An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Immotalus.

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 journal on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Immotalus' scribed in rich green ink.

Author:    Immotalus      
Date:      Thu Sep 23
00:05:44 2010
Subject     Recruitment

"Is it dead?"
"Dunno. Kick it." A groan escapes the prone figure. "Guess
no-are
those horns?" "Shit-it's one of those cow people." "Let's gut
it
now." Immotalus lay face down on the sand. Annoyed at the
bickering, she
lifts her snout-snorts-and proceeds to rise. She
shakes off sand, a strand
of kelp, and a horseshoe crab that took
interest in her tail-she stomps on
it for good measure.

Crack.
The soldiers turn at the sound and unsheathe their swords to face
the
7' frame. Immo snorts again-"Humans." "Gotta problem with us
ya udder-"
"First-I'm a Minotaur. Idiot. Second-that hurt." Not
waiting for a response,
she lunges forward, goring the speaker.
As the others struggle into
defensive positions and try to
surround her, she lashes out with a
hoof-smashing into a knee.
Reaching down, Immo rips off the crab's tail and
stabs it into
the fallen man's eye. The gored one remains motionless-red
pools
blossoming from 2 puncture wounds in the chest. There's a
slight
jingle of chainmail and the minotaur backhands the soldier
behind her.

"Anyone else hungry? It's on the house" she
grumbles. The rest edge away.
Shaking her head, Immo rips some
cloth off a corpse to wipe blood off her
horns. A spot of white
amid the blood, leather, and steel catches her eye.
Immo grabs a
crumpled parchment stained a dull red-brown from a body. A
bright
red wax seal is open. It has a dragon's image
imprinted.
Growling-Immo ignores the wary humans as she leaves
the ferry. The parchment
is illegible save for "Dragonarmy" in
fading words. Snort. "He won't be
needing this anymore."


Author:    Immotalus      
Date:      Thu Sep
30 02:18:38 2010
Subject     Recruitment II

Overbearing
heat chokes the air. Everything is lit in a deep red
hue-courtesy
of the Lords of Doom. As a result, smoke replaces clouds in
the
evening sky. A minotaur appears from a rocky outcropping-she
treads
carefully as ashe maneuvers over the uneven terrain.
Volcanic auras dye her
fur a blood-red-her horns gleam white then
crimson. Down the path looms a
menacing structure-a temple carved
from the igneous rocks. Feeling oddly
drawn to it, Immotalus
proceeds towards the edifice.

The minotaur enters a canyon-like
crevice. A massive maw gapes ahead. Some
stones are dislodged
overhead, trickling down the rockface. Immo unsheathes
her blades
and crouches instinctively. Just as she crouches, a
winged
predator swoops down and alights on the branch of a
charred tree. It was too
large to be a hawk, more massive than an
eagle. The creature screams and
spreads its wings-"definitely
larger than I am" Immo thinks to herself. Its
feathers emit a
lurid red-orange glow. Pheonix? She shakes her head. Bright
likes
flames yet dark as the ashes and destruction it briths. The
creature
ruffles its black-red plummage and assumes a guarded
stance. Bowing once to
the Great Condor, Immotalus mounts the
obsidian steps and enters the Temple
of Sargonnas

Sun has long
departed and the moons have taken their positions in the
night
sky. As Immotalus' hooves reach the last steps, she catches
a blur in her
periphery. Warily, she faces the phantasmal figure,
hands on her dagger's
hilt. A bright ball of light flickers into
existence, dancing in pale white
hands. The hands belong to a
short figure-a dwarf-garbed in tattered robes.
His face is
completely obscured within the hood's depths.
Immo
growls-suspicious at the magic but more so at the dark aura
emanating from
the Theiwar. This individual is lethal.

"So, I
hear you want to join the war?" He twirls a wax sealed
parchment.
Immo nods stiffly. "Yes sir." The hood moves slightly
as the figure nods.
"Ready for your first orders?" No t waiting
for a response "Meet up with
Edwik and his men. Your unit awaits
you in Neraka.Head east. Destination:
Kendermore." With that, he
mumbles and the light vanishes. Immo barely
discerns the figure's
faint outline as he merges with the shadows and
disappears. She
snorts, and sets off at a brisk pace towards Neraka.


