The Great Library of Palanthas

An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Lyrra.

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 concise treatise on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Lyrra' scribed in vibrant brown ink.

Author:    Lyrra          
Date:      Sat Nov 14 06:11:23 2009
Subject     Lyrra Leaves Home

Lyrra Creekplash left home at the tender age of seventeen.  Of course, to say left home is very relative, since most kender have left home for extended stretches before they can 
even walk.  Lyrra, when she said that she left home, just meant that that was when she left without intending to go back anytime soon.

Lyrra's parents were farmers outside of Kendermore:  at least, they were farmers during those rare seasons when they remembered to harvest the disorganized patches of muddled 
vegetables they called their crops and bring them to the free-for-all of the Kendermore marketplace. But most of the time they were distracted by some pressing journey or 
another and the vegetables were left to either rot in the fields, be eaten by rabbits, or be pilfered by the small clan of gully dwarves living in the muddy, brambly ravine 
adjacent to the Creekplash household.  Kender of the soil they were nonetheless, and Lyrra grew up with a great appreciation for the stuff, often covered head to toe in it after a day exploring the ravine with her filthy neighbors.

One day, Lyrra was exploring in a rural pub a few miles down the road from the Creekplash farmstead -- The Blight and Weevil, it was called.  She was happily rifling through the 
possessions of the bargoers, and picking up anything that looked interesting  the inebriated did not take very good care of their things, after all, and she just wanted to
make sure they didn't lose anything really fascinating.

She was just acquiring a really cool fold-up hunting knife from a hulking farmhand when the bartender beckoned her over.  She skipped happily to the bar, hoping he was about to 
give her something good - or praise her for taking such good care of the drunks.

"This isn't the first time you've been in here, kender," growled the bartender.  "You live near here?"

"Why, yes!" Lyrra said proudly.  "I live in the farmhouse just down the road!"

The bartender seemed to be cursing under his breath.  Lyrra wondered why.  
"Listen..." The bartender's tone suddenly became conspiratorial.  Lyrra clambered up onto a barstool and leaned in to listen.  This must be important! she thought.  "You are
a very special kender.  You got, um, let's see...eyes that are a special color, and you got that birthmark."  He pointed to a mole she'd always had on her upper arm.  "Do you know what that means?"

Lyrra shook her head.  "No, what?"

"It means that you're, uh, the chosen one!  Yeah, that's it.  You've got to go on a quest!"

"Wow!" Lyrra breathed.  "I didn't know that about me.  What do I have to do?"

"You have to go away, far, far away, and, uh..."  He thought for a moment.  Lyrra fidgeted impatiently.  Surely he couldn't have forgotten something this important!  "Find
me the feathers of a mutterbird.  You know what that is?"

"A mutterbird?" She stroked her chin, poring over the lore of the natural world that she had gleaned from her time exploring the ravine and the surrounding woods.  "No idea!"

"It's a huge bird.  Size of a darned pony.  It's got, uh, horns on its back.  It can't fly.  It's brown with big yellow eyes.  And it can kill ya!"  His voice grew soft and grave.

"Wow!  I'd like to see one!  A bird with horns!"

"That's right.  And it's, um, it's so dangerous that you have to go steal its feathers and bring 'em here.  If it doesn't have its feathers it won't be so dangerous anymore.  The feathers are poisonous."
Lyrra frowned.  "Are you pulling my leg?"

"Of course not!  Why would I?"

"Well, then, if I'm the chosen one," she said, hopping off the barstool, "I'd better go off on my quest!  I'll just go home and pack some things.  Thanks for letting me know!" 
And so she left, taking some of the silverware and the bartender's dagger with her.  She'd need it when she faced that dangerous mutterbird, of course - he'd understand.

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