An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Rouuthav.

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 leather bound tome on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Rouuthav' scribed in vibrant white ink.

Author:  Rouuthav
Date    Sun Dec 15 15:35:42 2002



SubjectExile: Battles



--[Darken Wood]--

The man was dressed in all black, cloak and cape flying in the wind as he ran
for his life, his eyes filled with fear. He was being persued by zombies,
travelers of long ago who went into Darken Wood only to never return.

They're only reason for their unnatural existance was to feed off of the blood
of the living. The man was shouting out something, but, unfortunately, sound
could not be heard through the scrying pool.

Two men looked into the cauldron, the waters displaying the flight of the man
in black from the zombies. One of the men, an elf, waved his hand over the
water and the image faded. His human assistant looked up at him.

'Master, what should we do about him?' the assistant asked the elf, who
walked over to a rug before the fireplace, his meditation spot.

'I can tell another magic user has arrived in Darken Wood. Archmagus
Filthron Starsong gave word to me that Souril the Chronicler had business with
me here.

Perhaps the man in black is with him?' the elf replied, getting into
position to meditate.

'Or perhaps the man was sent to kill him before he reaches us! Or to hunt
down us specifically!' the assistant almost shouted, flailing his hands
about as he talked.

The elf closed his eyes as he sat on the carpet.

'Perhaps. Or perhaps the power I sense is not Souril's at all, but another,
whose purposes in Darken Wood we are not aware of. There are many
possibilities to explore, as always.'

The wiry human grinned. 'So we leave the man to his fate?'

The elf's eyebrows rose, although he kept his eyes shut. 'Quite the
contrary, my young pupil. You will retrieve him and bring him here.
Unharmed.'

'Are you sure about this, Master?' the human obviously wasn't.

'Of course. Am I not the master here? Now, prepare your things and go,
before we have perhaps an innocent man's death on our hands. Leave the mage to
me...'

--[Somewhere on the Continent of Ansalon]--

He walked through the darkness of the cave slowly, readying himself for some
sort of attack. Attack from what, he didn't know. The cave wasn't very large,
he found, and saw that as far back as he could go, a small island was formed:

the tomb of the Silvanesti mage. It was very plain to Rouuthav, considering
this was a man who in his time wielded quite a bit of magical power.

An elven skeleton did lie on top of it, completely plain except for bits of
cloth still clinging to the bones. Runes, presumably in elven, covered the
tomb.

He couldn't make out any of them, of course, but he traced his hand over some
of them out of pure awe. The very feel of the place said that nothing had been
here for a long time.

He felt remarkably wrong and afraid, wanting to leave the place, but he didn't
turn to move. He took out the paper containing the spell and unfolded it.

He had studied the spell carefully, it was his first bit of surface magic he
learned, and he didn't want to do anything wrong to damage the affect of the
spell.

His eyes slid over the words again and he mentally prepared himself. Taking a
deep breath, he picked up the skull of the elven mage. He whispered the words
on the parchment, ending the spell by throwing the skull into the air.

The skull hung in the air for a second, and began to spin, faster and faster,
finally exploding in a shower of sparks. The ground began to shake slightly,
causing rocks and dust to be shaken from the ceiling.

Rouuthav took a step back as the runes on the tomb began to glow. The ground
shook more, and the splashing of the rocks falling from the ceiling into the
pool was filled the cave, echoing over and over again.

Cracks spidered up the stone slab, and it started to crumble, the runes
shining brighter and brighter. Rouuthav shielded his eyes, and when the
commotion ceased, looked around the interior of the cave.

Through the shaking, at least four other graves--the human slaves--had been
unearthed, bones littering the floor. The bones of the mage himself were
scattered, as the stone tomb was no more.



Author:  Rouuthav
Date    Sun Dec 15 15:41:25 2002



SubjectExile: Battles (Part 2)



In its place was a shallow grave, and the stone fragments lay in piles of
rubble on the island and in the pool surrounding it.

Rouuthav approuched the grave slowly, and when he looked inside, he saw a
human's body. Glinting from some unnatural light source was a small, simple
golden earring. Rouuthav allowed himself to feel triumphant.

There it was. What he came for. His hand shaking, he reached out and grabbed
the earring, holding it up to examine it. He shoved the earring into his pouch
and turned to leave, although where he would go from here, he didn't know.

The image of the woman hadn't appeared to him since the incident at the
hermit's shack. It didn't matter. He left himself in her hands.

He turned to leave the cave, when he noticed something. All of the bones on
the ground started to shake. Skeletal hands inched over to their broken
bodies, and started to reform. This wasn't going to be good at all...

--[Darken Wood]--

'Bishop?! Bishop! In the name of...' Souril shook his head. The idiot had
gotten lost. He should have just called off the partnership the moment they
had left for the infamous forest when Bishop mounted his horse backwards.

He knew the "master assassin" would be more trouble than he was worth. Now his
objectives were divided. Continue to search for Rilakolth's lair? Or find the
clumsy would-be thief, who he was responsible for?

Souril shook his head. He heard a rustling from behind him. Good. Bishop had
found his way back. At least that was one problem taken care of.

'Be more careful, Bishop, we're in Darken Wood, remember?! I told you not to
leave my si--'

Souril turned around and saw himself face to face with the rotting undead
corpse of a zombie. He backed away in shock, falling right into the arms of
another zombie. Claws scraped at his skin.

