The Great Library of Palanthas
Astinus' Office
Dominating the center of this room is a massive birch desk. Legend claims this desk has supported the thousands of volumes of history Astinus has recorded. A large pot of ink, a container of sharpened quills, and a candelabra complete the desks decorations. Small windows line the room, allowing light to trickle in and gently illuminate the entire room. A comfortable couch rests against the west wall. Tapestries hang on the walls between the windows. Shelves line the walls, filled with tomes of the more recent records of heroes and villians upon the face of Krynn.
The librarian notices you aren't reading anything... Astinus hands a large book to an Aesthetic standing by you. You note the spine bears the word 'Tyranisalath' scribed in faded black ink. As you glance down at the page you read..
From the pages of Tyranisalath's book..
Author: Tyranisalath Date: Fri Sep 15 13:38:25 2017 Subject Moving On
The funeral had been brutal. He loved his mother and would miss her, but that wasn't the issue. She was old. She'd had a fairly good life. He knew there'd been rough patches, but he'd been there to support her. He'd taken care of her as well as he could. Made her comfortable. He'd know the day was coming and when it did he was ready. He'd made arrangements, gone to the clerics of Mishakal and found one to provide the rites his mother required. The funeral was bound to be small. She outlived most of her friends. Then there was the other matter. He had shown up drunk. A blubbery mess. The true symbol of power and paternity. His two loyal servants barely able to keep him standing. It had been five years since Tyranisalath had seen his father. Five years since his mother had seen her husband. Now he showed up and made this scene. It was distasteful and hardly suitable for his heritage. Tyranisalath whispered his last words of love to his mother, gave a stiff nod to the servants, and walked away. That had been three months ago and he had moved on. No longer needing to see to his mother, Tyranisalath found he had time. Although he had studied for years he now found he could devote hours instead of what seemed like stolen moments. He found his control and power growing. He found books that his father had left. He studied them, put the minor spells and cantrips into practice, and found that he could improve on them. Hours of practice and study turned into days and weeks. Then the letter showed up. It was slipped under his door in what had to have been the dead of night. The envelope read Master Tyranisalath in handwriting he knew too well. He flipped the envelope over to see his father's seal. He tossed the envelope on his desk and went back to his studies.
He was two glasses in when he unsealed the letter. He had a feeling that Dwarven Spirits were the only thing that was going to make this in any way palatable. Master Tyranisalath, I'm truly sorry to write you. I'm afraid I've no other option. Vorisalas ased me not to write but you don't know how it's been. I know you have little love for your father. I even understand it. He's not an easy man. I've served him for 30 years and I know how difficult he can be. This is different. He isn't the same man you know. He's weak and he's confused. He's also dangerous. I'm not asking you to help him out of pity. Vorisalas wouldn't say I'm asking you to help him. We're running out of time here. He's doing to damn himself. He's going to desecrate your mother. I no longer have any idea what to do. Please Master Tyranisalath, help, if not for my sake, then for your mother's. The letter was signed and stained with tears. I drank another glass and read it over. Then another time just to be sure. I had a couple more glasses to drink (to be sure). When I woke at my desk the next morning the letter was still in my hand. I read it a final time. Things were clearer in the light of morning. I knew what must be done and set out to find my father.
