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 leather bound tome with glowing glyphs to an Aesthetic standing by you. You note the spine bears the word 'Immotalus' scribed in deep brown ink. As you glance down at the page you read..

From the pages of Immotalus's book..

Author: Immotalus Date: Thu Sep 23 00:05:44 2010 Subject Recruitment "Is it dead?" "Dunno. Kick it." A groan escapes the prone figure. "Guess no-are those horns?" "Shit-it's one of those cow people." "Let's gut it now." Immotalus lay face down on the sand. Annoyed at the bickering, she lifts her snout-snorts-and proceeds to rise. She shakes off sand, a strand of kelp, and a horseshoe crab that took interest in her tail-she stomps on it for good measure. Crack. The soldiers turn at the sound and unsheathe their swords to face the 7' frame. Immo snorts again-"Humans." "Gotta problem with us ya udder-" "First-I'm a Minotaur. Idiot. Second-that hurt." Not waiting for a response, she lunges forward, goring the speaker. As the others struggle into defensive positions and try to surround her, she lashes out with a hoof-smashing into a knee. Reaching down, Immo rips off the crab's tail and stabs it into the fallen man's eye. The gored one remains motionless-red pools blossoming from 2 puncture wounds in the chest. There's a slight jingle of chainmail and the minotaur backhands the soldier behind her. "Anyone else hungry? It's on the house" she grumbles. The rest edge away. Shaking her head, Immo rips some cloth off a corpse to wipe blood off her horns. A spot of white amid the blood, leather, and steel catches her eye. Immo grabs a crumpled parchment stained a dull red-brown from a body. A bright red wax seal is open. It has a dragon's image imprinted. Growling-Immo ignores the wary humans as she leaves the ferry. The parchment is illegible save for "Dragonarmy" in fading words. Snort. "He won't be needing this anymore." Author: Immotalus Date: Thu Sep 30 02:18:38 2010 Subject Recruitment II Overbearing heat chokes the air. Everything is lit in a deep red hue-courtesy of the Lords of Doom. As a result, smoke replaces clouds in the evening sky. A minotaur appears from a rocky outcropping-she treads carefully as ashe maneuvers over the uneven terrain. Volcanic auras dye her fur a blood-red-her horns gleam white then crimson. Down the path looms a menacing structure-a temple carved from the igneous rocks. Feeling oddly drawn to it, Immotalus proceeds towards the edifice. The minotaur enters a canyon-like crevice. A massive maw gapes ahead. Some stones are dislodged overhead, trickling down the rockface. Immo unsheathes her blades and crouches instinctively. Just as she crouches, a winged predator swoops down and alights on the branch of a charred tree. It was too large to be a hawk, more massive than an eagle. The creature screams and spreads its wings-"definitely larger than I am" Immo thinks to herself. Its feathers emit a lurid red-orange glow. Pheonix? She shakes her head. Bright likes flames yet dark as the ashes and destruction it briths. The creature ruffles its black-red plummage and assumes a guarded stance. Bowing once to the Great Condor, Immotalus mounts the obsidian steps and enters the Temple of Sargonnas Sun has long departed and the moons have taken their positions in the night sky. As Immotalus' hooves reach the last steps, she catches a blur in her periphery. Warily, she faces the phantasmal figure, hands on her dagger's hilt. A bright ball of light flickers into existence, dancing in pale white hands. The hands belong to a short figure-a dwarf-garbed in tattered robes. His face is completely obscured within the hood's depths. Immo growls-suspicious at the magic but more so at the dark aura emanating from the Theiwar. This individual is lethal. "So, I hear you want to join the war?" He twirls a wax sealed parchment. Immo nods stiffly. "Yes sir." The hood moves slightly as the figure nods. "Ready for your first orders?" No t waiting for a response "Meet up with Edwik and his men. Your unit awaits you in Neraka.Head east. Destination: Kendermore." With that, he mumbles and the light vanishes. Immo barely discerns the figure's faint outline as he merges with the shadows and disappears. She snorts, and sets off at a brisk pace towards Neraka. Author: Immotalus Date: Thu Sep 30 02:37:04 2010 Subject Kendermore Campaign "They've taken the bait sir." Immotalus looks down at the human and nods. She looks at the maps sprawled over the table. A part of her wonders why Kendermore, but the Highlord commands it, and she will follow her orders. "The men are ready. We ride out in five." With that, Edwik salutes and exits the tent. Immo follows suit a few minutes later, and scans the encampment. She towers over the majority of the 150 men, save for a few other minotaurs and ogres. Peering into the distance, she observes as the Knights of Hylo skirmish and overwhelm the Dragonarmy reconnaissance party. She growls to herself, "Should probably check that out..." Facing a group of goblins and hobgoblins preparing to leave, she directs them to follow her. As the small unti heads for the