An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Garrion.

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 elegant book bound in elf-skin on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Garrion' scribed in vibrant white ink.

Author:  Garrion
Date    Mon Jan  7 11:24:32 2002


Subject  the first threads



Garrion.  Who in the hells is THAT, you might be thinking.  Well,
the truth of
it is, few people know of this green fighter from northern
Solamnia.  His
story begins in a small town, as most tales do.  A town so small
and
insignificant, it is not even listed on any known map....even the
maps in any
given kender's collections.

Garrion was born on a frigid winter's night, and it was a
difficult birth. 
His mother was nearly spent in the process.  He came into this
world of Krynn
amidst hardship, and he has survived.  His father was a cropper,
and he
labored night and day for some Lord that the citizens of this
village had
never even seen.  Garrion's father had come to this place long
ago, after
fighting in some great battle.  Garrion was never quite sure of
which battle
it was, his father never talked about it.  Garrion had a
childhood that was
relatively free of incident.  He lived the usual life of a
farmboy, all chores
and little fun.  The work was hard, but it put him in peak
physical shape.

But Garrion, as all young boys, dreamed of something loftier.  He
often liked
to pretend that the plows and scythes in his hands were swords
and axes.  He
would immerse himself in fantasies, chopping down imaginary
goblin hordes and
taking on legions of Ogres in his mind.  The simple life,
however, would soon
come to a violent and abrupt end.  As fate would have it, the
town watch
suddenly sounded the warning horn.  The villagers, not knowing
what this
meant, and thinking it had to be some sort of drill, paid little
heed.  After
all, what would want to attack THEM?  Their ignorance and
naievity would
portend their ultimate downfall.  The signal horns of the town
watch soon
turned to strangled cries as small, armored shapes appeared on
the horizon. 
They carried torches and rusty weapons, and they were charging
the small town.
 "Get inside!  Get inside!" the people yelled, but most did not
make it.  The
charging monsters slashed down anything and everything in their
path.  Barns
and homes alike were set ablaze by their torches.  Garrion, just
coming back
from the fields, gasped in horror as the little creatures were
torching his
farmhouse.  The creatures suddenly rung a bell in his mind,
something he had
learned in a text somewhere.

"Goblins!" he thought, throwing down everything but his scythe. 
He heared
muffled cries from inside his home, and he tore off at a dead
run.  The door
hung wide open, and he saw with horror the body of his mother on
the floor. 
She had many small puncture wounds, and there was blood
everywhere.  His
father was fighting four of the goblins, and he was fending them
off with a
chair.  All around him their were flames.  "Father!  I'm coming!"
He shouted,
and heedlessly plunged into the fray.  Without thinking, and
acting on pure
rage and emotion, Garrion took a mighty swing with the scythe. 
To his shock,
a goblin head went flying through the air.  Screaming, Garrion
swing madly at
the goblins.  Then he looked up.  All to late, he saw the goblin
behind his
father.  "Fa-" was all he got out, as the goblin planted it's
shortsword
deeply in his father's back.

His father's eyes rolled back, and Garrion stood in shock.  Then,
reinforcements poured into the doorway.  Garrion was pushed
outside of the
farmhouse, into the waiting arms of a goblin patrol.  He closed
his eyes, and
readied himself for death.  Then, another sound was heard.  The
high whinny of
a horse.

Out of the trees came a thundering sound as an armored man on a
horse
appeared.

He yelled a warcry and charged the goblin's down.  The little
creatures fled
in terror of this apparently well-armored and skilled fighter. 
He did indeed
look fearsome in his full plate, and even his horse was barded in
plate!  The
few goblins that stayed to fight were promptly slain.  The man
dismounted. 
"Be not afraid!"

he said, sheathing his sword.  "I am Liff uth Monlmor, Knight of
Solamnia."

Garrion stood in shock.  A real knight!  "My..my parents.." he
managed to say.



Author:  Garrion
Date    Mon Jan  7 11:52:33 2002


Subject  the first threds (2)



"...you parents are dead, lad," the knight finished, looking into
the burning
farmhouse.  "Alas, we mourn not those who lost their lives
valaiantly.

Your parents are in the arms of Paladine now.  Come, I will take
you with me,
if you will come."  Garrion stood in awe of the man.  "Take
me..to where?" 
"To Palanthas, where I live.  I will find a home for you, if you
will have it.
 And, judging from that bloody scythe, you will make an excellent
warrior." 
Garrion could not believe it.  Somehow, the words of the knight
about his
parents and Paladine had soothed his grief.  And, it is said,
that the gods
never close one door without opening a window.

Garrion made up his mind then and there, and jumped on the
warhorse behind the
knight.

They rode for long hours, and talked about many things. 
"So...you're a real
knight?"

Garrion asked.  The knight gave a chuckle.  "Of course.  Would
you think that
I had lied?"

