An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Valas.

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 bluish black leather-bound book on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Valas' scribed in burnt black ink.

Author:    Valas          
Date:      Fri Dec 12 09:23:10 2008
Subject     The Knife of Dracart.

The sun was just beginning it's descent into the Blood Sea. Valas walked
quietly down the streets of Flotsam taking in the scenary, or, lack-there-of
with little enthusiasm. He pulled the hood of his cloak lower and began
sticking closer to the shadows, not wanting those few drunks still making
their way to the next pour house to notice him. This was a city where one
was better off not being caught unaware. Not that he was worried, he knew
none would approach him and leave alive. 

Approaching a particularly wretched establishment, he made his way inside.
The smell wafting from the place would attract every gully dwarf for miles.
It increased his lack of enthusiasm even more so, if that were possible.
Wondering to himself why he decided to accept such a job, for one of his
skill it seemed insulting. But his employer was generous, and the sum
outweighed Valas' dismay. Thinking back to his time in Kuri-Khan, the
notoriety that required him to make an abrupt, yet swift departure made his
lips raise to something of a half-smile. It did not reach his eyes. He truly
despised gully dwarves. 

As he entered the smell increased even more so making his eye twitch
noticeably. He quietly made his way to the slab of splintered wood they
passed for a bar and ordered honey mead. He scanned the room quickly, as the
bartender handed him what must have been the cleanest glass in the room. You
could almost see through the grime smeared on it. He tossed the bartender a
steel coin, enough to cover a whole night in a hole like this. Valas took
his glass and headed for the nearest corner, table, closer to the shadows
dancing about the edges of the fireplace. Noticing that the rest of the
"patrons" in the mudhole went back to their business, he quickly poured his
drink out and pulled a small flask from a hidden pocket in his cloak, he
took a quick sip to wet his lips and quickly put it away, the smell of mead
now coating his breath. 

He signalled for the serving wench to bring another, and to keep them
coming. Sooner or later his target would appear, he had every night for the
past tenday. Valas knew his habits well enough now that it was time to
garner the information he was sent to acquire. By whatever means necessary
were the orders. 

2 hours later the door banged open, the loud creak of leather and iron, a
steel sword slapping against a buckles. He walked with a confidence that was
betrayed by his nervous eyes, his boots scuffing the dirt floor more often
than naught, white knuckled gripped hands at his sides, close to a sword he
most likely knew how to use. The man was a soldier. Perhaps a guard, but
military was written all over him. Valas bowed his head slightly, looking
down into a half empty glass and made a show of swaying in his chair
slightly as the man looked about the room. The nine glasses lining his table
would make the show seem genuine. 

Valas sat for another two hours, pouring drinks out near the fireplace to
evaporate quickly, studying the man, watching him drink, making sure not to
arrouse the man's suspicions, though his cognizance was minimal at best.
Valas didnt get to where he was by acting on assumptions. 

Author:    Valas          
Date:      Fri Dec 12 15:36:05 2008
Subject     The Knife of Dracart (Weight and Measure)

Another hour later the soldier stumbled out of the place, Valas tossed
another coin to the bartender and gave him a look that promised forgetful
behavior begets a longer lifespan. In a swift move that could barely be
registered Valas palmed a knife from some hidden sheath on his person and
stalked out the door to follow. Valas watched the soldier continue his
unstable gait, passing many buildings and alleys. Knowing the man's route,
he picked his way up to the roof tops and began running across them making
about as much sound as a spider crawling across heavy carpet. He chose his
intercept point and waitied, his hood and cloak pulled close against him. He
completely blended into the shadows. 

As the man stumbled below him, Valas crouched even closer to the rooftop,
coiling his well honed muscle for a spring that would take him down directly
on top of the man. He re-sheathed his knife and just as the man turned
(probably sensing someone watching him or perhaps just getting his bearings)
Valas leaped, the man looked up and saw only a dark cape fluttering wildly
through the night with a man attached. Valas tucked his legs up closer to
his body and then flung them out straight into the man's face, turning his
momentum at the exact moment of impact to roll away. The soldier hit the
ground, hard, and Valas jumped up instantly, turning to face him and take a
measure of any witnesses that might be near by. Seeing none he quickly
binded the groaning man's hands behind his back and wired his legs to allow
him to walk, but not run. Valas quickly yanked him into a standing position
by his hair and stared directly into the man's eyes. From nowhere a dagger
was up against the soldiers throat.