ambush site, the main body commences the massive assault Goodlund. From afar, Immo grunts in satisfaction as catapults fling flaming boulders at the city and its defenses. Embracing the adrenaline rush, Immo starts to run-the mounted soldiers struggle to match her pace. Immotalus and her unit near the Knights of Hylo as they retreat to defend the city. She spots the scout leader-an 8' red minotaur-and snorts derisively "captured by kender..." Just then a kender flies out of hiding and attempts to grapple with he r Disgusted, Immo flings the kender away, sending it soaring into a wall. Crack. The small form remains motionless. More kender start appearing, many fleeing and many attacking. Looking around, Immo realizes they were diverting them away from the c hildren. Grinning, she roars, stunning those escaping, and sets upon them with bloodlust. Moments later, she regroups with the main body. Kendermore burns. As the men finish off survivors and begin looting, Immotalus catches a flash of bright greens and yellows. She watches as a kender-a Priest of Chislev?-leads some children to safety. Before Immo could call attention to them, smoke and debris obscure sight for a moment and seconds later, they were gone. Shaking her head, she wades through a sea of child-like bodies in search of Edwik. The human is drenched in blood-not his own-wiping gore off his blade. "Immo! This just came for you." He hands over a scroll sealed in red wax. Unfurling it, she stares at an empty parchment. "What kind of jo-" A voice speaks in her mind: "Good job Immotalus. As soon as possible, I want you to head towards these locations." Names appear as ink blots the blank paper. "Edwik! Have the men "clean" up survivors-we can't be burdened with prisoners. Station a unit here to discourage anymore bright ideas from these kender." "Then?" "Then we move out." As Edwik leaves to execute his orders, he beheads a groaning kender and starts kicking the head around like a ball. Chuckling, Immo memorizes the messages and tosses the scrolls into the fire, flames immediately devour it. Suddenly, she feels a warmth on her chest. Looking down, Immotalus sees an insignia burned into her leather armor- a permanent etching of a Red Dragon. Author: Immotalus Date: Sat Oct 9 07:20:51 2010 Subject "Sargas. Give me strength." "Damn!" The leather-garbed minotaur clenches her fist and slams it on the table. "Sargas damn those Solamnics..." "Who knew tin-cans could amount to anything?" said Edwik, as he used a dagger to pick dried blook from under his nails. He would stop at intervals to throw small blades at a kender strung up on a battered board at the tent's opposite end. "Just kill the damn thing already" the red furred minotaur growls. He raises his eyebrows in mock innocence "Now where's the fu n in that?" And releases another-the steel cuts through the air and hits its mark, severing a tiny finger. "Hmph. Prefer a Solamnic strung up there. Now THAT would be fun." "Patience Immotalus. Can't bash metal head-on, you'll just bounce..." Immo waves off Edwik's words of wisdom. She retrieves the parchment that flew off the table. Scans the bottom where it's blank. Ink suddenly breaks the rough surface, meandering across. "Let me guess, we're going back" declares the human. Immo no ds. He looks up for a moment, wrinkles his brow in thought "now where were the dragons?", and resumes his activities. "Where indeed" she thinks. She stands, stretches, and exits the musty, copper-scented tent. Dusk settles in. Save for the sentires and lookouts, the rest of the men are sleeping, drinking and eating-not in that particular order. Rubbing an old scar along her snout, Immotalus heads out of camp. This contingent was heading south to rendevous with another regiment. Then the Knights took Kalaman-with a force a thousand strong she heard. She shakes her horned head and sighs. "Despite the numbers, that would've been a wondrous battle to partake in." Growling, she strikes out, snapping some foliage-disturbing the silence that has settled around. Finally, Immo reaches a clearing in the grassy plains. Reaching under her armor, she pulls out a red-black feather. It emits a lurid gleam as it's twirled on its stem. The sky is on fire now-a grim flame of deep scarlet and waning orange and yellow." "Sargas. GIve us strength. Give ME strength." Finishing her short prayer, Immotalus put her talisman away. She doesn't know if her prayer will be answered, but she does know this: The Solamnics victory is ephemeral-she grips her daggers-as are their lives. Author: Immotalus Date: Tue Nov 2 04:33:02 2010 Subject War-Frustrations Thwock. Another blade cuts the air and lands with a thud against the wood board. Simultaneously, a finger falls in a bloody flop to the red-stained floor. "Score!" Edwik downs another tankard of ale. "Glad you're enjoying yourself" mumbles the mi notaur. "Aw C'mon Immo. Give it a try-there are plenty of 'em." Edwik hands over a dagger and sticks a thumb at the cages overflowing with prisoners of war-bloodied, emaciated, pathetic. Snorting, Immotalus ignores the proferred blade and grabs a steel axe off its