An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Oggan.

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 manilla folder on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Oggan' scribed in light red ink.

Author:              Oggan
Date    Wed Oct 31 03:12:23 2007
Subject  Where Oggan come from


Stark desolation is in the past, present, and future of the Ogre people. 
They live in it.  They thrive in it.  They leave it in their wake.  They
strive to bring their way of life to all they encounter in the most
persuasive of ways.  

The strong survive.  The weak are amusing.  For a time...  

The Ogre known as Oggan would never have bothered to put these thoughts into
anything resembling that kind of order.  He has known only that violence is
to be worshipped as a god.  Violence has no emotion, force has no remourse,
and the dead have nothing they deserve to keep.  

The windswept plains of Kern did little to curb his enthuisiasm for
domination.  He owned only what he could take, and he learned to take as
much as he could.  His way of life went unchanged, untill outsiders began to
take from him, from his people.  

At first only the weak of his tribe were killed.  They deserved death.  But
as time went on, even the strong began to succumb to the outsiders.  The
outsiders shouted and spat curses at them in their apish tongues, and killed
Oggan's tribesmen with their foul weapons and strange magics.  Finally there
were too few in the tribe and too many outside.  

The shaman led them away from their homeland.  No one asked where they were
going.  The shaman tried briefly to explain, but no one cared.  They were to
meet their cousins, and their cousins cousins, and so on.  It was all
meaningless.  They were to become a new tribe.  So be it.  As long as the
outsiders would die sputtering on the end of their swords, die choking on
their own teeth as Ogre fists tore them out...  

Oggan didn't care.  He wasn't thinking about the outsiders.  He was eyeing
the axe the Ogre in front of him carried, and wondering how hard he would
have to swing his club to crush their skull, and claim it for his own.  

His grip tightening, he lifts the club skyward and brings it down with all
his might.  It takes more than one try.  Good.  

Good...

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.'