Author:    Immotalus      
Date:      Thu Sep
30 02:37:04 2010
Subject     Kendermore
Campaign

"They've taken the bait sir." Immotalus looks
down at the human and nods.
She looks at the maps sprawled over
the table. A part of her wonders why
Kendermore, but the Highlord
commands it, and she will follow her orders.
"The men are ready.
We ride out in five." With that, Edwik salutes and exits
the
tent. Immo follows suit a few minutes later, and scans the
encampment.
She towers over the majority of the 150 men, save for
a few other minotaurs
and ogres.

Peering into the distance, she
observes as the Knights of Hylo skirmish and
overwhelm the
Dragonarmy reconnaissance party. She growls to herself,
"Should
probably check that out..." Facing a group of goblins and
hobgoblins
preparing to leave, she directs them to follow her. As
the small unti heads
for the ambush site, the main body commences
the massive assault Goodlund.
From afar, Immo grunts in
satisfaction as catapults fling flaming boulders
at the city and
its defenses. Embracing the adrenaline rush, Immo starts
to
run-the mounted soldiers struggle to match her
pace.

Immotalus and her unit near the Knights of Hylo as they
retreat to defend
the city. She spots the scout leader-an 8' red
minotaur-and snorts
derisively "captured by kender..." Just then
a kender flies out of hiding
and attempts to grapple with he r
Disgusted, Immo flings the kender away,
sending it soaring into a
wall. Crack. The small form remains motionless.
More kender start
appearing, many fleeing and many attacking. Looking
around, Immo
realizes they were diverting them away from the c
hildren.
Grinning, she roars, stunning those escaping, and sets
upon them with
bloodlust. Moments later, she regroups with the
main body. Kendermore
burns.

As the men finish off survivors and
begin looting, Immotalus catches a flash
of bright greens and
yellows. She watches as a kender-a Priest of
Chislev?-leads some
children to safety. Before Immo could call attention to
them,
smoke and debris obscure sight for a moment and seconds later,
they
were gone. Shaking her head, she wades through a sea of
child-like bodies in
search of Edwik. The human is drenched in
blood-not his own-wiping gore off
his blade. "Immo! This just
came for you." He hands over a scroll sealed in
red wax.
Unfurling it, she stares at an empty parchment. "What kind of
jo-"
A voice speaks in her mind: "Good job Immotalus. As soon as
possible, I want
you to head towards these locations." Names
appear as ink blots the blank
paper. "Edwik! Have the men "clean"
up survivors-we can't be burdened with
prisoners. Station a unit
here to discourage anymore bright ideas from these
kender."
"Then?" "Then we move out." As Edwik leaves to execute his
orders,
he beheads a groaning kender and starts kicking the head
around like a ball.
Chuckling, Immo memorizes the messages and
tosses the scrolls into the fire,
flames immediately devour it.
Suddenly, she feels a warmth on her chest.
Looking down,
Immotalus sees an insignia burned into her leather armor-
a
permanent etching of a Red Dragon. 

Author:   
Immotalus      
Date:      Sat Oct  9 07:20:51
2010
Subject     "Sargas. Give me strength."

"Damn!"
The leather-garbed minotaur clenches her fist and slams it on
the
table. "Sargas damn those Solamnics..." "Who knew tin-cans
could amount to
anything?" said Edwik, as he used a dagger to
pick dried blook from under
his nails. He would stop at intervals
to throw small blades at a kender
strung up on a battered board
at the tent's opposite end. "Just kill the
damn thing already"
the red furred minotaur growls. He raises his eyebrows
in mock
innocence "Now where's the fu n in that?" And releases
another-the
steel cuts through the air and hits its mark,
severing a tiny finger. "Hmph.
Prefer a Solamnic strung up there.
Now THAT would be fun." "Patience
Immotalus. Can't bash metal
head-on, you'll just bounce..."

