The Great Library of Palanthas
An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.
Stories of Ansalon from the view of Sorin.
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 heavy platinum-covered book on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Sorin' scribed in dull black ink.
Author: Sorin Date: Fri Jan 12 12:03:18 2018 Subject Rebirth Requires Death Part I
Sorin shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, trying unsuccessfully to shake off the chill that cut through the vacant building. What had once been the office of his family's thriving shipping yard, the Sable-Macbeth estate was not just a distant memory for the city of Palanthas. Now, the company office was empty, windows and doors missing, which let in the dreadful cold and fog. Sorin wrapped his cloak tighter, but his associate, the only family he had left, growled, "I hope you know what you're getting yourself into." Sorin only glanced in the direction of Kesh, an older man with a full head of slicked-back grey hair. Once upon a time, Kesh Reveliere was a feared smuggler running contraband in and out of Palanthas. But time fears no man, and took her told on the aging man. Finally Sorin spoke. "I can't ask you to stay my friend, but I don't know any other way. We need to rebuild the company quickly ... and quietly." Kesh growled again, "You know I'm not going anywhere. I owed your father a debt, and I intend to pay it." Sorin smirked beneath the black bandana covering his face. Kesh would have sliced him a new one if he had seen. So they waited, and Sorin recalled the worst day of his life. ************************************************************************ I was expecting a more cheerful celebration for my return. Sorin said to himself, pushing through the elegant white doors of the Sable-Macbeth estate. He stepped over the threshold with a flourish, fully expecting his family and household servants to burst out from hiding, amid cheers and confetti. But there he stood, arms raised aloft to nothing but the cold silence of an empty home. He signed heavily and frowned. This is hardly how to welcome home a hero! Not everybody can negotiate with profitable terms with three trade guilds! A hattrick of contracts! he shouted to nobody, his words echoing weirdly off the vaulted ceilings. Sorin spun around, and then again, looking like a fool with his hands held out in confused frustration. As he walked through the halls of his family home, Sorin ran his fingers across mantles and tabletops where elegant busts and valuable paintings once were. Instead, all that seemed to remain was a layer of dust. Sorin frowned again, wondering why the servants had been so neglectful. Then a thought struck him and he muttered aloud, Where the fuck is the help? I havent seen a single person here! Suddenly very concerned, Sorin rushed to the grand staircase and up to third floor where his father maintained his personal office. Despite how busy their family home had always been, with foreign merchants and employees of the shipping business constantly coming and going, Sorins father managed to keep a well organized and quiet office. It was a large space with only an elegant vallenwood desk standing alone. Sorin bustled through the door only to come to a skidding halt. The room was just as he remembered it, minus his father. Instead, what sat on the desk was a large opened ledger book with a bloody stiletto stabbed through it. ************************************************************************ A suddenly creak snapped Sorin back to reality. Kesh muttered, shifting his weight as Sorin had done early. Their contact was late. **TO BE CONTINUED**
Sorin wrinkles his nose, trying to place the particular variety Nestos is smoking, then slowly begins to speak. "Well now, that's a curious things to say." He crosses his arms across his chest and leans back, looking over Nestos with a skeptical eye. It's true that Sorin had recently returned to Palanthas to resurrect the currently defunct Sable-Macbeth Company, but he found that his family name was blacklisted across all the legitimate (and illegitimate) trading in Palanthas. Most of his Sable-Macbeth family employees and friends, save for Kesh, had abandoned Sorin's kin when the company fell to a ruthless and bloody takeover. Nonetheless, Sorin remained wary of any unsolicited offers of friendship. "What makes you think we need any help, hmm?" "I doubt that you absolutely need help. I am sure between the two of you, you can bring this place back to its former glory," the dark elf says as he indicates the vacant building, "However, I also have no doubt that by the time you reach that point, you will have more grey in your hair than your friend here, and he will most likely be dead in the ground. " The mage feigns a look of apology at the older man, but his tone belies the gesture. "No, you do not have any need for help, but perhaps you have a want for it?" Nestos takes a few more puffs from his pipe, then lets out a large cloud of smoke before offering the pipe to Sorin. Sorin cocks an eyebrow and his companion snarls silently at Nestos. With a sigh, Sorin continues, "Nobody offers anything for free. Should we want your help, what is it you want in exchange?" He steps closer to Nestos, softly twirling his moustache, wondering what the world an elf dressed in black would want in Palanthas. "As you seem to know so much about me already, you must know that I haven't much in the way of steel, resources, ships or friends." Kesh closes his eyes in frustration, "What happened to playing it close to the chest?" he mutters to himself. Sorin looks unimpressed by Nestos and makes a face. "And if you're the devil, you should know I'm not a virgin." Sorin flashes an unpleasant grin before continuing, "Not to mention my soul's black with spots." Nestos shrugs his shoulders, then puts the pipe back in his mouth as he flashes another grin at Sorin, "So, your's is only spotted?" After a few more puffs of smoke, the mage looks into the bowl of the pipe and frowns. He taps out the ashes with his boot then tucks it away back in it's pouch. "I would certainly be glad to talk specifics, if you are interested. However, I prefer to do so with the head of the company alone." The dark elf glances over to Kesh, then back to Sorin, "But I can assure you that what I would ask is no more illicit than anything you have or will be doing in this line of work."
