The Great Library of Palanthas
An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.
Stories of Ansalon from the view of Mordecai.
A little gully dwarf runs by and says 'Wordwrap 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 volume on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Mordecai' scribed in light green ink.
Author: Mordecai Date: Thu Dec 14 23:35:42 2023 Subject Mordecai, the Exile - Part 1
Mordecai's ascent to power in the depths of Thorbardin was a tale of cunning and exploitation that spanned decades. Born into servitude, the Klar dwarf rejected a life of subservience, setting his sights on the intoxicating elixir of authority. Recognizing the vulnerabilities within the dwarven society, Mordecai methodically established himself over his peers. In the early years, he exploited the most disenfranchised klar, building alliances with those on the fringes of dwarven society. His smuggling network grew as he delved into the trafficking of dangerous substances, including the insidious substance known as Tamex, which induced madness among the Klar. Mordecai, always orchestrating events from the shadows, expanded his influence, weaving webs of deceit and corruption that infiltrated every layer of Thorbardin. His black market empire thrived on the desperation of those seeking escape from the harsh realities of dwarven life. Mordecai's insidious tendrils extended into the darkest corners of the city, reaching even the most stalwart dwarven clans. He exploited the very fabric of Thorbardin, trading in secrets, illegal substances, rare commodities, and the ruinous madness of Tamex. To maintain his hold, Mordecai established clandestine fronts disguised as legitimate businesses, ranging from apothecaries to taverns. Each establishment served as a node in his vast network, funneling wealth and influence back to the mastermind in the shadows. The Leaden Pot - his first front - sported a humble facade but became a hub of illicit alchemical activity. Shelves lined with jars of Tamex were concealed in the back rooms, and a warren of tunnels delved down into a fortress-like safehouse below. Mordecai's true gift was his ability to exploit divisions among the dwarves. He played rival clans against each other, stoking the flames of long-standing feuds for his benefit. As his wealth accumulated, so did the layers of deception that shielded him from the prying eyes of Thorbardin's authorities. His enforcers, fiercely loyal (or coerced through Mordecais ruthlessness), enforced his will upon the city. The elixirs of madness flowed freely, tainting the very essence of the Klar while ensuring their allegiance to Mordecai's ambition. In the shadows - always in the shadows - the obese dwarf watched, considered, and then struck, concealing his malevolence behind a facade of calculated charm. In time, cracks began to show in the organization, stemming from rumors surrounding Mordecai himself, purporting that he, too, had begun to suffer from the madness so commonplace among the Klar. Hushed whispers described the dwarven crime boss arguing with voices that weren't there. Mordecai became more solitary as the days passed, and the doors once open to his people were bolted and shuttered. The Captain of the Guard, Delin Kazrik, was a principled and tenacious adversary. The dark network had grown too large to retain anonymity. Coupled with the faltering leadership, the clandestine operations lost the edge they had once possessed. Kazrik slowly began uncovering the veins of corruption that infested Thorbardin. Initially, his progress was slow and inconsequential - cracking down on small Tamex dens, confiscating stolen goods, and imprisoning small-time dealers. Piece by piece, however, Kazrik drew a noose around the crime syndicate and ever-so-slowly began to tighten it.
