An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Dharisath.

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 gorgious hardback on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Dharisath' scribed in rich purple ink.

Author:  Dharisath
Date    Tue May  4 10:12:57 2004



Subject  A Night on the Town



Target: Daniel Lorfing Age: 45 years old Occupation: Merchant/Noble Race:
Human House: Lorfing Manor in Central Palanthas Time Away from House: Approx.
10:30 A.M. To 11:30 P.M.

He continuously reviewed his mental notes. Always mental notes. Using
parchment meant leaving evidence, leaving evidence meant one could get caught,
and he could not allow that. He planned to well to get caught. He was above
them.

The so-called law of palanthas. Hah! He scoffed at their petty attempts to
solve his robberies. He had even once been so brazen enough to walk amongst
them in disguise at the crime scene of one his robberies. He was not only an
ingenious burglar but he was an adept con artist.

He had studied his target for nigh on three weeks now and knew everything
about him, and maybe more than the man knew of himself. Poor Daniel. Maybe he
would leave a note for Daniel's wife, letting her know why Daniel had been
home late every night for the past two weeks. He had watched Daniel and knew
that he was done with work at 9:00 P.M., yet he didn't arrive home until 11:30
P.M. After much stalking, one might say, it was apparent that Daniel was
having an affair. Dharisath could not doubt the man. Though she was close to
Daniel's age, she was still beautiful.

Even more so than Daniel's own wife, and Daniel's own wife, Mariam, was
gorgeous.

It was time. He would strike before Daniel arrived home. Everyone in the manor
was asleep. Dharisath had already checked. His plans were perfect. His
execution was phenomenal. It was as if they knew he was amongst them yet they
had no physical description of him. He was like a ghost. No, a Phantom. That
was what he would call himself. The Phantom. He had to figure out a good
calling card. He had let his mind wander, let it fly. Now was not a good time
for that. Daniel arrived him in one hour. He had wasted too much time checking
on everyone. No, he reprimanded himself, if one of them would have been awake
his perfect plan would have been a debacle. Dharisath had been in here before,
on other nights. He had explored this entire place. He knew where all the
vaults and safes were. He was good at this, no, he was impeccable.

He was back at his own place, his place of luxury, before the incompetent law
enforcers were even alerted of his theft. He had stolen several hundred
thousand in steel and diamonds. Enough to support him for a lifetime, yet a
lifetime was not good enough. Of course he had already chosen his next target.
Of course he had. He was The Phantom. As he prepared to deposit tonight's
earnings he smiled haughtily.

He could only imagine what Daniel looked like to his wife before he had a
chance to shower. He pictured the fool with lipstick still on his face, but
Daniel was a fool as was most everyone in Palanthas.

He noted the word most.

Dharisath was the most.



Author:  Dharisath
Date    Wed May  5 10:10:54 2004



Subject  A Night on the Town (Second Strike)



Target: Maxine Blackwell Age: 47 Occupation: Widow Race: Most likely Human
House: Blackwell Estate Time Away from House: Close to Never Other Occupants
of House: Her male prostitutes

He was feeling giddy. Hiddukel this was too easy. Maxine Blackwell had the
same exact routine day after day. Boring. First she would wake up and take a
shower. Following the shower, she got and left to go hang out around the
Market Center. She usually tried to pick up some young, happening male
prostitutes. Occasionally she would snag one and bring him home.

A 47 year-old woman? He was getting nauseous just thinking of it. Looking up,
he watched her bring home a new one. This was the fourth one this week. Damn
slut.

It was time. He was extremely bored. This woman was the same as the rest of
these rich petulant snobs. They have the same routine day after day. It almost
takes away the fun of stalking.

Dharisath quickly approached the door dressed as a salesman. He rapped the
door several times in quick succession. Maxine quickly answered the door.
Apparently they hadn't gotten very far.

