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 is at 65. You change? 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 an enormous book on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Cormac' scribed in deep black 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.'