'Kill them all. They'll betray you.' Mordecai shook his head to try and dismiss the the soft, ever-present voice that whispered to him day and night. 'No, they won't. They need me, ' he muttered back under his breath. No one in the assembled group seemed to take note at the one-sided conversation, having become accustomed to the strange behavior that often came over their leader. Mordecai had convened this clandestine meeting with several of his most trusted lieutenants, safely nestled in the dimly lit depths of his safehouse. The room was sparsely decorated - well beneath the vast wealth at Mordecai's command. It served well when secrecy was required. Secrecy was often required. Seated at a squat table laden with maps and parchments, Mordecai locked eyes with his chief lieutenant, Urat, who had been at his side since before his rise to power. 'Our influence in Thorbardin is unmatched, ' he stated with confidence. 'But the Captain is closing in. We must act swiftly to protect our interests. Several of our distibutors are already apprehended, and our supliers in the mines are growing nervous.' Urat, a dwarf hardened by years of service to Mordecai's ambition, nodded in agreement. 'I will reach out to Delithra. She serves as house servant to one of the royal accountants and has worked for us before. We could get names, track down family, and use that as leverage.' Mordecai smiled, nodding. Urat was rough and scarred, with a gravelly voice which would fit better in a mine than in planning room. However, his insight and cunning had been pivotal to Mordecai's ascent. Urat leaned over the table and began penning the request to Delithra as another lieutenant began to heat wax for the seal, the crimson block slowly liquifying. Mordecai glanced over, and his eyes locked upon Urat's exposed neck. The crimson wax became red blood, and spread across the table in a glorious gush. Mordecai saw his dagger driven into the hollow of his old friend's skull, felt the thrashing body under his hands go suddenly, beautifully still in that familiar moment of transcendence. Euphoria washed over him as the voice in his head babbled gleefully. He blinked his eyes, and the vision cleared. Urat was just finishing the letter. Mordecai's hand firmly clasped the dagger at his side, but had not drawn it. Not yet. Not this time. With a supreme effort, he released the blade and bode his body to relax, forcing his hand to his side. It was hard. Much harder than last time. 'Kill him. He covets your power. He will betray you, ' the voice whispered. Mordecai breathed deeply, pushing the damnable voice from his thoughts. At least he could still do that. 'Very well. What's next?' As Urat tromped up the stairs to arrange the delivery, another lieutenant spoke up. 'Gavom, in the eastern mines. He's begun avoiding our messengers, and his deliveries have ceased. He's either gone clean or is selling to someone else.' That wasn't surprising. Tamex was a lucrative drug, and others had taken note of his rise to power. Mordecai rested his chin in his hand, tapping at his temple as he thought - making sure the thoughts were indeed his own - before speaking. 'Regardless of the reason, his inaction is unacceptable. Send a team to contact him once more and pick up the owed delivery. If he doesn't deliver, break his fingers, one by one, until he talks. We need to know if someone else is trying to work in our territory.' Another command, another letter penned. Mordecai leaned back in his chair as his men worked out the specifics. These meetings had grown more difficult as the voice became more insistent. The visions were new and the hardest to overcome. Everything about them felt so real, and his slipping control truly terrified him. The room suddenly shook, sending dust cascading down from the ceiling. A booming roar echoed from somewhere upstairs. 'The fireball trap, ' Mordecai muttered, scrambling to his feet. The trap guarded the main entrance to this underground hideout, and had just triggered. Faint cries rang out as the invaders above screamed and died in the ensuing conflagration. 'They've betrayed you, ' insisted the voice, soft and sibilant. 'Time to go, boys, ' Mordecai announced, striving to ignore the maddening voice as he strode to the back wall of the long chamber. His comrades followed, throwing open thick curtains concealing the bolt-holes Mordecai had commissioned years prior. He reached out, undoing the heavy bars that held the hatch shut, and tugged on the handle. It didn't budge. 'THEY'VE BETRAYED YOU!' the voice screamed into his head, causing Mordecai to wince as his vision wavered. He gave the hatch a final, fruitless heave before turning away. His men - normally stoic - were grim. They understood, just as Mordecai did. They had been betrayed. The voice had been right. 