With a slight sneer, Dharisath gave her his spiel. As she was mulling it over
Dharisath had an image of a knife in her gut. The image made him smile. She
was about to respond when she appeared to change her mind and then said,
Would you like to come in? You do look hot in that sexy salesman uniform.
Disgusting. Sure why not. Playing the innocent always played to his favor.
As he walked past her he felt her hand on his butt. Revolting. He quickly
turned around and she smiled innocently. You know, I have an even better
item to sell than the one I just offered you.

Would you like to see it?" She clapped her hands and jumped up and down.
Immature fuck. With an innocent smile and in one fluid motion he pulled out
his short knife and thrust it into her abdomen. The sight was pure joy to him.
He giddy smile turned to a look of shock and confusion. How he reveled in it.
Dharisath hadn't killed in a long time. Now he reminisced joyously.

Approaching the room with the male prostitute, he pulled out his axe. He
walked in and hurled the axe at the man. It split his skull.

Flawless. He tossed the rucksack full of valuables onto the table. He had
already deposited the steel on the way home. He was getting brazen, and he
liked it. He was yet to think of a calling card from The Phantom, but it
didn't matter now. They already knew who it was the killed the slut. Hiddukel
he was good.



Author:  Dharisath
Date    Sat May 29 16:10:10 2004



Subject  Caravan One



Finally, he had found an unprotected caravan. He didn't wish to waste anymore
manpower than they needed to. The past dozen or so caravans had all been
protected. And he didn't entertain the thought of losing more men. They had
already made plans. It was a perfect spot. Perfect. They had every advantage.
It was a narrow pass just outside Palanthas. It was a group of a dozen
merchants, each with their own wagons. The research done was phenomenal. Each
ware was a necessity to a different type of store inside of Palanthas. Sitting
atop his horse, he watched as the caravan fully entered the small pass. To
their left was a steep chasm. They were coming from Tarsis, and it was the
monthly trip. He signaled his men to get into position. He had several archers
above the caravan, and several ground height. He had no mages,  but he had
plenty of warriors and thieves. He had a dozen mounted men. He signaled the
attack. The lead and rear horses were pierced with several arrows.
Instantaneous death. He recalled Maxine's male prostitute. The visualization
of the axe in his head made Dharisath smile. The mercenaries stepped out for
the shadows of the mountain and surrounded the caravan. The attack had
commenced.

He rose his hand for the mounted unit to charge forward, when suddenly one of
the wagons toward the middle section took off it's covering, and unveiled a
dozen or so heavily armed guards. The armed men sprang from the wagons and
started attacking the ground unit. Cursing aloud, Dharisath signaled the
archers who began firing simultaneously at the armed men. Turning to his
officers he swore in a low voice. He asked his head officers, How in the
name of Hiddukel did they manage to surprise us? They remained speechless.
Cursing at them, Dharisath turned and watched the battle progress. The heavily
armed men were in a tight circle, with their backs to each other. An arrow
suddenly pierced one guards neck and he fell. The circle closed tighter to
fill in the gap. They were using the wagons as cover as they tried to get to
the ground unit who was closing in. Suddenly the two groups clashed. If the
fight would have been a fair one for one, it would have gone on for ages, but
the armed group fought well together and began to press through the ground
unit. He was losing too many men. Cursing yet again, he called his men out. As
the ground unit pulled away, the heavily armed group did not give chase. They
were too smart for this. They were just behind the first wagon, and Dharisath
knew what he had to do.

The mounted unit charged down the hill in a frightening battle line. Dharisath
gave the guards credit, though they trembled they did not flee. Shame they
would have to die so needlessly. As they approached the guard, they raised
their swords, maces, axes. They slowed their speed as they approached.
Dharisath rose in his stirrups and shouted, "There is no need for anymore
violence. Lay down your weapons and come peacefully and you shall be freed
inside of Palanthas." As a couple of them began to comply, the oldest in the
group, the most obvious choice as a leader, barked an order. The weapons were
all back up into untrembling hands, as they prepared to face the mounted unit.
Shrugging his shoulders, Dharisath nodded, and a hail of arrows rained down on
the unsuspecting group. Several fell to the ground, writhing. Dharisath raised
his hand for the next volley, but spoke instead. "You have your last chance
to surrender. I doubt the four of you will last much longer." The guards
reluctantly dropped their weapons and some ground unit men quickly bound and
gagged them. Dharisath ordered his men to ready the wagons, and within the
hour they were set out for Palanthas.

