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Red on Red	By : Sylviana_of_Qualinost Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 4499 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonlance or any of the characters. DL belongs to Wizards of the Coast and Weis and Hickman. No money is made from these installments.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
Chapter 11: Plan in Action pt. 2

.... There was something vaguely reminiscent of their mother about Cassandrine, the daughter of Solace's baker. Yet the resemblance stopped with the hair and the heart shaped face. Her warm curls framed a laughing face with gentle doe's eyes and she had a friendly smile for everyone, including Raistlin. Caramon and he took turns picking up loaves of bread every morning and sometimes the girl would throw a couple of sweetmeats in when the twins were low on coin. Raistlin often found himself looking forward to his turn to pick up the bread loaf, knowing that Cassandrine would make him feel for a little while like a normal youth.

“Hey there Blue Eyes,” she'd wink and give him a broad smile, curls framing that heart shaped face. “Coming for the goods today?” She'd stand and walk away towards the ovens, enticingly swaying her heavy hips. Raistlin blushed, finding himself as always both attracted and repulsed. It was all so common... so vulgar. Her easy manner, her light teasing. And yet, somehow, in a world which mocked him, it felt good.

He mumbled something as she handed him the wrapped bread loaf and he could feel its heat through the paper bag and the smell of it, fresh from the oven, associated with this warm haired woman with curls.
Cassandrine brushed his arm loosely as she handed back the change and laughed a little as he rushed off, feeling awkward as always around her. These morning visits were always a mixture of emotions for him. A part of him delighted in her treatment, whilst another quaked in disgust at being treated with such simple lasciviousness and, worst yet, at being so completely dumbfounded by it.
He knew what the other boys did about it, as it was an open secret that Cassandrine's easy smiles went hand in hand with her easy character. Her father being aged and partially deaf, the young woman often ran the bakery alone, a fact others in town took full advantage of.
Oh, Raistlin knew what they did when she smiled and teased like that, he heard them talk about it- Caramon included. He knew about the ways she liked to be had, up against the wall, full skirts tussled up roughly around her hips or bent over the counter, her hair tugged by a fist.

Every morning that he went to get the bread, Raistlin asked himself if he would be man enough to do the same. After all, everyone else did. Did he measure up? By the time the brief encounter was over, however, he felt sickened by that thought and disturbed further by the glimpse of his own mother he saw in her hair and face. Perhaps it was the comfort that he sought, of a mother's embrace long gone that really drew him there, mingled with the confused urges of a young man unwittingly seeking release. Whatever it was, the ending was always anti-climactic.

That morning would have been no different, except that, having been up all night studying, Raistlin had misjudged the time. It must have been a full hour earlier than his usual visits to the bakery and the tree-top town lay quietly and serenely among the browning leaves of autumn. Caught up in his musings, Raistlin gave the time no heed, needing to stretch his legs and think through the bit of magic he had just been struggling with. Thus perplexed, he wondered aimlessly towards the bakery.

He should have paid more heed to what he did as he carelessly flung open the door of the little shop, with its permanent smell of baked bread surrounding it. As he entered, Raistlin caught his breath at the sight of Cassandrine, who, with her bare back to him was using the wash basin. The girl often slept in the main room of the shop, leaving her father the single room at the back of the bakery.

Of course, she too would just be getting up! Raistlin thought quickly, embarrassed. He thought of running away instantly but it was too late. Cassandrine had heard the creak of the door.

Why was it open this early, anyhow?

“Haha, Caramon!” Cassandrine said without turning, brushing back the curls and exposing a side of a heavy breast to view as her arm rose with the motion. “I thought you might come early today.” With that, she dropped a towel which was covering her lower half to the floor.

Caramon? Ahh, it was his brother's day to come for the bread- he hadn't even remembered this whilst in his deep reverie. But Caramon was not even awake now.. he slumbered peacefully in the arms of the buxom Meria, and likely would not rise for some time yet. Oh, but his twin did get around evidently...

“You are sure quiet today,” Cassandrine was playfully irritated as she turned around and then gasped, realising she had the wrong brother. However, her surprise passed quickly, as she looked at him with non-disguised curiosity.

“Well, this could be interesting,” she laughed a rich, full laugh and straightened her back, none abashed by her nudity.

All resemblance to their mother was gone.

Raistlin found himself transfixed by her lush figure, the hair between her thick thighs and the light brown nipples of her breasts. There was a glow from the ovens, which must have been heating up for the day's baking, and it cast an amber light on her, making her appear fiendish. The young man did not know what to do, did not know if he was attracted or repulsed; if he should leave or stay. A part of his physiology seemed to be responding, yet it was a distant, vague reaction which seemed separate from him altogether.