'Get the axes. Try and get through as quickly as you can, ' Mordecai ordered. Heavy footfalls echoed on the stairway connecting to the storefront above. Mordecai drew his hatchet as his men fanned in a semicircle behind him, bringing blades to bear. The doors across the room shuddered under heavy blows only briefly before bursting open in a spray of splintered wood. Dozens of guardsmen streamed into the room, heavy crossbows cocked and leveled at Mordecai's men. A long, tense moment hung as the two forces faced off, each daring the other to make the first move. The front rank of guards were brushed aside as a lone hylar pushed his way to the front. He locked eyes with Mordecai. 'I am Captain Kazrik. Mordecai of clan Klar, you are hereby ordered by the Council of Thanes to stand down and relinquish yourself and your men into my custody.' Captain Kazrik paused, allowing the words to sink in before continuing. 'Should you come peacefully, you and your men shall be offered a trial before the council. If you resist, know that I am authorized to use whatever force I deem necessary. I have lost good men today. Do not tempt me.' The room fell silent, broken only by the creaking leather of armor as both sides fixated upon the standoff between Mordecai and Kazrik. 'KILL THEM ALL!' screamed the voice in Mordecai's head, repeatedly, voice pounded in his skull. Both sides tensed as he slowly brought the hatchet up - then tossed it aside, the metal ringing across the stone floor. His men followed suit, tossing blades and axes aside, submitting themselves to the guards who, under the watchful eyes of the captain, began fettering Mordecai's men with manacles. Mordecai himself was reserved for last. As the iron shackles were fitted around his wrists and feet, the captain approached. He glared coolly down at Mordecai before speaking. 'It seems your reputation was overblown, Klar. I didn't expect you to be a coward - to go down without a fight.' Mordecai's vision wavered as the voice raged and thrashed in his mind. Blinking his dark eyes slowly, he looked up at Kazrik, looming over him, clearly savoring this moment of justice. Mordecai spoke - so softly that the captain could barely hear him. 'I don't fight battles I can't win.' Mordecai paused, then looked up at the captain, his mind briefly clear and lucid. The captain instinctively took half a step back at the intensity burning in Mordecai's dark eyes. He voice was only a whisper as he spoke once more. 'But in the end, Captain, I always win.'
Kill them all. They'll betray you.' Mordecai shook his head to try and dismiss the soft, ever-present voice that whispered to him day and night. 'No, they won't. They need me, ' he muttered back under his breath. No one in the assembled group seemed to take note of the one-sided conversation, having become accustomed to the strange behavior that often came over their leader. Mordecai had convened this clandestine meeting with several of his most trusted lieutenants, safely nestled in the dimly lit depths of his safe house. The room was sparsely decorated - well beneath the vast wealth at Mordecai's command. It served well when secrecy was required. Secrecy was often required. Seated at a squat table laden with maps and parchments, Mordecai locked eyes with his chief lieutenant, Urat, who had been at his side since before his rise to power. 'Our influence in Thorbardin is unmatched, ' he stated with confidence. 'But the Captain is closing in. We must act swiftly to protect our interests. Several of our distributors are already apprehended, and our suppliers in the mines are growing nervous.' Urat, a dwarf hardened by years of service to Mordecai's ambition, nodded in agreement. 'I will reach out to Delithra. She serves as a house servant to one of the royal accountants and has worked for us before. We could get names, track down family, and use that as leverage.' Mordecai smiled, nodding. Urat was rough and scarred, with a gravelly voice that would fit better in a mine than in a planning room. However, his insight and cunning had been pivotal to Mordecai's ascent. Urat leaned over the table and began penning the request to Delithra as another lieutenant began to heat wax for the seal, the crimson block slowly liquifying. Mordecai glanced over, and his eyes locked upon Urat's exposed neck. The crimson wax became red blood and spread across the table in a glorious gush. Mordecai saw his dagger driven into the hollow of his old friend's skull, felt the thrashing body under his hands go suddenly, beautifully still in that familiar moment of transcendence. Euphoria washed over him as the voice in his head babbled gleefully. He blinked his eyes, and the vision cleared. Urat was just finishing the letter. Mordecai's hand firmly clasped the dagger at his side but had not drawn it. Not yet. Not this time. With a supreme effort, he released the blade and bode his body to relax, forcing his hand to his side. It was hard. Much harder than last time. 