The Great Library of Palanthas

An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Lelthas.

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 large tome on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Lelthas' scribed in rich maroon ink.


Author:    Lelthas        
Date:      Tue Apr 15 14:53:06 2014
Subject     Goodbye Blue Skies

The crinkling sound of the page of a book sitting at that perfect angle against the breeze.... no rhythm. No form. Just chaos. According to what it says, I'm two hundred and six years old. I don't know how that could be. I feel much older even though I'm still relatively young physically. There are other things I don't understand. It says many other things. The vacation I long sought has been long over. I've just been wasting time, whatever that is. The warm breeze nestled on my cheek that never seems to go away completely, is just toying with me now. It's telling me to stay forever. Stay in this sunny paradise. Stay in this place you've escaped to. stay here until another comes upon the night of the eye. Bastion...is that what this place was called? It was the third side of the coin, in the arcane metaphor I used to describe it to students in the old days of the first reality. Those were such interesting times. Beyond the directions in space that we can see, between them and within them. Whatever this place was called then, it exists there and nowhere. I was a young man, still within my prime when I came here to escape the ravages of the changeovers. When I began to study the tomes and artifacts available to me recently appointed...what was it? Wayr... There were spells of time, spells of space, spells of things that dealt with the nature of what we perceive as real. These altered our surroundings in ways that went beyond mere schools of magic. These were the very manifestations of the divine power that transfigured itself from potential to near infinitely more intricate varieties of activated energy. Fire, ice, sparks; the difference between what most wizards in this world practice and what those of us who have peered at these tomes practice is the difference between an ant and a mountain. But soon, I will lose the ability to recall this information at least with complete recollection. I've hidden here to protect myself from the necessity of what I must endure, either now or forever from now and, then. eventually I will have no choice, and will have gone mad from boredom anyway... The information will be available when it is necessary. I cannot alter whatever timeline I enter in any case. I can only change the rails the...what is that from? The entities in the thirty fourth node of the progression. The continuum's potential for indefinite expansion. That is perhaps the best place to start. If their spacial configurations collapse, it is no matter. There are other potential timelines. Possibly an infinite number. More than enough....by many more by many many more... Bastion...whatever your name is, I bid you not fondly a farewell of any sort. May your eternal trans-spatial properties and cold comforts within sink to the the depths of the abyss when wizards more intelligent than I finally discern how to destroy you.

Author: Lelthas Date: Wed Apr 23 00:49:32 2014 Subject Wish you weren't here.

The light of the moons... The pale silver of Solinari is more subtle in the way it spreads out over the surfaces below it. Lunitari's light is more aggressive, even if only slightly. It seems to be seeking the mitigation of the wavelengths of Solinari and the unseen other moon. They mingle and neither seems to completely win out. Chaos, entropy, is abated just a little longer. That is the source of the malfunction in the timelines. Nothing can be perfect. Entropy plays out in highly improbable ways if unable to alleviate itself through normal probabilities. That nothing truly dies in these continuums or decays forces a decay of a different sort that is potentially far more devastating, and will lead to complete annihilation of the entire spectrum of potentials. That is why choas became personified, both in the prime and within my own native timeline. The proginators were aware that it was not only necessary but long overdue, and its personification was the result of the need for a means to compensate for the overly long duration of the perfection that had been allowed to stagnate. So...in order to prevent the inevitable conclusion of this particular timeline, the only possibility of a successful redirection is to bring chaos about prematurely without divine means. The war should be over by now. The first war. The version of the first one I remember, anyway. Could the progenators not have dreamed up a less mundane thing to orchestrate their creation around? The pettiness of gods and men is...an annoyance. It only took a short time in the primary instance. It drags on for an eternity in the echo instances. I imagine some of the old ones will be where they have always been. Khyldes will no doubt be haunting Wayreth. The second Wayreth. I left the throne vacant and likely his half-bred ass will be occupying it when I return. I'll leave the Conclave to its failings in any case. Its usefulness reached its limit long ago...or more appropriately, far ago. Ah...the vibrations are finally beginning to harmonize. I've been standing here for what seems like an eternity watching this wrinkled old crone pick her nose and eat it. I hate these people. Why am I going through the trouble of doing all this... Krynn is by far the worst backwater in the multiverse. Or omniverse. Or who cares anymore. These people wouldn't know a fine wine if it crept into their bedroom at night and forced itself into their faces the same way the kender get treated in the city jails in dragonarmy territories. Kender... I'll have to determine if I need that particular greygem race for the last iteration once I get settled in at Wayreth. If not, I'll be using them as the lambs whose innocence I need to violate in order to get the celestial's collective attention. Who knows, they might be sick of the Kender by now to and let me go all the way through with the genocide without hindering me. One can only hope. The dissonances in the harmony are nearly resolved. Just a bit longer and I can slap this woman. We beat those children severely in school to teach them not to eat the contents of their nasal cavities. Not having learned this lesson in your seventh decade is unacceptable...whatever your name is. You're just a number anyway, really. Yes...pick. Pick away. Enjoy the last moments of indulging in your disgusting vice. I'm going to make you sorry you were born with fingers. You will rue the day that knuckles began to sprout on the stumpy ends of your ridiculous fetus-hands... Oh, I see. So that's the price? Have it your way. It's your responsibility now. Synchrony. At last. Time to die, number-person.