Immo waves off Edwik's words of
wisdom. She retrieves the parchment that
flew off the table.
Scans the bottom where it's blank. Ink suddenly breaks
the rough
surface, meandering across. "Let me guess, we're going
back"
declares the human. Immo no ds. He looks up for a moment,
wrinkles his brow
in thought "now where were the dragons?", and
resumes his activities. "Where
indeed" she thinks. She stands,
stretches, and exits the musty,
copper-scented tent. Dusk settles
in. Save for the sentires and lookouts,
the rest of the men are
sleeping, drinking and eating-not in that particular
order.
Rubbing an old scar along her snout, Immotalus heads out of
camp.
This contingent was heading south to rendevous with another
regiment. Then
the Knights took Kalaman-with a force a thousand
strong she heard. She
shakes her horned head and sighs. "Despite
the numbers, that would've been a
wondrous battle to partake in."
Growling, she strikes out, snapping some
foliage-disturbing the
silence that has settled around. Finally, Immo
reaches a clearing
in the grassy plains. Reaching under her armor, she pulls
out a
red-black feather. It emits a lurid gleam as it's twirled on its
stem.
The sky is on fire now-a grim flame of deep scarlet and
waning orange and
yellow."

"Sargas. GIve us strength. Give ME
strength." Finishing her short prayer,
Immotalus put her talisman
away. She doesn't know if her prayer will be
answered, but she
does know this: The Solamnics victory is ephemeral-she
grips her
daggers-as are their lives. 

Author:    Immotalus     

Date:      Tue Nov  2 04:33:02 2010
Subject    
War-Frustrations

Thwock. Another blade cuts the air and
lands with a thud against the wood
board. Simultaneously, a
finger falls in a bloody flop to the red-stained
floor. "Score!"
Edwik downs another tankard of ale. "Glad you're
enjoying
yourself" mumbles the mi notaur. "Aw C'mon Immo. Give it
a try-there are
plenty of 'em." Edwik hands over a dagger and
sticks a thumb at the cages
overflowing with prisoners of
war-bloodied, emaciated, pathetic.

Snorting, Immotalus ignores
the proferred blade and grabs a steel axe off
its rack and throws
it at the helpless strung human. The axe rotates through
the air
and lands squarely in the neck-cleanly severing the head. The
head
flips down in a wet arc and joins the limbs pile-cherry on
top. Edwik rolls
his eyes. "Nevermind. You wasted 5 hours of
select dismemberment.." Immo
waves off another rant, apologizes,
and exits the chamber. 

She mounts and ascends slick black stone
steps, shoving past saluting sivaks
garbed in Red uniforms. The
minotaur clears the temple compound. She growls
in irritation.
It's been weeks since she received her last orders-days since
the
last report, detailing losses incurred by the Solamnics. Sols
outnumber
them and have been routing DA forces in Qualinesti and
Southgate-and there's
nothing she could do. "Hello! Would you
like to purch-" Immo bares her teeth
and gores the merchant
attempting to sell his wares. The merchant falls
down, gasping
and coughing up blood. He stares down at the 2 puncture wounds
in
his chest-also welling up crimson. Sneering, the minotaur grabs
the human
and stomps off towards the North gate and into the
city's outskirts. 

Author:    Immotalus     

Date:      Thu Jan 13 21:03:01 2011
Subject     Revenge:
The Aftershocks of War, Part 1

Magma swells and deflates,
gurgling and bubbling as it flows through
cracks and crevasses.
Igneous rocks solidify then crumble into several
charred pieces.
Fumes coil lazily with thick pops from roiling red-orange
liquid.
A horned creature sits cross-legged amid the fire and stone, its
fur
a deep crimson cast by the chamber's lurid glow.

Suddenly it
rises. The creature leaves the sacred chamber, coming
upon
aslight promontory. The horned head turns as it surveys the
Dragonarmy
camp.New orders have been issued to reinforce an ally,
then resume under
his/her command. It's late-the encampment and
surrounding foliage cast long
shadows, stretching out into deep
dark pool.