Sorin winced as he applied clerical linen to a bleeding and charred burn that spread across his shoulder. Grunting through the pain, he clenches his teeth and growls to himself "I guess that wasn't the answer he was looking for?" Wrapping the linen around his shoulder as best he can with his free hand, he managed to keep the wound from oozing blood everywhere. Satisfied, he closes his eyes and holds his breath trying to listen to any sound of his pursuer. The wizard padded softly through the narrow walkways between the warehouses, his black robes snap wildly in the winds that blow from the Bay of Branchala. He's holding a thin wand made of bramblewood aloft and peers around from side to side as if he's seeing through the darkness with some unseen light. But Sorin is able to stay ahead of the man, deftly maneuvering around the wizard and doubling back into the warehouse. "What in the abyss are those bastards smuggling in?" Sorin mutters to himself. He slinks from shadow to shadow, hiding behind large crates and oddly shaped objects covered by tarpaulin. Several henchmen are hauling more crates into the warehouse, but Sorin does not recognize them. None of them are from the longshoremen guild, but they're just are surly and sullen looking. Sorin draws a hidden knife from his boot and wedges it underneath the top board of a nearby crate. "Wait for it .... wait for it ... wait ..." he whisper to himself, until suddenly one of the henchmen drops a crate with a loud clatter. Sorin uses his bodyweight to pop open the crate during the clamor, then quietly sifts through the contents. He handles a few oddly colored potions that bubble and gurgle violently. "By the gods, who the hell is bringing this in?" Sorin replaces the topboard and brushes his hand across the side of the crate, displacing grime and dust to reveal the emblem burned into the sideboards - a large "W" framed inside a red triangle. But before Sorin has any time to react, a flash of light momentarily blinds Sorin as a lightning bolt strikes the crate with tremendous force. The black robed mage curses loudly, raging that he failed to hit Sorin. "Holy fuck!" Sorin screams and he pops up from yet another crate. He hurls his knife at the wizard with deadly accuracy and rolls away back into the darkness. The nearby henchmen are now shouting and rushing over. The mage, having been wounded by the knife screams at them to find the intruder. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** Safely back in his hidden loft above the Sable & Macbeth shop, Sorin is unwrapping his burnt shoulder. As he does so, he eyes the cold steel signet lying on his desk. The letters "NVTC" gleaming slightly in the flickering light of a candle. Sighing heavily, he finishes unwrapping and groans when he pours a thick salve over the wound. As the salve stings, he reaches out and takes the ring, gripping it tightly. "I hope I'm not damning us all." he mutters, and slides the ring onto littlest finger on left hand.
Sorin squinted at the faded and worn cards he held in his hand, struggling to make out the different symbols and patters on each of face each one. Was that a skull or a seagull? Does that match with this, that might be a skull too or a ship with full sails. This last card doesnt look like any suit Ive seen before. A familiar voice whispered in his ear, irritating and hot on his neck. You should have never taken that bet, youre going to lose the family fortune. Sorin swatted at his ear, drawing a hiss from the voice. Im not going to lose Kesh. I never lose. Grinning cheerfully, Sorin looked over his dismal array of cards at the player seated across from him. Opposite Sorin sat a squat, toad-like man with wispy strands of greasy hair fringed around an impressive bald spot. The man grinned nastily, his eyes flicking back and forth between his own cards and Sorin. His grubby little fingers, looking quite like spoiled sausages made of dubious meat, squirmed fitfully. A tell, the toad man had a winning hand. Sorin leaned slightly, whispering back to his friend, Do you know why I always win? Because - . And the voice of Kesh cut in - Because youre a spoiled whelp who never learned the value of a solid coin? Insulted, Sorin made a face and sputtered What? No! I always win because Im playing the real game. There was a moment of awkward silence, Kesh staring blankly before speaking again. That doesnt quite inspire the confident you seem to think it should, Sorin. The two were interrupted by a shout from across the table, which sounded somewhat like a bark and a snort. The toadman croaked You gonna play or gossip, huh blondie? Sorin drew a deep breath, and put on his winningest smile. All in. Everything. Kesh groaned.
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
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