An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Ghared.

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 leather bound tome with glowing glyphs on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Ghared' scribed in orange ink.

Author:           Ghared
Date    Sat Dec  3 09:51:29 2005
Subject  Shao 

The cleric Makarth and I planned an attack.  A monk was to be the victim 
this time.  Standing in the open, I brought the monk to us after speaking 
words of prayer.  He arrived confused, seizing this oppurtunity I threw rose 
petals and the confusion in his eyes dissapated.  At once, I wrecked his 
body with maladictions and watched with a smile as he fell to his knees, 
weak and helpless.  My hand found its way to my mace, I lifted it and 
brought it down upon him.  The charm lifted and the monk staggered to get to 
his feet, laughing at the sight, I watched as he struggled to flee.  I 
walked slowly, not wishing to exert any effort in giving chase and to allow 
the monk to fully absorb his untimely fate.  It ended with mercy however, as 
the sounds of boots and loud cries rang high in the air.  Once more, I 
lifted my mace and brought it down upon him.   

Author:    Ghared         
Date:      Thu Dec 11 09:07:31 2008
Subject     Intervention

A whisper rose above the dark stillness and silence.

"You are a fool...even though the light of the morrow is destined to
overcome the darkness of this night, the light can only hold its breath in
fear. In fear of their foresight of the shadows that lurk deep within the
earth, only revealed as the light basks in its certainty of glory and hope
to come. The essence of light breeds ignorance and the dreams of
infallibility then come hand in hand. They provide us with a breeding
ground; their happiness feeds our souls with envy ...I long to extend this
retched hand to one that does not comprehend this fear." With a snarl, the
soft whisper is betrayed by a light growl...

"Look into my eyes, do you understand of what I speak....Appear as no other
would, flesh and bone rotten, fallen sinews and wrinkled skin... feed me
your anguish and hopelessness."

A sharp cry rings out and malignant sounds of bodily desecration are barely
audible over the shrill cry to the pantheon of all gods...then silence.

The surronding space seemed hardly inhabited; dust covered the walls and
earth of this cove in the mountains near Sanction. A sliver of light made
its way by the last bend of the tunnel that was the last to bear witness to
the dragging of a bounded man. At the threshold of the cove, the lights
reach ended short, illuminating the area only a few feet away of the dark
figure that lay sprawled opposite. The figure lay motionless across the
narrow space. A smell of putridity and rot slowly lifted itself to mingle
with the musky, dusty air.

A man gasps out a series of shivers and moans, his gasps only exacerbated
with the wheezing noises arising from his lungs in a rhythmic fashion.

"How useless are these guards now a days, simply pawns of their highlords,
none without a single mind to commit actions that tell otherwise. This calls
for greater interference, but one must be cautious. Many are on the trail,
they have picked up the foul scent of evil in this mysterious dagger, and
now the lapping tongues are on their way.

Suddently, a shape stirs the serenity of the dust; sounds of flapping
sandals can be heard echoing their departure. 

Author:    Ghared         
Date:      Thu Dec 11 09:26:35 2008
Subject     The First Interrogation: The Search for the Knife of Darcart

A whisper rose above the dark stillness and silence.

"You are a fool...even though the light of the morrow is destined to
overcome the darkness of this night, the light can only hold its breath in
fear. In fear of their foresight of the shadows that lurk deep within the
earth, only revealed as the light basks in its certainty of glory and hope
to come. The essence of light breeds ignorance and the dreams of
infallibility then come hand in hand. They provide us with a breeding
ground; their happiness feeds our souls with envy ...I long to extend this
retched hand to one that does not comprehend this fear."

With a snarl the soft whisper is betrayed by a light growl..."Look into my
eyes, do you understand of what I speak..Appear as no other would, flesh and
bone rotten, fallen sinews and wrinkled skin...feed me your anguish and
hopelessness."

A sharp cry rings out and malignant sounds of bodily desecration are barely
audible over the shrill cry to the pantheon of all gods...then silence.

