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 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 small volume 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

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