were and how well Lexi knew her, despite the jokes.

The young woman quickly brushed out and braided her knee-length auburn hair into a simple braid to keep it from getting tangled and subsequently frizzy while she slept, which gave her the side benefit each morning of appearing to have wavy hair without needing to chemically treat her hair. Argyria went back to her full-sized bed, covered in a downy comforter of forest green with a border of embroidered leaves in reds and gold. It reminded her of the autumnal foliage up in the mountains of Vermont where she had grown up. Now living a state, and almost three hours, away and in a small city to make a living and go to school, it called to her need for a sense of home amidst all the bustling grunge of the concrete jungle she lived in.

Argyria flipped the switch on her lamp, a clearance-salvage from a lamp store that had gone out of business downtown, the lights going out behind their frosted-glass lily-shaped shades and plunging the room into darkness. With another sigh, over active imagination filled with thoughts of magical worlds, mages, and adventures, the young woman eventually slipped into the world of sleep.

Despite her semi-conscious musings, though, Argyria's rest would be markedly absent of dreams, at least any she could remember upon waking, as they always were.

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Loud bells, copied from those often found in gothic churches' bell towers, tolled and echoed throughout the early dawn within Argyria's bedroom. Groaning in grumpy aggravation, she reached over and hit the top of the alarm with a little more force than was entirely necessary. She succeeded in shutting off the alarm and, incidentally, knocking it off the tiny nightstand. Thankfully, the little alarm clock was made of sturdy plastic and metal and it had endured such abuse for nearly a year without much complaint.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Argyria glared half-heartedly at the early summer sunshine just peeking through homemade curtains of similar colors to her bed's comforter.

'Another day, another dollar,' Argyria thought to herself in resignation. 'At least I paid off rent last week and this week's check is pretty much mine for birthday fun.'

The teenager took a minute to stretch and lounge beneath the comforter, not quite willing to leave the soft plushy bed she was ensconced in. Finally though, Argyria tossed the comforter and the thin bargain-buy cotton sheet aside and trudged out through her teeny living room and into the slightly larger kitchen.

She flipped the coffee pot switch to 'On', having already set it up with the coffee the night before. Early morning wake-ups were a necessary evil for Argyria, but her mind was not an early bird's. She had learned the hard way that if she didn't pre-set-up the coffee, she might very well end up measuring out sugar into the filter instead of the coffee and find herself with a great sticky mess instead of the blessed liquid caffeine that would kick-start her brain from near-zombie to passably-human.

While the little black coffee machine began bubbling and heating the water and filtering it up to mingle with the coffee grounds, Argyria went to her fridge in the corner of the kitchen and opened it to scrounge for breakfast. A half-gallon of milk that was half empty, a half-gallon of organic veggie and fruit juice, an almost empty bottle of creamer, eggs and two-thirds a loaf of bread were on the top shelf. A package of bacon was on the second, and some potatoes and onions and a large Tupperware bowl half-filled with salad were on the bottom. Various condiments in varied states of emptiness were on the door, along with a stick of butter and an almost empty package of sliced cheese from the deli. She glanced in her freezer, which had three ice trays, a box of breakfast sausages, a frozen pizza, two one-pound aluminum foil-covered packages of meats that had been broken into smaller portions from larger packages sold in the store to be more manageable, and three half-empty bags of frozen veggies.

Argyria sighed.

'Ok, so this week's check will be grocery shopping and birthday fun,' she mentally amended.

Argyria grabbed the nearly empty package of breakfast sausages, went back into the fridge for the eggs and bread, and set about making a quick breakfast on mental auto-pilot. She grabbed a container of dill to add to her eggs from her spice cabinet, which was filled with various herbs, contrary to the bare-basic state of her fridge, food cabinets and stand-up pantry. As Argyria lived by herself, she didn't keep large amounts of food on hand, but she did know how to cook and hated not having whatever herbs she might want for the meals she did make up.

When breakfast was ready, she carried her plate of food in one hand and her steaming creamer and sugar laden cup of coffee in the other to the living room. She set the coffee down on the side table next to her aged, over-stuffed beige sleeper couch and began methodically eating breakfast and gulping down coffee between bites. When breakfast was done, Argyria brought the dirty dishes back to the kitchen, rinsed them off, and deposited them in the sink. She'd wash them after work.

