An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Gorin.

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 large tome gilt in gold on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Gorin' scribed in burnt orange ink.

Author:    Gorin          
Date:      Wed Mar 25
06:30:28 2009
Subject     Gorin's Travels

The wind
whistled through Solace, causing the great Vallenwoods to
groan
under the onslaught. Gorin peered at the sign at the base
of the wooden
walkway that read:

"The Inn of the Last Home"


"Hrmph. Well, let's hope they have a decent glass of
ale."

He glanced up at the walkway that still swayed in the
evening breeze.

"Bloody trees. A dwarf belongs on the damn
ground." He sighed and began to
trudge up the long walkway.

As
he eased open the door to the inn, a wall of light and sound
struck him
an almost physical blow. The common room of the
treetop inn was filled with
people. Gorin forced his way through
the throng, towards the bar. 

"Ale, " He said, slapping a
coin on the bar as the overweight man behind the
bar stepped
over. The man nodded and made the coin disappear in the
same
motion that he set a mug of dark ale on the bar. He had been
sitting at the
bar for a few ales before a hand clamped on his
shoulder and he was spun
around, to face one of the ugliest
Neidar dwarves he had ever seen. 

"Well, if it isn't a
Theiwar! And look at that boys, he's drinking our
ale!"


Laughter echoed around Gorin, and he saw that there
were several Neidar
dwarves standing around him. His head was
only mildly fuzzy from the ale,
but it had been a long day of
travel, and he didn't like being in this
treetop inn. He slammed
his right fist into the laughing Neidar's face,
shouting words of
magic as he did so.

His hand struck the laughing dwarf, and
apparantly burst into flames. Both
his hands now apparently on
fire, he turned and started striking out at the
other Neidar
dwarves. The flames were just an illusion, and he didn't
even
believe that any of the onlookers had gotten a good look. It
was a small
trick, but all he had been able to think of. 

The
rest of the evening was a bit of a blur for Gorin, but he woke up
the
next morning outside of the town with a ringing headache, and
brused
knuckles. His lips were both smashed to a gory mush and
his right arm wasn't
working quite right. 

"What a day to meet
some mages." He managed to get out through bloody lips
before
turning, and walking away from solace, onward. 

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.'