An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Heremond.

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 beautiful hard bound book on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Heremond' scribed in rich blue ink.

Author:    Heremond       
Date:      Tue Oct 31 15:23:56 2017
Subject     HSQ2017

Caramon broke into a sprint, or what passed as a sprint for him these
days. He might have taken 20 steps before he started wheezing and then
another 40 before he had to stop, leaning against the cavern wall, gasping
for air. There wasn't much air to be had so far from the surface. Or was
that just in his head? He couldn't think straight, dripping sweat that was
probably more from his terror than his exhaustion.

"This is definitely the last time I become a drunken slob and get thrown out
of the house!" Caramon exclaimed in a terse whisper.

Caramon still didn't understand how Tasslehoff had talked him into this.
Sure, the last time he went on an adventure, he had traveled through time,
talked his brother out of becoming a god and destroying the world, and
returned home to Tika a new man, but how had he forgotten how painful
calisthenics could be?

Caramon's heart rate had become less frantic so that he could hear more than
just his strained intakes of breath, and thank Fizban for the timing,
because Caramon could now faintly hear the echoes of a slow tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap. He tried to take as silent of gulps of air as he could. Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound was getting louder. With his own lantern extinguished, there was
no light in any direction. He started to feel along the cave walls,
desperate for an escape, but he must have run into a dead end in his panic.
Tap. Tap. Tap.

No! Caramon wouldn't panic. He was a warrior. He was a Hero of the Lance! If
he was going to die, then he was going to stare death in the face as she
came. Tap. Tap. Tap. He slowly unsheathed his sword and inched himself
towards the approaching sound. Tap. Tap. Tap. As best he could tell in the
darkness, he had positioned himself with space to maneuver to all of his
sides. This would have to do for his last stand. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound was very close now, very very close. Tap. Tap. Tap. He raised his
blade over his head and moved to swing it down on where he guessed his
assailant must be. But the next tap never came, and then, suddenly, light.
The suddenness of the illumination blinded Caramon, and as he raised his
off-arm to shade his vision, he knew that he was dead. He would never see
Tika and her beautiful red curls again. He despaired that her last memory of
him would be of Caramon, the drunk.

Dad, what are you doing?

Caramon poked his head out from behind his arms. His eyes had adjusted the
light enough to see his son Palin standing before him, bemused expression on
his face, leaning heavily against his staff, the source of the tapping.

"I'm, uhh..." was all that Caramon could reply.

"Ugh, whatever. I didn't want to come camping with you, Tass, Tanin, and
Sturm in the first place, and now you're making me wander through this maze
of a cavern to find you. Can you just come back and set up our tent, so I
can fall asleep and get this whole trip over with?"

Right, Caramon thought. Teenagers. He could quit drinking when they were
older. 

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