Argyria went back into her bedroom and was once more rummaging her dresser and closet for an outfit for work. The closet wasn't overly messy, but between the crammed line of jackets, dresses, skirts and spill over shirts hanging on plastic hangers along the rod at the top of the closet, the piles of jeans and dress pants stacked on the floor below, and the litter box and boxes of sundry personal items and keepsakes to the other side of the limited floor space, it was a bit of a challenge sometimes finding something to match her mood.

The young woman finally found a light blue lacy peasant top with a matching built-in camisole beneath and paired it with a darker blue layered gypsy skirt that became even darker shades as the handkerchief-like layers went down. She tossed on a light-weight brown corduroy jacket and brown leather ankle boots with a small wedge heel.

As tight as money was, there was a second-hand store not far from the book shop Argyria worked in that was her favorite place to shop and was her one indulgence besides buying books from her shop or art supplies. She and one her college friends, Janet, were frequent customers as the owner sold every item within for $3, regardless of what it was or what brand it was. All of his inventory was based off the donations from the rich residents of the city who tossed out anything that was the last year or two's styles. The owner had gotten used to the girls' preferences of styles and sizes, and he set aside new arrivals he thought they might like for their bi-weekly trips in hopes they'd buy some of the cheaply priced clothes. Which, as he had a good eye for fashions and what his customers liked, they generally walked out of the store with quite a few new purchases that didn't kill their limited bank accounts. Such considerations on the owner's part kept him in steady business with the college students and young workers in the city who loyally made his second hand shop a first-stop for their clothing needs, so the arrangement worked out well for everyone.

Argyria decided she didn't want to bother with jewelry for the day, and almost never wore makeup because she knew it was the quickest way to end up with a ripe case of acne. She did, however, pull her hair out of the braid and quickly brushed her long red-hued hair out into a wavy cascade down her back. The teenager pulled back and pinned in place one side with a blue, flower-shaped crystal hair comb that was a gift from her second childhood best friend, Darlene, for her birthday last year. The blue tones brought out a more prominent silver color within her silvery-grey eyes, or so everyone told her, and she decided she'd go for a fairly monochromatic theme today.

Argyria checked her purse quickly to make sure her wallet, keys and bus pass were within. Ascertaining they were, she left to make it to work for the 7 am opening.

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Argyria arrived to work fifteen minutes early, as always. The front door of the shop was already unlocked as the owner of the little two-floored bookshop, located on the corner of a strip mall, had arrived before her. The large glass windows at the front of the store were surrounded by knickknacks hanging from wires- little fairy, dragon, and other mythical creature figurines that the book shop sold. Inside, one could see the many tightly-packed lines of books ranging from old-fashioned leather-bound copies of classic fiction to the pristine newly-printed versions of New York Times Bestsellers.

Argyria had been a patron of the store for years and, when her first job at a fast food restaurant became too intolerable, the owner of the store, who was also a friend, offered her a job at the book shop. Maggie had teasingly stated that Argyria had nearly become a permanent fixture of the shop anyway, and knew it nearly as well as Maggie did, so she might as well get paid to help the customers out and spend a bit more time there without coming in smelling like hot grease. Argyria was more than happy to accept the offer, which also came with a couple dollars an hour raise compared to fast food cashier and was at least in the field of literature, even if it was retail.

Maggie was by the polished cedar half wall that served as a counter for the cash register and small rotating stands of bookmarks, clip-on reading lights, and other book accessories.

Maggie Ryan was a tall, slender, blonde who was creeping close to fifty years old. The book shop owner was still quite the attractive woman, despite her growing age that she didn't try to hide as many women did with cosmetic surgery. Her fine pale hair easily hid the grey that was steadily lacing its way in, and the faint wrinkles around her eyes and mouth suggested a joyful disposition rather than a worrisome year-ravaged life. Maggie had the long curls of her hair piled up on her head in a loosely pulled bun, a few tendrils falling down around her face to frame it. A slender pair of thin-wire glasses with half-circle lens was perched on her smallish-button nose, always seeming in danger of falling off, but never actually doing so.

Today, Maggie was dressed in a flowing long-sleeved dress that looked like a summer-colored patchwork creation- each square of fabric colored with shades of greens, blues, pinks, and some reds and yellows- and was tied at the waist with a slender gold and red scarf. That scarf matched a smaller version carefully tied at her throat, the latter of which brought out warmer tones in her brown eyes that were sparkling quite happily to see Argyria walk in.

