The Great Library of Palanthas

An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Kylan.

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 tattered paperback on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Kylan' scribed in faded red ink.


Author:    Kylan          
Date:      Thu Sep 16 08:55:34 2010
Subject     The Key Part I 





Hefting the heavy brass key in his hand, Kylan Mercer wearily tested the
weight of it. Old and badly tarnished, the faded latchkey was really an ugly
piece of work -- and it made Kylan frown. Unquestionably, the tool was
crafted by some modest apprentice. The bulbous bow was vaguely misshaped,
and the stem humbly trimmed with simple threaded lines. It would have passed
for an ordinary key, perhaps if the corresponding lock were ordinary itself.


Judging from the pin and bit, the lock itself was in all likelihood rather
strange itself. What made the key ugly and ironically, desirable, was that
the many teeth of the apparatus were reminiscent of a grinning skull. The
design is elaborate and delicate, the grinning skull a grim totem for the
contraption. Though far indeed from perfect, the key itself was ancient. 

Our man, Kylan Mercer, obtained the curious artifact from some odious
malefactor in the Southwestern corridors of Palanthas. The black marketeer
couldn't have known the key's true worth, but the peculiar design was enough
clue for him to identify a novel item. Mr. Mercer paid dearly for the
trinket, far too much for an item lacking it's counterpart. 

But, as any historian or treasure hunter knows, an Istarian relic is never
to be passed up. The key, Kylan accurately guesses, is one of only three
such surviving devices. It was fashioned for some ancient secret society; a
fraternity of merchants, historians, peddlers and politicians. Perhaps, in
the height of their influence, affiliates used this very key to lock away
some clandestine treasure or prisoner.

Hefting the weighty brass gem, Kylan Mercer frowned as he laid his empty
hand on the locked doorknob. He jiggled the hindered handle slightly,
causing the lock inside to jingle lightly. The door remained stoic. "How
unfortunate, this crowning piece is really quite hideous." Deftly pocketing
the key into a concealed vest-pocket, Kylan again jiggles the stubborn door
and opens the trick-lock door to his office. 


The shadowy man inside turned his head in greeting.

Author:    Kylan          
Date:      Thu Sep 16 09:54:15 2010
Subject     The Key Part II 



Kylan Mercer entered his office, his dimly lit sanctuary, and nodded
pleasantly to the man cloaked in shadow. It wavers and moves to speak, but
Kylan interrupts with a raised hand, "Please maestro, there is no need for
ceremony. May I bring up the lights?"

"What what? Oh yes, certainly my good man. I apologize, the darkness deepens
my sour mood."

Kylan chuckles, momentarily massaging his brow. "Why so glum sire Brin, I
was sure my good news would bring an end to your troubles." The nobleman
Brin, a popular court musician, strikes a flint and easily lights a lantern.
He is a rather bland, rotund man, dressed in elegant finery with a
magnificent mustache. However, his exquisite collar does little to hold his
saggy jowls. The fleshy facial appendages wiggle as he speaks. "Good news?!
Then you've recovered my purloined goods?"

Kylan nods, though pauses to press a hand against the hidden key. "I was
able to recover most of your possessions, yes. As it is, I am just returning
from one last attempt to secure them all. However, I regret to inform you
that a minor pieces has eluded me." As he speaks, Kylan gestures to a small
heap of crates covered by a white linen sheet.

The maestro looks concerned, but goes to the heap nonetheless. He asks with
quivering jowls, "Which piece exactly Mr. Mercer?" 

"The curious key that completes your collection sire. Procuring the pilfered
item was ... not possible I'm afraid." The maestro does not answer
immediately, he is busy checking the contents of the pile. He is more or
less delighted to have his articles returned. "That's quite alright Mr.
Mercer, you've done a stupendous job nonetheless! The key was trivial at
best." Maestro Brin pauses and squints slightly, taking a greedier, cautious
tone. "Of course, you will reduce your free hrmm? And where did you say you
recovered my beloved masterpieces?"

Kylan smiles, though wishes he could be ride of the oaf already. The key was
the most valuable item, but the maestro is more interested in maintaining
the illusion of opulence. And his cheap nature is widely known throughout
the city. Especially when donating to the needy. "I did not say maestro, but
it was being loaded onto a Caergothian trading schooner by the old docks. I
was fortunate to surmise the location early enough." 

Just as Kylan is about to explain the nature of his detective work, he is
stopped short by a curious missive addressed to him. The paper is of good
quality, while the wax seal bears only the initials L.M. Kylan stares at the
note for a moment, before asking, "Where did the note appear from?"

The maestro grunts, irritated at being interrupted. He ignores Kylan for a
moment then remembers he brought the letter himself. "Oh well, that was me.
Mr. Greyhem asked that I deliver it to you when he heard I was heading
here."

Kylan nods understandingly and then overturns the letter without opening it.
"Forgive me maestro, but I must ask to retire now. Your porters downstairs
may come collect your things." Sire Brin blinks, confused at the abrupt cut
in conversation but agrees to comply. 


Once rid of the buffoon, Kylan Mercer gently tears open the letter and
reads. He quickly scans the pages, taking in the steady manuscript without
pausing. Once finished, he sets down the pages and squints. "Caergoth it is
then." 


"To Be Continued ..."

Author:    Kylan          
Date:      Wed Sep 29 20:03:26 2010
Subject     The Key Part III



Kylan Mercer lay awake in his meager bunk, the straw-pile mattress poking
through the treads of his blanket. The journey to Caergoth was tiresome, he
was dusty and the roads more dangerous than he remembered. Rumors of
marching armies and violent conflict seemed to follow him, dark whispers and
hushed voices in every dark inn. Mr. Mercer felt eyes watching him every
step.

Twirling the curious key procured in Palanthas, Kylan wondered what exactly
his collaborator had stumbled upon. They met in a private room at The Noble
Hand, a tavern along the seedy waterfront of Caergoth. There, Mr. Mercer's
colleague divulged more concrete details of the rumors. 

News of a rising force lead by agents bent on conquest in the east was
troubling, but equally worrying was the thought of a opposing force of
Solamnic knights nearing Caergoth. For these reasons, Kylan slept little.
The confederate circle of like-minded individuals, of which Mr. Mercer was a
member, were deeply troubled by such news. If a militant force were to
control Caergoth, the flow of activity amongst Kylan and his colleagues
would be greatly hindered. 

For these reasons, Kylan slept little. The confederate circle of like-minded
individuals, of which Mr. Mercer was a member, were deeply troubled by such
news. If a militant force were to control Caergoth, the flow of activity
amongst Kylan and his colleagues would be greatly hindered.

Greatly troubled, Kylan laid down a few silver for his man. The man nodded,
and reached to take his payment. However he hesitated, and whispered.
"Before you leave Mr. Mercer, just two more things. There's a rumor about a
peculiar staff, seems to be in your area of ... expertise. And lastly, watch
out for the hooded fellow at the bar. He seemed awfully interested in you
..." 

And with that said, the man slide from the table and walked briskly away. 

And now warily awake and waiting for the hooded figure to appear, Kylan
twirled his key and gripped the blackjack hidden under his pillow. 

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.'
\n