He spoke in a voice completely devoid of all emotion. "Now,  my friend. You
shall tell me -everything- you know about this knife I have been hearing so
much about... The look in Valas' eyes left him no room to doubt his future,
or lack-there-of, would be. 

To get his point across, he cot off both of the man's index fingers, shoving
one into the soldier's pocket, the other into his mouth then dragged him
away. 

Author:    Valas          
Date:      Fri Dec 12 16:08:48 2008
Subject     The Knife of Dracart (Questions...Questions...)

Valas dragged the soldier along, his moans muffled by his own digit, to
an old run-down wharf warehouse. The soldier, finally recovering somewhat
from the shock of his ordeal, gathered courage at the fact there was indeed
no fireplace at all. That was short lived however, as Valas strapped him
securely to a wall and walked over to a corner where a small box sat. He
picked up the box and walked slowly toward the man, a look of annoyed
impatience glinting in his eyes. "Do you know what this is?" The man stared
at him, defiance clear in his posture. Valas stared hard at him for several
moments. "It is a box. A small box with a metal slide covering the only hole
in this box. Inside there is a rat. I have kept the vermin in there for a
few days,  it is quite hungry." 

"Now, you are going to tell me what I want to know, because I am going to
make a fine meal. I already know you are part of the Dragon Army. What I do
not know, is why I have been sent on such a lowly mission for a simple
knife." 

Valas walked over to the man, box in hand and began strapping it around his
waist. As he finished buckling it on he checked the man's bonds to make sure
he had no room to move, cutting off circulation to his hands to stop his
other wounds from bleeding out too much. He looked the man in the eye as he
sliced a small gash into his chest to let the blood leak down and tempt the
rats hunger. 

"I had the honor of escaping a prisoner circus where this was done for sport.  It is quite painful...  Most men soil themselves and beg for death long before it is over.  Do hurry it up.  I was told there were others who know as
much if not more than you.  You were simply the easiest to start with."


(Had to log, more to come.)

Author:    Valas          
Date:      Sat Dec 13 00:50:34 2008
Subject     The Knife of Dracart. (The Name)

Valas removed the pin locking the metal hatch into place and pulled it
up, opening the slot just enough for the rat to poke it's face out.
Immedietly the man started screaming in abject horror, his eyes widened
until it looked as though they would just fall out of the sockets. "Truly,
this not need be so painful, all I desire is a name and a description."
Valas pulled a simple worn dagger from his sleeve, and sat down quietly
while the rat began to tear at the man's flesh. He retrieved a whetstone
from his pouch and an oiled cloth, he began to run the stone along his blade
in time with the man's screams. 

"One name and the pain goes away. Surely they don't pay you enough for such
a situation?" The man screamed in a pitch normally reserved for choir boys.
Finally he began screaming one name over and over. A title really. "Baroness
of the Blue!." He repeated it over and over, and still Valas merely sat and
watched as the rat made it's way into the man's intestines. The man's
screaming raised yet another pitch that Valas hadn't figured a grown man
could make. Finally, as blood tinged froth began to come from the man's
mouth, Valas walked up and neatly slashed his throat. Valas checked the
man's pockets, finding little of use other than a few coins, in his boot
however, was a description of the dagger. Looking down at the man, Valas
flashed him a disgusted look and turned to walk out. As an afterthought, he
looked back. 

"One can never be sure of the truth, until death is involved. Perhaps the
Gods designed you to die by my hand." Shrugging at the corpse he turned and
walked away. "It appears I am going to Sanction." 

Author:    Valas          
Date:      Wed Dec 24 08:43:03 2008
Subject     The Knife of Dracart. (Damned the Luck)

The trip to Sanction was fairly uneventful for Valas, a few minor
skirmishes with lesser beings, but nothing unexpected in such treacherous
territory. The roads were still unusually busy. Not a good sign. Something
big was happening and Valas was not a part of it, had very little
information on it even. He knew this Knife must be involved.

He had heard little else in the way of gossip during this ridiculous
journey. He was entering foreign territory and he was ill equipped. He knew
a new acquaintance from his recent alliance with a mercenary band. The
minotaur was named Kaiba, although not the most subtle of companions, he was
a hulking beast. He was minotaur, and he carried other skills Valas might
find useful. 

