An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Kylan.

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 leather bound tome with glowing glyphs on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Kylan' scribed in dull brown ink.

Author:    Kylan          
Date:      Thu Sep 16
08:55:34 2010
Subject     The Key Part I 





Hefting
the heavy brass key in his hand, Kylan Mercer wearily tested
the
weight of it. Old and badly tarnished, the faded latchkey was
really an ugly
piece of work -- and it made Kylan frown.
Unquestionably, the tool was
crafted by some modest apprentice.
The bulbous bow was vaguely misshaped,
and the stem humbly
trimmed with simple threaded lines. It would have passed
for an
ordinary key, perhaps if the corresponding lock were ordinary
itself.


Judging from the pin and bit, the lock itself was in
all likelihood rather
strange itself. What made the key ugly and
ironically, desirable, was that
the many teeth of the apparatus
were reminiscent of a grinning skull. The
design is elaborate and
delicate, the grinning skull a grim totem for the
contraption.
Though far indeed from perfect, the key itself was ancient. 

Our
man, Kylan Mercer, obtained the curious artifact from some
odious
malefactor in the Southwestern corridors of Palanthas. The
black marketeer
couldn't have known the key's true worth, but the
peculiar design was enough
clue for him to identify a novel item.
Mr. Mercer paid dearly for the
trinket, far too much for an item
lacking it's counterpart. 

But, as any historian or treasure
hunter knows, an Istarian relic is never
to be passed up. The
key, Kylan accurately guesses, is one of only three
such
surviving devices. It was fashioned for some ancient secret
society; a
fraternity of merchants, historians, peddlers and
politicians. Perhaps, in
the height of their influence,
affiliates used this very key to lock away
some clandestine
treasure or prisoner.

Hefting the weighty brass gem, Kylan
Mercer frowned as he laid his empty
hand on the locked doorknob.
He jiggled the hindered handle slightly,
causing the lock inside
to jingle lightly. The door remained stoic. "How
unfortunate,
this crowning piece is really quite hideous." Deftly
pocketing
the key into a concealed vest-pocket, Kylan again
jiggles the stubborn door
and opens the trick-lock door to his
office. 


The shadowy man inside turned his head in
greeting.

Author:    Kylan          
Date:     
Thu Sep 16 09:54:15 2010
Subject     The Key Part II




Kylan Mercer entered his office, his dimly lit
sanctuary, and nodded
pleasantly to the man cloaked in shadow. It
wavers and moves to speak, but
Kylan interrupts with a raised
hand, "Please maestro, there is no need for
ceremony. May I
bring up the lights?"

"What what? Oh yes, certainly my good
man. I apologize, the darkness deepens
my sour mood."

Kylan
chuckles, momentarily massaging his brow. "Why so glum sire
Brin, I
was sure my good news would bring an end to your
troubles." The nobleman
Brin, a popular court musician, strikes
a flint and easily lights a lantern.
He is a rather bland, rotund
man, dressed in elegant finery with a
magnificent mustache.
However, his exquisite collar does little to hold his
saggy
jowls. The fleshy facial appendages wiggle as he speaks. "Good
news?!
Then you've recovered my purloined goods?"

Kylan nods,
though pauses to press a hand against the hidden key. "I
was
able to recover most of your possessions, yes. As it is, I am
just returning
from one last attempt to secure them all. However,
I regret to inform you
that a minor pieces has eluded me." As
he speaks, Kylan gestures to a small
heap of crates covered by a
white linen sheet.

The maestro looks concerned, but goes to the
heap nonetheless. He asks with
quivering jowls, "Which piece
exactly Mr. Mercer?" 

"The curious key that completes your
collection sire. Procuring the pilfered
item was ... not possible
I'm afraid." The maestro does not answer
immediately, he is
busy checking the contents of the pile. He is more or
less
delighted to have his articles returned. "That's quite alright
Mr.
Mercer, you've done a stupendous job nonetheless! The key was
trivial at
best." Maestro Brin pauses and squints slightly,
taking a greedier, cautious
tone. "Of course, you will reduce
your free hrmm? And where did you say you
recovered my beloved
masterpieces?"

Kylan smiles, though wishes he could be ride of
the oaf already. The key was
the most valuable item, but the
maestro is more interested in maintaining
the illusion of
opulence. And his cheap nature is widely known throughout
the
city. Especially when donating to the needy. "I did not say
maestro, but
it was being loaded onto a Caergothian trading
schooner by the old docks. I
was fortunate to surmise the
location early enough." 

Just as Kylan is about to explain the
nature of his detective work, he is
stopped short by a curious
missive addressed to him. The paper is of good
quality, while the
wax seal bears only the initials L.M. Kylan stares at the
note
for a moment, before asking, "Where did the note appear
from?"

The maestro grunts, irritated at being interrupted. He
ignores Kylan for a
moment then remembers he brought the letter
himself. "Oh well, that was me.
Mr. Greyhem asked that I
deliver it to you when he heard I was heading
here."

Kylan
nods understandingly and then overturns the letter without
opening it.
"Forgive me maestro, but I must ask to retire now.
Your porters downstairs
may come collect your things." Sire
Brin blinks, confused at the abrupt cut
in conversation but
agrees to comply. 


Once rid of the buffoon, Kylan Mercer gently
tears open the letter and
reads. He quickly scans the pages,
taking in the steady manuscript without
pausing. Once finished,
he sets down the pages and squints. "Caergoth it is
then."



"To Be Continued ..."

Author:    Kylan         

Date:      Wed Sep 29 20:03:26 2010
Subject     The Key
Part III



Kylan Mercer lay awake in his meager bunk, the
straw-pile mattress poking
through the treads of his blanket. The
journey to Caergoth was tiresome, he
was dusty and the roads more
dangerous than he remembered. Rumors of
marching armies and
violent conflict seemed to follow him, dark whispers and
hushed
voices in every dark inn. Mr. Mercer felt eyes watching him
every
step.

Twirling the curious key procured in Palanthas,
Kylan wondered what exactly
his collaborator had stumbled upon.
They met in a private room at The Noble
Hand, a tavern along the
seedy waterfront of Caergoth. There, Mr. Mercer's
colleague
divulged more concrete details of the rumors. 

News of a rising
force lead by agents bent on conquest in the east was
troubling,
but equally worrying was the thought of a opposing force
of
Solamnic knights nearing Caergoth. For these reasons, Kylan
slept little.
The confederate circle of like-minded individuals,
of which Mr. Mercer was a
member, were deeply troubled by such
news. If a militant force were to
control Caergoth, the flow of
activity amongst Kylan and his colleagues
would be greatly
hindered. 

For these reasons, Kylan slept little. The
confederate circle of like-minded
individuals, of which Mr.
Mercer was a member, were deeply troubled by such
news. If a
militant force were to control Caergoth, the flow of
activity
amongst Kylan and his colleagues would be greatly
hindered.

Greatly troubled, Kylan laid down a few silver for his
man. The man nodded,
and reached to take his payment. However he
hesitated, and whispered.
"Before you leave Mr. Mercer, just
two more things. There's a rumor about a
peculiar staff, seems to
be in your area of ... expertise. And lastly, watch
out for the
hooded fellow at the bar. He seemed awfully interested in
you
..." 

And with that said, the man slide from the table and
walked briskly away. 

And now warily awake and waiting for the
hooded figure to appear, Kylan
twirled his key and gripped the
blackjack hidden under his pillow. 

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.'