Author: Lelthas Date: Sat May 3 03:47:43 2014 Subject Careful with that axe, Lelthas

The way that tree was bending in the wind was oustanding. A long thin trunk suspended in a convex shape as it tried desperately to resist the unseen forces of nature currently assailing it. The bark was cracked and beginning to come off at the points where the stress was greatest. It popped and cracked. It was destruction in progress, its conclusion hastened by forces far beyond its control. Poor hapless thing. It was so beautiful. He didn't bother to watch and observe whether or not it succumbed to its enemy, choosing instead to pack the pipe made of rose-quartz glass held solely by the tips of his long, slender fingers. The herb was so pleasant. He had learned how to cultivate it at its maximum potential in Bastion, and ever since had never really cared much for pretense in any form. Well, unless of course its done entirely on purpose...yeah, they're pissed at me. That's what I figured. Sitting several inches above the ground on a cushion of air with no particular regard to his own dignity evident in his posture, and protected by an invisible wall that kept the torrential rain from assailing him even a little, the other residents of the camp were beginning to stare dicks at him already, and it had only been about twenty minutes. Oh well, fuck em. I can't build a shed, don't blame me for your inadequacies. A small violet flame appeared in front of the pipe as he began to draw through it, and moments later when someone began to ask what he was smoking anyway, he responded in as polite a manner as possible. 'The contents of my pipe are the same as the contents of your mothers womb with you inside of it.' When he was asked to explain his comment, he declined and kept the comment, something green and inherantly worthless to anyone who didn't experience an orgasm as part of the process of its creation (which was a curious part of the potency refining process) and put the glass tube back into one of the many pockets laiden within his robes. Well, this was proceeding about as planned. He had told the men in the camp that he was casting a weather spell to annoy the elves, but really, he just wanted to see if these rough looking men would start crying over a mild torrential downpour. So far, they were keeping their discomfort to themselves. Curious. He had been granted no special privilege beyond a cursory permission given to operate as he saw fit, so long as it did not exceed the confines of a very narrow set of parameters. Something about sparing the trees. Eh, trees. Wayreth has trees. Palanthas has trees. Neraka has...assholes. There's plenty of trees, why do we need the ones that belong to the elves? Oh well. At least he had been given permission to do what he wanted to do. He was merely a soldier in rank, but his function in this theatre of the war... was merely to drive the qualinesti insane. Lelthas felt the slight amount of kagonesti blood in his veins boil every time one of the trees reminded him of its presence as he slowly glanced about. He wanted to see the entirety of the nation of the qualinesti lesser-elves burn and the ashes removed and thrown into the blood sea by blind madmen who would be able to tell no one exactly the manner in which they fell. It was time for their fall from grace and civilization, and such occurances should always be preceeded by anarchy so that the population can understand its inherantly small distance from the level of a mere animal. That would be the fate of this nation, and no one would ever be able to forget it once it had been solidified in time as a fixture of the past. He willed the weather spell to cease and was surprised to hear his new compatriots simply get up and shake the water off without a word. His arrival a few hours ago had produced the reaction he had expected. He had no interest in obtaining their friendship anyway, and the first phase of his campaign would not necessitate the involvement of another person. He was fully capable of begining this operation on his own. Were the wildrunners still capable of defending qualinesti in any meaningful way? It would make it much more interesting if they could, and had the heroes to provide him with worthy targets. Was there a zhan in this iteration? He hadn't bothered to ask. He didn't want to endure the empty dog-eyed stares of the thousand dicks from the uninitiated that he usually endured upon voicing such questions. He began to mutter quietly to himself in an obscure language he had learned long ago purely in a vain attempt to alleviate his boredom. He knew what he wanted to accomplish, he was merely letting the herb work its potent spell while he waited for the idea to form. He crossed his arms, brow a bit furrowed, and glared at the trees of his hated cousins. Ah...arrows. They like arrows, don't they? Don't bother with hello too much these days, just get an ass full of arrows any time you cross some line that's as invisible as it is arbitrary. Yeah...arrows. Perfect. Without a word to his fellow soldiers, he let his arms fall, adopted a standing posture and floated into the woods in a way that was somehow entirely full of menace.

Author: Lelthas Date: Sat May 3 17:31:41 2014 Subject Oh the familiar places...

