An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Kelden.

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 leather bound tome on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Kelden' scribed in maroon ink.

Author:    Kelden         
Date:      Thu Mar 22 11:59:56
2007
Subject     Return

Holding his dying comrade in his arms, Kelden
tried to staunch the bleeding.
But he knew at this point there wasn't much time
left. Holding back tears, 
he held his old friend close.

"Don't worry," He
whispered assuringly, "I'll get you to a healer. It'll be 
all right, you'll
see."

Kelden had been born in Qualinesti. His father had been a soldier in the
army. 
Kelden, his mother, father and sister had all lived happily there. That
is 
until the dragonarmies came. His father had been in the raid of Pax
Tharkas,
the raid that had gone so horribly wrong. Captured by the dragonarmies,
he was 
tied to a stake in Solace and burned alive by the red dragon
Ember.

Kelden was distraught. When the call came to flee Qualinesti, Kelden
grew 
disillusioned and hateful. Why had no one helped his father? Why was his

country now fleeing? Where were the Solamnics? His country had sent his father

to his death. They forfeit his life so easily yet refused to fight themselves.

His father had died in vain.

Kelden looked down at the body shuddering in his
arms. He looked at the gaping 
wound in its gut. His friend was mortally
wounded. There was nothing he could 
do.

Kelden hadn't stayed long in Southern
Ergoth. The city of tents harboring 
Qualinesti's refugees mad him sick. It
reminded him of his country's cowardly
flight. It reminded him of his father's
abandonment. He decided that he would 
not flee. He would leave Ergoth and seek
out his enemies. He would fight.

It was shortly afterwards that he found
Dalanthus, the half-elf. They traveled 
across Abasasia and Solamnia, aiding
whomever they could. It became clear to 
Kelden that many people cared little
for elves, and those who did had problems 
of their own. There was no one to aid
Qualinesti. His country was on it's own.

Kelden watched as the corpses around
him turned to dust. Dalanthus had stopped 
moving. He was gone. Kelden made him
a small grave and prayed for him. He 
recalled clearly when Dalanthas deflected
the blow that was meant for him. He 
recalled the blade sliding into Dalanthus'
gut. He recalled Dalanthus' 
sacrifice. Just like his fathers.

Kelden lost his
misguided hatred for his homeland at that moment. His father 
had not died in
vain. He was not sent to his death. His father had given up 
his life in hopes
that others would live. He gave his life for his homeland, 
his people and his
family, for everything he cared about.

Kelden returned to the homeland he
missed dearly. He wished to see his mother 
and sister once again, to smell the
sweet forest air. He walked through the 
familiar streets to his old house.
Knocking, his heart fell as an elderly man 
answered the door.

"What? The
previous owner?" the old man asked loudly, "She died of grief soon 
after her
son ran away. It was very sad. She left a daughter, but with no 
relatives to
care for her she ran away too. Nobody's seen anything of her for 
years. Why do
ask?"

Kelden didn't answer. Grieving, he walked away.

Wandering down the
streets he remembered fondly, Kelden thought about his 
life. All he had left
was the home he shamefully abandoned. He thought about 
how the dragonarmies so
easily destroyed his life. He remembered how no one 
came to Qualinesti's aid,
forcing them to flee. He knew they could depend on 
no one.

He came upon a
poster. He knew now what he cared about most. The poster read 
"TO all those
with Elven blood..."

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 mentions 'We have had over 868 storytellers on Ansalon pen their epic stories here for all to read.'