The Great Library of Palanthas

An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Elsinora.

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 metal bound tome on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Elsinora' scribed in grey ink.


Author:    Elsinora       
Date:      Sun Mar 22
22:01:45 2009
Subject     Finding her Balance - Part
1

Many years ago...
 
The autumn air had a tinge of
summer to it as Elsinora of the Silvanesti noble
house H'Chano
walked through her family's gardens, the pride and joy of
all
elves of her lineage.  Though there were rumblings of worldly
distress outside
of her homrland's borders, nothing seemed amiss
in the kingdom, and thus,
nothing was wrong with the world as far
as Elsinora was concerned.
 
While in the midst of her walk,
Elsinora noticed three or four of the fragrant
flowering bushes
in the middle of the garden had yet to lose their petals,
an
occurrence which released the pleasant scents for whcih the
plants were famed.
 
With a flip of her hand and only a mere
thought, she stirred up a quick gust
of breeze to rattle the
buds,sending the petals to  the dirt, and releasing the
soft,
sweet smell into the air around her.
 
She chuckled.  Though many
would scoff at the most minor of arcane spells, she
knew deep in
her soul that no spell was too minor to be useful or
appreciated.
Besides, there were so many areas of magic
considered dangerous, those of her
kingdom should always be happy
to employ any arcana allowed to them.
 
With that
borderline-scandalous though in mind, Elsinora turned to leave
the
enclosure, when she noticed the strangest thing:
 
All of the
trees were oozing somthing red.  Indeed, it looked like the
trees
were weeping blood.
 
She feared her thoughts of unpure
magic brought about the displeasure of her
god, Solinari; this
perversion of her soul was being shown in the perversion
of her
family's precious garden.
 
As she began backing away from the
horrid scene, she bumped into a tree outside
of the garden, near
her family's manor.  It, too, was weeping blood.
 
At this point,
she heard a great clamoring from all around the area; dozens
upon
dozens of gasps and horrified shouts spoke to her that this
was not just an
incidental occurrence in her garden, but that it
happened elewhere, perhaps
throughout the entire kingdom of the
Silvanesti.
 
Rushing to her mentor's abode, she pounded on the
door, begging him to come
out and help explain to her what was
transpiring.  When finally he did open the
door, she saw a tired
and wearied look in his ancient eyes.
"Elsi, my child, this is
not any of our doing, but the fault of the humans.  I 
am sure
this is a test put upon us by the pantheon of goodly gods.  We
must
endure this horrific vision if our elven nation is to remain
pure and goodly.
Ignore the blood-weeping trees, and pray that
Soinari knows what is right."
 
Though her mentor's words spoke
sense, a deeper welling of her soul cried out
to her to find out
if Solinari would truly allow this to happen to his
beloved
people.  Elsinora rushed back home and began weeping at
her misfortune to live
in a time when the faith of elves would be
so challenged.  She knew she could do
something to staunch this
horrendous happening, but it would mean she believed
that
Solinari wasn't looking out for the Silvanesti nation.
 
Years
ago, when she realized her magical talents, she had come across a
wall
mirror which showed no reflection.  She knew it was some
sort of artifact
which deserved further study, but she knew she
was not experienced enough to
do what it would take to find out
just what it could be used for.  In her
desperate state, Elsinora
knew this was the moment when she would have to trust
in herself
that she could save her people, even if it meant skirting the
border
of permissible magic.  Using or even exploring an unknown
device like this may
be seen by some as the behavior of an elf
refusing traditional magical use.
 
Still, she could not believe
Solinari, or any goodly god, would allow such bad
things to
happen to good elves.
 
Grasping the mirror, she spoke only the
words of an identifying spell, hoping
to find out its nature
without activating the item.  As he hands passed over
the
mirror's surface, a duplicate hand appeared out of the
blackness.  Pausing
in the midst of her spell, Elsinora's
concentration flagged, the hand reached out
for hers.
 
And she
vanished, pulled into its depths, days before the Cataclysm was
to happen.
 