Within sight of the city gates, they tied the four prisoners to a tree.
Dharisath came up on horseback, and spoke to them. "You will be left here
until dusk. Then, one of my men will inform the guards who will come get you.
You owe us your lives." Turning, he and his men proceeded with the caravan
into Palanthas. They had disguised themselves as the guard of the caravan, and
received no questioning. They delivered the wares to an empty warehouse, where
they would later be picked up and used for the Guild's purposes.

Dharisath and his men would set out again the following day in hopes for
another caravan.


Author:    Dharisath      
Date:      Thu Dec 11 06:29:42 2008
Subject     The Knife of Dracart

 
The short, stocky dwarf whistled lightly as he walked through Estwilde. He
held a small figurine in his hands and whittled away at it as he walked, not
watching the road at all. He was on his way to Kalaman where a ship awaited
his arrival. He was to oversee the transportation of several acquired goods.
The means of acquiring the goods was illegal; thus, the means of
transporting them was also illegal. It paid well and his Brothers needed
this shipment to boost the monthly income. So, he would do it..for them.
 
As he whistled and as he whittled, a dark spot caught his attention from the
corner of his eye. The dwarf's whistling immediately ceased, and he tossed
the figurine away. He had been working on it for over a month.
 
The oddity was a mint looking knife. No doubt it would fetch a pretty penny.
As he wrapped his hand around the hilt, he noticed something different: the
knife felt warm; it felt right. The handle curved just the right way to fit
his hand, and the knife had a proper balance about it. He put it into his
belt and set off to Kalaman. He could sell the knife when he arrived in
Palanthas.
 
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
Aboard The Rising East, the dwarf sat on a barrel beneath the deck. The
motion seemed to be less down there; he could forget that all that seperated
him from a watery death were a couple pieces of wood. He stared at the
hilt, mesmerized by its darkness. The knife helped also, to take his mind
off of the fact that he was aboard a ship.
 
Up on the deck, the captain pulled a deckhand aside: "Go inform our friend
that we will be arriving in Palanthas momentarily. Ask if he wants to make
sure the dock handling goes smoothly."
 
The deckhand, a young boy whom had run from home once he was old enough to
hold a job, nodded eagerly and rushed off to tell the dwarf.
 
Below deck, the dwarf perched upon the barrel, his back to the wooden ladder
that led upwards. He heard the footsteps of the enthusiastic young boy.
Could he hear the boy's pulse? Strange. He continued staring at the knife
as the boy stood behind him. The deckhand's words fell on deaf ears; the
dwarf was so absorbed in his acquisition. A silence fell on the room as
the boy finished delivering his message. He was practically bouncing on his
toes, anxious to get an answer and complete his assignment. The dwarf grew
annoyed.
 
Why was he still standing behind him? Didn't he have anything better to do?
Why won't he just go? Did he just take a step closer? Who was this deckhand,
really? Who'd hired him? Done the background check?
 
Suddenly, the dwarf spun and struck out with his knife. The boy stood there,
blood spewing from his neck onto the dwarf's face. This seemed to snap him
out of some sort of trance as he stared while the deckhand toppled over.
He put the knife back into his belt and slowly made the ascent onto the deck
and found the captain. His statement was methodical, given almost
subconsciouly. "I do not need to oversee the dock handling."
 
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
As he walked the plank down towards the docks, he saw a Solamnic Knight
coming from another ship. The dwarf felt a sudden urge to get rid of the
dagger. He moved to throw it into the water.
 
No! Not there.
 
Hide it. He had to hide it. Now. He quickly pulled the knife from his belt
and plunged it into his boot, deftly concealing it. He strolled past the
Knight, who seemed to stare at him oddly. Was that a condescending look?
The dwarf's fists clenched, and he started to lean towards the boot he had
concealed the knife in. However, the Knight walked aboard his ship, and the
anger dissipated. He headed through the gate and into the city.
 