I knocked softly at the door. Vorisalas answered my knock with stunned silence. I walked past him and patted him on the shoulder. "Is he in?", I asked quietly. Vorisalas nodded slowly. "Is he awake?" Vorisalas shook his head in response. "He passed out about an hour ago Master Tyran." Vorisalas had finally spoken. "In his study I presume?" I received a nod in response. I walked down the hall and opened the door silently. My father was slumped in his chair. I picked up pages discarded pages off the floor and took a quick glance around the room. The handwriting was hard to read but I was able to get the general gist of it. The books surrounding my father's slumped body only helped to confirm it. I put the pages back down, walked back out and shut the door quietly. I walked back down the hall towards the front parlor. I found Vorisalas sitting with his head in his hands. He didn't look up as he spoke, "She told you didn't she? I asked her not to. It's not her place. He's just having a hard time is all." He raised his head slowly out of his hands and looked at me expectantly. "I think you know we're past that point. A hard time is one thing. Something he deserved I might add." Vorisalas's head slumped back into his hands. "He's going to damn this whole house. This is something we can't let him do. Both for your sake and my mother's. I'm not going to handle it." "The only thing I ask is that you clean up that room afterwards." I jotted a few notes down on a piece of paper and handed it to him. "These are the books I'll need you to find and put aside. Everything else must be gathered up and burned. You'll do it afterwards and not before. He can know nothing." I walked out of the parlor and back towards the front door with Vorisalas in tow. I opened the door and then turned back. I put my hand on his shoulder and my expression softened. "I know how hard this is for you. I also know that you understand what I'm doing. You need to thank Charly. She was right in coming for me. You've served him well. This is the only way you can help him now." His eyes glistened but he nodded. I walked back outside and closed the door behind me. I was going to have to hire someone for the job.
It was done. The assassin had performed as requested. He had made it quick and clean and returned the spellbook. I could not have been more pleased with his work. I returned to by father's house to find Vorisalas in the backyard. Tears streamed down his face as he tossed the last pieces of parchments into what had grown to be a bonfire. I rested my hand on his shoulder and almost fell over. "I know how hard this was for you. I know this feels like betrayal but it wasn't. There was no love lost between me and my father, but I never wanted his death on my hands. He hurt my mother and he hurt me. Many times over." "But this was not revenge Voris. The ritual he attempted to perform. It was not only a desecration of my mother's spirit. He was damning himself. You don't work magic like that and remain the same man." The elf nodded in response, wiping tears from his cheeks. "I know Master Tyran, I know."
He stood up straighter. "I've done as you've asked. It's all burned. There's a box in his study that I left for you. Everything you've asked." He forced a smile. "So now what'll we do Master? Will you be staying for a bit. I could get your old room ready?" The elf seemed hopeful. "I'm afraid not Voris. I have business to attend to and I won't be returning. You served him well and for long years. Consider this house payment. You and Charly deserve it. The only thing I ask is you have these packages shipped to Ahlanost. I'll be remaining there for a few weeks. Then I'll be setting off for Wayreth." Tyranisalath waited for no response. He knew that his father's man would be overwhelmed by both the gesture and the news. He still had weeks of work in front of him, but his father was dealt with and his mother would remain undisturbed. He would move forward and the artifacts and books that Vorisalas had saved would help him progress further still. The red moon would guide his way.Tyranisalath found his mind racing. His thoughts outpaced anything he could put onto paper. His father had been a mediocre mage at best, but the mages he knew were far from it. The book which Kentaro had given him was far more than the spellbook of that middling mage. It contained notes and history gleaned from these men and women. Some living, some dead, some who could be both. He wondered how his father could have accomplished so little when he'd already been standing on the shouleders of this titans of magic. His path was unfolding before him, his racing thoughts leading the way. He would walk the same steps his father did, but with dedication the man could never muster for himself. There were secret to unlock, powerful magic that could be rediscovered, and an order he hoped that he could help (should they haveh him). The next few days were a worldwind of packing and and closing the house down. He shuttered the windows, got rid of anything that could possibly spoil, and cleaned the entire place out as best he could. He had two trunks for his own clothing, books, parchment, the odd artifact, supplies, as well as his father's books and writings. He carried the book Kentaro had given him in his robe. The house shuttered and himself packed he set off for what he hoped would be the next and longest phase of his life. He headed to Wayreth. It was time for him to take the test.
