An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Osirion.

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 worn book on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Osirion' scribed in brilliant green ink.

Author:    Osirion        
Date:      Wed Jan 30 00:10:02 2008
Subject     Lord Priest Osirion DeathBlade

Lord Priest Osirion DeathBlade: The Beginning

Born the son of Lord Lavitz and Rose DeathBlade, Osirion grew up learning from
the finest teachers in the world. Osirion learned history, arithmetic, weapons
work, and other things. As a Knight of Takhisis, Lord Lavitz taught his son that
there is honor in power, that might is right. However, Osirions mother, a
Daughter of a Knight of Solamnia, taught her son the Solamnic code of honor. As
a result, Osirion learned what many view as a true form of honor, Power tempered
with reverence for life. As he grew older, Lord Lavitz took his son to the city
of Neraka, a fairly long journey from their Estate in the Highlands. While
traveling throughout the winding roads, Osirion was drawn to a temple, drawn by
an inexplicable force. Upon entering the temple, Osirion was pulled aside by a
Priest of Takhisis, and told that he had been chosen to serve the Dark Queen.
Lord Lavitz, while thrilled that his Queen had chosen his son, was disappointed
that his sons weapons training would go to waste. However, upon hearing
Osirion's schooling, after two years of training, the priests named Osirion a
Paladin of Takhisis, a knight with priestly powers granted by his god (or
goddess), the youngest ever at sixteen. On his way back to his mansion, Osirion
came across a burned clearing, with bodily remains strewn on the ground. Feeling
a deep sympathy for those who died, Osirion set about gathering the dead for a
pyre, when a glint of metal caught his eye. It was a sword lying half-hidden
beneath a body. Further inspection of the blade caused Osirion to choke. It was,
without a doubt, his fathers blade, covered in grime and blood. Fearful of what
he might see, Osirion looked at the body which had hidden the blade. As the
tears rolled down his dusty face, Osirion held the corpse of his father close,
and cursed those who had killed him. His fathers clenched right hand, his shield
arm, caught his eye, and after prying the finger open, he found a crudely copied
insignia of a Knight of Solamnia, along with a hastily scribbled note reading
Fake Knights Bandits Albert Pblade. Frowning in puzzlement, he tried to
understand the message as he continued building a pyre for the dead. Praying to
Takhisis, he set the pyre ablaze, burning the men who had died. The dead of the
enemy he cast out into the wild, leaving them for scavengers to feast on. As the
last of the flames died out, Osirion continued on to his estate, the new lord of
the DeathBlade titles. On his back he carried his sword, a pitch black obsidian
long sword with silver runes inscribed on the hilt, given to him by the priests,
and his fathers blade, a gleaming silver great sword with ivory hilt. Upon
arriving at the manor, he was greeted by worried servants who, recognizing the
silver sword, feared the worst, and rightly so. Osirion, after telling his
mother, passed out from exhaustion. His dreams were plagued with horror filled
visions, of him witnessing the slaughter of his father, even though he didnt.
Avenge me my son. Show these fake knights that the DeathBlade family is not to
be trifled with! his father moaned as flames engulfed his body. Waking in terror
drenched in sweat, Osirion came to two conclusions. He figured out who the fake
knights were, and he was determined to go after them.



Author:    Osirion        
Date:      Wed Jan 30 00:18:06 2008
Subject     Lord Priest Osirion DeathBlade Continued

