An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Luthien.

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 small leaflet on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Luthien' scribed in deep black ink.

Author:  Luthien
Date    Thu Aug  7 03:28:08 2003



Subject  A Bard's Journey(Hist. Part 1)



A lone bard did often travel across the lands of Ergoth with each
change of
the seasons, plying his trade to all that would hear him. He spun
magic like a
web. It was his art, his words crafted silky images within the
mind while his
hands performed the illusions in the air. It was his calling to
spread the
tales and stories of those that came before him so that others
would know of
the trials that had been passed, and in a few cases was never
passed. He was
not the greatest of bards but all loved him for he was a great
friend to all.
And they all missed him whenever he passed into Northern Ergoth,
the land of
the Elves. But the calling they would say. It is a bards duty to
spread the
tales far and wide, too all that would hear of it!  So each year
he traveled
the distant lands when the roads were clear and the weather
loving, and each
year before Winter set in would he return to his home before the
trails were
closed by heavy snowfall. To his patrons surprise they were
greeted one day
with the truth of his story. The trails were blocked. The snow
too thick to
journey through and still the bard had not returned. Perhaps they
said he was
beset upon by a group of Goblins to eager for a kill than be
turned away by
the illusions he knew to cast. But the bard did return
eventually. Late in
returning his friends hearts were broken with joy to see that he
was still
well. But another surprise did he greet them with. A crying babe
wrapped in
silk. His pointed ears gave him away and then all knew, but no
one said a
thing. His name was Bardal, a half-elven babe born from the
secret love of a
Silvanesti maiden and a wandering Bard. The few Silvanesti in the
area
despised the bards human blood, though they were awed that such a
human had
talents such as his. Had they ever found the passion these two
held for others
they would soon forget that he held such talents.



Author:  Luthien
Date    Thu Aug  7 03:37:34 2003



Subject  Evindel's Quest(Hist. Part 2)



Only once did our father ever relate to us the tale of his elven
maiden and
her untimely death. So grief stricken of her death was he still
that he never
repeated the story lest it remind him of the beauty that he had
lost. We never
related the story of Bardal's mother either, keeping the tale to
ourselves.
Our father later remaried to a Waitress in one of the Bar's he
sung his tales
at. Thus myself and Pyronek were born.

All three of us grew up close. When our mother passed away from
plague our
father drank his time away. No longer did he remember us, so much
had he lost
he could not bare to have to one day lose us as well so he
decided to not even
try. That left us alone to fend for ourselves. We managed as we
are still here
today. Shortly did I leave my brothers to seek out the mages of
the Conclave.
I thought that with the knowledge I learned I would manage to
earn more power
with which I could help defend my brothers, I thought also that I
could gain
more knowledge with which I could surpass the illusions my father
knew and had
taught to us when he still understood what life meant. I did not
realize,
however, that my brothers followed close behind my own footsteps.
So close
have we lived our lives together that I was glad to see my
brothers join me in
this quest for further knowledge.

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.'