Young Timothy awoke with a stiff pain in his neck and sensation of floating. He opened his eyes to find himself immersed in a tank of clear liquid with a breathing apparatus attached to his face. Outside the tank there was moment of others that seemed to not notice that he had begun to stir or perhaps they did not care.
"Good morning Timmy. How was your rest?" A voice most sinister entered his mind. Although the tone and cadence were pleasant, Tim could tell that whomever it belonged to had nothing but malicious intent. "We are hesitant to answer? Maybe that is because we have found ourselves in a compromising position?" Tim tried to remember how he could have arrived to his current situation. He strained his thoughts to recount images of a man. No, an Elf! The Elf took him off the streets and raised him to be an apprentice. He traveled with a group of adventurers. They could have been mercenaries.
Spiders. There were large spiders and a fire. Then there was the mouse. A god in a mouse's body which did battle with another deity. A deity of Strife. Not of Strife, Stryfe.
"You're Stryfe, " he exclaimed as he clawed at the smooth tank in attempt to escape.
"I am not Stryfe, just someone who serves him. Do you believe that he would take time away from more important pursuits to check on your well being? Especially since you once served that pathetic rodent who thought to combat him? No I have an interest in you because were present when the new slaves gained their sentience and I want to know what magics were used to create your masters army."
"My masters army," he questioned. "Could he possibly be talking about those spiders?" His head began to pound as if a headache of immense proportions had coupled with a night of incredible drinking. He powered through the pain to remember his mentors name and face. Lourde Brownshue the Sorcerous Alchemist. Lourde is an Elven werewolf.
"No boy, he WAS an Elven werewolf," the voice interrupted. "He and his god are now lost to the gates and shall never be heard of again.. If you are smart you shall tell me the secrets of the Tee'mi Spiders." Timmy started to remember how the Tee'mi came to be but instead of inviting the images he pushed them away with a stalwart will.
"I don't believe you! If you serve Stryfe then you would already know how the Tee'mi came to be. I bet you are some rival much like Bartlet who thinks he can manipulate the Tee'mi and wrest them from Bringer of Chaos." Tim felt incredible pain course through his body. His eyes began to burn as the liquid which surrounded him began to boil. He could barely keep his thoughts together and comprehend the angry words of his tormentor.
"How dare you mock me! I am no mere rival! I am the agent of his demise. The Spider of Flame is no more than an Usurper and if you shall not aid me in his destruction then you shall perish!"
"I am so dead," Tim thought to himself.
"Cheese is good." A familiar voice resonated in Tim's his mind. He focused on the voice with all his mental strength when hes was enveloped in a strange green glow and was no more. His tormentor was pleased to see his handiwork of charred remains within the tank then he noticed that was too large to be that of a boy. He instantly knew that somehow he had been tricked and only Stryfe himself knew the full answer as to who did it.
Tim awoke in a forest on a bed of leaves. He was clothed in an oddly familiar outfit made of fine black silk. He scanned his immediate surroundings to see if there were any signs of sentients. Alas he seemed alone. "Where the hell am I," he thought. "I s this some nether realm neatly disguised to look like the land of the living?" He bit into his own hand and drew blood. "The dead don't bleed. So at least I know that I'm still alive." He collected himself and stood while brushing away debris from is clothing. He looked around once more to choose a direction to walk. For some reason he guessed that if he walked to the southeast he would have the highest chance for survival. He walked for two days without rest towards his salvation when he came across what appeared to be an inn located on a river bank The sun indicated that midday approached and hill belly ached from hunger. He could smell food being prepared for the midday meal and had he been in better condition may have noticed an upside down tower protruding from the premises. Wearily he entered through the front door and took a seat at a nearby table. He lay his head down and let himself drift into sleep.
"Hey you! We don't tolerate any soliciting." Tim was nudged by a boot. "Get up you vagrant!" He was kicked even harder this time. Tim looked up at his assailant and to his surprised found him to be close in age. A boy with black hair and the most piercing blue eyes he had ever seen was looking down at him with contempt.
"How can I get up if you are so insistent of knocking me down?" Tim flashed a sardonic smile at the boy. "Or are you just confused as to where you want me?"
"You fucking bastard!" The boy with blue eyes lunged at Tim with murderous intent. Tim avoided the attack with less than graceful riposte. Both boys scrambled to their feet and looked at each other; awaiting the other's attack. Tim's eyes quickly darted around the room to gain some insight on his predicament. A group of boys stood around watching this display now cheering the boy with blue eyes.
"Kill the fucktard already, Jonas, " one boy exclaimed. "Who knows when Master Corwin will return from his stroll." Jonas rifled through his robes to produce a knife. He brandished towards Tim in sadistic menace in attempt to promote fear. Tim grabbed a close by tablecloth, crashing the dishes and centerpiece to the floor. In doing so the vase and pitcher of water that lay on the table whetted the cloth for Tim's desired purpose. With a clumsy flash at the dramatic and rudimentary knowledge of the style, Tim twisted the table cloth in the fashion that schoolboys would use to whip towels.
"What are you gonna do with that? Don't tell me you think you're gonna try to fight me with a wet towel." Jonas seemed a bit insulted at the intonation that was the truth of the matter. Thats when Tim decided to strike. In his mind he knew the outcome to be that of unadulterated luck, but he had somehow not only struck Jonas with the towel but had manged to sever the tendons of Jonas's thumb; causing him to drop the knife and cry out in pain.
"What is the meaning of this," A voiced boomed from the doorway. Those that turned now noticed the return of Master Corwin. He was a man of average height with waist length crimson hair and emerald eyes. His face was freckled and slightly sunburned with a brow furrowed in anger. "I asked you buys a question."
"This kid started making trouble and tearing up the place..." Jonas began
"Do you take me for a fool? Had you better lookouts then perhaps you would have noticed that I was returning when you decided to start this fight Jonas. Are you so eager to learn the necromantic arts that you would stoop to murder?" Tim stood in silence still wielding his wet tablecloth with a now blood soaked tip. Corwin turned to Tim. "I apologize on behalf of my students for causing you trouble young man but I am going to ask how you are going to pay for the damages you have caused to my property.
"What?" Tim seemed was very confused. "How could you possibly hold me accountable for what your student started?"
"Very simple," he replied. "You chose your method of defense and that involved damage to my personal property. Now I'm not saying you should have let Jonas kill you but I'm sure there were other alternatives had you been inclined to think of them." This angered Tim immensely. He stood there glaring at Corwin when the master's stern expression changed to that of surprise. "Maybe I have an idea of how you may repay me. You shall study here under my tutelage and in return you shall received food and board."
"Master, you are not seriously thinking on letting this filth study here," Jonas objected. "He is a mere vagrant who wandered here out of hunger."
"Let me remind you boy that I am Master and you are not." Corwin gave a harsh look at the boy who was now lowering his head in submission. "What is your name boy?" Tim thought for a second before he replied.
"Loward, Master Corwin. Loward Bruhound Sheihoo II, apprentice." Corwin raised an eyebrow.
"An apprentice? Where is your master?"
"Deceased sir." Loward's shoulders sank a bit. "He was murdered by a rival." Master Corbin turned to his students.
"You boys clean up this this mess and bring Loward something to eat. He looks like he's about to pass out on his feet. Jonas, you are coming with me to check on that hand and talk about your future here." Loward ate his fill and slept well that night.