"Namaste, Maggie!" Argyria said. She was somewhat better tempered now that the coffee had had a chance to wake her brain up and cheered to be surrounded by a job she could actually find pleasure in.

"Namaste, Ria!" Maggie's lilting Welsh accent replied. "How was your morning commute?"

"Same as usual," Argyria said, shrugging off her purse and jacket to pile them next to Maggie's. "Lots of old ladies on their way to get groceries, lots of grumbling executive types already taking business calls, and far too much bricks and metal to stare at instead of real scenery."

Maggie laughed at the answer.

"So no princes in shining armor charging the bus on a gallant white steed, demanding the metal beast to stop and release its fair prisoner, and sweeping you away from the drudgery of our grey and bleak city?" Maggie continued their usual silly banter, a kindred soul to Argyria when it came to a love of the fantastical.

"Not today," Argyria agreed with a laugh of her own. "I would have been more happy with a mage blowing out a tire on the bus with a magical bolt and teleporting me to work to simply avoid all the noise, but sadly, such is not my luck."

"We really need to find our very own Silvertongue," Maggie said, referencing the book Inkheart, "and have him read a few characters into our world. It would certain liven things up a bit."

"If only you could find one of those elusive literary demi-gods hiding within their mortal vessels, I'd count such a kindness as an early birthday present," Argyria replied with dramatic flair and a smile.

The young woman accepted a stack of books from Maggie as she spoke and followed her boss upstairs to place them in their new temporary homes- bookshelves that were near as packed as those on the lower floor. Now that Maggie had Argyria working with her, Argyria kept watch on the merchandise situated on this floor, from her own cash register, that used to occasionally fall prey to people with sticky fingers. When the shop was empty of customers, Argyria would head back downstairs to pass time chatting with Maggie, or remain at her cash register to do homework or read a book or work on a creative endeavor as the mood struck her. Overall and truthfully, for a freshman in college, it wasn't such a bad gig to have.

"Ahhh, that's right! Your birthday is tomorrow," Maggie said contemplatively. "I had forgotten…"

"No you hadn't, Maggie," Argyria stated matter-of-factly, still smiling, as she could sense the fib in the words.

Maggie's brown eyed gaze met Argyria's silvery-grey, laugh lines crinkling around the merry eyes of the older woman. "Fey-child, it is difficult to get away with any mistruth around you, no matter how well intentioned," she said warmly. She wagged a finger at Argyria. "You make it very difficult to surprise you when you know these things."

"I'm sorry, Maggie," Argyria replied, entirely unrepentant. "I do try to turn the switch off on my mental lie detector, but the button seems to be defective and has stayed on."

Maggie's chiming laugh was once more the response to the teasing comment.

Maggie was one of a small few who knew the young woman was born with the gifts of divination and heightened intuition. Born and raised in the mythology-steeped British isles, the Welsh woman was convinced Argyria must have had a fey ancestor at some point.

Argyria doubted that highly as her family was almost entirely Greek, and said as much to her friend and mentor. Maggie was stubborn though and loved to point out Argyria's unusual hair and eye color for a Mediterranean person. The latter of which was the inspiration of her first name- derived from the Greek word for silver. Argyria repeatedly pointed out her father's grandmother had been French and had blue eyes and reddish brown hair, and her Greek mother had black hair and blue eyes, so it wasn't so strange a combination within herself, just recessive genes with the mutated offshoot of blue eyes turning to grey.

Maggie still liked to tease and attribute the features and her innate gifts to being fey-born, perhaps some similar type spirit like a nymph that were said to be indigenous to Greece. Argyria appreciated that Maggie was one of the rare souls who was accepting of her gifts, whatever the reason, and that she could joke about them with the older woman, so she didn't argue the matter all that strongly anymore.

Argyria asked curiously, "So, when do I find out what you've got up those flowery sleeves for my birthday?"

"I haven't decided," Maggie replied with a shrug that was rather elegant, brown eyes alight with mischief behind her glasses. "Either the end of your shift today or perhaps tomorrow on your proper birthday."

"Oooo, you're going to drive me insane with suspense!" Argyria accused, smile not disappearing. Maggie always found simple but wonderful gifts for Argyria for her birthdays or holidays and she was already itching to know what Maggie was radiating excitement about this time.