Souril bit down on his tongue, trying to not cry out. He threw all of his
weight backwards, slamming the zombie into a tree. But the creature didn't
release its death grip on the mage. The zombie in front of Souril lumbered
forward.

The mage reached down to his belt, struggling to get his dagger out of its
sheath. He continued slamming himself backwards, sending the zombie on his
back into the tree over and over again, but the creature wouldn't relent.

It bit down hard on his shoulder, and this time Souril couldn't help but cry
out. He got his hand on the dagger, yanking it out of its sheath. He made an
upward diagonal slash forward, cutting deep into the flesh of the zombie in
front of him.

The zombie didn't relent, and Souril smashed backwards into the tree again,
throwing both of his legs up and kicking the zombie in the chest. This did
send the zombie reeling backwards.

The zombie on his back did release his bite on Souril's shoulder, starting to
get stunned from the colliding with the tree.

With his one free hand holding the dagger, Souril stabbed backwards over his
shoulder, hoping that he would hit something. He felt the blade sink into
flesh and then strike the hard bark of the tree.

For a split second, the zombie's grip released, and Souril lunged forward into
the other zombie, who was charging forward after recovering from his kick. He
slammed into the zombie, sending them both to the dirt.

The two struggled to get an advantage, and Souril tried holding the zombie's
face down, and recieved a bite on his hand for the effort.

He jerked his hand back in pain, and the zombie reached out with its claws,
rolling over so that it was on top of Souril. He grit his teeth and turned
away from the rotting face, which was only inches away from his own.

Then he put all his strength into kneeing the zombie in the chest. Once.
Twice. He worked his foot so that it rested on the zombie's chest and he
pushed upwards, sending the zombie off of him.

He rolled to the side and grabbed another dagger from his boot sheath. He only
had one more dagger after this. He rested on one knee, the zombie he kicked
off of him was back to a standing position.



Author:  Rouuthav
Date    Sun Dec 15 15:43:19 2002



SubjectExile: Battles (Part 3)



The second zombie, he found, he had luckily pinned to the tree, his dagger
sticking out of the upper arm of the monster. That zombie was concentrating on
pulling himself out, but the dagger was stuck in the tree pretty deep.

Souril let fly his second dagger, nailing the incoming zombie in the throat.
The creature stumbled backwards and Souril reached into his pouch and pulled
out a pinch of white powder. He tossed it forward and called out in the
language of magic.

The white powder turned into four long, sharp icicles that flew forward into
the chest of the zombie, which fell to the ground, twitching.

He now took the valuable time to pull his third and final dagger out of its
sheath inside his robe. With his left hand he reached into his spell pouch and
took out a smooth stone.

Clutching it to his chest, he turned to the zombie that he pinned to the tree.
The zombie couldn't pull the dagger out of the tree, so had settled to simply
pull his arm through the dagger,

not minding the gaping wound it left in his arm. It staggered forward at
Souril, who was prepared with his next spell.

Rubbing the smooth stone and closing his eyes, he shouted out the magical
words of the spell, throwing his arm out towards the zombie. The monster was
enveloped by flames, dropping motionless to the ground.

Souril dropped to the ground himself, gasping for breath and wincing at his
many wounds as the adrenaline started to fade. His body felt like lead, almost
all of his strength seeped from him due to both his physical and magical
fighting.

He sunk to the ground and closed his eyes, unable to stand for the moment. He
hoped Bishop was faring better than he, because he thought truly that this
would be the end of him.



Author:  Rouuthav
Date    Sun Dec 15 21:07:53 2002



SubjectExile: ...More Battles



--[Somewhere on the Continent of Ansalon]--

Rouuthav backed away from the moving bones, stumbling over some of the rubble
from what used to be the Silvanesti mage's tomb.

Were things like this common on the surface? All he knew was he had desecrated
this tomb, and that he was most likely going to die without use of his magic,
which wouldn't operate the same on the surface as it had in his home.

The bones continued returning to their respective hosts, he could feel the
magic of the place like a tornado. Three skeletons were now fully formed and
coming towards him.

The final one remained nothing but a torse, arms, and skull, and its leg bones
were already sliding around to find their host. Rouuthav tried to prepare
himself for battle, but he had no idea how to fight these things.

The skeletons stopped their march, and all picked up rocks from the rubble,
each rock was the size of Rouuthav's head.

His hands twitched to move to his spell pouches, but he remembered the
apparition's warning against using his magic on the surface, and he already
had attempted as much with disastrous results.

A rock whipped by his face, and Rouuthav threw himself to the side. Another
one of the rocks bounced by him.

He tried to hide behind the rubble pile, but it would only be a matter of time
before the skeletons hit him, or just continued after the unarmed mage. Two
more rocks flew overhead, cracking into the stone wall of the cave. He had to
act. Now.

Rouuthav reached into one of his pouches and felt around for a bit of seaweed.
He felt a bit of cold metal from within, and realized it was the earring.

On a whim, he took it out and looked at it for a second before placing it on
his ear. He felt no different. It was a simple magical item, though, only to
allow him to speak and understand the Silvanesti tongue.

He did grab the seaweed this time and climbed to a standing position. The
fourth skeleton had finished assembling itself. With his other hand, he
grabbed onto a small blue seashell from one of his pouches.

With one hand holding the seaweed, and the other the shell, he concentrated on
remembering the words of the spell.

