The Great Library of Palanthas
An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.
Stories of Ansalon from the view of Khakarot.
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 platinum-covered book on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Khakarot' scribed in brilliant orange ink.
Author: Khakarot Date Mon Dec 24 13:29:47 2001 Subject The return of Khakarot its been a long time, but I have returned to reclaim what is mine. Fistandantalous may have taken my body, and the one I inhabit now may be weak and frail, but I will succeed. My magic is still weakened, but I have journeyed plains to hone the skills I still posses. I fully intend to destroy those who wronged me, and ascend to my previous power, and finally surpass it. Now I go in hiding, working to hone my magic, till the day I can confront him. All my life I have lost. I lost an arm, I lost my life, and then I lost the body I once had in that life. But no longer will I be a loser. Author: Khakarot Date Thu Jun 1 15:48:59 2006 Subject Homecoming Old men often lose track of the time, and Khakarot was no exception. Snoring contentedly upon a old hammock in the great dome of Palanthas, he was awoken by an annoying buzzing. Cracking open his weary eyelids, Khakarot slammed them shut to block out the bright noon-time light. The buzzing continued, resolving itself into questioning words. Shaking himself to a sitting position, Khakarot finally lifted his heavy eyelids, blinking a few times for good measure. Some youngster was babbling on about how he wanted to join the mercenaries or something. Couldn't it wait till he woke up? Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Khak decided to give the man a talking to and send him on his way. He was just about to resume his beautiful nap when twin thoughts collided in his head: "How did he know I was mercenary?" , And, "Why hasn't some other merc handled this already?" Bothered by the second more than the first, Khakarot pushed himself up with his cane, and headed for port. He never was sure which smelled worse, a hussy's groin or the fish- market. Unfortunately he for him he had to pass through the latter on his way. Waving off slimy merchants and beggars, the old man known as Khakarot threaded his way through the stinking crowds, till he found his way to the docks. A long journey fraught with peril greeted him, but being old and wise, Khakarot survived. In his younger days he was a battle mage of some power, though now he longed only for spells of rejuvenation or teleportation. Pirates were greeted by fireballs, and their flaming sails waved farewell to Khakarot as he sailed away. Things of the deep, bad weather, and hunger all assailed him, but eventually he reached the destination Abanasinia and Solace. By comparison, crossing Crystalmir Lake was easy and getting to the mercenary headquarters even easier. But what greeted him appalled him. Dust and cobwebs hung from a door that looked about to remove itself from the hinges. The only inhabitants left were the rats, who looked thin and unhealthy. Relieved to find the Warlord's office intact, Khakarot flopped down on the desk, and resolved to rebuild mercenary in the morning. It was many days before he bothered to stir. Author: Khakarot Date Thu Jun 1 16:48:59 2006 Subject The Call In the hands of every scoundrel, cutthroat, or down on their luck swordsman, a copy of this handwritten note can be found. Passed from destitute miners to lonesome half-elves, the call works it way around Krynn: _________________________________________ / \ | Brothers I write to you to let you \ | you know that the ancient brotherhood | > of Mercenaries is not yet dead. I | | to ask for your strength and your | \ swordarm. In return I promise a fair / | bit of a steel and a home. | / < \ Youll find us near solace. Come, be my | / battle-brother, \ | -Khakarot _____ | \ /\____ / \_________________/ \/ \ ___/\_/ \/ Author: Khakarot Date Thu Jul 20 18:58:15 2006 Subject ----A New Leaf - Khakarot---- The life of a renegade is not an easy one. One can live a whole live on the lamb, always running, never safe, always hiding. That kind of life drives some mad and drives others into the clutches of mad-men. I am the second type. Long ago as a young mercenary I discovered magic, and used it without the conclave's permission. In time the constant paranoia drove me to follow another renegade into the clutches of the Dark Queen. It was not an easy time for me, but I made do. I sacrificed my limbs, life, and soul in that twisted cause. I did things that defy logic and the imagination to be free of that same cause. I went mad for a time, wandering the forests around Prayer's Eye Peak. Much time passed, as I faded from my own memory and consciousness. Krynn forgot me, as I forgot it. I floated in nothing, doing nothing, until the woods had enough of me and belched me out on the doorstep of Solace. I began to remember. A kind woman, a priestess, I know not her name. She helped me. My clothes were mere rags, but she gave me steel to feed and clothe myself. It was strange, waking up from nothingness to find myself an old man. I ate in quiet silence, and remembered the cause of Mercenary. The old cause and old habits re-emerged, and I became a renegade again. Still, my age would not be ignored, and asserted itself quite vocally from time to time. I am old, and will die soon. The thoughts of the old began to assail me: death, afterlife, the abyss, and the gods. I don't want to spend the rest of eternity with that damnable Dark Queen - but the weight of my sins was carrying me there. I've skinned kender alive, committed rape, murdered innocents, burned property, nearly killed my allies just to finish one enemy. I spoke to Galadir on the matter, he said Paladine forgives. I hope so. Thinking back to that kind priestess, I don't know if I can ever be that good. -Khakarot.
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.'
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