Lord Priest Osirion DeathBlade: The ForgeMaster

The next morning, after falling back asleep with no more nightmares, Osirion
awoke to a loud knocking on his door. It was a servant, urging Osirion to come
to the courtyard. As Osirion arrived, still pulling on his shirt, he stopped,
and stumbled. On the stone of the courtyard lay the corpse of his mother, her
neck bent at an unnatural angle, his face contorted in a scream. Tears roll
freely down his face as he screams at the gods who allowed this to happen. Damn
you to the abyss Takhisis! How could you let this happen?! How could you let
your loyal servant, my father, die?! How could you let my mother die?! The sky
above him darkened as he continued to curse Takhisis. If this is how you reward
your servants, I refuse to be your servant! With these words Osirion forsoke his
goddess and her evil ways. Rising, holding his mothers body, he carried her
room, and laid her on her bed for the priests to prepare. Then he grabbed his
and his fathers sword, and locked himself within the estate armory. Praying
fervently to Reorx, the god of forging, Sirrion, the god of fire, and Zivilyn,
god of Wisdom, Enlightenment, and Insight, Osirion lit the forge, furiously
pumping the bellows, and began the forging of a remarkable sword. Driven by his
rage and hate, tempered by his teachings, Osirion melted his and his father's
sword in a crucible, imbuing the glowing metal with magic learned from the
priests, magic to weaken magic, magic to weaken strength, magic to end life, and
magic to grant it. Guided by knowledge never learned, by wisdom never gained, by
a fire fueled not with hate and anger, but with purpose, Osirion poured the
molten steel into the mold of an intricate longsword, then used his magic to
quickly lower the temperature. Cracking the mold, he beheld his work, yet
unfinished. Grasping the sword in tongs, he reheated the blade, then proceeded
to shape, fold, and 'finish' the blade. Quenching it with water, Osirion set to
work sharpening the blade, decorating the guard and the pommel with jewels
designed to distract the opponent and increase functionality, wrapping the hilt
tightly with soaked leather dyed golden-green, and adding other finishing
touches to the blade. When finished, he beheld his masterpiece in awe, wondering
if his hand was guided by a godly presence, for he did not have the knowledge to
create such a work of art. Unlocking the door to the armory, Osirion wearily
stumbled to his bed, clutching the sword, and passed out among the sheets. He
was ready to avenge his father.

Author:    Osirion        
Date:      Wed Jan 30 00:28:06 2008
Subject     Lord Priest Osirion DeathBlade Continued

Lord Priest Osirion DeathBlade: The Avenger

Rose Paleblade, daughter to a Solamnic knight, was not an only child. Many times
had she told her son stories of her wayward brother, Albert Paleblade. Albert
had always been a failure in her father's eyes, for he had never amounted to
much. Trained in swordplay, Albert never excelled, in fact, he often lagged
behind with his pitiful blade work. His request to join the Knights of Solamnia
was denied, leading Albert to wander off into the wilderness, never to be seen
or heard from by Rose again. Until now. Osirion had heard rumors while training
of a brigand band gathering in the nearby wilderness, as had his father
apparently. According to his servants, Lavitz had gathered his men-at-arms and
set forth to rout these bandits, leading to his death. Osirion set off for the
wilderness alone the day after his mother's funeral, but for an entirely
different reason. His father's note had explained much to him. The bandits
Lavitz had set out to exterminate were, in fact, those trained in swordplay who
had been rejected by the Knights of Solamnia, and they were posing as real
knights. And Albert PBlade, Albert Paleblade, was among their ranks, probably as
leader. What Osirion could not figure out was how Albert had killed Lavitz, for
Albert, according to his mother, could not fight. Osirion was determined to find
out before he killed Albert. Lost in his thoughts, Osirion almost missed the
small path, obscured by trees as it was. Dismounting, Osirion examined the path.
There was evidence of frequent travel. Curious, Osirion tethered his horse, and
crept silently through the woods, keeping the path in his sight. Clad in
leather's dyed various shades of green and brown, he was almost invisible. After
about a furlong, he came upon a disguised and hidden village. Casting out his
magic and his senses, he detected various presences, all of them clad in a
red-tinged aura. He had found the bandit's hideout. Praying fervently to whoever
would listen to him, Osirion climbed a tree and waited till nightfall. As night
fell, Osirion awoke to the sound of horses. Looking down, he saw a party of
bandits leaving the 'village', presumably heading to another town to pillage and
rob it. Casting out his magic once again, he found only four presences remained.
While all were red-tinged, one stood out as having a more dominant aura.
Centering on the stronger aura, Osirion silently lept down from the tree and
stalked closer to the aura, careful not to be seen. Finally, he came to the
building in which the presence was in. Pulling back his magic, he saw that he
was behind the biggest building in the village, what the bandits were using as a
war hall. Smiling in grim anticipation, Osirion crept out from the woods and
advanced on the building, keeping his ears open for approaching enemies.
Finally, after a seeming eternity, Osirion placed his hand on the door and
readying his harm spell, he pushed open the door. What he saw would change his
world forever.