A smaller rock nicked his shoulder, but he kept concentrating on the words.
Finally, he put his hands together and spoke the magical words just as two
larger rocks flew at him.

His heart froze in his chest. He had cast a whirlpool spell. How would it
react on the surface?

Wind whipped around, and the heavy rocks were still caught up in its power,
spinning around and around in the air. Rocks were also ripped from the rubble
pile and added into the tornado.

Rouuthav ducked back down behind the pile, curling into a ball to avoid the
windstorm. He held his position, eyes closed tightly, not knowing what else
would happen.

After a few grueling seconds, which felt more like hours to him, the commotion
ceased, and he heard rocks and bones crashing and clattering to the floor. He
stood up and saw the bones scattered about the floor. That wasn't so hard
after all...

The bones started to shake again, clattering back to life. This time, the
process went much faster, and all the bones flew into a pile and arranged
themselves. Two figures stood before Rouuthav this time.

Each one with two ribcages on top of the other, and four arms and legs. One of
the skeletons reached out with two of its hands, and the legbones of the elven
mage flew into the skeletal grip. The four-armed skeleton wielded the bones
like clubs.

The other ripped off one of its own legs and brandished them.

Rouuthav took another involuntary step backwards, tripping over one of the
rocks that had been thrown at him and fell backwards. He landed with a splash
in the pool that surrounded the tomb.

How was he going to defeat these monsters when he didn't know how his magic
would work on the surface? He put his hand down in the pool, readying to stand
himself up. Then it hit him. He looked down into the water.

That was the answer. Water...



Author:  Rouuthav
Date    Sun Dec 15 21:17:50 2002



SubjectExile: ...More Battles (Part 2)



--[Darken Wood]--

Bishop ran for his miserable life. He was being followed by zombies. Zombies!
Why had he agreed to escort the mage into Darken Wood? The money, of
course...but still! He didn't count on this.

He fumbled at his belt and took out his sword. Hopefully this would be as easy
as hitting the training dummies he had practiced with. He kept running, no
longer screaming for Souril. He assumed the mage had gotten the worst of it.

It was a shame he wouldn't be able to collect the rest of his payment, but he
would be happy to simply get out alive. A zombie leapt out from behind a tree
directly in front of him. This was it...

Bishop tried to come to a halt in front of the zombie so he could engage it in
battle. He skidded on the leaves and tripped right over a root sticking out of
the ground.

Fortunately for him, his sword went right through the zombie, and as he fell,
sliced cleanly through the body. It slumped onto the ground.

Bishop stood up, gasping for breath. He looked down at the hacked up zombie.
He...killed it! Ha! That wasn't so tough. He turned around to get his bearings
and saw the other two zombies still in pursuit.

One of the zombies was wielding a sword. Bishop held his ground, holding his
own sword out in front of him. The zombie with the sword stood by him as the
other one slowly tried to creep around Bishop, who was too scared to notice.

Then he thought about the zombie he killed. Bishop...Master Assassin, Expert
Thief, Shadow Walker, Zombie Slayer? He liked the sound of it.

'Come on, you ugly...uh...zombie, give me everything you've got!' he
taunted.

The zombie responded by swiftly and easily knocking Bishop's sword from his
hand. It snarled.

'Maybe...we...could talk about this?' Bishop gulped.

The zombie's response was to swing his sword at Bishop's head. The assassin
gulped and quickly ducked down, causing the zombie to decapitate its partner.

The sword-wielding zombie growled and held his sword up above his head,
prepared to finish the black-cloaked thief off for good. It stabbed downwards,
narrowly missing Bishop, who rolled out of the way.

The zombie's sword was stuck in the ground, and in Bishop's cloak. The
assassin hopped back to his feet. He looked over and saw the zombie struggling
to pull out its sword.

'It looks like you're having a bit of trouble there, my friend,' Bishop
said. 'But I really must be going...'

Bishop dashed away from the zombie, only to be choked by his cloak and fell
flat on his back. His own sword lie only a few inches away, just out of reach.

The zombie grumbled with blood-lust and gave up trying to retrieve its own
sword. The monster loomed over the fallen assassin, and Bishop closed his
eyes, awaiting the sharp teeth and claws to begin rending his flesh apart.

Instead, he heard the zombie cry out in agony. He opened one eye, afraid of
what he'd see. A skinny human stood over him. The man's hair was wiry and
uncombed, sticking out in various directions.

He wore plain looking robes, and the most notable feature about him was a
pendant hanging around his neck. Inscribed on the bronze pendant was an eye
inside of a diamond. Bishop fumbled with his cloak and got to his feet.

'Who are you?!' he stammered.

The human shrugged. 'Everything will be explained. But please, you'll have
to come with me.'

Bishop rolled his eyes and spit on the ground. 'Do you have any idea who
you're talking to?'

The human with the pendant crossed his arms over his chest. 'No, I don't.
And that's why you'll have to come with me.'

'I'll do no such thing! I'm the Great Bishop. Master Assassin. And I'm
afraid you'll have to die like your little undead friends there. I may appear
unarmed, but I possess many hidden weapons.

Taste a throwing dagger!'

With a flick of Bishop's wrist, a throwing dagger went flying and hit the
human directly in the forehead. Well, at least that's what Bishop wanted to
happen.



