An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Khakarot.

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 gorgious hardback on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Khakarot' scribed in earth-colored yellow ink.

Author:  Khakarot
Date    Mon Dec 24 13:29:47 2001

Subject  The return of Khakarot


its been a long time, but I have returned to reclaim what is
mine.
Fistandantalous may have taken my body, and the one I inhabit now
may be
weak and frail, but I will succeed.

My magic is still weakened, but I have journeyed plains to hone
the
skills I still posses. I fully intend to destroy those who
wronged me,
and ascend to my previous power, and finally surpass it.

Now I go in hiding, working to hone my magic, till the day I can
confront him. All my life I have lost. I lost an arm, I lost my
life,
and then I lost the body I once had in that life.

But no longer will I be a loser.


Author:         Khakarot
Date    Thu Jun  1 15:48:59 2006
Subject  Homecoming


Old men often lose track of the time, and Khakarot was no
exception.
Snoring contentedly upon a old hammock in the great dome of
Palanthas,
he was awoken by an annoying buzzing.  Cracking open his weary
eyelids,
Khakarot slammed them shut to block out the bright noon-time
light.  The
buzzing continued, resolving itself into questioning words.

Shaking himself to a sitting position, Khakarot finally lifted
his heavy
eyelids, blinking a few times for good measure.  Some youngster
was
babbling on about how he wanted to join the mercenaries or
something. 
Couldn't it wait till he woke up?  Rubbing the sleep from his
eyes, Khak
decided to give the man a talking to and send him on his way.  He
was
just about to resume his beautiful nap when twin thoughts
collided in
his head: "How did he know I was mercenary?" , And, "Why hasn't
some
other merc handled this already?"



Bothered by the second more than the first, Khakarot pushed
himself up
with his cane, and headed for port.  He never was sure which
smelled
worse, a hussy's groin or the fish- market.  Unfortunately he for
him he
had to pass through the latter on his way.  Waving off slimy
merchants
and beggars, the old man known as Khakarot threaded his way
through the
stinking crowds, till he found his way to the docks.

A long journey fraught with peril greeted him, but being old and
wise,
Khakarot survived.  In his younger days he was a battle mage of
some
power, though now he longed only for spells of rejuvenation or
teleportation. Pirates were greeted by fireballs, and their
flaming
sails waved farewell to Khakarot as he sailed away.  Things of
the deep,
bad weather, and hunger all assailed him, but eventually he
reached the
destination Abanasinia and Solace.

By comparison, crossing Crystalmir Lake was easy and getting to
the
mercenary headquarters even easier.  But what greeted him
appalled him.
Dust and cobwebs hung from a door that looked about to remove
itself
from the hinges.  The only inhabitants left were the rats, who
looked
thin and unhealthy.  Relieved to find the Warlord's office
intact,
Khakarot flopped down on the desk, and resolved to rebuild
mercenary in
the morning.  

It was many days before he bothered to stir. 


Author:         Khakarot
Date    Thu Jun  1 16:48:59 2006
Subject  The Call



In the hands of every scoundrel, cutthroat, or down on their luck
swordsman, a copy of this handwritten note can be found.  Passed
from
destitute miners to lonesome half-elves, the call works it way
around Krynn:

  _________________________________________
 /                                         \
|   Brothers I write to you to let you      \
|   you know that the ancient brotherhood   |
 >  of Mercenaries is not yet dead. I       |
|   to ask for your strength and your       |
 \  swordarm. In return I promise a  fair  /
  | bit of a steel and a home.             |
 /                                         <
 \  Youll find us near solace. Come, be my |
 /  battle-brother,                         \
|       -Khakarot   _____                   |
\  /\____          /     \_________________/
 \/      \  ___/\_/
          \/
          

Author:         Khakarot
Date    Thu Jul 20 18:58:15 2006
Subject  ----A New Leaf - Khakarot----

The life of a renegade is not an easy one.  One can live a whole
live on

the lamb, always running, never safe, always hiding.  That kind
of life

drives some mad and drives others into the clutches of mad-men. 
I am the

second type.  Long ago as a young mercenary I discovered magic,
and used it

without the conclave's permission.  In time the constant paranoia
drove me

to follow another renegade into the clutches of the Dark Queen.  



It was not an easy time for me, but I made do.  I sacrificed my
limbs, life,

and soul in that twisted cause.  I did things that defy logic and
the

imagination to be free of that same cause.  I went mad for a
time, wandering

the forests around Prayer's Eye Peak.  Much time passed, as I
faded from my

own memory and consciousness.  Krynn forgot me, as I forgot it. 
I floated

in nothing, doing nothing, until the woods had enough of me and
belched me

out on the doorstep of Solace.  I began to remember.  



A kind woman, a priestess, I know not her name.  She helped me. 
My clothes

were mere rags, but she gave me steel to feed and clothe myself. 
It was

strange, waking up from nothingness to find myself an old man.  I
ate in

quiet silence, and remembered the cause of Mercenary.  The old
cause and old

habits re-emerged, and I became a renegade again.  Still, my age
would not

be ignored, and asserted itself quite vocally from time to time. 
I am old,

and will die soon.  



The thoughts of the old began to assail me: death, afterlife, the
abyss, and

the gods.  I don't want to spend the rest of eternity with that
damnable

Dark Queen - but the weight of my sins was carrying me there. 
I've skinned

kender alive, committed rape, murdered innocents, burned
property, nearly

killed my allies just to finish one enemy.  I spoke to Galadir on
the

matter, he said Paladine forgives.  I hope so.  Thinking back to
that kind

priestess, I don't know if I can ever be that good.  

 

-Khakarot.

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 869 storytellers on Ansalon pen their epic stories here for all to read.'