"It's not my fault you're as curious as a kender!" Maggie replied. She had been sucked into the Dragonlance fandom when the series was first published, and had taken especial delight in the light-hearted kender race. Maggie was the friend who had introduced Argyria to the series during one of her earliest visits to the shop while still in middle school. "You'll have to wait the same as anyone else."

Argyria sighed in defeat, dramatically loud and eliciting more laughter from Maggie, and began putting her armload of books in the general sections they belonged in. The bookshelves were too crowded to properly alphabetize them as one would find in a library or larger book store. When both women had finished placing the books away, they went downstairs for another load.

The walls on the first floor, what free space there was between small shelves filled with more knickknacks, were covered in matted framed pieces of Encaustic Art, created by none other than Maggie herself. The pictures were made of various shades and types of wax and ranged all along the spectrum of fantastical creatures, mythical backdrops, and whimsical recreations of real-life landscapes. If one were to look closely at Maggie's long nails, they would see the tips of some were stained shades of blue and green and red, the most common colors the artist worked with, from using them to create finer details in the wax pictures and the dyes seeping in. Upstairs, many of the wall-shelves contained holiday ornaments or regular decorations made of shells, gemstones, and dried flowers that Maggie, and later Argyria helping her, made in their free time.

Along with being a book shop owner and Reiki instructor, Maggie had a love of art that spanned anything involving natural mediums and was currently passing along lessons of both Reiki and natural art to Argyria. The latter lessons went far more productively that the former as, despite her innate gift, Argyria couldn't seem to get the hang of energy healing. Maggie still kept up with the lessons though as Argyria refused to give up, hoping she might one day be able to channel energy as Maggie could to aid healing.

It took three more trips, but finally the new books were where they belonged and their day officially began with the flipping of the small plastic sign on the door to 'open'.

As there were no customers at the moment and all her class work was done, Argyria stayed downstairs with Maggie to visit. She attempted, unsuccessfully, to try coaxing Maggie into a hint of what her birthday present might be. Maggie refused to let slip even a teasing comment of what the surprise gift was, as she knew the teenager might be able to use her intuitive gifts to ascertain the full story if even a hint was given.

Maggie ended up changing the subject to talk of Argyria's classes and how her studies were coming along; her first year of college was nearly at a close and finals would begin the week after next. Argyria told her mentor of how she had finished up her end of year project for Literature Theory- a mini thesis on how the genre of fantasy influenced its readers with the underlying morals hidden within the broader scope of the stories.

It was nearly an hour after opening before the first customer came into the store, a young woman of college age. Argyria went back up to her post on the second floor, her copy of The Soulforge retrieved from her purse in hand, as the customer browsed the selections on the first floor. Argyria idly read a chapter and the customer remained downstairs.

After the customer had left, the young woman decided to remain upstairs and pulled out a sketch pad kept on the shelf beneath the counter. Argyria flipped open the sketch pad, black and white images from the world of Krynn were passed over as she searched for a blank page.

Some of the pictures were of the places described in the stories, brought into vivid detail by Argyria's imagination. The tree town of Solace where the adventurers and Heroes of the Lance all originated from. The decadent city of Palanthas, with the dark tower of magic at its heart in stark contrast to the opulence surrounding it. The delicate and natural wonder of the elven city of Qualinost among the forest. The grungy and maleficent town of Sanction during its hosting of the Dark Queen's troops prior to the War of the Lance. The doomed city of Istar after the Cataclysm sent the magnificent city to a watery grave.

Pictures of characters- The mischievous and impulsively kleptomaniac kender, Tasslehoff Burrfoot, (Argyria's second favorite character in the stories). The stern and proud knight, Sturm Brightblade. The brawny and kindhearted warrior, Caramon Majere. The conflicted yet strong-willed half-elf, Tanis. The fearless and brash swordswoman, Kitiara Uth Matar, half-sister of the Majere twins. The cantankerous and gruffly-caring dwarven metal smith, Flint Fireforge. The golden haired plainswoman, Goldmoon, bearing her blue crystal staff. Her husband and closest friend, the somber and loyal plainsman warrior, Riverwind. The saucy and tempestuous barmaid, Tika Waylan (later to be Tika Majere). The black robed dark elf, Dalamar, apprentice of Raistlin. The Golden General and the elven princess, Lauranlanthalas, and her brother, sometimes casual magic user, Prince Gilthanis.