The journey to Wayreth was interesting to say the least. Tyranisalath knew that this was part of it. His father, remiss though he might have been as a father, had a hard time not expressing his love of magic. Tyranisalath had always understood this and he listened intently to those stories his father did tell. Though he never talked about the test itself he did speak of the journey to Wayreth. Tyranisalath found that part of the story to be true. He spend several days wandering the forest, willing the tower to show itself to him. This time alone, wandering, was more valuable to him than he realized. He went over the events of the past severanl months. He tried to bring as much logic to bear on the subject as possible, but unfortunately, with family, there's ususally little logic to be found. He knew why his father had attempted to raise his mother. He could understand the impulse. It's not that he didn't. That being said, necromancy wasn't the answer for a guilty and very heavy heart. It would not have retturned her to them. It would only have defiled her soul, his own, and brought shame on a family who's long traditions had always eschewed the dark magic. So while he may have understood the impulse, he still could not forgive his father. His other struggle was similar. He'd killed his father. Not directly. He had't held the knife. Again, he knew this logically, but logic...These thoughts had roiled through his mind since the assassination, the blood seas were easier to navigate. Having one's father killed is a complicated matter. He had little love for the man. He knew that it was the right choice. Still, these thoughts could never put his mind entirely to rest. He would always know that his father's death, while necessary, was hi was his fault. Time passed, he continued to wander the forest, willing the Tower to appear before him. His thoughts because more melancholy but he continued on. How could he have done that to his father? The man who brought him into this world? He continued to try to shake the thoughts from his head and brought his focus back to the path. His spirits were flagging, he was tired, and his self questioning had become more and more accusatory. Still, he knew that he had to continue on and did. The Tower appeared before Tyranisalath. Magnificient and awe inspiring, less because of it's architecture and far more because of what it represented. It represented his path forward, as well as the road that had brought him here. He would walk the same steps his father did and he could only pray that his decisions would be different and that he would have the strength he knew his father lacked.
Inside, the tower radiated with magic. It was almost overwhelming. He began to understand why his father had stayed away all those years. Still, his father had married and had a family, he made that decision as well as the one to pursue magic. Tyranisalath didn't make that choice. He didn't have that burden. He was alone. He could choose magic alone. Unfortunately, he knew that he could only progress so far on his own. The spellbooks he had recovered would help, but the more advanced magic in those books would require him to submit himself to the test. Before he could do that he knew he would need further training. He began to move further inside the tower when he was met by an older man wearing black robes. Ancient by human standards, Tyranisalath knew how powerful he must be. He bowed before the mage and found that he had barely nodded his head in response. As Tyranisalath began the speech he had worked up the mage gestured for silence. "I know who you are. I know why you've come. I don't have time to listen to you prattle on." Tyranisalath forced his mouth shut and gulped. "You'll be useful enough. Maybe you'll even live." Tyranisalth said nothing. He got the impression that this is exactly what the man wanted. He followed as the mage walked slowly in front of him. He glanced around warily. He had not been expecting this. The black robes had always concerned him. He knew his father had dealings with several of them. Even the kindest were harsh. A piece of him (most likely the elven one) shuddered at the thought of what this man had most likely done. It didn't matter now though. He seemed to have little choice. The man emanated magic, far more powerful than any he'd known. While he would never wear the black robes himself, he knew this man could teach him. He knew that even if the man granted him only a glimpse into the power he possessed it would be enough. He realized that the man was now staring at him. They had stopped moving and Tyranisalath had continued to work through these thoughts. "I have business to attend to. You will aid me. We are leaving now." The man said this and Tyranisalath knew it was more of an order than an explanation. THe mage turned from him and then turned back as though he had forgotten soomething. "I am High Archmage Falkore Ironforge. You will address me as Master." Tyranisalath gulped again and then answered. "Yes, Master." The man turned back, spoke words that Tyranisalath could barely understand, and they were gone.
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He states simply 'You might start with that one.. or you could take a look at the latest story..'
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Final Consideration: End or Beginning by Tycho, posted on Tue Aug 11 12:27:43 2020.
Tycho awoke again, finding himself standing upright in a clean hall of expertly polish marble. The Tower of High So(read more)....
The Storytellers of Ansalon, The DragonLance MUD
Astinus points to the massive wall of books behind him and bids you to make a selection.
Authors: All|A|B|C|D|E|F|G|H|I|J|K|L|M|N|O|P|Q|R|S|T|U|V|W|X|Y|Z
All|A|B|C|D|E|F|G|H|I|J|K|L|M|N|O|P|Q|R|S|T|U|V|W|X|Y|Z
Astinus mentions 'We have had over 845 storytellers on Ansalon pen their epic stories here for all to read.'
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