The Great Library of Palanthas
An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.
Stories of Ansalon from the view of Gharach.
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 worn book on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Gharach' scribed in unearthly black ink.
Author: Gharach Date: Mon Dec 4 22:52:15 2023 Subject Gharach
Gharach doesn't remember much about his parents; in fact, he doesn't remember much about any family members at all. When he was 11 months old, his parents were traveling with him when they were attacked by a roving draconian squadron. Somehow, and no one knows how, he survived. He was taken to an orphanage in Kalaman where he was raised by a sect of devote women of Paladine, all whose husbands left to fight the draconian armies but never returned. These sisters, "Silver Sisters" they called themselves, raised over 30 young orphans while he was there. At his 15th birthday, one sister, Paldinia she called herself, brought Gharach an old, dusty package, wrapped up in torn and stained canvas, canvas not suitable for anything else. "These relics are all that is left from your parents," she said. Gharach got the impression Paldinia wasn't supposed to be giving these to him. Gharach nodded solemnly, and when Paldinia left, he slowly unwrapped the package. Several items of worn leather, a backpack and bandolier, made up the bulk of the package. Several items were stashed within, but it was the embossed emblems of the crown, rose, and kingfisher on these well-used leather goods that fascinated him. For hours that first day, Gharach slowly traced his fingers along these leather impressions, faint hints of color in the depressions, now faded with age. Months later, when Gharach left the orphanage, he first went to the local armorer with whom he'd been apprenticing with for several years. Upon showing the armorer the backpack and bandolier, Gharach learned that the age of these items was probably older than both him and his parents. And that the lineage of them was Solamnic of some sort. Several months after that, Gharach decided to leave the armorer behind, gather his feeble belongings and most valued familial treasures, and seek out who he was and where he came from. And then one day he made his way to Palanthas.
When I was 8, growing up in the orphanage in Kalaman run by the "Silver Sisters," I had come to realize that i was the smallest of my age group. While there were many orphans from newborn through about 15 (when most ended up leaving to go for themselves), in his cohort of nearly 8 year olds, I was the smallest by far. So one day, while in the main room, I asked one of the Sisters (Not Paldinia, my favorite, as she was for some reason unavailable) why I was so small. The Sister touched my face, ran her fingers over may ears, then held my small hand, turning it over while studying both sides. "You have elven blood in you, young Gharach," she said. "Kagonesti, if I were to guess." "Oh," I said. I remembered the stories I had been told growing up at the orphanage, of the wonders of being Solamnic, of the savages of the elves, especially the Kagonesti. "Am I a savage?" I asked. The Sister smiled, and it was not a nice smile. "You may, boy. You may. Do you want to be?" I squirmed. The question of "Do you want to be?" was often asked when we did something wrong and we were compared to being unruly, uncivilized, or, Paladine help us, savage-like. "No, Sister," I answered, as it was the only valid answer. "I don't want to be a savage." "Then don't be one, Young Gharach," she replied, then went to leave. "Sister, if I may ask another question. I was found, was I not? How do you know my name?" She stopped and turned around. "Your mother left a note with you when she hid you. In it, she referred to you as Gharach. So that must be your name." I perked up at hearing her mention my mother. "Is this note here?" I asked, excitedly, looking around as if the note was somehow hidden from me within the walls of the orphanage. "No," she said. "We burned it, as we burned anything from your previous life other than your name. It's for your own good." She left after that, leaving me in the room with the other orphans who had been pretending to not be listening. I cried that day. Not just for knowing I would not know who I was, but also due to the beating the other boys gave me after learning I was part savage. I knew the Sisters could hear my screams, that they could hear my tormentors call me a savage as they beat on me with their small fists and feet. But to the Sisters, abuse just led to tougher, more stalwart survivors, and strength and endurance were their main goals for all of us orphans. -=-=- Several weeks ago, I remembered this as I sat looking at the backpack and bandolier with my family markings that had somehow survived the burning. I wondered if that note from my mother also survived. But I decided to grow up and detach myself from my history. That day, I had presented myself to the Knights of Solamnia to join their ranks. I believed that, after proving that I was of Solamnic heritage, I would close that portion of my personal history, to never re-open it. Today, however, I wonder.
I have spent weeks on the battlefield of Thelgaard, battling the foes supported by Takhisis and her minions. Every morning and every night, I pray to Paladine, as I was taught at the orphanage years ago, for his aid and protection for me and my fellow Knights, Squires, and men-at-arms. And every day, I see countless deaths of those I prayed to protect. Where are you, Paladine? Where is the protection and boon that I ask for? How can these Takhisin foes destroy us day in and day out, while it appears you are not here for us? I hear the chants to Takhisis over the battlefield, and I feel the power, the evil, the fear sweep down upon the Solamnic lines. But where are you? A fellow cleric, one who helped save me from a poisonous wound, said his prayers to Kiri Jolith as he healed me. I felt the healing, I felt the dispersal of the poison, I felt the power of Kiri Jolith bring me back from the edge of a very possible death. Paladine, where are you? When I see this cleric again, I shall ask him more about Kiri. Maybe Kiri can protect me when Paladine cannot. Kiri, help me. - Gharach
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
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