An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Mazik.

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 'Mazik' scribed in rich white ink.

Author:    Mazik          
Date:      Sun Jan 11
07:52:55 2009
Subject     The return to
Palanthas






After spending most of his life in service
to the shadowy organization of
thieves, cutthroats and smugglers
that controlled Palanthas harbor, Mazik had
tired of the endless
power struggles and killings in the criminal underworld.
Without
a word to his associates, he commissioned a ship under another
name
and left Palanthas with a merchant crew, intent on leaving
his old life behind.

All went well for several years as he and
his crew did legitimate business,
trading in the port cities
along the coasts of the New Sea... until one night
he was
approached in a portside tavern by a well-dressed nobleman. 
The
noble told Mazik had come recommended for his reliable
reputation, and offered
Mazik an unlikely sum of steel to ferry a
shipment of cargo to Palanthas.

Mazik was at first inclined to
refuse the offer, but his crew was considerably more
enthusiastic
and after a few more drinks, he relented.  The cargo was
loaded
onto the ship the following day - several strange black
iron boxes inscribed
with a writing none of them had ever come
across in their travels.  The noble
sent several stoic armed men
to guard the cargo hold, and they stationed
themselves below
decks with their own provisions, having spoken not a single
word
to any of the crew.

The crew was considerably less enthused
about the journey than the night
before, even having been paid
half the steel in advance.  Several of them made
signs of prayer
to the gods as they set off for Palanthas.  Grim-faced,
Mazik
barked his orders and ignored the whispered talk of ill
omens amongst
his crew.

It was five weeks before they reached
Zeboim's Deep, and in that time the
feeling of unease had
deepened to a palpable sense of dread among
the crew.  A dense
fog had surrounded the ship not long after it had left
its berth
in the New Sea and had never dispersed.

It finally happened
during the night when the red and white moons were
nowhere in
sight.  A dark ship swiftly materialized out of the fog and
before
alarms could be sounded, arrows had silenced the sentries.
 Mazik was
napping in a makeshift hammock by the ship's wheel
when he awoke to
a strange noise.  Through bleary eyes he
watched, astonished, as his helmsman
gurgled blood and clutched
at the arrow that had pierced through his
throat and out the
other side.

Belowdecks, the strange men that the noble had sent
to guard the cargo had
already made short work of the crew, and
most of them laid with their throats
cut where they slept.  The
guards made their way above to the deck and joined
with the
black-cloaked figures that were now quickly boarding the
ship.

Mazik drew his sabre from the sheath by his side and
advanced on the
attackers, feeling less than confident as he
hadn't drawn his sword for battle
in years.  He parried a swing
from the first man to reach him and plunged the
sabre deep into
the man's ribcage, holding him in front as a shield as
the others
advanced.  A curt command in a language he did not understand
was
issued from a robed figure by the gangplank, and the men
immediately backed off.
Sensing danger, Mazik shoved the dead man
off of his sabre and turned
to evade what was coming, but it was
too late.  A few strange, lilting words
hung on the air as a cone
of red flame engulfed Mazik.


He could only remember fragments
of came after, as he drifted in and out of
consciousness.  Above
all else was pain, as the fires burned themselves out on
his
body.  The sound of boots on the deck.  A net lined with barbed
hooks
thrown over him and tightened.  Him screaming, or was it
even him?  The
knowledge that he had been set up, but by who? 
Who would want him dead
so badly as to plan a ruse this
elaborate?  The net was hoisted up so that he
was face to face
with a pale face with dark eyes.  A grin.  He was tied to
a
mastpost as the ship was looted.  The strange black iron boxes
were
carried past him.  The ship was torched.  And then the men
were gone.

Author:    Mazik          
Date:     
Sun Jan 11 07:53:47 2009
Subject     The return to
Palanthas






Mazik had never believed much in any of
the gods, but as the fires burned 
around him and the ship slowly
sank, he prayed fervently to be saved.  And 
then, thinking
better of it, he prayed for a quick death.  He continued to

pray, incoherently, as he struggled against the unbearable sting
of his 
wounds, his lower body sinking into the cold salt water.
The barbed net cut 
into him even deeper.  As his head went
under, he screamed, and the salt 
water rushed in to stifle
him.

*       *       *

There was only darkness, and the
shallow water.  He waded in it, up to his 
knees - a quiet,
brackish pool.  He felt the sand at the bottom and curled 
his
toes around it, sifting it with his feet.  

A thunderous boom
sounded above him, and he felt it reverberate against the 
water.
 He squinted up and saw a pinpoint of white light.  In an
instant, the 
light expanded and was everywhere, overwhelming in
its intensity.  The water 
roared up and began to spin around
him, and the sand beneath his feet dissolved 
and disappeared. 
He was sinking.

He splashed about and tried to keep his head
above water, but it was no use.  
The water around him was now an
ocean, and it spun itself into a whirlpool, 
sucking him in.

He
had the feeling as he went under that this had happened once
already, but 
he could not remember how or when.  As he choked
against the salt water he 
heard a female voice whispering.  He
struggled to discern the words, but could 
not.  The voice was
full of malice.  Or was it kindness?  

It was asking him a
question.  

He said yes.

*       *       *

When he came
to, it was daylight, and they were hauling him in.  The captain

of the merchant vessel was baffled as to how he had managed to
survive, 
unconscious and afloat, clinging tightly to a spar of
driftwood.  The captain 
informed Mazik that the vessel was bound
for Nordmaar, but would be stopping in 
Palanthas for
provisions.

Belowdecks in the guest cabin he stared at his own
body.  There were no wounds, 
no burns and no new scars, save
one.  On his abdomen, below his navel - were a 
series of thin
scars that shaped an almost intricate pattern.  Three hexagons

with lines extending outwards to a faint oval outline, almost
like a turtle shell.

After he had dressed in the clothes that
the crew had donated, he sat thoughtfully 
in the cabin with a
single candle lit on the table before him.  Without knowing

exactly what compelled him to do so, he stretched out his hand
and held it over 
the candle flame.

He felt no pain, and
astonished, he drew back his hand to find that it was
intact.


*       *       *


In Palanthas, Mazik was as
dismayed as he was relieved that the old organization 
had long
been in a state of disarray.  All the old hands were gone, dead
or run 
out of town.  The group was leaderless, desperate and at
war with various groups 
of local thugs and mercenaries.  

He
had to find out who had set him up, and why.  But first, he
needed money.  
With a pair of pliers, he extracted the three
teeth of pure silver that he had 
put in years ago, and pawned
them for enough gold to buy a rusty sabre and some 
supplies. 
With that, he set off to offer his services to what was left of
his 
former organization.



(Petition to Rogue.)

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 868 books from Ansalon from before the great Cataclysm through today.'