By now, his head was spinning. Every Solamnic Knight that he saw, he either
wanted to run from or run to and kill. His right hand was in a constant war,
trying to grab the knife from his boot and simultaneously put it back. He
had to get out of the city..but he had work he had to attend to. Such a
dilemma! However, as he passed by one of the gates, he was hailed by a
Brother. The man was part of a caravan smuggling goods out of the city.
The dwarf waved as the train of wagons rode by. The last one was just
passing him, when he noticed the flap was open. There was a hold up with the
line, and the wagon stopped right before him. He moved to tie it down and
noticed a chest with an open lid. As he went to close the lid, he felt a
massive urge to pull the knife from his boot. The chest had nothing but a
single pillow in it. How convenient, he thought.
 
As the train rolled out of Palanthas, the dwarf lounged against the gate
looking wistfully after it. Some part of him, however, felt as if a weight
had been lifted from his shoulders. The knife fit well on the pillow; the
chest lid closed smoothly, and the flap seemed to tie itself. As he turned
his back, something caught the corner of his eye: a smooth piece of wood,
perfect for carving a nice figurine..perhaps of a shiny, black knife.
 
[Exit Dharisath, Stage Right]

Author:    Dharisath      
Date:      Thu Jan 20 22:01:46 2011
Subject     Tempest


A small dinghy bobs up and down in the relatively calm Bay of Branchala. Its lone sail
lies flat against the mast. The vessel is a pitiful misrepresentation of its captain, who
sits with his back to the mast, one foot up on the side of the boat and one foot on its
deck.  His eyes squint in the sun as he gazes thoughtfully at the docks of Palanthas.
Out of the corner of his eye he catches movement off the port side and turns his head
to see an elf rowing past him in a canoe.  The elf gives a polite wave that goes
unreturned as the man returns his stare back to the docks that seem to be getting no
closer. "Zeboim be damned," he curses as he picks up his oars.
 
As the sun reaches the zenith, a young kender sits on the edge of a dock, swinging
her legs freely above the water and skipping stones.  Her ears perk up at the sound
of repeated swearing.  She turns around to see a man pulling up to her dock with the
smallest boat she's ever seen.  The small kender watches as he leaps from his boat
with an oar in hand. The boat doesn't seem to be tied off at all and she's afraid he is
going to lose it, "Hey mister! Hey mister! Aren't you going to tie off your boat? It'll
float away!"
 
With his back still to the kender, the man reaches out with his oar and pushes the
boat out to see.  Within seconds the current takes the bobbing dinghy further and
further from the dock, and the man tosses the oar into the water. Dusting off his
hands he turns around and bows to the kender. "But that is exactly what I intend
for it to do. Because that, my dear, is not my boat. My ship was a grand ship! The
fastest on the seas. That," the man flicks a disgusted finger towards the slowly
shrinking boat, "was not a boat, ship, caravel, or anything remotely resembling a
vessel that transcends the waters with speed. The faster it's gone the better. Savvy?"
 
The kender laughs at the man's tone, a seemingly whimsical anger.  He smiles back
and tosses her a coin.  His brow scrounges up and he squints a bit before walking
over to the kender. "Actually dear, come to think of it, I need that coin back."
 
As the kender hands him the coin, one of his rings "slips" off his hand and into her
pouch. "Ah. I'm going to need the ring too. There ya go. Thank ya love."
 
The kender turns back around as the man sets to leave. He turns his head back to the
kender and pauses to think for a moment before pushing her off the dock with his
foot. With a laugh he turns and heads up the dock, where Palanthas's ships await him
like glimmering jewels. Surely, one docked here could match his old one...or at least
come close.

Author:    Dharisath      
Date:      Thu Feb  7 19:03:46 2019
Subject     House of Lords


The long-lost cousin had returned home. Only there was a sligth problem...no
one remembered having met him. They didn't remember receiving notice of his
birth, as the sole child of his parents. And his noble lineage wasn't
inscribed anywhere on the family tree.