The surronding space seemed hardly inhabited; dust covered the walls and
earth of this cove in the mountains near Sanction. A sliver of light made
its way by the last bend of the tunnel that was the last to bear witness to
the dragging of a bounded man. At the threshold of the cove, the lights
reach ended short, illuminating the area only a few feet away of the dark
figure that lay sprawled opposite. The figure lay motionless across the
narrow space. A smell of putridity and rot slowly lifted itself to mingle
with the musky, dusty air.

A man gasps out a series of shivers and moans, his gasps only exacerbated
with the wheezing noises arising from his lungs in a rhythmic fashion.

"How useless are these guards now a days, pawns of their highlords, none
without a single mind to commit otherwise, this calls for greater
interference, yet one must be cautious. Many are on the trail, they have
picked up the foul scent of this mysterious evil dagger, now..the lapping
tongues are on their way."

Suddently, a shape stirs the serentiy of the dust; sounds of flapping
sandals can be heard echoing their departure. 

Author:    Ghared         
Date:      Sat Jan 18 05:09:08 2025
Subject     A Mundane Promise (1 of 2)

Staggering into a side alley off Sword Street, Ghared swung himself to
the ground, using his wooden staff as a counterbalance. He dropped down as
soon as his back touched the rough brick wall of a nearby house. In his
resting position, he coughed frequently, each burst accompanied by mild
tremors and twitches. After every few coughs, he leaned leftward, tilting
his head toward Sword Street. He noted with concealed amusement the
reactions of passersby: curious sympathy, mild apathy, but mostly genuine
disgust. Truthfully, his body felt broken, forced into a staggered motion
with long, deep breaths after a sudden, painful seizure had completely
halted his movements moments earlier.

He lifted his right arm from the cover of his brown robes, examining it with
a fleeting sense of detachment. His amusement quickly vanished at the sight
of grotesque boils that marred pink, grey, and yellow-shaded skin. He
quickly retracted his arm, hiding it beneath his robes once more. Looking up
at the sky, he noticed a strong pink hue in the corner of his vision before
slumping to his side and collapsing onto the floor. The time spent on the
cold, hard ground had been largely undisturbed, save for the occasional
flurry of scampering cats and darting rats, neither of which roused him from
his fitful slumber.

Hours passed before his eyes fluttered open. Using his wooden staff, Ghared
pushed himself to his feet, grimacing at the effort it took to extend his
stiffened limbs. "In Kalaman, word of a jaundiced man with skin covered in
boils would surely garner unwelcome attention," he muttered to himself. "I'd
best make haste out of the city."

Before stepping into the main thoroughfare, he hesitated and glanced once
more at his arm. Seeing the same diseased condition as before, Ghared raised
his left arm to his chest and began muttering guttural words under his
breath. A wave of discomfort washed over him as he noticed a feeling of
emptiness and stillness-the divine connection he had once relied upon was
absent. He spoke the prayer more deliberately, his voice thick with
determination, as he contemplated the purpose of his journey. 

Author:    Ghared         
Date:      Sat Jan 18 05:14:34 2025
Subject     A Mundane Promise (2 of 2)

Ghared recalled the months of disciplined effort it had taken to track
down an informant-the skill he exhibited in hunting and uncovering the
rogue's trail to Kalaman. He remembered the willpower it required to avoid
unnecessary conflict, instead leveraging his Master's divine blessing to
ensure a slow and excruciating end for the informant. All of it had been in
service to his god, yet now he stood bereft of the very power he had so
dutifully wielded.

Leaning heavily on his staff, Ghared resumed his march. He anticipated
finding respite, yet within minutes, his world began to spin. Barely able to
hold his stance, let alone move, he let out a quiet hiss as pain surged
through his limbs. His grip on the staff tightened as he braced himself
against another attack-this one more severe than the last.

Eyes clenched shut, Ghared's mind was consumed by a sudden flashback. A
memory surfaced: the first time he'd been afflicted by the Gray Fever. He
saw his hands, mottled with the same shades of pink, grey, and yellow that
now marked his skin. That memory dissolved, replaced by others-the delight
he had felt when desecrating an altar of Chislev, the dizzying pain from a
snake's vengeful bite as he extracted its venom. More meaningful memories
followed: his struggle to overcome the Gray Fever, the pact he had made with
the Rat King to bind himself to the disease, and the countless times he had
weaponized the sickness against the enemies of the Bronze Tower, all in the
name of earning his Master's favor.

