The Great Library of Palanthas

An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Kiran.

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 metal bound tome on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Kiran' scribed in unearthly brown ink.

Author:  Kiran
Date    Fri Jan 24 10:28:45 2003

Subject  From Ashes...

It swept through the country side, killing everything in its path without a
sound. None ever escaped its wrath.

No man stood a chance, and no woman or child would receive mercy. It cared
nothing of the crys and pleas of the weak.

One by one villages fell, and then the priests came to burn it all to the
ground. As if that could stop it.

The village never saw it comming. There was little warning. A rash on the hand
of a child, even a blister or two.

Each day another child or farmer found a boil, or sore. Nothing of concern
they thought. How horribly wrong.

The 1st day of death claimed only 1. Each day after the number doubled. Within
a fortnight the village was a ghost town.

Within a full two weeks everyone was dead...except one.

My father was the first to fall. The rash on his hand spread to his entire
body, burning his flesh.

He died on the morning of the second day. That was when I noticed the boils
covering my little sister.

She was only 6, yet screamed like a grown woman when the lesions exploded and
burst on her skin the next day.

I buried her that night. The next morning I dug another grave, this time for
my mother.

Ironicly she had no symptoms, yet the plague killed her just the same. She
took her own life in grief.

I knelt in front of the mounds of my dead family, crying. That was when I
first began to itch.

I hung my head low, and with a deep sigh I stood up and walked into the house.
It was time for me to die.

I sat in my fathers chair, tears streaming my face. I had covered or home in
lamp oil, and the chair sat in the middle.

I stared at the tinder and flint in my lap, the empty feeling inside my soul
growing and burning worse than any fire.

With a resigned sigh, I struck the two together and a spark caught the floor
and the oil burned. The fire quickly spread.

That was when I felt the first lesion burst. It felt like my arm exploded. My
rashes spread, blood ran down my body.

As I smiled slightly, knowing I would be with my family soon, I opened my eyes
suddenly. Something was wrong.

I wasn't getting weaker. In fact, I could feel my strength growing. Even more
confusing was the fire.

The fire was burning all around me, yet I felt no heat. I was unharmed. Only
the boils and lesions gave me any sign that I was alive and not lost in some
dream of death. I was alive, unharmed by fire, yet the pain of the plague was
still there.

I watched the house burn and crumble around me. Each minute passed in agony as
the plague covered my skin.

Blood ran from my mouth, my eyes closed shut, as my body was racked in pain.
But I was alive...

After what seemed like hours I finally rose from my knees. The boils and
lesions no longer burst, nor did the rash bleed. I was instead covered, from
head to toe in scars, as if the plague had taken months to heal over and scar.

I closed my eyes again, a flury of images flooded my mind, each one of a
village burning the plagued victims, long dead.

With each image I felt pure pleasure. Each image of a dying child brought me
joy. The last image brought me awake.

I had seen myself standing over the ashes of the dead, drapped in a long black
robe trimmed in red. And I understood.

I had be chosen. I had survived the test of the darkcloud, and I passed. I was
to serve.

I knew it to be true when I realized I now wore a deep black robe, trimmed in
red, covered in red upside-down axes.

I covered my head with the hood, and closed my eyes. My feet began to walk on
thier own. It was time to go it seemed. I was chosen, and I had things to do.

All glory to the darkcloud, Kiran Darkcloud.

Author:  Kiran
Date    Sun Mar  2 17:44:09 2003

Subject  A task fit for a shadow...

I sat quietly beneith the large fur tree. My hood pulled low as usual. My
hands in the folds of my sleeves.

My eyes were focused upon the ground. My concentration was bent on a single
blade of grass. My will bent on it.

With a thought, it withered, blackened and burned. With another thought, a
split second later, it was made whole.

As my control improved I expanded my focus to a block of earth. With another
thought, it became dust, broken earth.

A few hours later, when my control seemed to solidify, I stood.

I turned back and looked over the tree I had just sat against. It would do. I
took a few steps back and began.

Inch by inch the tree began to wither. First the leaves shriveled, then the
bark burned away.

With a final, focused thought I bent my will toward the tree, and with an
explosion, the entire tree became dust.

It seemed Morgion was truly embuing me with his gift of desolation. Nothing
living would be safe...

I sat again, this time next to the pile of dust that was once a massive fur
tree. I had plans to make.

I had met with a devout of the dark queen. I could sense his power, as he
could sense mine.

I would not look foward to facing that one, should or paths cross in battle. I
know Morgion would be with me. Still...

He talked of an alliance. He talked of walking in the open together. His
ignorance of my god was obvious.

We do not walk in the open. I walk the shadows. I kill in the night. Death
comes to my enemies quietly, in many ways.

Perhaps I could aid the poor fools. I could see no harm if a few armies came
down with a sickness or two.

The armies of the dark queen would have an easy time, while removing a few of
the darkclouds enemies...

Ah, but to commit to aiding those fools would be suicide. All know the dark
queen is more tempermantal than most.

Would her eye turn to those of mine, should we grow too great in power? What
then?...This was no easy decision.

The temple would be finished by the years end. The beginning of the spread of
the shadow. The spread of the darkcloud.

With the aid of the Hobgoblin and Lizard Man, many would fall before our
power. Fall in the shadows. Fall in the night.

The shadow would again consume the lands. Slowly. Quietly. A death much like
the fate of the fur tree I sat near.

Those would oppose the will of Morgion would soon become ash. Nothing will
stop the healer.


I then heard the return of the warriors. They were back. Slaves and tools in
hand. There was work to be done...

Kiran Darkcloud.

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 825 books from Ansalon from before the great Cataclysm through today.'