And yet...he knew all the right stories, like when Aunt Miravil fell out of
the second story window, drunk, and landed on her feet without spilling a
drop; he knew intricate details about the lives of each member of the
family, including his recently deceased birth parents; he wore the signet
ring bearing the family name; and, possibly most importantly of all, he
looked the part. He belonged in a noble family, there was no denying that.
And so, they accepted him as one of their own, a long-lost sheep returning
to the flock.

Based on his now accepted lineage, he was four or five back from being Lord
of their House. The decision makers, those ahead of him in the food chain,
could tell he was genuine and that this wasn't some ill-contrived play at
the Lordship. Anyone trying to lie their way in wouldn't know all the
details he knew, they wouldn't know the intricate family heritage, they
wouldn't know the inner workings and political machinations of this house,
and most importantly, they wouldn't come in so far down the familial
lineage. Surely, they would try to be first or second in line, not fourth or
fifth. And so, they accepted him. 

He stood on the balcony of his new house in Palanthas, overlooking the
cobblestone streets and the peasants who worked to keep them clean. This was
where he belonged, not down there, not where he came from. As he leaned into
the balcony railing, he ran his fingers over the signet ring on his left
hand almost...thoughtfully. The cobblestone road that stretched beneath him
led, just a short walk away, to the premier Houses: Dairness, Tabiek, and
Dretnon.

He was a nobleman now, just as he had always strived to be. The means
weren't conventional, but so far, the ends justified them. As he turned to
head back inside, he took one last sweeping look at the domed mansion
slightly further in the distance. His eyes knew where to look, almost
instinctively, as it was the one thing he coveted most: the House of the
Lord of Palanthas. Its current occupant was Lord Amothos, but the newly
minted nobleman knew, deep down, that Lord Amothos was a temporary occupant.

After all, Lord Dharisath had a much better ring to it.

Author:    Dharisath      
Date:      Thu Feb  7 19:27:13 2019
Subject     House of Lords

 
The long-lost cousin had returned home. Only there was a slight problem...no
one remembered having met him. They didn't remember receiving notice of his
birth, as the sole child of his parents. And his noble lineage wasn't
inscribed anywhere on the family tree.

And yet...he knew all the right stories, like when Aunt Miravil fell out of
the second story window, drunk, and landed on her feet without spilling a
drop; he knew intricate details about the lives of each member of the
family, including his recently deceased birth parents; he wore the signet
ring bearing the family name; and, possibly most importantly of all, he
looked the part. He belonged in a noble family, there was no denying that.
And so, they accepted him as one of their own, a long-lost sheep returning
to the flock.
 
Based on his now accepted lineage, he was four or five back from being Lord
of their House. The decision makers, those ahead of him in the food chain,
could tell he was genuine and that this wasn't some ill-contrived play at
the Lordship. Anyone trying to lie their way in wouldn't know all the
details he knew, they wouldn't know the intricate family heritage, they
wouldn't know the inner workings and political machinations of this house,
and most importantly, they wouldn't come in so far down the familial
lineage. Surely, they would try to be first or second in line, not fourth or
fifth. And so, they accepted him.
 
He stood on the balcony of his new house in Palanthas, overlooking the
cobblestone streets and the peasants who worked to keep them clean. This was
where he belonged, not down there, not where he came from. As he leaned into
the balcony railing, he ran his fingers over the signet ring on his left
hand almost...thoughtfully. The cobblestone road that stretched beneath him
led, just a short walk away, to the premier Houses: Dairness, Tabiek, and
Dretnon.
 
He was a nobleman now, just as he had always strived to be. The means
weren't conventional, but so far, the ends justified them. As he turned to
head back inside, he took one last sweeping look at the domed mansion
slightly further in the distance. His eyes knew where to look, almost
instinctively, as it was the one thing he coveted most: the House of the
Lord of Palanthas. Its current occupant was Lord Amothos, but the newly
minted nobleman knew, deep down, that Lord Amothos was a temporary occupant.

After all, Lord Dharisath had a much better ring to it.

