An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Graff.

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 well written novel on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Graff' scribed in unearthly red ink.

Author:    Graff          
Date:      Tue Nov 24
02:31:20 2009
Subject     In Palanthas

Deck hands made
busy as the ship coasted into the harbor. Too busy with
mast and
anchor, and likely too veteran to care, they didn't even look up
to
take in the sight of the great city. But Palanthas was
beautiful, clean and
whole, which were hard to come by in these
times, Graff knew from his
travels. The buildings were tall. Some
cast shadows onto the water, which
sparkled in the sunlight. He
suspected that the water, too, was clean,
likely enough to cast
reflections from the taller towers, but the water was
too choppy
from the bustling trade. The cleanliness was nice. It was
the
kind of thing Graff always appreciated, especially when, like
now, he could
least afford it.

The captain and he exchanged well
wishes and the second pouch of his fare,
and then he wasted no
time in disembarking. As he roamed the port, Graff
could feel the
tension all around him. He didn't even need the magic. He saw
it
on their faces and in the strain of over-hurried work. The
traders had
told Graff that war had come to the east of Solamnia,
and that the Knights
weren't fairing well. The merchants were on
top of such news. As long as the
Bay was clear, they'd be fine.
They might even come out ahead, if war raised
prices. But it was
worrying.

No one spared a second glance as Graff wandered toward
the Old City. That's
why he liked cities. It might be strange for
someone to be so covered and
with face hidden in the summer
months, but the winds off the Bay kept the
town cool, and there
was always someone stranger in a city this big. He was
more
worried about his appearance when he went to the Library. It
shouldn't
be altogether surprising. After all, men such as him
gravitated toward
private, scholarly work, and what better place
than the Library? Even still,
there would be people.

Graff shook
his head, as if shaking free of his concerns, and looked
around.
He was getting close to the Old City. He needed to find
an inn on the
outside. Without knowing how long he'd stay in the
city, it was prudent to
keep the luxuries to a minimum. The Lady
Herra's allowance had lasted him a
few months away from home, but
he had learned how to take care of himself
the many years since.
One luxury that he would pay for was a nice bath. The
ocean salt
had found a permanent home in his bandages, and it was
stinging.

He found the inn sprinkled among granaries and
warehouses and a stable. It
was well lit and unremarkable, the
place to go for merchants who wanted to
be close to their wares,
not the night life. Graff took a room and a hot
wash basin. He
mechanically unwound his bandages, giving the water time to
cool.
The water itself was never pleasant, but after drying off,
Graff
rubbed his burns with a salve that he ground and mixed for
himself. It was
the first relief he'd had since before the
voyage, and he fell asleep with
his whole skin tingling.

Graff
knew he was supposed to be at the safe house. Uncle Daram had
made him
and all the other kids in town practice over and over
again. And Uncle Daram
was a Knight, so he knew he should listen.
But Lord Tyrian was here from the
capital visiting the Lady
Herra, and Graff wanted to see for himself. Dad
had said he had
Elven blood, but Evon said he was something else.

The Lady Herra
was wealthy, and she received her guests in a room full of
fine
furniture and skirted tables, so hiding places were easy to
find.
Unfortunately, from his, Graff could see the Lady Herra's
face perfectly,
but only a back-quarter profile of Lord Tyrian's.
He seemed to swirl the
wine in his glass unconsciously as he took
his ease. He had two armed men at
the door, but they stared
straight ahead and ignored everything. Even still,
the Lady
Herra's face was pale and lifeless, and Graff had begun to
think
that this was a terrible idea.

"I don't mean to be
inhospitable, my Lord, but when last we spoke, you
assured me
that you'd leave Elmwood in my hands. Now, you've come
yourself
all the way from Lemish and without a courier or a
warning. Lady Herra
looked flustered.


Author:   
Graff          
Date:      Tue Nov 24 02:38:19
2009
Subject     In Palanthas II

"Of course, my Lady
Herra. I don't deign to interfere with your capable
rule. But
it's grave news that's brought me here. My sources have
informed
me that one of your dear friends has been conspiring
against us with those
damn Knights. I knew how devastated
you'd be at the news and thought it best
to deliver it in
person." Tyrian somehow managed to say his whole spiel in
a
sneer.

Lady Herra was silent for several seconds before
responding.

"That does indeed sound terrible, my Lord.
Please let me know who stands
accused, and I will call for
inquiry at once."

"Oh there's no need for such formalities.
My men are handling it as we
speak."

Lady Herra jumped from
her seat, and took her leave without words. Lord
Tyrian drained
his glass and followed more slowly, both guards in tow.
Graff
didn't understand what had transpired, but he followed
discreetly. He
maneuvered through the servant halls and took a
side door. Once outside, he
understood. His house was engulfed in
flames, tips stretching for the
heavens, unabated. Village men
stood all around, watching the fire consume
it. Tyrian's soldiers
had subdued the bucket line, though Graff doubted it
would've
done any good. Graff rushed passed the soldiers who were past
such
expectations. He hoped he would reach his parents in
time.

He jerked awake, feeling the intense heat on his skin. His
eyes focused on
the darkness, and soon he could make out the
patterns on the ceiling. But
the heat wasn't going away. As his
beating heart slowed, Graff started to
hear the whinnying horses.
They were much too loud and shrill. He didn't
have time to wrap
up, but he threw on his clothes and grabbed his stuff and
headed
down into the chaos.

He exited the inn to a surprising
brightness as the granaries were on fire.
It made a powerful
burnt smell. Following the smoke into the dawning light,
Graff
noticed other pillars of smoke sporadically about the city. They
must
be arsons. War is closer than he'd hoped. Half-dressed men
were organizing,
but there were no formal fight fighting teams in
sight. With all of the
fires across the city, Graff figured that
they couldn't be counted on. So
much for not attracting
attention.

He rushed forward and dropped to hands and knees,
rifling through his
ingredients. He uncorked a bottle and spread
a sooty powder in a clockwise
circle around his body, and he
began to chant. The words would have seemed
nonsense to all the
observers, but Graff had spent his life trying to
recover his
lost body. He knew more about fire than anyone. As the fire
drew
out of the building, people began to stare, and to back
away. Graff
collapsed to the pavement as the fire extinguished.
He was getting stronger.
A year ago, even, he'd be unconscious.
Now, he had enough strength to push
himself up and drag his bags
behind him as he walked away, slowly. No one
followed. The
Library would have to wait a few days, war or not. He needed
to
rest, and another bath. He was bleeding. Even still, he couldn't
help but
smile. He wished Lady Herra could see him now. 

The Storytellers of Ansalon, The DragonLance MUD

Astinus points to the massive wall of books behind him and bids you to make a selection.

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