Author:  Rouuthav
Date    Sun Dec 15 21:20:48 2002



SubjectExile: ...More Battles (Part 3)



Instead of a throwing dagger, he tossed one of his wooden chess pieces, and it
harmlessly clunked off the human's head and landed in the dirt. Bishop started
patting down his robes to try to find the actual dagger.

'Just a second. It was right here...' he started to say.

The man with the pendant didn't wait for Bishop to find his dagger. He made a
few motions, whispering magical words, and Bishop looked up at him, yawning.

'My...this ordeal has gotten me quite a bit sleepy...' he said, right
before collapsing to the ground.



Author:  Rouuthav
Date    Fri Dec 20 18:16:49 2002



SubjectExile: A Day of Rest



--[Somewhere on the Continent of Ansalon]--

The two skeleton monsters started towards Rouuthav, swinging their bone-clubs
menacingly. One of them held out one of their hands and a skull flew into it
out of nowhere.

The creature tossed the skull towards Rouuthav, hitting the pile of rubble.
The Dargonesti fumbled through his spell pouches, looking for anything he
could use. He found an eel's eyeball, and quickly dropped it into the water.

He closed his eyes and muttered a few magical words. Next he found a few
shark's teeth, which also went into the water. Rouuthav began chanting softly
and waving his hands around.

He ended the spell by throwing both his hands forward and shouting out the
last phrase of the magical sentence in a louder voice. The ground began to
shake, and more water started to fill the pool from cracks formed in the
ground.

The skeletons stopped their advance, confused. The water started to bubble,
and began to rise into the air, taking on the shape of a serpent.

The water elemental lunged at the two skeletons, leaving the area that used to
be the pool completely dry.

The skeletons roared and swung their clubs at the creature, but of course it
was made of water, and the clubs merely splashed into its body. Rouuthav sat
where he was, exhausted and knowing that if this spell didn't work,

he was pretty much done for. The elemental flew upwards towards the ceiling
and smashed into some of the stalactites. The cave shook once more, and the
stalactites and a bit of the cave's ceiling as well fell down on top of the
skeletons.

Rock and bone flew everywhere, and Rouuthav shielded himself from the debris.
He stood up and saw that a huge pile of rocks covered the skeletons, making it
impossible for them to reassemble themselves again.

Holding his head against the agony from the fighting and the casting of his
spells, he stumbled away towards the light at the end of the cave.

--[Darken Wood]--

Souril opened his eyes, expecting to find himself in the Abyss. Was he
supposed to feel this much pain in death? His vision was cloudy at first, and
when it came into focus, he saw an elfman standing over him.

The man was tall, muscular for an elf, and long, silver tinted brown hair hung
down to his shoulders. His arms and chest were covered in angular tattoos, and
he had a tattoo on his forehead of an eye inside of a diamond.

Spell pouches hung from his belt, although he wore no shirt, and Souril could
see immediately that the man was a Wilder elf. A Kaganesti. It had to be
Rilakolth.

'It's good to see that you've come to your senses, Souril the Chronicler,'
he spoke, offering a hand to help Souril to his feet. Souril gladly accepted
the help.

'And it is good to see a friendly--living--face.' Souril responded,
wincing as he stood. 'Rilakolth of the White, I assume?'

The elf nodded. 'Indeed. I am sorry for the troubles you faced out there,
brother, you must understand, this is a dangerous place, and I cannot take
anything for granted. But I should not have been so paranoid.

Filthron sent word of your coming.'

'It's quite alright...I suppose...how did I end up here?'

'I could sense you, of course.' Rilakolth responded. 'I found you just
in time, I see.'

'You sure did.' Souril winced again, still hurting from the fight. 'Why
does a White Robed mage like you stay out here in Darken Wood, anyway?'

'I find it to be a fitting place for me to study in peace, dealing with
visitors only in such an occasion when someone needs my help.'

A human male entered the room through the far door. He was a skinny man, with
a wild look to his eyes matching his unkept hair nicely.

'Master...? I see our guest has awakened. Am I disturbing you?' he spoke
quietly, his eyes glancing over to Souril, with respect and what appeared to
be anticipation glimmering back at him.

'Come, come, our brother is a bit shaken up, but otherwise alright,' the
Wilder elfmage slapped Souril on the back.



Author:  Rouuthav
Date    Fri Dec 20 18:22:59 2002



SubjectExile: A Day of Rest (Part 2)



The man hurried into the room to stand by the taller elf. He wore simply gray
robes, and a bronze pendant matching the tattoo on Rilakolth's head hung from
around his neck.

'Elgryn Higrain, my Apprentice,' Rilakolth motioned to the human, who
bowed to Souril.

'It is a great honor, Magus of the Red,' he spoke reverently.

'Now, Filthron told me that you have business to discuss. But, please, allow
things of that nature to wait until the morning. You've been through quite the
ordeal. Relax, my home is yours.

We both need our strength back,' Rilakolth glanced over at Elgryn, who
looked quite uncomfortable. 'Yes, Apprentice?'

The wiry man looked from Rilakolth to Souril, unsure if he should speak.
'Master...I...er, the prisoner is getting restless. He claims to be an ally
of our guest.'

Souril looked up, forgetting his exhaustion and pain. 'Prisoner? Bishop?'

Rilakolth raised an eyebrow. 'You know him?'

Souril sighed. 'He's...sort of...a friend, or associate at least.'

'Well, then, perhaps we better get this little mess straightened out
then,' Rilakolth stroked his chin, and nodded to his apprentice.