"Damned that Khan... I will most certainly set up a meeting between this
precious knife of his and his own lungs for sending me on this mission..."

Of course Valas no longer considered the deal they made viable. The man knew
more than he let on and did not tell Valas before hand. That means he
considered the assassin expendable, it was insulting. Few ever survived
Valas' displeasure. None who had ever insulted him. Staring a little too
long at Kaiba, the minotaur looked at him uncomfortably.

"Do not worry,  if what the Khan said was true, we may yet make a fortune
from this venture.  Or we will find our deaths." 

The minotaur merely nodded, he wasn't much for speaking when he did not have
to. Valas was glad for that. He was not the type to keep company on a
regular basis. Valas continued his pace, with a few hours they would reach
Sanction. The wind picked up slighly, Valas didnt like the greasy feel or
the death filled stench of it. He draped his cloak closer about him and
pulled his cowl low, hiding his face completely. Resting his hands upon his
weapon pommels easily, he just sighed and kept walking. 

Author:    Valas          
Date:      Wed Dec 24 09:15:33 2008
Subject     The Knife of Dracart. (Damned the Luck cont)

Valas finally reached the gate, he had slowed his gait to lag far behind
the minotaur. It was better if no one connected them right away. Valas and
the minotaur had agreed on a simple means of signalling each other, he
passed Kaiba a small piece of reflecting glass, kept one himself. They
continued along searching for some means of finding out about the one known
as "The Blue Baroness" and they were having little luck. 

Valas signalled to Kaiba shortly before they came to an intersection in the
hideous city. He realized they could search for days and find nothing, they
needed a place to work from. Informants they could bribe, bully, or
otherwise bluff into shedding some much needed information. Seeing a shabby,
run-down inn on the corner he decided that it was worth a shot. No one
important would be caught in a place like that, and most would willingly
share rumors and such for the price of a few cheap drinks. 

He let Kaiba enter first, staying behind to get his bearings and note the
best exits from the inn and the city itself. This place wasnt the type to be
kind to strangers. Kaiba was stranger than most... Valas entered after
awhile and found a quiet seat with his back to the wall and a view of the
entire room. Kaiba was already starting trouble, pushing the drunkards
around and probing about the knife in a voice loud enough to annoy the
Gods.

Valas simply sat back and watched everyone's reaction to the spectacle. None
took enough interest to be suspicious, except for one man. He could not be
identified other than he was armed, and well at that. Kaiba chased the man
out of the inn... Not the plan Valas had in mind, but as soon as he left
another curious patron entered. He was not dressed like the scum that filled
such a place. His manner and grace were not even human. It was obvious to
Valas who shared a bit of elven blood himself. 

Kaiba re-entered shortly afterwards and went back to the bar searching for
his next victim. Valas decided the next victims had already presented
themselves. Both were being a bit too curious and Valas knew then they had
to make their move. He moved up next to Kaiba and spoke aloud some nonsense
about his gratitude towards his latest victim and silent pointed the elf out
to Kaiba. The minotaur was thick headed and didnt quite get it. Frustration
over-ruling caution, Valas chucked a glass at the elf and charged the well
armed stranger while screaming for Kaiba to act! He finally did, and a quick
battle ensued. Valas knew the dangers of attacking outright, people he knew
nothing about. His suspicions were soon confirmed. Kaiba was snoring loud
enough to shake the flimsy walls of the inn, his own opponent was a well
trained soldier. Valas could not hope to win. 


(The rest of this story can be referenced from Dante's previous story -
Conscripting Informants. It was all taken from a rather long IC Luerk,
Kaiba, Dante and I did a short while ago) 

Author:    Valas          
Date:      Sun Dec 28 21:01:17 2008
Subject     The Knife of Dracart. (Burning the Fields)

Valas looks over at Dante coldly and simply shakes his head. "Whether you
care to believe it or not, I am not your prisoner, I do not take orders from
you, and I do not like you." He turns his thoughts back inward, ignoring the
man's presence entirely. Valas had little care for his current situation, he
was hunting a knife and so he focussed on that. The problem was not going to
be easily solved, it could be anywhere and he had not even a starting point
to go from.

He considered the possibility that this was some sort of a suicide mission,
he was being sent to take the blame since the "powers that be" could not
find it. Valas simply didnt care. He had been under the thumb of others all
of his life. He hated them and he hated his inability to free himself from
them. 