'Kill him. He covets your power. He will betray you, ' the voice whispered. Mordecai breathed deeply, pushing the damnable voice from his thoughts. At least he could still do that. 'Very well. What's next?' As Urat tromped up the stairs to arrange the delivery, another lieutenant spoke up. 'Gavom, in the eastern mines. He's begun avoiding our messengers, and his deliveries have ceased. He's either gone clean or is selling to someone else.' That wasn't surprising. Tamex was a lucrative drug, and others had taken note of his rise to power. Mordecai rested his chin in his hand, tapping at his temple as he thought - making sure the thoughts were indeed his own - before speaking. 'Send a team to contact him once more and pick up the owed delivery. If he doesn't deliver, break his fingers, one by one, until he talks. We need to know if someone else is trying to work in our territory.' Another command, another letter penned. Mordecai leaned back in his chair as his men worked out the specifics. These meetings had grown more difficult as the voice became more insistent. The visions were new and the hardest to overcome. Everything about them felt so real, and his slipping control truly terrified him. The room suddenly shook, sending dust cascading down from the ceiling. A booming roar echoed from somewhere upstairs. 'The fireball trap, ' Mordecai thought, scrambling to his feet. The trap guarded the main entrance to this underground hideout and had just triggered. Faint cries rang out as the invaders above screamed and died in the ensuing conflagration. 'They've betrayed you, ' whispered the voice. 'Time to go, boys, ' Mordecai announced, striving to ignore the maddening voice as he strode to the back wall of the long chamber. His comrades followed, throwing open thick curtains concealing the bolt holes Mordecai had commissioned years prior. He reached out, undoing the heavy bars that held the hatch shut and tugged on the handle. It didn't budge. 'THEY'VE BETRAYED YOU!' the voice screamed into his head, causing Mordecai to wince as his vision wavered. He gave the hatch a final, fruitless heave before turning away. His men - normally stoic - were grim. They understood, just as Mordecai did. They had been betrayed. The voice had been right. 'Get the axes. Try and get through as quickly as you can, ' Mordecai ordered. Heavy footfalls echoed on the stairway connecting to the storefront above. Mordecai drew his hatchet as his men fanned in a semicircle behind him, bringing blades to bear. The doors across the room shuddered under heavy blows only briefly before bursting open in a spray of splintered wood. Dozens of guardsmen streamed into the room, heavy crossbows cocked and leveled at Mordecai's men. A long, tense moment hung as the two forces faced off, each daring the other to make the first move. The front rank of guards was brushed aside as a lone hylar pushed his way to the front. He locked eyes with Mordecai. 'I am Captain Kazrik. Mordecai of clan Klar, you are hereby ordered by the Council of Thanes to stand down and relinquish yourself and your men into my custody.' Captain Kazrik paused, allowing the words to sink in before continuing. 'Should you come peacefully, you and your men shall be offered a trial before the council. If you resist, know that I am authorized to use whatever force I deem necessary. I have lost good men today. Do not tempt me.' The room fell silent, broken only by the creaking leather of armor as both sides fixated upon the standoff between Mordecai and Kazrik. 'KILL THEM ALL!' screamed the voice in Mordecai's head, repeatedly, relentlessly. His knuckles whitened on the handle of his hatchets as the voice pounded in his skull. Both sides tensed as he slowly brought the hatchet up - then tossed it aside, the metal ringing across the stone floor. His men followed suit, tossing blades and axes aside, submitting themselves to the guards who, under the watchful eyes of the captain, began fettering Mordecai's men with manacles. Mordecai himself was reserved for last. As the iron shackles were fitted around his wrists and feet, the captain approached. He glared coolly down at Mordecai before speaking. 'It seems your reputation was overblown, Klar. I didn't expect you to be a coward - to go down without a fight.' Mordecai's vision wavered as the voice raged and thrashed in his mind. Blinking his dark eyes slowly, he looked up at Kazrik, looming over him, clearly savoring this moment of justice. Mordecai spoke - so softly that the captain could barely hear him. 'I don't fight battles I can't win.' Mordecai paused, then looked up at the captain, his mind briefly clear and lucid. The captain instinctively took half a step back at the intensity burning in Mordecai's dark eyes. His voice was only a whisper as he spoke once more. 'But in the end, Captain, I always win.'
