The Great Library of Palanthas
An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.
Stories of Ansalon from the view of Seldrada.
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 small volume on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Seldrada' scribed in faded purple ink.
Author: Seldrada Date: Mon Jun 15 20:05:42 2020 Subject Seldrada's Origins
With a scream, Seldrada woke up in a cold sweat, his expensive silk sheets clinging to his damp skin. Grasping frantically, he found the silver mirror on his bedstand and looked at it. The frame of the mirror glowed faintly, providing enough light to reveal his healthy, unblemished face.. )------------------------------------------------------------------------( It was the same dream he always had - although memory would be a more apt description: he had been brought to the Tower of the Sun itself, his "escort" keeping their distance and wielding spears instead of their typical long swords - all the better to keep Seldrada further than arms reach. A noticeably large crowd had turned out, although Seldrada remembered that they kept their distance too. In each dream, Solostaran's words were always different. Seldrada supposed this was because he couldn't remember what Solostaran had said. It had had something to do with the accusations that Seldrada had continued his research into the dark arcane magic of Nuitari, although the fact that Seldrada was barely capable of a simple cantrip, let alone a spell that would heal the disease that coursed through his body - a disease even the most devout priests of Mishakal had been unable to cure. Seldrada couldn't remember because he couldn't help but return the stares from the courtiers in attendance. He tried to remember what it was like when he had been young - happy, curious.. healthy. He remembered playing with friends and family, attending the classes that young Qualinesti were required to take. And then that one morning, when he woke up feeling sick. It had started mild at first, but before long, he was bedridden, his body breaking out in pox. Within a couple of days, his sister and parents were sick as well. Fortunately, the spread of the disease had stopped there, but not before taking his mother's health and his sister's life. His father recovered and before long was healthy, at least physically. But the disease that took hold of Seldrada never quite left. The oozing pustules and blackened skin that had been the hallmarks of the plague at its height persisted long after the disease should have run its course. When the best priests could not cure the disease, Seldrada turned to the arcane arts. Despite his noticeable lack of ability, Seldrada found no evidence of the magic of the moons being used to heal. Isolated and with no hope, Seldrada found himself ready and eager to end the pain. On the eve of his suicide, the guards had arrived at his door to march him to the Tower of the Sun. But in the moment that Solostaran pronounced Seldrada banished, a Dark Elf forever, Seldrada's focus snapped away from the fearful, pitying eyes before him. For in his banishment, Solostaran had given Seldrada a gift.. a new kind of hope - revenge. The god's had chosen Seldrada, as if at random, for pain and suffering.. but the Qualinesti people had chosen to take part in that torment - a choice Seldrada would never forgive. As he descended the stairs, the guards approached him cautiously, one holding a pair of manicles. Seldrada brushed them off, strode past them, out the door and out of Qualinost. The next time he came back, he would watch the city burn.
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
\n