The Great Library of Palanthas
An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.
Stories of Ansalon from the view of Cormac.
A little gully dwarf runs by and says 'Wordwrap Off 65 80.'
The gully continues 'Want color back? Turn Color Back ON!!
Astinus says 'Enter the main library here to view only the author list.'
Astinus gently places a heavy leather-bound book on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Cormac' scribed in rich maroon ink.
Author: Cormac Date Sat Dec 3 00:49:18 2005 Subject Upon the ramparts Journal entry, Nuindai, Bran the 8th, 376 PC Soon, heroes shall be made. I sit upon the ramparts above the eastern gate out of Kalaman, facing the barren Estwilde badlands. I see smoke rising in the distance. It seems like hundreds of columns stretching to the sky, as though the Dark Queen reached for the stars themselves. These past months we have worked to ready the city. Training her soldiers to defend her, fortifying weak points in the walls, building a communication structure. All that can be prepared for has. The only thing now is to wait. The only thing worse than war is waiting for war. We are well defended as we can be, but they are on all sides. When Governor-General Ayasana uth Matar gives the order, they will close around us like a wicked vice. Their numbers are staggering, their discipline astonishing. These are not the self-serving soldiers of the Dragonarmies that my father fought. These are knights, like us. Devoted to the Dark Queen, devoted to a dark corruption of Chivalry, these men are as loyal to Takhisis as we are to Paladine. This is what I joined this order for. This is why I followed in my father's footsteps. Should I die in this fight, would that my lord Paladine deliver me to the house of my ancestors that I might sit at my father's right hand. I will make him proud. Sir Cormac uth Derrick Stormguard di Palanthas Knight of the Order of the Crown, the Holy Brotherhood of Solamnic Knights Author: Cormac Date Sat Dec 3 00:56:41 2005 Subject Upon the ramparts Journal entry, Nuindai, Bran the 8th, 376 PC Soon, heroes shall be made. I sit upon the ramparts above the eastern gate out of Kalaman, facing the barren Estwilde badlands. I see smoke rising in the distance. It seems like hundreds of columns stretching to the sky, as though the Dark Queen reached for the stars themselves. These past months we have worked to ready the city. Training her soldiers to defend her, fortifying weak points in the walls, building a communication structure. All that can be prepared for has. The only thing now is to wait. The only thing worse than war is waiting for war. We are well defended as we can be, but they are on all sides. When Governor-General Ayasana uth Matar gives the order, they will close around us like a wicked vice. Their numbers are staggering, their discipline astonishing. These are not the self-serving soldiers of the Dragonarmies that my father fought. These are knights, like us. Devoted to the Dark Queen, devoted to a dark corruption of Chivalry, these men are as loyal to Takhisis as we are to Paladine. Perhaps it is not well of me to admit so, but I am afraid. I fear the coming battle not because I fear death, but because I know my fathers are watching. My ancestors look down upon me, hoping I will do them proud. I have not the martial prowess of my great uncle Denbrook, nor the administrative skills of my father Derrick. I am not the leader that was my Great Grandfather Dirketh. I must find my own way to my father's heavenly table. This is what I joined this order for. This is why I followed in my father's footsteps. Should I die in this fight, would that my lord Paladine deliver me to the house of my ancestors that I might sit at my father's right hand. I will make him proud. Sir Cormac uth Derrick Stormguard di Solanthus Knight of the Order of the Crown, the Holy Brotherhood of Solamnic Knights Author: Cormac Date: Sun Jan 14 22:42:48 2007 Subject Border Skirmish "Marrick," Cormac called toward the door. Immediately, a young boy's head poked through the slightly ajar passage, "bring me two more candles and open the shutters when you return. Then you may retire for the evening." "Yes, milord" replied the boy, rushing off to complete his patron's request. Cormac returned to his missives and hardly noted Marrick's return. After six hours sitting at the desk, Cormac finally raised his head and looked out the now open window. Amid flashes of lightning, Cormac could make out the northern tip of the Garnet range, marking the southern most extent of his dukedom. Shoving his chair away from the desk, Cormac sighed and stretched. His legs were stiff, his back sore. He stood and, after flexing his legs to get the blood flowing again, he strode slowly toward the window. They're up there, he thought to himself. Thousands of them, just waiting. Waiting for a chance, waiting for a leader. When the time comes, they will pour forth from the mountains. They'll sack Garnet, and then Thelgaard. Solanthus couldn't be far behind that. He wondered whether he had the man power to hold back the potentially powerful armies that could, at any moment, come streaming down out of the mountains, out of the lush forests of Lemish, and invade his homeland. All they needed was a leader. One man... Cormac caught himself and chuckled. Man. No, it wouldn't be a man, this hypothetical leader. Probably an ogre. Someone with the strength to intimidate the broken tribes of goblins, hobgoblins, and other savage creatures into unity. Rain began to splash onto the window as the wind began to howl. The thunderstorm had reached Solanthus. Cormac looked back toward his desk, unfinished letters to Vingaard, troop deployments, orders for more provisions for his soldiers, and tax reports from all of his vassels in Heartlund littered the desk, unfinished. Cormac thought about his bed chamber, and how comforting the sound of the rain. He shook his head violently. No, there was too much to be done. Perhaps he'll be able to catch a nap tomorrow afternoon, after seeing to the garrison's fitness. Even as he thought that, he laughed at himself for such a foolish dream. He returned to his chair, pulled it close to the desk. After one last glance at those imposing mountains, he sighed, and picked up his quill. Author: Cormac Date: Sun Jan 14 22:51:22 2007 Subject Worries "Marrick," Cormac called toward the door. Immediately, a young boy's head head poked through the slightly ajar passage, "bring me two more candles and open the shutters when you return. Then you may retire for the evening." "Yes, milord." replied the boy, rushing off to complete his patron's request. Cormac returned to his missives and hardly noted Marrick's return. After six hours sitting at the desk, Cormac finally raised his head and looked out the now open window. Amid flashes of lightning, Cormac could make out the northern tip of the Garnet range, marking the southern most extent of his dukedom. Shoving his chair away from the desk, Cormac sighed and stretched. His legs were stiff, his back sore. He stood and, after flexing his legs to get the blood flowing again, he strode slowly toward the window. They're up there, he thought to himself. Thousands of them, just waiting. Waiting for a chance, waiting for a leader. When the time comes, they will pour forth from the mountains. They'll sack Garnet, and then Thelgaard. Solanthus couldn't be far behind that. He wondered whether he had the man power to hold back the potentially powerful armies that could, at any moment, come streaming down out of the mountains, out of the lush forests of Lemish, and invade his homeland. All they needed was a leader. One man... Cormac caught himself and chuckled. Man. No, it wouldn't be a man, this hypothetical leader. Probably an ogre. Someone with the strength to intimidate the broken tribes of goblins, hobgoblins, and other savage creatures into unity. Rain began to splash onto the window as the wind began to howl. The thunderstorm had reached Solanthus. Cormac looked back toward his desk, unfinished letters to Vingaard, troop deployments, orders for more provisions for his soldiers, and tax reports from all of his vassels in Heartlund littered the desk, unfinished. Cormac thought about his bed chamber, and how comforting the sound of the rain. He shook his head violently. No, there was too much to be done. Perhaps he'll be able to catch a nap tomorrow afternoon, after seeing to garrison's fitness. Even as he thought that, he laughed at himself for such a foolish dream. He returned to his chair, pulled it close to the desk. After one last glance at those imposing mountains, he sighed, and picked up his quill.
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 869 storytellers on Ansalon pen their epic stories here for all to read.'
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