“Might be fun, haha, to compare the twins,” Cassandrine moved forward to a table where later the baked bread loaves would be placed and sat on it, facing him, knees crossed. Leaning over a bit, she beckoned with a finger, smiling that easy smile.

“You shy or what, boy? Or perhaps you don't like women?” She raised an eyebrow testily.

Raistlin grew angry at her teases. Boy? How dare she speak to him like that!

He clenched his jaw and moved forward a step, drawing one hand through his loose, auburn hair. He had no idea what he was doing and was slightly concerned about Cassandrine's father in the back room, but it somehow didn't matter anymore. Caramon has had her, so why shouldn't he? Desire had nothing to do with this.

And her mockery was the final straw.

He caught her eyes with his and she stopped laughing, seeing something inexplicably cold and frightening in them as Raistlin began to walk toward her. Cassandrine stopped laughing and bit her pouting lip, drawing her knees slightly apart on the table. He did not look down at what she displayed, caring only about keeping her eyes captive.

“No, not shy... just.. strange,” she murmured under her breath, catching one of her loose curls with a finger tip and wrapping it around playfully.

“Yes, strange,” Raistlin repeated as he came close to her, putting his palms on either side of her and leaning forward. Their faces met slowly, her mouth opening for his with deliberate tentativeness, a playful lick of the tongue tracing his lips. He mimicked her gesture, deciding to learn as he went along and do in return what was being done to him.

Her right hand traced the laces of his tunic as their mouths continued a slow dance of tongues and lips, pulling apart the haphazardly tightened leather cords until his chest was bare to her touch. After the cords were undone, she pushed the garment off his thin shoulders, making it fall around him at his feet. Raistlin shivered as a breath of air grazed his bare skin, at once cold with autumn and hot with the fire from the ovens. Cassandrine's left hand was on the small of his back, thumb caught underneath the waistline of his breeches. She pushed him toward her, legs spreading wide to bring him in. The hair at the top of her mound brushed against his pelvis, tickling him lightly.

Raistlin felt the need to do something responsive with his own hands, more for the purpose of being adequate than anything else. Fighting back a sickening feeling in his stomach, he traced the fingers of his hands up the naked woman's sides several times. He did it first slowly and softly, then picked up the pace and increased pressure, noting the subtle differences in her reaction as he made her flesh more pliant to his touch. His last stroke, which was borderline bruising brought an elated squeal from the girl and ended with his fingers clasping hard on her nipples. Cassandrine bit his lip in response; Raistlin tugged even harder on her nipples, squeezing mercilessly.

Cassandrine moved her head back, saying “not bad, not bad! You have a lot more imagination than him do you know that? Caramon doesn't go in for much build up, unfortunately.”

Raistlin grew angry and nearly pulled back, choosing instead to move one hand from her breast to her hair and, digging in, to bend her head back cruelly.

“Do not speak of him,” he hissed with menace.

“Why? Does it make you mad? Haha,” Cassandrine made the best of her position by leaning into Raistlin's arm and exposing her soft throat to him. “It's too bad most girls do not go in for strange, or they would find the strange twin a lot more fun!”

Fun? Fun? How was she finding this fun? Yet, Raistlin himself was oddly captivated by what was going on. He leant down to her throat, fastening his mouth around it, sucking in the skin then biting down. Cassandrine moaned lowly, and he moved his mouth down, almost as if he were being pulled toward her core. Her throat, the collarbones, both breasts... the same method, fasten; suck; bite. Sometimes softly, sometimes hard, her sounds varying in accordance. Somehow he found himself on his knees between her legs, looking at her mound, heaving and glistening in the amber light. For a second, he was unsure of what he was doing there. He'd never thought of doing any such thing, had only heard through the grapevine of the sort of things a man may do with this part of a woman's anatomy. A part of him still wanted to get up and leave until her earlier words came back to him...

“Might be fun, haha, to compare the twins!”

Well then, let her compare the twins! Stupid bitch.

He grabbed at the soft spot at her centre viciously with his lips and teeth. Fasten; suck; bite. Cassandrine had to bite her own arm in order to stifle a scream. Raistlin started working his jaw in a tugging motion, pulling her wet flesh deep and hard into his mouth. She tasted both bitter and sweet, alluring and pungent. Like the rest of this experience, he did not know what to make of it, all he knew in this moment was that it was imperative that he be better than Caramon at this. He continued his sucking and biting, pulling and tugging to affirmative pants from the girl until, quite quickly and suddenly, her legs tightened on either side of him and he felt his face covered with a warm, sticky fluid gushing from inside her.