'Tick tock...wait do they have clocks in this one? I forget. You're running out of "time". Yes. That. Not enough of it for "you" anymore...' That defiant snort made the elven mage's scoffing somewhat more audible than his insults about Lelthas' heritage in qualinesti-elven had. The quarter-elven man was not phased in the least, given that he was sitting atop the white robe's chest and looking quite boredly at his nails as if they contained the potential for a cure to his ambivalence about the unfolding sitation. 'Now now, if you're not going to play nice I'm getting the hose. This one will be bigger than the last one, though it will be made less of meat and more of pure energy, and we will do an entirely new and different program of violating the divinely-given sanctity of your materially composed body. How are you negating the alteration spells placed in the woods of your gods-forsaken forest.' Gasping...oh right. Lelthas stood up and moved a few feet away, back tuned to the minor wizard of solinari who had fallen prey to his little ruse. 'I wasn't lying to you. I would never do that to you...cousin. You will, in fact, be dead in roughly five of what passes for minutes. Unless of course, well, you know. That confession thing.' The red robed wizard turned to regard th handiwork he had employed against the white. A frail looking elf, that bastard shade of not blonde and not brown either of hair that was a dead givaway of one of Solostaran's clandestine harem's bastard children gone into the business of thinking entirely outside the box, and opted to study magic in order to advance his position the only way truly available to him in any civilized elven society. Coward. His hands had turned to stone up to the wrists, and his target was trying not to let that smug elven pride get in the way of enjoying the opportunity to let his dead hands flop around at the ends of his arms like some kind of carnival show meant to entertain whiskey drinkers at a Nordmaarian new years celebration. His legs, much the same, though a bit just above the knees. The progression of the legs wasn't...quite even, though. It reminded Lelthas of how the girls in school sometimes had an uneven progression of growth that did not lend itself to being a credible example of perfect symmetry in any way. Oh well, that's what you get with a rush job. Placing a muddy boot on the white robe's chest, the elder mage leered down at the younger. 'Are you thirsty? Would you like something to drink? Is there anything, anything at all I can do to prolong your agony... oh I know, its a bitch isn't it. No one ever talks about how the nerve endings feel like they're being shoved into pieces of glass from the base material in your flesh undergoing crystalization. I hear its quite unpleasant. I wouldn't know, of course, being that I'm a GOOD wizard.' He leaned over and peered into the man's eyes. So pretty. Why did elves always have to be so pretty? There was nothing in there anymore. The spark of awareness that had begun to come into being when the terror was incited and then escalated had shown promise, but the experiment failed to elicit the response from the continuum that the archmage was looking for. His left arm snaked out slowly toward the elf, who had finally given in to the terror brought about by the realization of his immediate death. The amber blade that snapped out from the holster on his wrist just long enough to sever the arteries just below the jaw on the left side of his victim's face before snapping back into place did so with a soft clicking sound that did not obfuscate the red robe's merciful assurances that the man now bleeding to death would be with paladine in the afterlife or whatthefuckever the qualinesti believe happens when they die. Who cares. Lelthas squinted into the other man's eyes as the light within them dulled progressively until it was gone before he shoved off of his chest with his boot, murmuring softly to nobody in particular, 'All I know is nobody should die without knowing where they're going to go; if they in fact want to go anywhere at all. The latter is up to them. I'm just facilitating the transition. Incidentally...you're welcome.' He leaned back a bit to stretch and pop his back just in time for an arrow to zip past his face, fishtailing as it crawled through the air like a bolt of ninja-lightning slathered in bacon-grease fried by the world's fastest man. Right. The white robe had managed to undo his enchantments before he had arrived. The arrows would fly the directions in which they were originally aimed, without reversing after ten feet and zipping into the bodies of the archers who fired them. That was the intent of the dweomer Lelthas had created and placed on much of the outlying sections of the forest over the last several days. As was their arrogant custom, the elves laughed from the safety provided by the trees beyond. Another arrow flew past, tearing a hole in one of the sleeves of his red robes. Lelthas didn't bother to look at it to verify that the enchantment that would have made the garment repair itself already was still working. Upon being asked if he had any last wishes, he cleared his throat and replied that he did indeed. When prompted as to what that was, he again replied as he reached into his robes and drew out a six inch glass rod, 'I would like to live long enough to see someone follow pi all the way to the end of the rabbit hole, whereupon there will totally be cake served that will taste awesome and it will be my birthday and that song will play about apertures or whatever...but I digress, as I'm not really interested in hearing your last wishes and I hate to tell you, but they're far more pertinent given the real context of this situation...' The slender fingers of an artist pressed down on the glass cylinder for a moment before it gave way and shattered and most or all of the trees within a two square mile area exploded into shards of wood and splatterings of highly corrosive acid, taking with them the presumably small detatchment of the qualinesti military sent to investigate his actions. Sighing, he stepped out of the circle with its oh so esoteric arcane scribblings containing the holographic projection spell and began to kick away at it until it had more or less receeded into the dirt. He scanned the new hole he had created in the qualinesti forest, looking for signs of survivors with a slight smirk beginning to play at the corners of his lips. The Meat Puppet Gag. Gets em every fuckin time. So that was, what...about a week before I disobeyed the only order I was given? Eh. Fuck trees.

