The Great Library of Palanthas

An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Elsinora.

A little gully dwarf runs by and says 'Wordwrap Off 65 80.'
The gully continues 'Eyes hurt? Turn Color OFF!! (regular story dates)

Astinus says 'Enter the main library here to view only the author list.'
Astinus gently places a heavy leather-bound book on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Elsinora' scribed in dark red ink.

Author:    Elsinora       
Date:      Sun Mar 22 22:01:45 2009
Subject     Finding her Balance - Part 1

Many years ago...
The autumn air had a tinge of summer to it as Elsinora of the Silvanesti noble
house H'Chano walked through her family's gardens, the pride and joy of all
elves of her lineage.  Though there were rumblings of worldly distress outside
of her homrland's borders, nothing seemed amiss in the kingdom, and thus,
nothing was wrong with the world as far as Elsinora was concerned.
While in the midst of her walk, Elsinora noticed three or four of the fragrant
flowering bushes in the middle of the garden had yet to lose their petals, an
occurrence which released the pleasant scents for whcih the plants were famed.
With a flip of her hand and only a mere thought, she stirred up a quick gust
of breeze to rattle the buds,sending the petals to  the dirt, and releasing the
soft, sweet smell into the air around her.
She chuckled.  Though many would scoff at the most minor of arcane spells, she
knew deep in her soul that no spell was too minor to be useful or appreciated.
Besides, there were so many areas of magic considered dangerous, those of her
kingdom should always be happy to employ any arcana allowed to them.
With that borderline-scandalous though in mind, Elsinora turned to leave the
enclosure, when she noticed the strangest thing:
All of the trees were oozing somthing red.  Indeed, it looked like the trees
were weeping blood.
She feared her thoughts of unpure magic brought about the displeasure of her
god, Solinari; this perversion of her soul was being shown in the perversion
of her family's precious garden.
As she began backing away from the horrid scene, she bumped into a tree outside
of the garden, near her family's manor.  It, too, was weeping blood.
At this point, she heard a great clamoring from all around the area; dozens upon
dozens of gasps and horrified shouts spoke to her that this was not just an
incidental occurrence in her garden, but that it happened elewhere, perhaps
throughout the entire kingdom of the Silvanesti.
Rushing to her mentor's abode, she pounded on the door, begging him to come
out and help explain to her what was transpiring.  When finally he did open the
door, she saw a tired and wearied look in his ancient eyes.
"Elsi, my child, this is not any of our doing, but the fault of the humans.  I 
am sure this is a test put upon us by the pantheon of goodly gods.  We must
endure this horrific vision if our elven nation is to remain pure and goodly.
Ignore the blood-weeping trees, and pray that Soinari knows what is right."
Though her mentor's words spoke sense, a deeper welling of her soul cried out
to her to find out if Solinari would truly allow this to happen to his beloved
people.  Elsinora rushed back home and began weeping at her misfortune to live
in a time when the faith of elves would be so challenged.  She knew she could do
something to staunch this horrendous happening, but it would mean she believed
that Solinari wasn't looking out for the Silvanesti nation.
Years ago, when she realized her magical talents, she had come across a wall
mirror which showed no reflection.  She knew it was some sort of artifact
which deserved further study, but she knew she was not experienced enough to
do what it would take to find out just what it could be used for.  In her
desperate state, Elsinora knew this was the moment when she would have to trust
in herself that she could save her people, even if it meant skirting the border
of permissible magic.  Using or even exploring an unknown device like this may
be seen by some as the behavior of an elf refusing traditional magical use.
Still, she could not believe Solinari, or any goodly god, would allow such bad
things to happen to good elves.
Grasping the mirror, she spoke only the words of an identifying spell, hoping
to find out its nature without activating the item.  As he hands passed over the
mirror's surface, a duplicate hand appeared out of the blackness.  Pausing
in the midst of her spell, Elsinora's concentration flagged, the hand reached out
for hers.
And she vanished, pulled into its depths, days before the Cataclysm was to happen.
(to be concluded...)

Author:    Elsinora       
Date:      Sun Mar 22 22:08:07 2009
Subject     Finding her Balance - Part 2

Several months ago...
A peddlar in Solace was looking for someone to purchase a strange painting of an
elven woman.  Though he had it in his possession for only a short while, he
could not quite remember how that had come to pass.  But every time he looked at
the image in the portrait, it seemed as though she aged.  He could have sworn
that at one time, the hair had been as jet black as the background; now, it was
shot through with strands of grey.
An older man, his brown travelling robes barely concealing the soft black robes
underneathe, approached the man's good, not expecting to find anything of value.
With a wave of his hands and a few murmured words, the portrait began to give off
a faint golden glow.  The man's eyes widened in amazement.
"Peddlar, how much for this item, this painting?"
"Oh, well, that's hard to say," the peddlar replied, "it's such a rare example
of the great artist Yan Vinquette.  You must know of him; he's the most respected
artist in all of Solamnia.  Surely, I can't let it go for less than 5 steel."
"I will take your offer," sneered the man as he handed the coins to him.  As soon
as the object was in his hands he added, "but know this: you just parted with an
object worth fifty times that to any mage worth his component bag."
Leaving the peddlar speechless, the man left the bazaar, relishing in his good
fortune over having found such a powerful object.
After he returned to his room within the Inn of the Last Home, he placed the
framed item on the bed, and spoke a few protective words to ward off the cursed
trapping effects he knew such a device must carry as one of its enchantments.
With the protective spells laid acrss it like a fine casting net, he spoke the
spidery words of magic which would expose to him the true nature of this item's
powers.  He was not disappointed.
As he passed his hands over the painting, the image began to stir; first, the
woman blinked; then, she began to move her head around.  Soon, she was looking
at the border of the painting, examining them from the inside as if they were
walls keeping her in - as well they were.
The man, whose name has been lost to the ages, was taken aback.  He though the
image was part of the magical snare he detected, not a living being.  He was
about to cease his spellcasting and set up a new layer of protection when the
elven woman began pounding on the painting from the inside.  Each impact of her
fist caused the image to shake and bend outward.  Soon, cracks appeared and
what can only be described as dark orange light poured out through the cracks.
The man, too stunned by his discivery to do much more, sat agape as the cracks
formed into a spiderweb of dark orange energy.  Finally, the surface could take
it no longer as is buckled and blew out into a million pieces.  These coalesced
around the black robe mage, and, despite all of his previous protections,
ensnared and dragged him into the magical mirror as well.
Elsinora, after having spent centuries locked into a slivered portal between
Krynn and the Abyss, was free at last.  Hearing the torments of the Abyss behind
her, while helplessly watching the events of the world in front of her, had
forever marred her soul.  No longer was she the pure servant of the goodly gods,
but she could not endure the pain and savagery inflicted by the evil gods.  But
she could not help but be in awe of the power wielded by bith the dark and light
sides of arcanum.  She knew she could never content herself with just one-third
of the magic she knew was out there waiting to be used.
She had been reborn, still relishing the thrill of magic, knowing that Solinari,
if he had been testing the elven people, had done so witout realizing that only
the most goodly devoted could have done so, while damning and dooming the
majority of mortals to death.  Elsinora had learned through her torments in the
Abyssal mirror that magic wielded only for goodly would never be for the greater
good: only a true balance between goodly and evil magic could ensure that the
majority of mortals would be saved in this world.
So as she left the Inn of the Last Home, she turned north, away from her elven
homeland, and towards the local temple of the only one who is dedicated to the
balance she knows is so vital to the survival of magic: Lunitari.

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 mentions 'We have had over 825 storytellers on Ansalon pen their epic stories here for all to read.'