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 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 worn book on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Graff' scribed in deep 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.

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.'