Author:    Dharisath      
Date:      Sat Feb  9 20:57:13 2019
Subject     House of Lords: Part II


Months had passed since he had talked his way into the status of nobleman
and taken up residence in one of the noble Houses of Palanthas. He played
the role spectacularly, exactly as if he was born into it. And in his mind,
he was. And now he was moving onward and upward. Next week, the Houses of
Dairness and Tabiek were throwing a week long, combined party at both of
their mansions. As the newest member of nobility, of course he had scored
himself an invite. Quite easily too. He found it amazing how easy access was
once they admitted you into their world. And at this rate, he would have no
problem working his way up in the ranks.

Speaking of working his way up...in the several months that he had been in
residence, there were a couple of lineage issues that found themselves
resolved. He looked at the letter in his hands, indicating that he was now
second in line in the House lineage, with just one person in front of him
before the Head. The best part, and he marveled at his own execution (pun
intended), was how convincingly he pulled off the two removals. With his
right hand, he rubbed the signet ring of the House thoughtfully as he
reminisced...

The first...removal...was completely unexpected and devastated the family,
Dharisath included. The patriarch's eldest son, first in line to take over
after his father, was found dead in the alley beside the Rusty Rudder
Tavern, a known haunt of people not wishing to be recognized. Full of health
and vigor, the man was in the prime years of his life by all accounts. But
only a few in the family knew of his dark secret, and after gossiping over a
couple drinks of wine with Aunt Miravil, Dharisath found it out fairly
quickly. The eldest son had a severe drinking problem, prone to
over-indulging on a nightly basis. Well, unfortunately, one night he passed
out face down in a trough outside the Rusty Rudder and drowned. Tragic.

The second removal was far less tragic but mystifying, nonetheless. As
Dharisath fingered his signet ring, he knew he understood political
machinations better than most. And what he realized, and what a more amateur
player might not, was that there was a subtle art of moving up the lineage.
Timing and spacing, meaning order of removal, were both critical for
remaining undetected. 

Enter the second youngest son of the Head of the House. He was second in
line (now first) and just ahead of Dharisath who, at third, was still much
too far back to be considered a threat to anyone. And this young man,
Paladine be damned, had the weirdest about turn the family had ever seen.
One day, he came into the patriarch's office with a signed parchment in
hand. Looking straight ahead the entire time, as if in a weird trance, he
spoke of his decision to forfeit his right to the House lineage. He said
that he had met a wild Kagonesti girl and wanted to live with her in the
forest. He wanted all of his property, fortune, and rights to transfer,
immediately, to the now first in line, Thillian. With an abrupt turn, he
left the residence, never to be heard from again.

And now, the finishing touch on the plan had been put in motion. Just the
night prior to this one, Dharisath sat in the study with the patriarch of
the family, drinking mead and discussing life. As the night wore on, the
patriarch slowly seemed to get quieter and more brooding. Finally, after
some prodding, he confessed to Dharisath that he was concerned about his
children. Two of them, gone, within a couple months of each other: one dead
in an alley and one run off with an elven girl. He couldn't make any sense
of it.

And here was the perfect time for the young nobleman to chime in: "Look, I
know that I'm relatively new around here. And I'm not particularly good at
politics, but something about this situation seemsoff, don't you think?
First, your eldest is found dead. Then your second oldest runs off and
forfeits all titles, rights, and monies. And who does he bequeath it all to?
Your third oldest. The youngest. And the one who, just a couple of months
prior, had no real shot at ever being the patriarch. And now he's next in
line, with land and fortune?"

He paused for a breath or two here, before finishing, "Like I said, it's not
my place, and I'm new here, but I just find it all a little curious."

The patriarch, a wise old man, Head of the House for decades, looked up at
Dharisath and said, "What terrifies me the most is that I've had the same
thoughts. By Paladine! I just can't believe it to be true. But my eyes and
my gut tell me that it must be. Thank you, Dharisath. I intend to set some
plans in motion to catch him, and I'd like to keep you in the loop for
advice if you don't mind."