Author: Lelthas Date: Mon May 5 08:37:28 2014 Subject what it isn't good for

'No YOU take it!' The rough wooden handle of the broom was shoved at him in far too threatening a manner for his taste yet again. The sergeant on the other end of the business was a short, ruddy faced little worm of a man too stupid to know he was already dead. He was surprisingly resiliant as a result, and this little game had been going on for what seemed like several hours. 'Merits of why I should sweep the barracks, go.' The next thing he experienced was the dull thunk of the handle of the broom hitting him in the chest as it was thrown at him by his frustrated opponent, who had, judging by his demeanor and the sheer volume of sweat that was producing from his face, finally admitted defeat. That was...oh, seventeen minutes thirty two seconds even. Odd. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he began to whistle an old tune from kalaman where the second verse has the subject caught in an embarassing situation with the catch of the day. His nemesis shot him a look that sent dicks up his spine in the worst way imaginable. He was told in no uncertain terms that he would be washed out within the hour after word of his refusal to cooperate with basic training requirements had reached the sergeants superiors. 'I'm going to miss you...don't go...' Gestures were made, things were said, mothers were indicated in graphic acts involving farm equipment and chattle adolescents. Storming of the off and...damn. Oh well, if at first you don't succeed, try and try again until you make someone voluntarily shuffle off this mortal coil. Or at least, that was what the mage thought he had heard the mercenery commander tell him to do. Maybe it was drive someone crazy enough that they "want" to kill themself by the end of the day. Want...eh. Better this way. Cover thine ass...eth. Why else would he have made him go through the normal trainee process? He was obviously asking Lelthas to give him a sample after paying so handsomly for a few of his services. But trying to do it this way was getting boring. He leaned forward and peered beyond a corner before moving into the kitchen. Or what was supposed to be a kitchen. It was more like some kind of pork factory, only instead of pork it was rats. Not in the mood for rat today. Ignoring specific questions about what he "thought" he was doing in her kitchen, he held a hand up and began explaining the situation. 'Mam this is a class level section five priority alpha two nine zero level class-audit. Have you read the subsection in the handbook for cooks and proct...no just cooks nevermind. Paragraph three line two? All property of the organization has to be inspected and attain a grade of c, or that failing a big fat d if quality can be improved in any way. Should that occur one of our operatives will be returning by the end of the next phase to verify it with a with a class level section five priority alpha two point seven level class-audit. Stand aside-' He demonstrated his immense concern for brevity by slamming into the disturbingly attractive young man that he had been certain was a woman not a moment ago and sending him soaring into the wall nearby. He reached out to the ladle sitting in the large pot of pork soup and brought it to his lips and began to take a sip before shouting something about how the hobbits in the shire were so fun to play strip poker with once upon a time and hurling the thing at the cook. 'This is a-god-awful. I find your incompetence as infuriating as your exotic, totally-do-not-belong-on-a-man eyes.' He had already produced a vial of clear liquid and carefully dispensed three drops before nodding and pouring a bit from the container itself. 'If this solution is able to bring your inventory item up to a grade of d, you get to retain employment within the organization. Are you listening to me young lady? Have a lovely rest of the day.' He had already given a halfassed, incredibly effiminate salute on his way through the door when he realized that the wet sloshing sound coming from behind him was that of the cook removing something from his face. Oh right, the compound goes airborn if mixed with sulphuric acid... He looked over to the counter to fix his gaze on the knife next to the half cut onion he aready knew was there, and then to the cook as his leg shook a bit from his position subsequent to ragdolling to the floor. No immunity to iocane...that is unfortunate. Should've spent more time with pirates. Sliding his hands into his pockets once more, he began whistling the bawdy song as the barracks disappeared behind him. His pace was slow so he could contemplate on the nature of loss as a factor in the life thing more efficiently. Was there any more cruel a twist of fate than the very thing that makes life so precious, is that...is that why everyone is on the street? It's just past midnight I thought... Giving a shopkeeper and what was either his pig or his wife a look of immense curiousity (and not just because he'd never seen a humanoid sized pig garbed in a red silk nighty) as they started walking the opposite direction, he noticed where they were looking and turned around. The barracks were on fire. Of course the barracks were on fire. I forgot to pour the soup out. How much did he pay me again? Maybe he's the kind of guy who appreciates when his employees do way too good of a job. Either way, I'm not giving him his money back.

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.'
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