rack and throws it at the helpless strung human. The axe rotates through the air and lands squarely in the neck-cleanly severing the head. The head flips down in a wet arc and joins the limbs pile-cherry on top. Edwik rolls his eyes. "Nevermind. You wasted 5 hours of select dismemberment.." Immo waves off another rant, apologizes, and exits the chamber. She mounts and ascends slick black stone steps, shoving past saluting sivaks garbed in Red uniforms. The minotaur clears the temple compound. She growls in irritation. It's been weeks since she received her last orders-days since the last report, detailing losses incurred by the Solamnics. Sols outnumber them and have been routing DA forces in Qualinesti and Southgate-and there's nothing she could do. "Hello! Would you like to purch-" Immo bares her teeth and gores the merchant attempting to sell his wares. The merchant falls down, gasping and coughing up blood. He stares down at the 2 puncture wounds in his chest-also welling up crimson. Sneering, the minotaur grabs the human and stomps off towards the North gate and into the city's outskirts. Author: Immotalus Date: Thu Jan 13 21:03:01 2011 Subject Revenge: The Aftershocks of War, Part 1 Magma swells and deflates, gurgling and bubbling as it flows through cracks and crevasses. Igneous rocks solidify then crumble into several charred pieces. Fumes coil lazily with thick pops from roiling red-orange liquid. A horned creature sits cross-legged amid the fire and stone, its fur a deep crimson cast by the chamber's lurid glow. Suddenly it rises. The creature leaves the sacred chamber, coming upon aslight promontory. The horned head turns as it surveys the Dragonarmy camp.New orders have been issued to reinforce an ally, then resume under his/her command. It's late-the encampment and surrounding foliage cast long shadows, stretching out into deep dark pool. "Immotalus, we're just about ready." salutes a black-haired minotaur. He's clad in steel plated armor with red filigree to represent the Red Wing.Immo nods. "Firaloth, have the men rest now. Tomorrow, there'll be no breaks until we reach our destination." As the soldier departs, the red-furred minotaur catches a slight flicker of light between shadows in her periphery.Snarling, she pivots with daggers drawn. Silence, trees, and rocks greet her stance, with the occasional insect chirping. "Someone small, definitely smelled...something...familiar." she thinks. A mountain lion cub rushes from the undergrowth, hackles raised at the minotaur, then pounces away. "Hmph. Cats." Sheathing her daggers, Immotalus starts toward the communal tent where a frothing tankard of ale awaits. As the sun sets, the rising cacophony of evening revelries is matched-soon surpassed-by a chorus of an army of insects. Author: Immotalus Date: Thu Jan 13 21:22:24 2011 Subject Revenge: The Aftershocks of War, Part 3 Nostrils flaring, the red-furred minotaur twirls a dagger. Metal tip spinning upon the weathered wooden surface, it narrowly misses thin, green-brown mottled fingers."Cedrahil, the ranger, says the bugs-" The blade rises and settles firmly with a thud into the wood between two trembling digits.The hand almost retracts instinctively."I don't care. Just get rid of them" orders the horned creature. Bobbing its head, the goblin salutes, and scrambles out immediately. A large, black-furred minotaur enters, its armor scratched and dented. "Yes Firaloth?" "First insects and their incessant chirping, then packs of wolves devour half our supplies" he shakes his head " these plagues are unnatural." Immotalus resheathes the dagger and moves over to the large map set over a nearby desk. As she mulls over the intended route, she nods "How bad?" "We'll have to ration what's left until we can restock or send for more. Water's low, sent some men down the river to refill-" She looks up"What's wrong with the water?" He scratches a furred jowl "Well, uh, some birds decided to use the casks as baths and latrines sir. Some barrels also have wastes mixed in-in short, water's tainted." Growling, Immo grabs a quill, dips it in an inkwell, and scratches out more mumbers on a half-filled parchment."These small incidents are costing us..." she trails off.Ears twitch as they pick up a deep rumbling in the distance. Eyes flash down and notice slight ripples in the ink. The ripples increase in frequency and length; the sound continues to build. Firaloth reaches for an axe strapped to his side. Immotalus continues to listen and recognizes hooves pounding on packed dirt, snorts, and the sentries' alarmed shouts. Crescendo arrives; large, bulky forms tear through the tent's canvas. They upend the scarce furnishings. Burdened by heavy armor, Firaloth is only able to sidestep before a bison tackles him to the ground. Immo evades the first wave.Snarling, she turns and charges the incoming horde at an angle, knocking them off-balance.One large bison, nearly twice the size and weight of a fully mature minotaur, faces her, nostrils flaring, and attacks head lowered. Bracing herself, Immo draws her daggers; just as the bison is a breath away, she pivots, blades