An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Kline.

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 bluish black leather-bound book on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Kline' scribed in brilliant orange ink.

Author:    Kline          
Date:      Wed Apr 30 12:01:17
2014
Subject     The story of a Half-elf

Born a mutt, his mother
Silvanesti Elf and father a Solamnic human, Kline
had a rough child hood. Even
rougher than most half breeds because his
mother had died during child birth and
his father was off at war, leaving
him in the care of his grandparents. They
treated him horribly, referring to
him as the mutt of the family, which was one
of the nicer things they said
to him. His home life was easy compared to
anywhere else. The other kids
would all gang up together and throw stones or
beat him with sticks. Hated
for being a half breed, no one showed him any
kindness. Hatred filled him.
He didnt choose to be born a half breed. But
everyone treated him as if he
were a lower life form.

By his tenth birthday he
had enough of being beat by the other childern. He
stole one of his
grandfather's daggers, so he could threaten the other
childern to leave him
alone. When he pulled the dagger and confronted them,
the eldest of the elven
childern laughed and called him a worthless dog.
Anger and hatred filled Kline
and in a quick move he buries the dagger up to
the hilt in the Elfs chest. The
satisfaction and power he felt were unlike
nothing he'd felt before. Yanking the
dagger free, he stabs the child again
and again, his warm blood covering his
hands. Kline watched as the life
drained from the elvish eyes of the boy. When
the boy finally collapses the
other children scream as Kline turns his knife on
them. They scatter like
the weak things they are. Knowing what would happen now
since he had killed
the boy Kline runs home, grabs his cloak, bow and arrows,
and steals some
food from the kitchen before fleeing Silvanost.

The next months
were hard. He had never hunted or cleaned game and had never
slept in the
wilderness alone. Alone, lost and half starved, he had all but
given up hope of
surviving. On a rainy, cool night, he trudged through the
mud and trees, trying
to find shelter when he was attacked by a large wolf.
Firing his last arrow, he
misses and the wolf leaps at him, knocking him to
the ground. He just barely got
his bow up in time to shove long ways in the
beasts mouth and pushing with all
his strength he can barely keep the wolfs
teeth away from him. The bow breaks
and the beast lunges forward, but Kline
moves his head just fast enough to keep
from getting killed, but the beasts
teeth tare across the side of face and takes
off part of his ear. As the
wolf draws back to lunge again, a loud twang is
heard followed by a solid
thud and the wolf falls lifeless onto Kline.

Moments
later, the beast his lifed off of him by a tree of a man, and
standing next to
him is a lithe Half-elf woman holding a torch. The
mismatched pair took him in
and over the course of ten years trained him in
the various ways of killing. Be
it a head on fight, or a poisoned
assassination, between them they had years of
experience that they passed on
to him before turning him loose in the world.
Another killer for hire. 

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.'