Shaking himself out of those feelings of weakness, he decided a methodical
search would not suffice. It was time to make some noise and get noticed. If
they could not find the knife, perhaps the knife would find them. He looked
back once again at the man who had beaten him in a fair fight not a week
ago, deciding it was time to put the muscle head to use. A plan began to
form in his head, it was comparable to catching a snake with your bare
hands. You simply had to find what it was after, make it come to you. 

"If all else fails... You simply burn the whole field until it has nowhere
left to go." Valas turned, walked down the plank as soon as the ship had
secured it's lines to the dock.

He stood among the bustle of the fishermen, merchants, and sailors who were
scurrying about everywhere. "What a fine field to burn..." He smiled grimly
then, if this mission were a failure, he could always place the blame on the
others. After all, he was not in charge. 

He waited for Dante and his brainless minions to catch up. Perhaps he could
even angle the entire thing, success or fail, into his favor. These soldier
types were never clever when it came to intrigue or subtlety. He might even
be given a comfortable spot among this army. He simply could not deny that
they were a force in this world, perhaps one of the most powerful given
time... 

Author:    Valas          
Date:      Wed Jan  7 13:05:06 2009
Subject     Knife of Dracart (Because Im Going to Say Please)

Valas Lynch stood quietly inside of the abandoned house staring hard at
his latest source of information. A myriad swirl of thoughts were running
through his head, most were just fleeting ideas on how to pose his line of
questioning.

The man himself was tied to a foul smelling chair, the last line of
questioning had been rough. Stark fear was evident in his eyes and rigid
posture. It was also evident in the growing puddle of blood and urine
collecting at his feet.

"Why show such loyalty for someone who would most likely leave you to this
grim fate? Is it perhaps because you want this knife for yourself? Or do you
fear your "Friends" more than you do me?"

The man groaned slightly, he was barely clinging to consciousness. Valas
cursed his draconian escort, cursed more Dante's lack of restraining them.
Valas produced a small vial of harsh smelling herbs and liquids from one of
the pockets in his cloak and dabbed it under the prisoner's nose. The man
jerked awake, looking around the room in a dizzy manner. Valas hoped he
wasnt brain damaged. The man slowly focussed upon Valas, hatred manifested
itself as the man stared daggers right through him. Good Valas thought,
still signs of defiance. Still coherent. A more dire form of questioning was
necessary. 

Valas nodded over to the fireplace, drawing the man's line of vision there.
A simple stoker lay gleaming red inside of it, next to it were the two
draconian "escorts." They were wrapped tightly in many forms of cloth and
covered in robes.

"My comrades (using the term loosely) grow impatient, they wish to be off
from this cursed place. Quite simply, I will begin cutting off various
pieces of your body. That stoker is to stop the bleeding. I could keep you
alive for a very long time, no one will recognize you after I am finished.
Heroics bore me, you see. So you will tell me what you know, or I will begin
feeding you pieces of your own anatomy. As you find yourself with less
pieces, I will grow more tempted to toss whats left of you into Shoikan
Grove. The undead that roam that place will devour your soul, and I will
drink fine wine in memory to your stupidity." 

The man paled visibly, and the look Valas gave him showed in no uncertain
terms he would keep his promise. "Now, tell me everything you know about
this knife, who has been seen with it? What are the rumors as to it's
powers?" Valas shot a cold look at Dante, who sat off at a table on the far
side of the room eating his meal. Looking back at the man Valas unsheathed a
knife that was serrated on one side and a fillet edge on the other. The man
began sweating and finally, proving his intelligence, began to scream for
help. Valas brought the blade about in a flash and cut one of the man's
fingers off neatly. Blood spurted and Valas nodded for the stoker. One of
the draconians snatched it up and brought it to Valas, whom pressed it
against the wound with a sickening sizzle. 

The smell of burning meat and boiling blood filled the air. Valas passed the
stoker off, turned to the man, grabbed a fistful of his hair and jerked his
head back to look into Valas' cold eyes. No one can hear you. We are in the
housing district near Shoikan Grove. Perhaps you think me a liar. I will
know what you know, and if you lie to me I will consign you to Chemosh and
find another who is more cooperative.


