The Great Library of Palanthas

An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Rodel.

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 worn tome on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Rodel' scribed in glowing maroon ink.

Author:    Rodel          
Date:      Sun Oct 18 15:34:11 2015
Subject     Leaving Home, Rodel's Intro

The decision to leave home was not an easy one. Mother and father had their expectations, after all, that she would stick around and finish her studies of magic toward the direct betterment of their Silvanesti city. That she would even consider leaving was beyond the grasp of many who knew her. This grove of sculpted trees and magnificent arches of marble and stone was home --not just to her, but to anyone she might call family or friend. They all shared blood of a most precious sort, such that can't afford to be contaminated by the crudeness of the other races, whether through blood itself or through the dissemination of culture. But still young Rodel felt the beckoning of a different life. She had magic alright, but the question arose as to what she would do with it. She could sculpt trees and marble as well as the next guy, but she also took fascination in the more unpredictable arts of lightning and fire, of which there was little practical use among her people but for to dance and entertain at special events. Such was not her calling. It took a few years' thought to arrive at the conclusion, but steadily she came to realize that this home was not where her heart was. There was a world out there that she wanted to see, and being bound up in the secluded order of her own bloodline left her spirit wanting for more. It took another couple months of thinking for her to decide that her family deserved to know that she was leaving. The morning following that explosive argument, Rodel packed up a few of her choice belongings, took one final walk down the lanes of her home by way of farewell, and then took to the road. The gravel crunched stangely underfoot as she ventured well beyond the walls of her youth, and onward still. She didn't know enough to fear the dark. To be true, she didn't even know enough to know very well where she was going. She had heard whispers on the wind about some sort of college of magic, but none of her people seemed overly-inclined to aid in her departure by way of maps or advice (beyond the typical flavors of "Don't marry a dwarf!" and "You'll surely die out there on your own...!"). And so she gave herself over to wandering. She would have to come across a town eventually. Even she knew that. And surely, then, any of the brutes of crude blood that she encountered there would be able to point her in the right direction.

Author: Rodel Date: Tue Nov 10 17:19:41 2015 Subject Counting Scars (part 1)

Rodel wakes up alone. The room in which she finds herself is as plain as they come: the stone walls are cool and dry, the bedsheets clean and crisp, a wooden chair in the corner, a wardrobe that breathes of emptiness and cobwebs even with its doors closed. She senses the emptiness in a vague sense as her mind pushes through the haze, unable to discern the emptiness of the room from the emptiness inside herself. Light comes in through the window, and that is the first thing she sees upon opening her eyes. Then come the memories. They emerge more as feelings than as clearcut images, a deep panic welling up in her chest like a clenching fist, stopping up air, throttling her heartbeat. A strangled cry escapes from the enchantress's lips. She yanks the blankets tight around herself, lurches upright to press her back flat against the wall. The stone is hard. The stone is solid. It catches her weight as she leans back against it, stares impassively back at her from the other walls of the room. And in the moments that follow, the enchantress gradually realizes that she is alone. The solitude breathes of safety. The solidity of the walls breathes of protection. She can't help it. By the gods, she can't -help- it. Another cry wrenches itself from her throat. She covers her face with the blanket and sobs into it. She doesn't remember much of the past few weeks, but that stretch of time throbs in her mind. She wasn't at all prepared for the physical and mental anguish that greeted her within days of leaving the safety of her home city. Not prepared in the least, but here she finds herself now, curled up in a pile of blankets, terrified in her security. For the first few hours, she doesn't move from the bed. Placing a foot on the ground would surely trigger all sorts of traps and snares, a swift plunge back into darkness. She clings tightly to the blanket and just stares at the walls staring back at her. Her hands never quit shaking, but eventually the sobbing tires itself out. Eventually she begins to come to her senses.