Elgryn stood motionless for a second, then realized that Rilakolth wanted his
attention, and jumped, bowing and heading for the door, motioning for the two
mages to follow.

Souril and Rilakolth continued after the man, and Souril took note of the
building they were in. It was very simply furnished, and decorated in the
style of the Kaganesti, with plenty of wild things growing, with sharp corners
to the furniture.

The overall feeling of the place was that of being sharp, angular. They went
through a few rooms, and came to a stop in one. It was a simple room, like all
of the room he had seen so far, with a cot in one corner, and a washbasin and
chamber pot.

It appeared to be more of a guestroom then a dungeon. Bishop lie sleeping on
the cot. The mages hadn't removed his robes or veil, but his sword was missing
from its sheath.

'An enchantment?' Souril asked.

'...No, not exactly. I did take him down with a sleep spell, but it wore off
well over six hours ago. He hasn't awoken since. The spell was certainly
performed correctly--' Elgryn began, interrupted by his master.

'I would think it was the exhaustion,' he said, '...but one could have
gone through a war and need less sleep then him. Peculiar, I found.'

'Well...he is a very peculiar man, I've found,' Souril added, shaking his
head.

'Shall I wake him?' Rilakolth asked Souril, taking a step towards the
sleeping Bishop.

'No, no, it's quite alright. Let him rest. I'm sure he needs it.' Souril
couldn't help but smile. Completely clueless, that one, he thought. 'Like
you said, let us talk business tomorrow.

I too would not mind a rest, if that is alright with you, Master Rilakolth?'

'Whatever is your pleasure, my brother,' he replied. 'Please, follow me,
I'll show you to your room.'



Author:  Rouuthav
Date    Mon Dec 23 22:45:50 2002



SubjectExile: A Nightmare



Rouuthav was outside of his own body. He knew this because he was watching
himself. He was back in his home, he noticed, but then also he realized that
what he was seeing had already happened.

He was far from Watermere...this was well after his reputation as a man filled
with vileness and hatred had become well known amongst the dwellers of the
underwater city.

He watched himself, readying spells, battle spells, as two sharks circled him.
This time, however, the sharks were not going to attack him. They were forming
a protective barrier around him as he prepared his spells.

She was talking to him, in his body, in his mind. He couldn't hear what she
was saying to him from his vantage point outside of his body, but he could
remember well enough. Directing him to attack certain targets.

Clerics, most likely. They were the only well organized group of Dargonesti
elves in Watermere.

Most Dargonesti seemed fit to simply live as they pleased, and preferred
solitary lives, or lives with but a few companions, but the clerics of
Habbakuk lived a life dedicated to their god.

They alone dwelt in the Tower of the Moons in the center of Watermere, the
Dargonesti hadn't had a Speaker since before the Cataclysm. It was these
clerics that his apparition often sent him to strike against.

For the first time, though, Rouuthav noted that there were two other
Dargonesti elves on either side of him. He didn't remember them being there
before, and in fact, his body and the sharks did not seem to notice.

He looked at them, and noted their features were vaguely familiar, but he did
not know from where. One of the elves looked at him.

'Is it possible?' the elf began, speaking to its companion, 'He can see
us?'

'Of course it is,' the other responded, 'This is, after all, a dream.'

'Who are you?' Rouuthav demanded, 'Why am I seeing this memory from
outside of my body? Is it you who are cursing me with these dreams?!'

'Oh no, that we can both assure you. You have cursed yourself, and taken up
the burden of a curse that none should have to bear.

'Your sins can be forgiven, your curse can be lifted, but first...' the
second elf was cut off as bubbles began to form in the water.

The image of Rouuthav and the sharks faded quickly, replaced by more bubbles
distorting the forms of the two other elves. The sea began to turn red.

'Quickly!' One elf shouted to the next, 'She comes!'

Rouuthav's head began pounding in agony. He closed his eyes, but the red of
the sea quickly filled his vision. He tried to scream, but he could hear no
sound. He didn't know what happened to the two other elves.

Instead, her face filled his vision. Her perfect face. Had she saved him? Or
was she what the elves were trying to warn him about? Elves? What other elves?
Their images were already disappearing from his memory.

Her face. That was all that mattered now. The pain subsided, replaced only by
blackness.



Author:  Rouuthav
Date    Fri Dec 27 17:43:27 2002



SubjectExile: Enter the Dwarf



--[Darken Wood]--

Bishop paced back and forth, anxiously waiting for Souril and Rilakolth's
business to be over with. The mages had been gone all morning, locking
themselves away in Rilakolth's scrying chamber at first light,

and now, hours later, they still remained inside. Seated at the head of the
long oaken table in the middle of the room was a glowering Elgryn, told by
Rilakolth to "entertain the guest,"

meaning quite obviously to guard Bishop while the elder mages conducted
whatever sort of trouble that mages do. Elgryn was obviously upset that he
wasn't allowed to participate in the magical hijinks,

like a child sent into his room while the parents discussed "grown-up things".
His eyes followed Bishop, who now began muttering to himself. Finally, the
inept assassin stopped dead in his tracks, stomped on the ground, and turned
to his host.

'This is taking forever! What are they doing in there?!' he cried.

'I would know what they were doing if I hadn't been sent to watch over
you!' the apprentice mage snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.

'I didn't ask for this! I just wanted to get paid,' Bishop whined.

'Well, for the love of the White Moon, stop sulking around!' Elgryn
growled.