Startled, Raistlin got up a little unsteadily and Cassandrine, laughing breathlessly caught him again about the waist, not letting him go. Feeling suddenly awkward, Raistlin felt the need to run away, however, he stayed rooted to the spot, not wanting to ruin the impression he had just made.

“Yes, a lot more fun,” she said, holding him still and reaching her hand down into his breeches. “There seems to be a problem, though.” Raistlin was confused before he realised what she was talking about.

All throughout this encounter, he had stayed entirely flaccid.

“Do I not interest you after all?” Cassandrine pouted.

“Perhaps you should just try harder,” Raistlin snarled.

“Ohh, haha,” the girl laughed and suddenly, he could not even recall how, his trousers were around his ankles along with the previously discarded tunic. The bunch of clothes made an awkward bundle around his feet and Raistlin thought off hand that even if he tried to leave now he would probably fall over and trip, looking like a fool.

Cassandrine was looking down, examining him fully naked for several long moments before reaching her plump fingers down in a slow, appreciative stroke.

She looked him in the eye as she did so, a sly glint lighting up their depths.

“I'll tell you a secret,” she leant in so that her lips were on par with his ear, hot breath tickling him. “You are bigger than him too.”

Raistlin felt himself stiffen like he never had before at her words, astonished by this bewildering feat of his body of which he was so unsure. Is this truly what set him on edge? Knowing he was the one who was better? But what did it matter, really? She was a harlot, who had many men for comparison. He was just one more. But it was Caramon that he wanted to be better than.

Cassandrine was laughing.

“I guess I didn't have to work so hard after all.”

Somehow he was inside her and she was splayed out underneath him on the table top, legs encircling his torso and driving him in. He pinned her down with his weight, wanting, in part, to crush the life out of her. She only pulled him in more, encouraging him to grind in deeper into her folds. He did so, noticing how his body strained with the effort, his muscles clenching and unclenching spasmodically. Raistlin seemed to be on a verge of something, there was a tension inside him that was waiting to explode and he wanted that release, wanted it badly. Yet, no matter how hard he thrust and how deep he went, it evaded him.

Cassandrine, somehow, seemed aware of his struggle and after a time brought her hands up to catch his face, making him look at her again.

“You are definitely better than him,” she whispered.

A dam burst within Raistlin and he went over the edge, spilling himself inside her in an ongoing flood. The rush was silent and forceful and it kept coming over him in torrents until he could feel it spill out from inside her and cover his own thighs.

He could not remember what happened afterwards, only that it was all a blur. The disengagement and the quick collecting of clothing. The rushed dressing on his part, as she slowly and leisurely put on her own gown. He felt a growing sense of disgust with himself at the thought of doing something just to prove that he was better than Caramon, as if hearing some whore say it should make a difference to him! HIM! He had to get out of there right there and then, he could not bear the reminder that now this woman knew his secret- knew that he felt inferior to Caramon and that it was his weakness. He stumbled as if in a dream under her laughing gaze, not even being able to say anything to her after their fervent coupling, needing to run away as fast as possible.

Cassandrine, instinctively feeling his dilemma, said nothing as he fumbled around getting his things together. He looked at her once, wanting to say something as he reached for the door handle. Saving him the trouble, Cassandrine leant behind the counter and brought something out. It was a wrapped loaf of bread. She tossed it at him and Raistlin caught it intuitively.

“It's yesterday's, but it'll have to do for you today as I haven't had time yet to bake more,” she said lightly, “Consider it well paid for.” She refrained from laughing but he could see it in her eyes.
He went out the door and rushed along the bridge connecting her valenwood to the rest of the town. He had barely gone a few steps when he ran straight into Caramon.

“Raist, what the-” Caramon steadied his twin and caught his breath at the look of him. Raistlin's eyes were wide, the whites prominent. His auburn hair was wild and wet with sweat, just as his chest underneath a badly laced tunic which fell off one shoulder. All around them the buzz of Solace coming awake and going about business was in evidence.

“I got the bread already, was out early, couldn't sleep,” Raistlin muttered defensively, hugging the loaf tightly against his body like a shield. Then he pushed his twin over and resumed his hurried jog towards their house.

Caramon remained standing for a while on the lightly swaying bridge, ruffling his tawny head in thought. He looked over toward the baker's hut and back to his quickly retreating brother. He then slowly followed behind his twin, noting not to ask Raistlin any questions.

Raistlin did not eat the bread that day, nor could he ever afterwards.