"Immotalus, we're just about ready." salutes a
black-haired minotaur. He's
clad in steel plated armor with red
filigree to represent the Red Wing.Immo
nods. "Firaloth, have the
men rest now. Tomorrow, there'll be no breaks
until we reach our
destination." As the soldier departs, the red-furred
minotaur
catches a slight flicker of light between shadows in
her
periphery.Snarling, she pivots with daggers drawn. Silence,
trees, and rocks
greet her stance, with the occasional insect
chirping. "Someone small,
definitely
smelled...something...familiar." she thinks.

A mountain lion cub
rushes from the undergrowth, hackles raised at the
minotaur, then
pounces away. "Hmph. Cats." Sheathing her daggers,
Immotalus
starts toward the communal tent where a frothing
tankard of ale awaits. As
the sun sets, the rising cacophony of
evening revelries is matched-soon
surpassed-by a chorus of an
army of insects. 

Author:    Immotalus     

Date:      Thu Jan 13 21:22:24 2011
Subject     Revenge:
The Aftershocks of War, Part 3

Nostrils flaring, the
red-furred minotaur twirls a dagger. Metal tip
spinning upon the
weathered wooden surface, it narrowly misses thin,
green-brown
mottled fingers."Cedrahil, the ranger, says the bugs-" The
blade
rises and settles firmly with a thud into the wood between
two trembling
digits.The hand almost retracts instinctively."I
don't care. Just get rid of
them" orders the horned creature.
Bobbing its head, the goblin salutes, and
scrambles out
immediately.

A large, black-furred minotaur enters, its armor
scratched and dented. "Yes
Firaloth?" "First insects and their
incessant chirping, then packs of wolves
devour half our
supplies" he shakes his head " these plagues are
unnatural."
Immotalus resheathes the dagger and moves over to the
large map set over a
nearby desk. As she mulls over the intended
route, she nods "How bad?"
"We'll have to ration what's left
until we can restock or send for more.
Water's low, sent some men
down the river to refill-" She looks up"What's
wrong with the
water?" He scratches a furred jowl "Well, uh, some birds
decided
to use the casks as baths and latrines sir. Some barrels also
have
wastes mixed in-in short, water's tainted."

Growling, Immo
grabs a quill, dips it in an inkwell, and scratches out
more
mumbers on a half-filled parchment."These small incidents
are costing us..."
she trails off.Ears twitch as they pick up a
deep rumbling in the distance.
Eyes flash down and notice slight
ripples in the ink. The ripples increase
in frequency and length;
the sound continues to build. Firaloth reaches for
an axe
strapped to his side. Immotalus continues to listen and
recognizes
hooves pounding on packed dirt, snorts, and the
sentries' alarmed shouts.

Crescendo arrives; large, bulky forms
tear through the tent's canvas. They
upend the scarce
furnishings. Burdened by heavy armor, Firaloth is only able
to
sidestep before a bison tackles him to the ground. Immo evades
the first
wave.Snarling, she turns and charges the incoming horde
at an angle,
knocking them off-balance.One large bison, nearly
twice the size and weight
of a fully mature minotaur, faces her,
nostrils flaring, and attacks head
lowered. Bracing herself, Immo
draws her daggers; just as the bison is a
breath away, she
pivots, blades extended.The animal slashes itself on the
lower
blade, cutting its forelegs' ligaments and tripping, while the
upper
one cuts deeply across its side and fla nk. As the creature
stumbles and
falls, the minotaur deepens the gash, spilling
intestines and additional
organs. The bison twitches, breaths its
last, then lay still.

Immotalus gazes in disbelief as herds of
bison seem to appear out of
nowhere. They stream into camp,
stampeding across tents, equipment, and
trampling oblivious
soldiers. Large groups, huddled across the camp, amid
the chaos
consist of men smart enough to form a shield of pikes and
spears
to ward off the enraged herd. Some are just bison stomping
away on the
unfortunate. Teeth bared, wrinkling her red-firred
muzzle, Immotalus
remembers something. She stabs a bison behind
her, and turns to aid Firaloth
who is buried beneath furious
hooves. Kicking a bison and grabbing another
by its horns, Immo
twists, snaps its neck and tosses the corpse into
another.