Bishop snorted. 'Fine...well...what do you want to do?' he asked, taking a
seat next to Elgryn.

'I don't know...would you like to play chess?' the mage asked.

Bishop blushed. 'I...don't know how to play...' he admitted.

'You carry all those chess pieces around and you don't know how to play?'

'It's because my name is Bishop. Bishop...bishop chess pieces...you
know...'

Elgryn stood up quickly, ignoring the man. 'Something's coming.'

Bishop jumped up as well, knocking the chair over, getting caught up in his
cape and tripping. He was silenced with a "shh!" from Elgryn, and quietly
stood up. 'What is it?' he whispered.

Elgryn closed his eyes for a second. 'I don't know. But something is
definitely coming this way...we have wards around this place, of course, and
magical defenses. It couldn't be...no...it couldn't...'

Elgryn headed for the door opposite of the one the mages disappeared into. He
went through with Bishop right at his heels. They stood in the main room of
the building, where the fireplace and cauldron were.

The ground shook slightly, causing the cauldron to rock.

'Why did we come out here?! We should have gotten the others!' Bishop
protested.

'No...no...we can't disturb them during their spell. And if this is what I
think it is...'

'Will you stop trailing off like that and just tell me?!'

Next to the main entrance, two unlit torches hung against the wall. One of
them suddenly erupted into flames.

'What in the name of the Abyss?!' Bishop shouted.

Elgryn gathered a few things from his spell pouches. 'That is a
warning...the perimiter of our wards has been breached. This isn't good...'

'No...not more zombies!' Bishop groaned.

'Not zombies. Zombies would never cross those wards. Only something truly
angry...or scared...would do such a thing.'

'What could scare a creature of Darken Wood?!' Bishop gulped.

'You'll see--' Elgryn began, when the door shattered abruptly. A dark,
screeching blur rushed into the room, swooping by Elgryn and Bishop, smacking
into the cauldron, sending the water spilling all over the floor.

The creature screamed louder, its undead skin a pale white in the torchlight,
ragged clothes covering its body. Blood red eyes filled with hatred and fear
glared at the mage and the assassin, as it screamed, two fangs protruded from
its mouth.

'Vampire!' Elgryn shouted, throwing some dust in the air and pointing at
the creature. The dust whirled around towards the vampire, which scampered
away as the wind spell sent the cauldron flying backwards into the wall.

The other torch next to the doorway erupted into flames.



Author:  Rouuthav
Date    Fri Dec 27 17:52:11 2002



SubjectExile: Enter the Dwarf (Part 2)



The vampire got to its feet, crying out again. Elgryn tried to prepare another
spell. Bishop fainted. The vampire peered at the apprentice mage and took a
menacing step towards him.

A crossbow quarrel flew from the doorway and hit the vampire in the shoulder,
sending it flying against the wall, pinning it on the wood. At the door, a
small shape barrelled into the room, head ducked down.

It appeared to be a dwarf, covered head to toe in armor. Reaching the vampire,
which scratched and shrieked at the newcomer, the dwarf reached onto its belt
with one hand, grabbing a foot long silver stake.

With the opposite hand, it grabbed a huge hammer. Holding the stake to the
chest of the vampire, the dwarf swung its opposite hand down, driving the
silver through the heart of the undead beast.

The vampire screamed one last scream, then simply turned to dust, creating a
small grey pile where it once stood. The dwarf placed the hammer back into its
belt loop, then put one foot against the wall, grabbed onto the stake, and
yanked it free.

'Kelvenda Stonesaw,' Elgryn groaned.

'Aye?' the dwarf asked, turning towards the mage. 'And what happened to
your friend there? Boy has a weak stomach?'

'Everything about him is weak...' Elgryn looked down at the unconscious
assassin.

'Sorry 'bout the mess, Boy,' the dwarf scratched at her beard. 'That was
a slippery one.'

'What did we tell you about entering our home here?' the mage crossed his
arms over his chest.

'I know, Boy, I know, and o' course you'll be compensated.' the dwarf
pulled out a small flask and took a swig from it. 'Where is that
pointy-eared master o' yours anyway?'

'You will speak of Magus Rilakolth with respect, you bumbling pint-sized
gully dwarf!'

Bishop groaned, and sat up, rubbing his head, looking from the dwarf to the
human with confusion. The dwarf took the silver stake and jammed it down into
her belt. She grabbed a hand axe with each hand,

whipping them around before the mage.

'What did ye just call me?' she asked menacingly.

'You dare raise a weapon to one of the masters of this house?!' Elgryn
growled, reaching back into his spell pouch.

Bishop blinked a few times, not sure what was going to happen. He slowly
started to crawl away from the tense situation.

'Bring yer magics if ye will. Ye can bet you'll end up no better then that
vampire!'

'What kind of follower of Habbakuk sets to fight against an apprentice of
the white?'

'What kind of apprentice of the white makes a home in the Chemosh-cursed
Darken Wood!'

'The kind who wants to be left alone, and not bothered by dwarves who see
fit to do battle in their home after already destroying it,' Rilakolth stood
in the entrance to the dining area, with Souril next to him.

'What is going on here, Apprentice?'

'I've dealt with this cursed dwarf for the last time!' Elgryn growled.

'Then let's see you fight!' Kelvenda spat back.

'I don't think we'll see anybody fighting,' Rilakolth said with authority.
'And, I believe I've found a solution to this reoccuring problem we've been
having.'

