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 80. 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 'Gorin' scribed in brilliant red 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 869 books from Ansalon from before the great Cataclysm through today.'