Author: Rodel Date: Tue Nov 10 17:21:24 2015 Subject Counting Scars (part 2)

She is scared, yes. That is a given. But she is also alone. Well and truly alone, with only the walls for company. It is with baited breath that her eyes find their way back to the window. She stares at it for a moment, that square of light, before rubbing her eyes and slowly drawing herself up from the bed to step over to it. The patch of sunlight is warm underfoot, and when she looks out, she beholds the sight of a magnificent stretch of forest, a sea of green which surrounds the series of towers in which she finds herself. The forest reminds her of home, of safety, of family, of no risks, no adventure, no new thresholds to be crossed. She's sure she can say that she crossed a new threshold by now. It feels like it broke her down more than anything, but didn't lightning singe her fingertips when she learned to dance with it? This is sharper than lightning, though. People took her and broke her, seemingly out of the blue. She doesn't understand the world that she's stepping into. Maybe she really doesn't belong here? The sunlight warms her face, a gentle feeling. She welcomes it as she disappears into her own thoughts. She knows she can be stronger than this. But after going through that, will she ever be strong -enough-? Rodel pulls the blanket tighter about her shoulders as she turns to look back at the room. On the floor by the foot of the bed, she sees her equipment, looking clean and repaired. What's the worst that could happen? They can't possibly break her any further. It is with this thought in mind that the enchantress quietly doffs the comfort of the blanket and crosses over to gather up her equipment. She finds, at the bottom of the stack, a robe-- the single unfamiliar item among the lot. Hesitantly, she draws it about her shoulders, then pulls it tight, as if it might provide some degree of invisibility. Now is her chance, and she will take it. Sending a silent prayer to Solinari, she takes the doorknob in her hand, turns it, and steps over the threshold.

Author: Rodel Date: Tue Dec 22 17:19:29 2015 Subject The Growth of a Lightning Weaver

Time has passed. Hours and days and months... Since the capture and release from the Dragonarmy that had marred her spirit only days after first setting foot outside of her Silvenesti city, Rodel has applied herself to her studies with an enthusiasm that borders on obsession. With a healthy dose of xenophobia, she locked herself away in the library surrounded by heavy tomes burdened with dust, scrolls yellowed and fragile with age, and quills and inkwells that always seemed to run low as she continued to fill book after book with notes. As she worked, the ex-dancer retained her love for the electrical arts that first drew her into the study of magic, while also expanding beyond to the elements of fire, water, wind, and earth. She wanted to be able to defend herself, or others, should the need arise once more. And as she studied, gradually her confidence came back to her. The fear of strangers and open spaces still resided deep within her, but she found that she could push herself to venture out more and more, visiting other libraries, mingling with other mages who provided her with guidance and reassurance. She learned to function with the fear, burying it as deep as she could manage. Her experiences as a captive would reemerge time and again in the form of nightmares or passing hallucinations dancing across the walls. As she learned to detect the presence of others who might be watching her, she thought constantly that someone might be looking her way, just waiting to attack... But still her confidence grew. She wanted to -be- someone. She knew she couldn't just hide away with her newfound skills and hope that the outside problems would just wash away on their own. She wanted to play her part in effecting change for the better. She had to go out eventually, and she had to -do- something. The enchantress took to visiting bars, listened to whispers on the wind, and struggled to come up with a course of action. Avoiding attention as best as she could, she visited Qualinost and Solace, worked her way north to Garnet and, even farther beyond that, to the great city of Palanthas. Each stop expanded her knowledge of what brands of turmoil had befallen the world while she grew up safe and oblivious in her isolationist community. She learned of the different clans --the Somamnics, the Conclave, the Dragonarmies, and all through the list. She caught snippets of rivalries and partnerships, tried to understand the different tensions across current events that threaten to tangle or, worse, snap altogether. Her understanding is basic at best, but it is enough for her to comprehend why the Dragonarmy had attacked her all those months ago. It is enough to comprehend that something is greatly awry in this new world in which she finds herself. It is enough to cement her determination to do something about it. Perhaps she still has quite a ways to go yet. She is far from master, after all. But she has the determination to keep learning, to keep growing, and that is exactly what she plans to do. Look out world, here she comes.

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