The
steel-armored minotaur finally stands up, metal dented
and
bruised."Regroup the men, kill and gather as many of these"
she jerks her
chin towards a corpse" as possible." Nodding, the
minotaur wields his axe
and shield, and proceeds to barrel into
another group to relieve some ogres
and goblins. A small shadow
treads the conflict's outskirts. Immo spots a
flash of yellow and
green. "Kender" she mutters through gritted teeth.The
minotaur
picks up a broken shaft and spears a bison ready to gore
her.
Ignoring the blood spatter, she sprints toward where she
last saw the
culprit. 

Author:    Immotalus     

Date:      Thu Jan 13 21:32:27 2011
Subject     Revenge:
The Aftershocks of War, Part 5

"Gag her" As the kender's
limbs were bound in rough twine, a wad of
canvas is stuffed into
her mouth, then secured around her head. The red
minotaur
crouches to eye level with the captive. "Here's a gift we
fashioned
for your race after we burned Kendermore to the
ground." The minotaur grins
wickedly as she presents a tiny,
intricate contraption. It consists of
several rings linked
together by spiked chains of black iron. It doesn't
have an
obvious locking mechanism or a keyhole. The smaller rings are
each
further connected to a larger ring; it's thin compared to
the smaller
versions, with jagged edges of a sickly green
hue.

"Beautiful isn't it?" The minotaur mutters a few words and
the rings and
chains mold themselves onto the kender's fingers
and wrists. She squirms
uncomfortably as the contraption forces
her hands into a cramped position.
"Careful. Move your fingers a
certain a way and you'll cut your wrists on
those poisoned
edges.Try to move wrists and you'll pull the finger
chains
tighter, until they dislocate the digits and sever them.
Strain too hard and
these spikes will crush them. And don't think
about smashing the
chains-magically enhanced with the Dark
Queens' blessings. Nothing short of
Reorx's hammer can break
them." The horned creature chuckles. "Why all the
trouble for
this little toy? It's been known that the smallest of
things
cause the greatest of troubles."

An aurak garbed in her
Dark Majesty's robes arrives, a lily engraved gold
chain hangs
around its neck.He nods to Immotalus "Sergeant"."Cleric"
she
bows. Scratching a scar on her snout, the minotaur narrows her
eyes at
the prisoner. "Make it several more hours than usual."
Flashing the kender a
toothy grin, the draconian waves a clawed
hand over her face, reciting
arcane words. Slowly, the priestess'
eyelids grow heavy; her head falls limp
as sleep overcomes her.
"Ssshall I throw in a nightmare?" Sneering, Immo
shakes her
horned head. "No, she'll be living it soon enough."

The sun
kisses the ricky hills in the distance. The minotaur allows her
gaze
to follow the yellow-orange glow. Evening light bathes the
camp in warm
hues. Tents are taken down and packed, along with
equipment and supplies.
Hatori are loaded up and fed for the
journey ahead. Although a good amount
of equipment was damaged,
they'll deal. Food and water won't a be a
problem-the dead bison
they skinned, dried, and salted is sufficient for
several months.
Creativity struck some of the men, and they fashioned armor
and
weapons out of the bones and horns. 

Immotalus turns to watch
some ogres hang the kender upside down from a
tree.She smiles,
remembering how prisoners are usually hung by the hands,
until
the enchanted chains cut through their skin and into the
bone,
dismembering and poisoning them. As the rest of the bison
carcasses were
hung alongside the culprit-some in piles at the
tree's base-the minotaur
makes an offering to Chislev. "In return
for your priestess' life, interfere
no longer." she prays
silently, then kicks some dirt into the small fire.
Smoke begins
to rise. Snorting, the horned creature secures her blades
and
rejoins the departing Dragonarmy. 

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.'