The escalating pain forced him to the ground, where he lay prone and
convulsing. Driven purely by survival instinct, Ghared managed to side-crawl
back into the alleyway, desperately clinging to his fraying consciousness.
Rage filled him as the realization struck: he had angered his god. The
divine blessing that bound the disease to his body while shielding him from
its effects had been undone. The symptoms of the Gray Fever were no longer
dormant.

Now on his back, Ghared reached beneath his robes and lifted a rusty iron
talisman hanging from his neck to his lips. He began to pray with feverish
fervor, pleading for atonement. He begged forgiveness for whatever egregious
folly he had unknowingly committed in his Master's name. He asked for the
strength to endure the pain as penance. Above all, he prayed for time-time
to remain on the Material Plane to continue his work of bringing pain, rot,
and decay to its denizens in service to his Master.

"I will take the seven poisons that marked my initiation into your clergy,"
Ghared vowed. "I will prove my strength. I will bind myself with the Black
Plague and through it,  bind my fate to your will once again." 

Author:    Ghared         
Date:      Wed Aug 20 16:39:40 2025
Subject     Chaos Magic

A shimmer in the air passed through the room, a gust of wind that seemed
to disturb the candles that illuminated his book and the torch opposite his
door in the hall leaving behind a slight trail.

Ghared caught the sound of the torch fires as they flickered and resisted
throughout the hallway. Instinctively, he reached for and squeezed a tiny
talisman hanging from his wrist. 

Uttering a singular guttural word to strengthen the illumination, Ghared was
surprised as the walls and ceiling turned a faint purple/blue-ish hue, as
the fire stretched with intensity but and shifted colors prismatically
within seconds.

Ghared called for an acolyte, annoyed and concerned by the abrupt
disruption.

"Acolyte Sipfho,  Attend me!"

The sound of robes and wooden sandals echoed loudly in the hallway and
within moments an ugly gaunt man stepped in, his apologetic expression
hidden underneath the many moles and blisters that riddled his face. 

Ghared stared at the Acolyte with disgust before he rose to his feet. He
snarled loudly, 

"Acolyte Sipfho, something or someone has disturbed the grounds." He stopped
briefly to close his eyes and grasp a much larger talisman hanging from his
neck."

A moment later, Ghared opened them again, his lips curling in anger as he
spoke "You led the ritual of disguise this evening, did you not?" His words
echoed quietly as the light in the room suddenly and without warning
returned to normal. 

The acolyte looked around as the purple/blue hue dissipated into the dark
shadows cast by the usual torch and candle light. "Yes, priestI tended to
the burning personally. I spread the ashes myself." He paused for a moment
considering his next words. "Perhaps we are receiving an omen from the Lord
of Pestilence." He asked with a hint of bemusement. 

Ghared chuckled, "And what would you know of this."

"You seem to forget, Acolyte. Only the high priests commune directly with
the lord. No, something else has cross the thresholds of our grounds."
Ghared continued cautiously, "It would seem that it has also run its
course." 

Ghared moved swiftly towards the door, lifting the torch opposite his door
and pointing it towards each side of the hallway. "Come, let us find the
others." 

Ghared and Sipfho moved quietly through the hall, the silence weighing
heavily as they pricked their ears in anticipation. 

As they neared a dead-end, a glint of yellow metal caught a light from a
torch within a tiny alcove in the wall. A wall which served as a secret
entrance and exit to their temple. 

Sipfho was the first to reach for the object, He whispered a prayer before
picking it up gently. Turning the object around as he tried to fathom its
purpose. At last, he brought the object to his face. 

Suddenly, a translucent shape appeared, an apparition that seemed to project
out from the mask. The creature starred at a wall for a moment before
turning to stare at Siphfo. and Ghared . :

"Tis but a sample of Chaos itself! Come find me!"

Ghared could barely make out details but before he could properly react, the
creature had disappeared its body floating into the wall. 

Ghared watched with astonishment as Siphfo handed him the faceplate"Priest?"

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 890 storytellers on Ansalon pen their epic stories here for all to read.'