The Great Library of Palanthas

An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Feirn.

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 miniscule pocket book on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Feirn' scribed in dull brown ink.


Author:    Feirn          
Date:      Thu Oct  8 02:10:16 2009
Subject     One Hundred Years Waiting.


Feirn Than'Kar Salan sits quietly in his roughly hewn chair, absentmindedly watching tiny vibrations play across his untouched burgundy wine. The glass is filthy, crusted with grime though the wine is is fragrant enough. Feirn reaches out with his hand, his alabaster robes slipping down his thin pale arms. He gently tips the wine glass back, splashing his drink slightly. It overflows, dribbling wine onto the table. He smiles pleasantly as a hooded figure in red enters the tavern, and withdraws his hand. He gestures politely for the newcomer to sit. "It is not like an elf to be late Quinenthal." The man chuckles and removes his hood, revealing an old bearded face! "I'm only half elven old friend, so I hope I am excused. Nobody has called me my proper name in quite some time, it is simply Master Quinn now." The red robed man smirks and hails a barmaid, ordering the house ale. "I was surprised to receive your message Feirnthuan, you haven't left the Qualinosti lands in one hundred years. This matter must be of some importance to bring you so far from the Speaker of the Sun." Feirn nods solemnly, handing a delicate scroll to Master Quinn. "We senses the world is begin to churn once more. The old powers stir, many who slumber have been disturbed. The Speaker has decided it would be wise to rekindle our forgotten ties. The Speaker has named me a Qualinesti ambassador to the Conclave." Master Quinn breaks the scroll's seal and quickly reads the elvish script. He frowns, not entirely pleased with what he has read. He leans back, gently massaging his brow. "Old friend, the Conclave will not be pleased with the arrogance of the elves. My order is proud and powerful, you cannot be expect to simply be admitted?" Feirn stares back blankly, blinking once in the silence. "Quienethal, I do not understand. If it is a matter of my skill, surely you can vouch for my talent. Have I not abided by the rules of high sorcery?." Master Quinn waves off his friend, groaning to himself. "No Feirnthuan, you will be expected to endure the Test. Your talent cannot be denied, but is your will strong enough?" Feirn Than'Kar Salan sighs heavily, bringing his hands together in contemplation. "If that is what must pass, then I have little choice. One hundred years ago I saw little to learn from wizards and magi. But my seclusion has dulled my art, and perhaps I was too hasty." Master Quinn snorts, "The Conclave was less than thrilled when you spurned their invitation to further your art Feirn. As was I." The half elf rises to leave, bowing to his friend. "I will notify the order of your arrival, and perhaps they will answer." Feirn Than'Kar Salan bowed and returned to his wine watching.

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 sighs as he recants 'We saved 803 books from Ansalon from before the great Cataclysm through today.'
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