Raistlin opened his eyes and smirked sardonically at the memory. It had been a while since he had let it come back to him in full like that, in all its coloured detail. There it was then, his one time. His one moment of weakness- for that is why he forced himself to recall it now. To remind himself that passion was unhindering. By bedding that strumpet he had let her see his inner turmoil, his latent sense of inferiority to his brother, his desire to prove himself. He heard the words he needed to hear then- you are better than him- and it was enough to prove a point, but it availed nothing. Things were different now, he doubted he could do what he performed back then in the bakery. Doubted even that his body would comply to the feat, even when Silviana threatened to awaken that passion. He had practised restraint for too long. Anyhow, it was the magic and the power which he sought now to possess, and he had no need to best his brother in bed play.
Raistlin noted the position of the sun and started from his reflection. It had been more than a half hour for certain and still no signal from the elf-woman. Had something gone amiss? If Loft's anger and desperation had run out and he let his logic see the obvious they would all be doomed. The men might be sick now but the effects would wear off by noon and if Rudd's twenty men and Silviana failed to overcome Loft's people they would all be in serious trouble. The numbers were pretty even now with the majority of the bandits currently indisposed, yet still, there was a chance that they would fail if things were not timed properly...
A bright flare went off in the western direction, a red streak crossing the sky and fading just as abruptly- a signal just for his eyes. Raistlin released a breath he didn't know he was holding and got to his feet quickly. All around him, Loft's men were getting over their spell of sickness, no longer vomiting, but still weak. The secondary effects of the mandrake would be hitting them by now, nausea replaced by a muscular atrophy. Now would be the perfect time. The mage slid through the trees towards the encampment where Torf and his goblins waited, fully armed. Upon seeing Raistlin, the hobgoblin commander gave a curt nod in his general direction.
“It is safe to proceed?” Torf barked, impatience screwing up his hideous maw.
“Loft's men are no longer a hindrance to you,” Raistlin remembered to bow slightly, imitating due reverence for the purpose of seeming less suspicious. Hobgoblins could never get enough of ass kissing.

Torf took his double axe in hand and motioned to his troop to head off. The hobs and gobs, shrieked in long denied relief as they stormed Loft's encampment. The sick men were taken off guard, the mandrake making in impossible to get to their feet on time and grab their weapons when they saw the incoming wave of the enemy. Raistlin was on their heels yet staying to the side, wanting to escape the battle and make his way to Loft's tent undetected while the hobs and gobs massacred the incapacitated troops. If what Torf had told him last night about Caine Blacksworth's presence there was true then there was one item in Loft's possession which Raistlin would risk getting his hands on.
All around him, slaughter ensued. Torf's men, deceived into thinking the humans would betray them, swung their weapons mercilessly. Screams and shouting rose as dismembered limbs flew haphazardly into the air.
“Betrayers!”
“Die filthy human scum!”
“To arms, to arms!”
To one side Brendaun had managed to get up and rounded a group of hardy men around him. They stood back to back as hobs and gobs encircled them all around. Torf broke through the melee surrounding the bandits laughing maniacally.
“Ready to resume last night's interrupted fight, Brendaun?”
“I should have sent you to the Abyss then and there you- you..” Brendaun was in a rage.
“Spare your words man and prepare to die!”
A double axe swung viciously and a sword came up to meet it with a loud bang. Other hobs and gobs going insane with the blood frenzy lost their weapons and tore at their opponents with their teeth, going for throats and faces. Pained death howls prevailed the atmosphere.
Raistlin was surrounded by a red haze, yet no one paid attention to the wizard. Sticking to the trees and avoiding chance passers-by, the young man glided with insane speed towards the towering tent at the other end of the encampment, his robes catching on the occasional tree root and disembowelled corpse. He knew it was stupid of him not to run away now while no one paid him heed, as was, in fact, the plan all along. He intended to stay behind only to make sure that Torf kept his end of the deal, meaning to slip away in the commotion afterwards and meet up with Langtree's men back on the road. If all went well they should be able to gain Hope's End and sanctuary before the hobs and gobs realized there was no treasure hidden in Loft's tent.
Yet now there was something else that Raistlin needed to obtain before leaving.
Quite suddenly he found himself outside the tent and without stopping to think ran inside. What he saw in there made the young mage stop in his tracks.
Standing in the middle of the tent floor, holding a cylindrical case, stood the dark figure of Caine Blacksworth, long blond moustaches trailing from beneath his black hood.
“Greetings friend,” the Solamnic wizard smiled nastily. He held up the hand with the case, “did buffoon commander Torf inform you of this little item?”
Raistlin clenched his teeth... to have been so careless as to forget about the black-robe! Surely, he would have come back for his possession, and what better timing than when the two factions of the camp were fighting amongst themselves.
Outside, the sounds of raging battle continued.
“It seems it is time to resume our little chat, red-robe,” Blacksworth intoned, “with your pretty elf friend now far too distracted to be of any assistance.”
Not wishing to give his opponent the head start, Raistlin grasped the Staff of Magius and began to chant...
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Red on Red