extended.The animal slashes itself on the lower blade, cutting its forelegs' ligaments and tripping, while the upper one cuts deeply across its side and fla nk. As the creature stumbles and falls, the minotaur deepens the gash, spilling intestines and additional organs. The bison twitches, breaths its last, then lay still. Immotalus gazes in disbelief as herds of bison seem to appear out of nowhere. They stream into camp, stampeding across tents, equipment, and trampling oblivious soldiers. Large groups, huddled across the camp, amid the chaos consist of men smart enough to form a shield of pikes and spears to ward off the enraged herd. Some are just bison stomping away on the unfortunate. Teeth bared, wrinkling her red-firred muzzle, Immotalus remembers something. She stabs a bison behind her, and turns to aid Firaloth who is buried beneath furious hooves. Kicking a bison and grabbing another by its horns, Immo twists, snaps its neck and tosses the corpse into another. The steel-armored minotaur finally stands up, metal dented and bruised."Regroup the men, kill and gather as many of these" she jerks her chin towards a corpse" as possible." Nodding, the minotaur wields his axe and shield, and proceeds to barrel into another group to relieve some ogres and goblins. A small shadow treads the conflict's outskirts. Immo spots a flash of yellow and green. "Kender" she mutters through gritted teeth.The minotaur picks up a broken shaft and spears a bison ready to gore her. Ignoring the blood spatter, she sprints toward where she last saw the culprit. Author: Immotalus Date: Thu Jan 13 21:32:27 2011 Subject Revenge: The Aftershocks of War, Part 5 "Gag her" As the kender's limbs were bound in rough twine, a wad of canvas is stuffed into her mouth, then secured around her head. The red minotaur crouches to eye level with the captive. "Here's a gift we fashioned for your race after we burned Kendermore to the ground." The minotaur grins wickedly as she presents a tiny, intricate contraption. It consists of several rings linked together by spiked chains of black iron. It doesn't have an obvious locking mechanism or a keyhole. The smaller rings are each further connected to a larger ring; it's thin compared to the smaller versions, with jagged edges of a sickly green hue. "Beautiful isn't it?" The minotaur mutters a few words and the rings and chains mold themselves onto the kender's fingers and wrists. She squirms uncomfortably as the contraption forces her hands into a cramped position. "Careful. Move your fingers a certain a way and you'll cut your wrists on those poisoned edges.Try to move wrists and you'll pull the finger chains tighter, until they dislocate the digits and sever them. Strain too hard and these spikes will crush them. And don't think about smashing the chains-magically enhanced with the Dark Queens' blessings. Nothing short of Reorx's hammer can break them." The horned creature chuckles. "Why all the trouble for this little toy? It's been known that the smallest of things cause the greatest of troubles." An aurak garbed in her Dark Majesty's robes arrives, a lily engraved gold chain hangs around its neck.He nods to Immotalus "Sergeant"."Cleric" she bows. Scratching a scar on her snout, the minotaur narrows her eyes at the prisoner. "Make it several more hours than usual." Flashing the kender a toothy grin, the draconian waves a clawed hand over her face, reciting arcane words. Slowly, the priestess' eyelids grow heavy; her head falls limp as sleep overcomes her. "Ssshall I throw in a nightmare?" Sneering, Immo shakes her horned head. "No, she'll be living it soon enough." The sun kisses the ricky hills in the distance. The minotaur allows her gaze to follow the yellow-orange glow. Evening light bathes the camp in warm hues. Tents are taken down and packed, along with equipment and supplies. Hatori are loaded up and fed for the journey ahead. Although a good amount of equipment was damaged, they'll deal. Food and water won't a be a problem-the dead bison they skinned, dried, and salted is sufficient for several months. Creativity struck some of the men, and they fashioned armor and weapons out of the bones and horns. Immotalus turns to watch some ogres hang the kender upside down from a tree.She smiles, remembering how prisoners are usually hung by the hands, until the enchanted chains cut through their skin and into the bone, dismembering and poisoning them. As the rest of the bison carcasses were hung alongside the culprit-some in piles at the tree's base-the minotaur makes an offering to Chislev. "In return for your priestess' life, interfere no longer." she prays silently, then kicks some dirt into the small fire. Smoke begins to rise. Snorting, the horned creature secures her blades and rejoins the departing Dragonarmy.

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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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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





Astinus says 'There are 18 authors starting with the letter I who have stories in the Palanthas library.'