Garrion flushed at this.  "No...sir!  It's just..well..I've
always dreamed
about something like this.  Only I wish it would have happened
differently. 
Why did the gods take my parents?"  The knight breathed deeply. 
"The ways of
the gods are not for us to question.  However, I feel that you
were destined
to come with me today, to come to Palanthas.  And your parent's
lives were
harsh.  They now rest in the Blessed Realm, with Paladine."  The
knight smiled
to himself.  "And, doubtlessly, your father is having a great
time in
Kiri-Jolith's fighting halls."  Garrion smiled at the thought of
his father
and his swordplay.  He was such a valiant man, and it was
sickening to see him
cut down from behind, backstabbed without honor.  Nevertheless,
Garrion filled
his mind with the comforting thoughs.  "Sir, who is Kiri-Jolith?"
 The knight
seemed to sit a bit higher in his saddle.  "Kiri-Jolith is the
god of honor,
the god of valiant warriors.  He is who we all look to, for
inspiration and
courage.

his ways are those of pride and honorable combat."  Garrion
smiled and said,
"yeah..I guess father IS with him.  Oh!  Are those walls
Palanthas???"  "Yes
they are.

Welcome home, Garrion."  Garrion stared in awe.  The stone walls
of the city
were the largest structures he had ever seen in his life.  As the
horse
thundered through the gates and into the main street, Garrion was
even more
impressed with the throng of people.  He had never seen more
people in his
life, either!  All walks of life were here.  Tall people, fat
people, short
bearded folk he imagined were Dwarves, though he had never seen
one.  There
was also another bearded fellow, though he was a bit shorter than
the dwarf. 
He was twisting the bolts on some object, and cursing so fast
that Garrion
could not catch the words.  Suddenly, the object gave a sputter
and exploded
into fire.  The little man sat, beard singed, with a great grin
on his tiny
face.  "Success!" he shouted.  Garrion had to hold onto the
saddle to keep
from falling off laughing.  "That," the knight said, "is a Gnome.
 Stay clear
of them, if you want to keep yourself intact."  The knight slowed
his mount to
a stop in front of a large building.  "I will not be long.  I am
making
arrangements for a place you can stay.  You will also have a
weapons trainer,
if you so desire.

the knight could tell by the fire in Garrion's eyes that his
guess had been
dead on.

So, it came to pass that Garrion was trained in all ways of the
warrior, and
he found comfort and strength in the great Kiri-Jolith, as the
knight had
said.  Sir Liff had checked on him constantly, and had even paid
for his
schooling.  Garrion soon became a skilled fighter in his own
right, but his
life is far from over.  No, he has a greater goal in mind.  The
Knights of
Solamnia.  "Someday," he thought, "I will be good enought to be
one of THEM. 
I will repay my debt of gratitude with my blood and service."  He
always felt
this way, felt that he owed the Knights for the kindness shown to
him.  And,
some way or somehow, he will repay his debt.



Author:  Garrion
Date    Mon Jan  7 22:03:57 2002


Subject  Thoughts from a mountaintop



Winter.  It has been called a time of death, a time for despair. 
It can
represent our deepest fears, and our darkest emotions.  I feel
differently
about winter, however.  I tend to think of it as a time of
beauty, if not a
time to revel in nature's awesome power.  The beauty of the snow
is incredibly
striking when it is freshly fallen.  Sitting on top of a mountain
cliff, I
have a commanding view of the surrounding countryside.  A few
flakes remain
floating in the air.  Some of these stragglers settle onto my
hood.  It's
cold, but I dont feel it.  My heavy cloak, hood, and shirts keep
out the cold.
 Heavy grey clouds continue to roll in.  Palanthas is in for some
more snow,
it looks.

I can see the watchfires lighting as evening draws near.  The
mighty city of
Palanthas looks like a splotch from all the way up here, but I
still cannot
help but marvel at it's grandeur.  For seven years I have called
this city my
home.

I came there at the age of fifteen as a scared farmboy.  I grew
into a
warrior.

It wasnt always easy trying to make ends meet, however.  Sure,
the knight who
brought me here paid for my schooling.  But I always needed some
money on the
side, money to live life with.  This, of course, came from an
unusual source.

Moving my cloak aside, I pull out a long, silver object.  My
flute.  For in my
younger days, I played for coin, and, the occasional young girl. 
Not many
people would expect one trained in the art of weaponry to have
such aesthetic
pursuits.

But it relaxes the mind, and the haunting melodies of the flute
often help me
think.

As a fresh volley of snow fires down from the gods, I begin to
play.  Soft,
gentle sounds float down from where I sit.  My thoughts come
easier, and my
head clears.

"Ahh.  That's better.  Yes.  I have decided.  Soon, very soon,
the Knights of
Solamnia will be hearing from me.  At long last, it is time to
repay my debt.

The chill winds wail about, and my cloak and hair flail madly.

"Whew!  Bloody cold!" I say, as brownish hair whips into my face.
 "Time to
head in!"  Jumping on my horse, I move off the mountainside.  On
my way down,
I purposefully take the long road back to Palanthas.

The Storytellers of Ansalon, The DragonLance MUD

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