An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Duncan.

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 a manilla folder on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Duncan' scribed in vibrant green ink.

Author:    Duncan         
Date:      Sun Nov 18 20:32:26 2007
Subject     Hiral and Hiyam part 1 of 2



The firelight flickerd accross the cave mouth as Duncan Sat on a
carved stone
seat before the younger members of the Dwarven Community.  Deep
within the caves
of the dwarves, The chill of the night air barely penetrated, and
Duncan's hands
were only partly knotted from the temperature.  He looked at the
faces of the
dwarven children, staring at him.

"What will it be tonight?  How about how how Oleg TrollHammer
fought against
the ogre and--"

"Heard it!"  A dwarven girl no more than eight years shouted
from the back
of the room.  Duncan sighed and thought for a moment.

"Well, what about Mayas ClubThumper, who was the wisest--"
But again, the
same girl shouted it down.  Duncan thought for an even longer
moment before
smiling slightly, his ancient eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Fair enough.  What about Thane Hiral Forgebreaker, and his
brother Hiyan's
betrayal?  You haven't heard THAT one, I'll wager."

the obnoxious dwarven girl sat down to listen.  Duncan lit his
pipe, arranged
himself more comfortably on the seat and began: "It is said
that long before
we lived in caves together as we do now, that villiages of Hylar
dwarves were
scattered accross the contenent. It was said that the smoke from
the dwarven
houses reached up and touched the sky in so many places that the
gods themselves
could not see, and would have to sweap away the smoke so that
they could observe
the world. The dwarves lived in peace with each other, and didn't
even fear the
goblins, who lived to the north, in the mountain forests.

Hiral and Hiyan lived in the capital city, who's name has been
lost in the mists
of time since then.  They grew up in the palace, because they
were the King's
nephews, and were trained in fighting, hunting, and the like.

It was said that Hiral was the strongest, bravest warrior in the
land, that no
man or dwarf could best him as a fighter, and that Hiyan was
counted among the
wisest dwarves even at a young age.  The two were a perfect
compliment to each
other.  When the old king died, and Hiral took the crown, no one
doubted that an
age of prosperity would reign over the dwarves.

But Jelosy grew in the heart of Hiyan, who believed that he
should have been the
one to wear the pointed crown.  He began to take longer and
longer rides into
the north, venting his anger on the goblins there.  They began
calling him "The
Ice Demon" because of the way his eyes seemed to frost over while
he killed.

Soon, Hiyan grew mad.  He killed for the pleasure, and
intimidated the goblins
into following his orders.  They say that his smile as he killed
was a fearsome
sight to behold, for he drank the blood from his sword.

Hiyan gathered an army behind him and marched on the capital. 
They say that you
could hear the marching goblin feet from miles around.  They cut
a path through
the countryside, leaving only burned villiages, and dead dwarves
in their path.

Hiral heard of his brother's approach and began to gather his
army.  The royal
guard numbered only a thousand, barely a tenth of the goblin army
decending upon
them, but they went anyway.  They said goodbye to their children
and wives, and
marched.  They knew they were doomed, but they marched anyway,
hoping to buy
time with their lives for their families to flee.  One thousand
dwarven soldiers
marched fourth, never expecting to return.

To be continued....

Author:    Duncan         
Date:      Sun Nov 18 20:39:01 2007
Subject     Hiral and Hiyam part 2 of 2



And yet, each villiage they passed yielded more dwarves.  Not
soldiers, but
metalsmiths, miners, farmers.  They came with what weapons they
could:
pitchforks, pick axes, forge hammers.  They came in droves from
every villiage,
and marched with the soldiers.  Hiral was the first Thane to lead
the united
clans to war.  Onward they marched, their numbers swolen, but
sill only a
fraction of the goblins they faced. They crossed the River
Nugrar, and set their
backs to the water.  Barely had they assembled, before the ground
began to shake
from the approaching goblins.

The land seemed dark where the hordes marched.  As far as the eye
could see,
goblins came.  Their warcry drowned out the roaring river behind
the dwarves,
and not a dwarf but knew fear in his heart. But Hiral was ready. 
He spat on the
ground and motioned to the advancing army as if he would duel
them all.  They
roared and charged.

There was no way the dwarven line could have held even the first
charge, but
they did. They held off charge after charge, the goblin corpses
forming a
barrier around the defenders. For each dwarf that fell to a
goblin spear, ten
goblin corpses lay beside him.  Hiral himself was always in the
midst of the
fighting. And then Hiyan entered the fighting.  He was
unstoppable.  Dwarf after
dwarf fell before him, but he did not notice, his eyes only for
his brother. 
When the two finally met in battle, it is said that all the other
fighters,
dwarves and goblins alike, stopped to stare at the duel.

It is said that they fought for two days, but the fight only
lasted for a
quarter hour.  Faster than the eye could follow, they fought. 
Hiral's axe and
Hiyan's sword, forged at the same time to celebrate the brother's
bravery, drew
sparks from each other as they swung and cut, slashed and struck.
 So evenly
matched were the two brothers that Hiral knew the only way to
beat his brother. 
He smiled, and swung wide, leaving himself open to attack.  Hiyam
struck, his
sword going deep into the king's side, but Hiral reversed his axe
at the same
time, and struck Hiyam's head from his body.  The king, already
dying fell to
his knees and wept for his lost brother.  Then his eyes glazed,
and he fell.
Without Hiyam to lead them, the goblins fled from the dwarves'
steel, but only a
fraction was left of the soldiers who had marched to defend their
home.  They
made a streacher, and carried the king back on their shoulders. 
Never stopping.
 Day and night they marched, back to the capital to bear the
horrible news:  the
king was dead. "

Duncan stopped, his eyes misting at the memory of the king's body
being carried
into the city. It was a long time ago, even for him.  So long
that most dwarves
didn't remember Hiral, or Hiyam. He still carried scars from that
day. The
children stared, entranced by the story, imagining that they were
there,
fighting the goblins. Duncan sighed, wiped his eyes, and stood.

"Time for you to go to bed now." He ignored the groans and
protests, and
walked to the door.

Fin

Author:    Duncan         
Date:      Sat Nov 24 23:01:32 2007
Subject     Tortured Remeberances

Duncan's sigh seemed to come from the depths of his soul. Here he
was again,
drunk, in a tavern not far from his home in Palanthas.  For
almost a week he had
been living in this city, each day worse than the last.

He Sighed again, and stared drunkenly into his mug.  His eye
caught the medalion
of paladine and he grimaced again. He didn't even want to think
about that.  It
had been Martha's idea to attend services to the acursed god in
the first place,
when she had first started to feel the pangs of the
stomach-feaver.  After she
had become too weak to attend, the temple had sent a priest all
the way out to
their cottage to observe the sacrements.  The clerics had been
unable to heal
the feaver, and had done little more than make her comfortable.

Duncan hadn't been much of a believer, but it had been important
to Martha, so
he had relented, and kept the damn medalion above the mantel like
she asked.
After she died, he had expected to throw the damn thing into the
fire, but
somehow he had never managed to go through with it.

He wasn't sure if it was because of Martha, or if he had actually
grown fond of
the old God, but he wore the medalion wherever he went.  Perhaps
he just enjoyed
the fights some were willing to give him over it. He turned and
noticed the
barmaid looking at him.  He raised his now-empty mug to her,
dropped a few coins
on the table, and wandered out into the night.

Author:    Duncan         
Date:      Sun Jan 17
20:04:24 2010
Subject     TGH

Ciskei says OOCly 'six
bitches for everyman, says the great hawk'

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.'