"Not at all, Uncle. Not at all." 

Author:    Dharisath      
Date:      Sat Mar  2 16:31:54 2019
Subject     Gambler's Delight Weekend: Nero and Smasher


It was Gambler's Delight Weekend. Everyone in the Palanthas nobility had
been talking about it for weeks, and it was finally here. A weekend of pure
debauchery. A weekend where the peasants spent money like they were
nobility. Or with enough luck, that they might become nobility. Either way,
it was here that Dharisath found himself entertaining a rather large
entourage of young nobility. They had a table booked at the High Roller's
Lounge that came with all the perks: bottle service, attractive elven
waitresses, and a world-famous DJ, known as UndeadMaus, playing just a few
feet away. The table had a good vantage point overlooking the slot machines,
and every now and then he would glance over at all of the people hoping to
strike it rich, hoping to accomplish what he had accomplished.

It was during the first night that the young nobleman noticed a minotaur at
the slots.

Pull.

Pull.

Pull.

The second night was the same, but the minotaur was noticeably worse for the
wear. He was significantly more drunk, significantly louder, and it seemed
like he was gambling his life savings away.

Pull.

Pull.

Pull.

And then, Jackpot.

It was the first jackpot the place had seen in years. The lights, the
sirens, the cheers. It was absolute mayhem. The nobility, who normally tried
to avoid acknowledging they were even in the same room as the slot machines,
were suddenly standing on their couches and tables, eyes glued to the
minotaur who was reveling in the attention. As the coins continued tumbling
out, a series of security guards began setting up a perimeter while some
white-gloved bellhops helped gather up the winnings. The minotaur pulled
over a bellhop, shouted into his ear, and pointed up at the High Roller's
Lounge. He wanted to join the nobility. And as he was being escorted up to
the Lounge, he was grabbing random people out of the crowd: an attractive
elven woman here, a minotaur there, but no humans. And his table,
unfortunate as it might be, was placed right next to Dharisath's.

All night, this riff raff, these people who didn't belong, were being loud
and obnoxious, generally ruining the evening for Dharisath and his
entourage. It was infuriating.

He watched as these two minotaurs, who's names he had deduced as Nero and
Smasher, got more and more drunk as the night went on. He watched them spill
their drinks, grab the waitresses, wander into random tables, and generally
cause a nightmare for the people he was hosting. He would have to teach them
a lesson: that you had to earn your way into the Lounge, and when you got
here...you had to act like you belonged. And not everyone deserved to be here.

As the night wound down and people began to filter out, Dharisath followed
the two minotaurs out the exit. They had their arms around each other,
snorting and shouting random obscenities. The one who hadn't won the
jackpot, Smasher, eventually stumbled and faceplanted into some muck. Nero
snorted and kept going. And all the while, Dharisath lurked several feet
behind, following and waiting. He would come back for Smasher. Eventually
the opportunity revealed itself, and he struck. Nero took a wrong turn off
the main road and wandered down the alley, where a couple quick thunks
ricocheted off the alley walls. Nero was soon face down, with several
crossbow bolts in his back, freshly fired from Dharisath's handheld weapon.
The young nobleman stooped down and quickly relieved the minotaur of all his
recently won possessions, leaving him to bleed out in the alley, hoping he'd
be dead by the morning. 

With a brisk walk, he returned to Smasher, who was still unconscious in the
pile of muck. A couple crossbow bolts into his back did the trick, and he
was also relieved of his valuables. Quickly tucking the crossbow into a bag,
Dharisath turned the corner and headed back towards the casino. As he
arrived, the young group of nobility he was entertaining walked through the
main doors. They saw him standing there, arms spread wide and smiling, as if
he hadn't just brutally shot down two minotaurs minutes earlier.

"My friends! The night is just beginning. Let's head to the next nightclub.
I heard that the ghost of Avicii is playing tonight!"

As they toasted their drinks and followed him into the night, none of them
noticed the small specks of blood adorning his expensive white shirt. But
even if they did, no one would've asked questions. It was the noble way. 

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.'