Pain lanced through Mordecai's leg, jarring him awake, and he thrashed wildly. The seagull who had woken him squawked with indignation and flapped a short distance away to wait, dissatisfied. The chains binding Mordecai jangled noisily at his movement, and his body screamed in agony from the sudden activity. A weak groan slipped past parched lips and a swollen tongue, and he winced as he struggled to open eyes that had crusted shut. Under the relentless gaze of the unforgiving sun, Mordecai lay chained to a weathered raft adrift on the vast expanse of the New Sea. His wrists were raw and bloodied from ceaseless struggles against unyielding chains, but that pain now seemed a feeble thing besides the exposure and dehydration. The chains held him spread-eagled across the raft, and there was no reprieve from the sun's punishing rays until evening, when the cool sea air left him half-frozen. His skin - pale from decades spent underground - was cracked and blistered. Three torturous days had passed since the facade of justice had played out. Urat was his closest confidant, and his treachery was more profound than Mordecai expected. Mordecai had carefully cultivated a web of extortion, coercion, and blackmail to safeguard against this potentiality - but Urat, of course, had been privy to that information. Mordecai found his resources gone, his leverage inaccessible, and his carefully wrought contingencies in tatters. He was utterly and helplessly at the mercy of the courts. As it turned out, Mordecai did not, in fact, always win. With all his leverage lost, the verdict came quickly and predictably. The trial, orchestrated by those he had once considered pawns in his elaborate game, had condemned him. And thus, the council sentenced him to execution. Paraded in a jail wagon throughout Thorbardin and the outlying villages of hill dwarves, Mordecai became a spectacle of shame, a proud exhibition of the kingdom's intolerance for crime. The final act of his humiliation played out at the borders of the dwarven empire, where he was bound to a raft and set adrift to die alone on the vast expanse of the New Sea instead of the comforting darkness of his mountain home. And so Mordecai drifted. But he was not alone. The voice was always with him. 'Thief, ' it accused. 'Liar. Fool. Worthless.' It pounded him ceaselessly, filling his head with an endless litany of castigations and epithets. Sometimes, it whispered into his ear, a string of sibilant whispers. Other times, it roared until it felt as though his teeth were rattling. The visions, likewise, would surge during these times, filling his eye with phantasmal scenes of blood and horror. Mordecai would squeeze his eyes closed to try and shut them out, but to no avail - the images followed him into the darkness, playing against the backdrop of his eyelids. He could do nothing but moan and suffer until the voice quieted and the visions faded. In the comparative silence that followed these fits, Mordecai wondered whether his body or mind would shatter first. Perhaps his mind had already broken long ago. Now, on the third day, a certain resignation settled over him. His mind was fuzzy, and he drifted in and out of lucidity. It wouldn't be long now, and there was a certain comfort in that. The gull squawked again irritably nearby, and he heard its wings beat clumsily as it flapped away. 'How far you've fallen, Mordecai.' the voice murmured suddenly, and Mordecai started. Throughout the months of his perceived madness, the voice had never spoken his name before. He attempted to open his eyes, but they were still crusted and swollen, leaving everything blurry. He moaned as his blistered skin shifted painfully. 'I will admit that I am disappointed, ' the voice continued as Mordecai worked to clear his vision, blinking repeatedly. Something about this interaction felt different. 'I find myself wondering if I overestimated you.' 'Leave me be, ' Mordecai croaked. 'You aren't real. Just madness.' Mordecai heard a dry chuckle in response and lifted his head weakly. Something was on the raft with him, a darkened silhouette prominent before the expansive oceanic horizon, featureless to his bleary eyes. His feet scrabbled against the raft ineffectually as he instinctively tried to shrink away, barely suppressing another moan of pain as the chains bit into his already raw flesh. 'Oh, I assure you - I am quite real, ' the figure said, gesturing as it spoke. Mordecai's vision was beginning to clear, and he could make out spindly limbs draped in a dark robe, or perhaps a hooded cape. 