The Great Library of Palanthas

An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Zemenith.

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 with glowing glyphs on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Zemenith' scribed in light purple ink.

Author:  Zemenith
Date    Sun Dec 23 14:25:50 2001

Subject  Return of the...Dead?

Cryton Drakel, former Mercenary, former captain of the black dragonarmy, and
former Knight of the Lily...had vanished.  After the destruction of the
dragonarmies, and the creation of the Knights of Takhisis, he knew that he had
no place in this realm.  And he left, in search of what he search
of what would quench his unsatiable thirst.  The thirst for blood.  Ever since
he had begun his training so many years ago, Cryton had lived to
prove his superiority over all others.  From this had grown his rage, his
hatred of the weaker races...the blood of whom he could satiate himself from
for a time.  But when the Knights of Takhisis was formed, the true
warriors...the survivors were lost In place of them grew an army of "knights"
honor bound, stuck ups, who couldn't contend in battle for all their
riteousness, much like the Solamnic Knights whom he had slain for years.  And
with this he left.  He searched for many years But nothing could slake this
thirst, this want for death, his hatred, his rage was left unchecked.  After
many years of being thought dead.  Cryton, now known as Zemenith, returned to
this realm, to take what was rightfully his, and with his brother at his
side...they would destroy the weaker races of Krynn...the elves, humans, and
*spit* goblins.  They would all find their hope...and lives lost upon the
blade of his axe...and would feel the eternal pain of the Drakel's.

Author:    Zemenith       
Date:      Sun Mar  4 17:02:46 2018
Subject     Coming Home (Plus Death!)

Zemenith wiped goblin blood from his axe blade once again. He snorted and spat on the ground. Six of their corpses lay on the ground behind him with one still moaning from the branches of the tree it had been thrown into. Zemenith looked at the creature with derision as it gathered its wits and looked to his feet. He picked up one of the "large" goblin axes and threw it at the creature. He heard a loud thunk as the blade of the axe buried itself in the trunk followed by a larger thud (the goblin's body) and a smaller one (its head). He strode away from the bodies quickly. The smell of goblin irritated him, the smell of dead goblin decidedly less so, but there was still no reason to stay near them any longer than necessary. Their deaths were necessary. The aftermath...not as necessary for him. Someone else would clean it up. The road to Sanction had, unfortunately, been more cluttered with this sort of filth then he would have liked. They wore the colors of the Queen, but they did not deserve to. He'd massacred each group he'd met in turn. He continued ever on. The journey was long and more taxing then he had remembered. The years had worn on him. While he was certainly still a force to be reckoned with, especially for the weaker races, Zemenith found that each day he had to rest a little earlier. He found his once red fur greying. Old injuries seemed to ache more. He carried little with him. Nothing aside from his axe, shield, and a light (and ever lightening) travelling pack. When he'd started out, it hadn't been on foot, and he had a pack mule besides to carry his supplies. He traveled alone (always alone) and had driven both animals as far as he could. When they became too weak he'd slaughtered the horse for food (albeit, poor food) and the mule for mercy. He'd been on foot ever since. Days had past and then weeks. Still, he knew he was approaching the camps. He could see fires burning in the distance. He was conflicted. He was tired of this travel. There would be some comfort in knowing that this journey was over and there would be rest. He also knew that he would once again have to suffer the company of the humans, goblins, and whatever other filth populated the camps. Yet, it was his place, and his axe and shield were not only his. The Queen's will was his will. His weapons, her weapons. Still...perhaps he could rid the road of a few more of these vermin on his way. From what he had seen so far, these ranks looked like they could do with some thinning.

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 mentions 'We have had over 807 storytellers on Ansalon pen their epic stories here for all to read.'