'Oh?' Elgryn and Kelvenda asked at the same time, pausing to glare at
eachother after. Rilakolth crossed his arms over his chest with a sly grin on
his face.



Author:  Rouuthav
Date    Sun Dec 29 21:09:51 2002



SubjectExile: ...Epilogue



The two elves followed him, although he didn't know it. Their place was in
another plane, far from the eyes of mortals. It was their curse to follow him
in death, their chance for redemption if they could only redeem him.

The unredeemable. The outcast. The Exiled. He wasn't aware of their presence,
not fully, and there was little they could do in their current form.

Reaching him through the dream was the closest they had come to revealing who
and what they were to him. But she watched over him, always, and her strength
far outweighed the two of theirs combined.

They both feared they would follow their unknowing charge into oblivion.
Sadness overcame them.

The Exiled One did, however, seem to be adjusting to surface life fairly well,
with her help of course.

It was a few weeks after he had taken the magical ring from the tomb of the
Silvanesti mage, he had already entered a town, posing as a Silvanesti. None
questioned him,

for he spoke the language perfectly with the earring's help, and kept his
person extremely well hidden. His magical talents seemed to adjust to the
surface better than he himself did, once again, with the help of his "friend".

His knowledge of surface magic filled more by the day, and already he had a
familiar--a large constricting snake, disgustingly enough. Just when the two
dead elves thought all was lost, hope appeared, from the last place they'd
expect it from...



Author:  Rouuthav
Date    Sun Dec 29 22:40:00 2002



SubjectOn the Surface: On a Tiny Boat



--[Somewhere in the Blood Sea]--

The boat was a small one, a simple fishing boat made out of wood with two oars
used to propell it. How it ended up in the center of the ocean isn't something
that could be explained by logical means, but of course,

once the story of this boat is known, one shouldn't expect anything about the
boat or its occupants to follow standard logic. Inside the boat was an old
minotaur, his fur all grey, manning the two oars.

Opposite of him rested a very strange looking human, or at least, he appeared
to be human. He rested with his hands behind his head and one leg crossed over
the other,

as if being in a tiny rowboat in the middle of the ocean was a normal and
leisurely occurance. He was dressed in a fool's motely, colors of red and
blue, and a cap of a court jester.

Resting next to him was a long staff topped with a skull in with a similar red
and blue hat. The man took his hat off and flapped it in the wind, and in a
small explosion of colorful sparks,

the hat transformed into a long cone with the tip cut off. The man held the
cone to his mouth to amplify his voice, and began to speak to his minotaur
companion.

'Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!' the strange man shouted into what used to be his
hat.

The minotaur took a few more strokes with the oars and finally threw them
down. He snorted loudly, annoyed with the human next to him.

'Why are we in the middle of Sargas-be-damned nowhere?! You are insane! What
are we doing here?!' he shouted.

'Why, we're going on an adventure, of course!' The human said, smiling.
'When WAS the last time you went on an adventure? Not in a long time, I'll
wager. That's the problem with power. You get lazy.'

'I've never gotten lazy!' the old minotaur snorted, crossing his massive
arms over his chest.

'Come on, Bandro, look at what your life. Shadow governments. Sneaking
around in the shadows. Where's the fun in that? Shadow, shadow, shadow! Talk
about repetitive. Did I ever mention back when you had me captured,

that was easily the most boring time of my life?'

'You've told me countless times!' the minotaur scowled.

'Aren't you in the least bit interested in why I've brought you out here on
the lovely sea? We aren't exactly here to raise the Orlouge, you know.'

'Then enlighten me, great and powerful...whatever you are...'

'Trouble is a'brewing, my friend. And as first mate of this vessel, it is my
duty to inform you about such things.'

The old minotaur rolled his eyes. 'Well, then tell me!' he grumbled.

'Well, our pointy-eared friends from down there,' the human pointed down
at the water, 'Are stirring up a few things up here,' he pointed up,
'although they might not know it.'

What are you babbling about, you fool?' the minotaur asked.

The human levitated out of the boat and turned so that his head was facing the
minotaur's. 'Well, it concerns an old friend of yours.'

The minotaur snorted. 'I never kept friends around long enough to have any
old ones.'

The human seemed to find the comment amusing, and threw back his head,
laughing. He reached into his pockets and searched around for a bit, finally
pulling out a wrinkled up paper. He tried to smooth the paper out,

but it didn't much help. He unfolded it and held it up before the minotaur,
revealing a sketch of an elven looking man with a bushy haircut.

'...Yes...I know him. One of the mariners. One of the old Orlouge crewmen, a
mage. I know him. Amerius...Souril. Red robed mage of the Conclave. The
Chronicler.'

The human clapped. 'Very good. You haven't lost it a bit, my dear little
slave. Souril Amerius is seeking his own kind.'

'His own kind?' the minotaur asked. He suddenly leaned forward, gaining
interest. 'The Dargonesti?'

'That's right, my horned friend. And our blue skinned buddies from down
under have sent one of their best magicians and made him what you mariners
like to call a landlubber.'

'How does this concern us again?'



Author:  Rouuthav
Date    Sun Dec 29 22:42:17 2002



SubjectOn the Surface: On a Tiny Boat (Part 2)



'It doesn't...until we get ourselves involved! So come on, this isn't gonna
happen by itself. You haven't had your finger in the pie of mortal affairs for
a while now, and this seems as good a time as any to dive right in.