(to be concluded...)

Author:    Elsinora 
     
Date:      Sun Mar 22 22:08:07 2009
Subject    
Finding her Balance - Part 2


Several months ago...
 
 
A
peddlar in Solace was looking for someone to purchase a strange
painting of an
elven woman.  Though he had it in his possession
for only a short while, he
could not quite remember how that had
come to pass.  But every time he looked at
the image in the
portrait, it seemed as though she aged.  He could have sworn
that
at one time, the hair had been as jet black as the background;
now, it was
shot through with strands of grey.
 
An older man,
his brown travelling robes barely concealing the soft black
robes
underneathe, approached the man's good, not expecting to
find anything of value.
 
With a wave of his hands and a few
murmured words, the portrait began to give off
a faint golden
glow.  The man's eyes widened in amazement.
 
"Peddlar, how much
for this item, this painting?"
 
"Oh, well, that's hard to say,"
the peddlar replied, "it's such a rare example
of the great
artist Yan Vinquette.  You must know of him; he's the most
respected
artist in all of Solamnia.  Surely, I can't let it go
for less than 5 steel."
 
"I will take your offer," sneered the
man as he handed the coins to him.  As soon
as the object was in
his hands he added, "but know this: you just parted with
an
object worth fifty times that to any mage worth his component
bag."
 
Leaving the peddlar speechless, the man left the bazaar,
relishing in his good
fortune over having found such a powerful
object.
 
After he returned to his room within the Inn of the
Last Home, he placed the
framed item on the bed, and spoke a few
protective words to ward off the cursed
trapping effects he knew
such a device must carry as one of its enchantments.
 
With the
protective spells laid acrss it like a fine casting net, he spoke
the
spidery words of magic which would expose to him the true
nature of this item's
powers.  He was not disappointed.
 
As he
passed his hands over the painting, the image began to stir;
first, the
woman blinked; then, she began to move her head
around.  Soon, she was looking
at the border of the painting,
examining them from the inside as if they were
walls keeping her
in - as well they were.
 
The man, whose name has been lost to
the ages, was taken aback.  He though the
image was part of the
magical snare he detected, not a living being.  He was
about to
cease his spellcasting and set up a new layer of protection when
the
elven woman began pounding on the painting from the inside. 
Each impact of her
fist caused the image to shake and bend
outward.  Soon, cracks appeared and
what can only be described as
dark orange light poured out through the cracks.
 
The man, too
stunned by his discivery to do much more, sat agape as the
cracks
formed into a spiderweb of dark orange energy.  Finally,
the surface could take
it no longer as is buckled and blew out
into a million pieces.  These coalesced
around the black robe
mage, and, despite all of his previous protections,
ensnared and
dragged him into the magical mirror as well.
 
Elsinora, after
having spent centuries locked into a slivered portal
between
Krynn and the Abyss, was free at last.  Hearing the
torments of the Abyss behind
her, while helplessly watching the
events of the world in front of her, had
forever marred her soul.
 No longer was she the pure servant of the goodly gods,
but she
could not endure the pain and savagery inflicted by the evil
gods.  But
she could not help but be in awe of the power wielded
by bith the dark and light
sides of arcanum.  She knew she could
never content herself with just one-third
of the magic she knew
was out there waiting to be used.
 
She had been reborn, still
relishing the thrill of magic, knowing that Solinari,
if he had
been testing the elven people, had done so witout realizing that
only
the most goodly devoted could have done so, while damning
and dooming the
majority of mortals to death.  Elsinora had
learned through her torments in the
Abyssal mirror that magic
wielded only for goodly would never be for the greater
good: only
a true balance between goodly and evil magic could ensure that
the
majority of mortals would be saved in this world.
 
So as she
left the Inn of the Last Home, she turned north, away from her
elven
homeland, and towards the local temple of the only one who
is dedicated to the
balance she knows is so vital to the survival
of magic: Lunitari.

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 sighs as he recants 'We saved 868 books from Ansalon from before the great Cataclysm through today.'
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