And among all the pictures, nearly matching in number all the rest of the sketches combined, were sketches of the mage, Raistlin Majere.

Sketches of the archmage as he was described as a child, school book in hand and sitting beneath a tree to study as other children, including a young Caramon, played Kender Keep Away in the background. Sketches of Raistlin at the mage school of Master Theobald as he laboriously practiced his penmanship, perched on his high stool at his desk among his peers. Or Raistlin watching with a knowing smirk as his tormentor, Jon Farnish, was wringing his hand in pain because he had stung himself with the stinging nettle Raistlin had planted in his spell component bag. An older Raistlin sitting in his secluded spot in a snow-dappled woods, studying his spell book on his fallen log-seat, with a single set of foot prints leading out into the shadowy woods and back to the school house.

Raistlin as an older teenager, of an age with Argyria at her current age, performing tricks at the May Day fair to earn a living while onlookers were held in fascinated thrall to the mystifying, yet still beginner, illusions. Raistlin courageously facing down the 'Widow Judith', a renegade wizardess, in the city of Haven, with a giant Tasslehoff in the background of the riot. Raistlin gently tending the ill when a plague ravaged Solace. Several scenes of Raistlin during his infamous Test to be included into the ranks of a proper mage.

The now golden skinned, hour-glassed eyed Raistlin training in the Mad Baron's army under Master Horkin and facing the disguised dragon Immolatus. Many scenes more from the stories of the companions during the War of the Lance; and later his quest for ultimate power by entering the Abyss to try taking the dread dark queen, Takhisis', place as a god. Scenes showing both Raistlin's cunning plans, his brutal power-driven side, his more compassionate side that was rarer to be seen, and even the yet rarer times when the mage displayed a sense of humor. Such as when Caramon ended up getting himself caught in a hunter's trap, dangling alongside a frightened rabbit from a sturdy tree branch, leaves of the tree aflame from a fire spell cast by the archmage, with Raistlin himself on the ground laughing himself silly at the absurdity of the moment.

To say that Argyria was obsessed with the series, more so than any other in the world of fantasy, and that the character Raistlin was the center of her fixation with the world Krynn, was an extreme understatement.

Having had a childhood that paralleled Raistlin's in many ways, she had instantaneously gravitated to the dark archmagus and his story from the very first time she had read Dragons of Autumn Twilight. Her own life was not traveling the same dark path Raistlin's had, despite her rocky start, though Argyria was in fact still having a great deal of difficulties as she tried to make her way in the world. A supportive unit of friends she loved dearly coming to her aid during a rather desperate time had made a great deal of difference. Despite the differences, and because of the similarities, Argyria sympathized deeply with the troubled and isolated mage. She couldn't help but read, and reread, hundreds of times, stories that included Raistlin Majere and the world his stories took place in.

Every time she went back to the stories, Argyria couldn't help but wish she could shake the archmage silly and knock some sense into his cynical and lonely mind to make him realize his errors before it was too late, as happened when he entered the abyss to face the Dark Queen. She'd imagine doing for the aspiring magus what her friends had done for her- showing how to not succumb to the taunts and hatred that followed those gifted with some form of magic, not allowing oneself to become the very things they were accused of being out of bitterness, and learning to appreciate those who may not be as intelligent as oneself but had their own special traits.

Argyria didn't wish to do so out of a desire to purge the mage of his supposedly evil ways, as one like the knight, Sturm, might wish. Nor to drag the archmage, kicking and screaming possibly, into the light and embrace of Paladine, as the self-righteous and prideful-to-a-fault Crysania had wished to do. Argyria simply saw the dark mage as a kindred soul, saw in his embittered and lonely story the path her own life could have fallen into without the blessing she had of people who cared for her. She wished that it was possible to jump into the pages and change that heart-wrenching outcome the archmage had brought on himself, as she could see in his stories that underneath the cruel and cold plots of the man driving himself to his own self-destruction, there was a scared and tired child trying to prove he could stand alone and deny he wasn't affected by the harsh treatment he had faced by lashing out in the very manner he had once sworn he'd never fall prey to.

Thinking such introspective thoughts, Argyria began sketching on an empty page, letting her mind wander and her hand almost act of its own accord.