'We're not here to talk about me, however. Not today. This is about you. You burned so very bright in the beginning, my friend. You mastered all around you, outmaneuvered every opponent, and seized on every weakness. I walked with you then, too, though you didn't see me. Your natural brilliance and my subtle guidance, together, made you shine like the sun.' The figure let out a long, drawn-out sigh. 'But then you got complacent. You began to delegate more and more - even sensitive tasks that you wouldn't have ever shared with another soul, before. As your attention splintered, so did your ability to interpret my will. You became disjointed. What you called madness were echoes of your unconscious mind as it recognized the snares you had used to bind yourself.' Mordecai was transfixed by the words. The muscles in his neck screamed with the effort of keeping his head lifted from the raft, but he could no sooner look away from the figure than he could cease breathing. He could make out more details, but that seemed unimportant now. There was a familiarity about the figure, in the way it spoke, in its very presence. He knew, somehow, that it was real and that it was speaking truthfully. In his mind's eye, he rewatched as his past failures - insidious, even innocuous at times - slowly broke him, piece by piece. The figure had ceased speaking momentarily and simply stood gazing upon Mordecai, allowing the tormented dwarf to process his words. Tears began to seep from the dwarf's sun-scorched face, falling freely to the weathered wood of the raft. He blinked his eyes, and then his cracked lips parted. 'I do not know who you are, but I believe you. I have failed you, and I have failed myself. I will never do so again, ' Mordecai whispered, his voice rough and gravelly. 'Please. Help me.' The figure regarded Mordecai, features concealed in the depths of rust-colored robes. Long, thin hands emerged from the sleeves and steepled before the figure in a pensive pose. 'I have doubts that you will rise again, but you have surprised me before, Mordecai. Very well. You will once again have my blessing. Use it wisely.' Faster than thought, the figure slapped an unnaturally long and slender hand upon Mordecai's chest. Pain ripped through him, his tortured skin protesting at the abuse, and he let out a cry - but the pain only built. His cry became a deep, full-throated scream as his flesh sizzled and charred under the grasp of the cloaked figure, agony flooding him. His entire world dissolved into excruciation. Pain, and two eyes staring into him, through him. Orbs as black as night, with no whites, no iris. Just empty, fathomless darkness. His vision narrowed into a tunnel as unconsciousness threatened to wash over him. As his vision faded and his breath gave out, the pain ceased - just as suddenly as though someone had blown out a candle. The figure was simply gone - vanished, as suddenly and thoroughly as his pain. Smoke still rose from his charred and blackened chest, dispelling any doubts regarding the reality of the encounter. The outline of a handprint was readily visible on his ruined flesh. He let out a groan, and his head rolled back, striking the raft solidly, and Mordecai slipped into blissful unconsciousness.
His respite was short-lived. He became dimly aware of sounds - guttural shouting, dragging, and wood breaking. A sudden jolt snapped him from his reverie, and his eyes flashed open. He wasn't on the raft - indeed, the raft lay splintered around him, where the iron chains had been torn free. He was on the deck of another vessel - much larger than any ship he'd seen before and elegantly crafted, though appearing as though it had recently sustained damage. A flag fluttered from the top of the mast, bearing a stylized head of a minotaur. It was a flag he'd only seen in old history books. The flag of the Imperial League. Indeed, a dozen massive, brutish figures surrounded Mordecai, peering at the dwarf with undisguised curiosity. Their gazes seemed drawn to the horrific, charred handprint on his chest. Mordecai tried to sit up but was far too weak and collapsed back to the deck. A wave of pain and exhaustion rolled over him, carrying with it the warm, comforting embrace of unconsciousness. 'This should be interesting, ' Mordecai thought to himself, fleetingly, before passing out. (Including a link to the google doc below - might be easier reading than in-game story.) https://docs.google.com/document/d/1aLDuXA0lwJaG0fNeE86Ho1RzOVbeYXq183ijlb49qtU/edit?usp=sharing
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.'
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