Author:    Valas          
Date:      Wed Jan  7 13:29:48 2009
Subject     Knife of Dracart (Because Im Going to Say Please-cont)

The man squealed as the shock wore off and pain flooded his mind. He
stared almost blankly at Valas, he had no choice but to look into the eyes
of the man who promised something worse than death.

Finally he began whimpering and blubbered something about the knife being
said to drive people crazy. Valas was growing impatient, he had heard all of
this already, but he waited as the man continued.

The man stared right into Valas' eyes as if in a trance, and spoke of the
people rumored to have been spotted with it. If rumors were to be believed,
many various types were seen with it, the last of which was spotted by many
Solamnic guards hailing out of Vingaard, they mentioned a mage rallying them
to battle a single monk. Apparently the "Honor" of the Solamnic Knights was
merely just a rumor as well. Valas cared little. The worst possible scenario
had just unfolded before him. A mage was in possession of an artifact blade
of real power.

Valas closed his eyes for a second to burn all of this into his memory and
still his chaotic thoughts. Staring once again at the man, Valas pulled his
knife and stabbed him right above his adam's apple, striking his brain stem
and mercifully killing the man fast. Things just took a turn for the worst
and Valas decided that perhaps he should indeed make a report to this Luerk
character. Valas did not like the idea of facing mages, he knew well their
habits and motivations, and wanted nothing to do with them. They were too
hard to track, too unpredictable.

He motioned for the draconians to douse the house in potent liquor, and
turned to Dante. "There is your information. I am done here. I will go make
my report and you can decide what YOU are going to do next." Valas stalked
off to an adjoining room to grab his gear, on the way back he wiped his
blade off on the dead man's clothing and reseathed it. 

He walked out of the house, giving instructions to set the place ablaze when
they were finished. He walked the shadows all the way to an unremarkable
inn, bought a room for the night, and ate a large meal.

After he finished, he wrote his report out, he pulled the insignia given to
him by Luerk and touched it to the encased scroll. The scroll simply
disappeared. Valas muttered something about wizards and began setting traps
about the window and door. Keeping his blades close, he fell into a light
sleep, alert as always... No dreams came to him, they never did. 

Author:    Valas          
Date:      Wed Nov 18 09:35:59 2009
Subject     The Whims of a Murderer.

Its been years since my run in with that gender-confused pretty boy whom
captured me in Sanction, I've come to find my desires being met in full. I
want for nothing as far as coin is concerned, I simply do the job I was
offered.

I say "offered" in that it gives me a sense that my life is my own to
control, a delusion that gets me by, a necessity. I was hired to wreak
carnage on the outlying hick nobility serving the Solamnic Knights. He
always knows where I am... I think I might be growing paranoid. I used to be
an assassin, hired out to the highest bidder, professional, but now it's
just... fun. I find I have to kill, like a drug or some kind of sickness
that I cant shake. Everyday as I wander town to town, my guise as a simple
herbalist covering my true intent... During the day I make a show of curing
illnesses, small wounds, aches and pains, fevers... I decide whom will
become the next to meet their God face to face. Perhaps it's my mind's way
of compensating for the control I've lost over myself, I control them
instead. I try not to think about it.

I used to have rules, no women, no children... Only those that would pose a
challenge. Now it hardly matters. I watch the light fade in their eyes as my
blades grind against bone gristle, the ripping of flesh, the smell of warm
blood slowly coagulating... 

Night is the worst, I think. That is when the urge seems to become
unbearable. Several small communities and even larger cities have set their
bounty hunters to find me, to even discover whom was responsible... Ive
killed many of them as well, torturing them slowly when time permits.
Seeking information on the next fool who thinks himself good enough to claim
the thin purses on my head. If they knew the truth they would have asked for
more.

It wasnt until recently that I heard the rumors of armies massing to the
carrion call of War's trumpet. I knew then that my antics would no longer be
tolerated. Ive spent a month making my way back through the Solamnic claimed
territories, a harried flight back to more hospitable lands for one of my...
tastes. Perhaps it is time I paid my "employer" a visit once again. He'll
find that Im not the weakling I was when he first enslaved me. Maybe then I
can cut the puppet's cords. Maybe Ill just tear his face off with my bare
hands... 

I think the surpreme irony is that I was sent to kill fops by a fop.  He wet my appetite to murder his own kind.  The fool.

The Storytellers of Ansalon, The DragonLance MUD

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