'Kill me, that's all I ask.'

'Kill yoU?! Never! You captured me, and I am impressed by that. You're a
very interesting creature. I've known about you for years, of course, but it's
only now that we have this strange relationship.

Now, I'm the Master, so you listen to me, ok? Off to Palanthas! Mush! Er,
Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!'

And so the odd pair continued along the water at their plodding pace, the
minotaur rowing, and the human giving the orders...



Author:  Rouuthav
Date    Mon Dec 30 22:56:41 2002



SubjectOn the Surface: The Tides of Change



--[Tower of the Moons, Watermere]--

The handful of Dargonesti clerics rested on the floor of the temple. This was
supposed to be the home of the Speaker of the Moons, but there hadn't been one
in a long, long time. Even a long time to an elf.

Instead, it served as a place of worship for the god Habbakuk. That's why in
the center of the room, a large stone dolphin had been carved to commemorate
the god.

They all sat, preparing to meditate, when one of the clerics spoke.

'Something is awry.'

'So we have all noticed,' another, older cleric responded. 'The sharks
have lessened their attacks on our people lately.'

Another cleric nodded. 'Yes. Watermere has been more quiet than usual as of
late.'

The youngest cleric of the group spoke up. 'Why is this seen as such a bad
omen? Isn't this why we work so hard? Isn't this why we dedicate ourselves to
Lord Habbakuk? So that he will protect us and comfort us?

Can't you see? We're winning!'

The elder cleric shook his head. 'No, Revered Son of Habbakuk, that is where
you are wrong. We aren't winning. The Sea Queen plots something...and she has
called a retreat because she has a new plan.'

The young cleric looked hurt. 'Are you so sure?'

'Indeed...such is the cycle of events. What is important is that we find out
what she plans to do to us and stop it before it happens.' the elder sighed.
A few other clerics softly murmured in agreement.

One of the other clerics spoke up. 'How are we going to find out her
plans?'

The elder sighed, staring off into the distance. 'Now that, I do not
know...'

--[The Horse and Candle Inn, Filath]--

Souril couldn't deal with the arguing anymore. He looked up from what he was
writing at the desk and dropped his quill. He massaged his temples, trying to
relax, but he couldn't.

It had been a month since he had went to Darkenwood with Bishop, and the only
thing he had gained was an extra dwarf in the form of Kelvenda Stonesaw.

The only payment that Rilakolth and Elgryn would accept was to take the undead
hunter out of Darken Wood forever. So Souril had been traveling with the
incompetent assassin and the frustrating dwarf,

who both wanted nothing more then to help him as guards while he searched for
another of his lineage. Now they were in some hole of a town called Filath,
barely more then a village,

and in the background the bickering between Bishop and Kelvenda was turning
into quite the argument. Rilakolth's help hadn't been much, but he knew it
w*ouldn't be.

There wasn't much to go on. But the mage had promised to send more help, and
so far they hadn't received any.

'Come on, Boy! Come on! Rush at me, ye lilly lickin' goblinspawn!'
Kelvenda shouted from the background.

'Huzzah!' Bishop responded.

The two ran at eachother and started fighting again. They were like children.
Souril took a deep breath and tried to ignore it.

He picked up his quill, but as he went to dip it in the ink jar, Kelvenda
threw Bishop into his chair, causing him to jolt forward, knocking the ink all
over what he had already been writing.

'That's it! I have had enough of this! Will the two of you just please, for
the love of Sargonnas, shut up?! I can't stand the constant fighting, the
annoyances, the complaining, the...abject stupidity

...of the two of you!' Souril stood up, shouting.

The dwarf and the human stopped mid-grapple to stare in shock at the mage. He
never yelled before. Bishop slowly released Kelvenda's beard.
'I'm...sorry...'

Souril grabbed the book he was writing in and threw it on the ground. 'Among
other things,' he said, with much venom in his voice. The half-sea elf left
the room, slamming the door.

Souril muttered under his breath as he hurried down the stairs to the common
room of the inn. Maybe he'd get some peace here, at least. He turned to enter
the common room and found himself staring face to face with Vahim Al-Maer.

'Souril Amerius,' he said fondly.

Souril grimaced. 'Vahim Al-Maer?!'



Author:  Rouuthav
Date    Mon Dec 30 22:58:24 2002



SubjectOn the Surface: The Tides of Change (Part 2)



The man nodded. It was definitely him. Same dark hair, same mustache, same
accent. Same style of clothing. Same stupid hat. The two had grown up together
in Karthay. They went to the same magic school.

Vahim could barely light a candle with magic. They were always friends, but
always rivals. Vahim was probably the last person Souril wanted to see. He
would think of a way to quickly get rid of him,

and then he would get something to drink. There was no way this day could get
any worse.

'Souril! You won't belive it! I took the Test! I'm a Black Robed mage now!
And I've been sent here by the Conclave to help you!'

It just got worse.


Author:    Rouuthav       
Date:      Thu Feb  1 14:55:52 2007
Subject     Haikus for you!

Bogoljubov's script
Sanzo won't figure it out
Oops, he's in the room

Mondraiken is (SLAIN)
by a tiny kender girl
Bulthar laughs and laughs...

Ziv should build a ship
Before he does something else
like coding in pipes

Ulthar and Emla
A marriage made in heaven
...or Massachusetts

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