Author:    Osirion        
Date:      Wed Jan 30 00:36:49 2008
Subject     Lord Priest Osirion DeathBlade Continued

Lord Priest Osirion ForgeMaster: Kin Slayer

Before him stood his father. His father, who he believed to have died, stood
very much alive in front of him. Staring with open amazement, he failed to
notice the man beside his father, a man dressed in black robes of the evil magi.
Suddenly, Osirion felt a tingling in his hand and looking down, saw his sword
glowing a bright blue as it reacted to the spell the mage had cast on him.
Suddenly, he heard a whistling sound, and brought his blade up just in time to
deflect his fathers'. Son, I am truly sorry, but now that you have seen me
alive, I must kill you. If you still worshiped Takhisis I may have asked you to
join us, but as evident by the blue sword you're holding, you have fallen from
grace, and worship the weak gods of Good. Lavitz, with a show of the skill that
had made him a sword master, attacked his son, getting inside Osirion's guard
and slicing deep into his sword arm, causing the Osirion's sword to clang
uselessly to the ground. It's useless son. Good bye. Lavitz pulled back for the
final blow, and as his arm started forward, time seemed to slow for Osirion. His
mind, formally racing, slowed and arrived at one thought. He must stop the
bandit leader, no matter who he may be. Stop him, not for his sake, but for the
villager's sake, those who suffer from the raid. As he made this decision, he
was aware of a faint music playing in his mind, music that seemed familiar but
untraceable. Suddenly, moving with a speed and skill granted to him by his
training, he ducked, spun around on his heel, tripping his father, and grabbed
his sword in his off hand, then dove at his father and drove the blade through
his father's throat. Blood blossomed as Lavitz stared incredulously at his son,
then the eyes closed as the sword drained the life force from his body. Osirion,
tears falling from his eyes, stood and drew his sword from it's sheath in his
father's body. I take it you are Albert Paleblade? Osirion said to the mage, who
started. You caused the death of my mother, your sister. By rights, I should
kill you. But then, I would be no better a man than you. I will let you live,
Albert Paleblade, but a curse I lay on you. A curse, that every time you close
your eyes, you will see the broken body of my mother as she lay on the
cobblestones. This is your atonement . With those words, Osirion prayed to that
unseen presence he felt lurking within his mind, and then reached out, after
draining the mage's magic with his sword, and closed Albert's eyes. Screaming,
Albert's eyes flew wide open, and he fell gibbering to the floor. 

Author:    Osirion        
Date:      Wed Jan 30 00:42:40 2008
Subject     Lord Priest Osirion DeathBlade Concluded

Lord Priest Osirion ForgeMaster: A new God.

Weeping in silent pain, Osirion lay doubled up in the boughs of a giant
VallenWood. It had been a week since he had been force to kill his dad, and he
was still plagued by nightmares. His body, once muscled and lean, grew thin, for
Osirion couldn't bring himself to feed himself in his grief. Tired beyond
belief, Osirion failed at first to hear the quiet music playing in the woods,
and when he did, he sat upright. His hand crept to his sword, and he began to
cast forth his magic to sense the source of the music. Intent on finding the
music's source, he did not notice a man, glowing slightly, appear behind him,
until the man put his hand on his shoulder. Osirion jumped and whirled, bringing
his sword to bear. Be at peace, my son. I am not here to hurt you. Rather, I am
here to guide you. the man said. Osirion was perplexed. I know you have recently
suffered a great grief, multiple griefs in fact, and I know you have been cast
adrift with no god to worship, after being shown the true horror of the gods of
evil. I am here to guide you, if you be willing. the man stated calmly. Who are
you, old timer? Osirion asked in astonishment. Smiling slightly, the man held
forth his hand, and a small harp appeared and began to play by itself. Does that
help? he asked. Branchala? Osirion asked, his mind racing at the honor of being
visited by a god. Nodding his head, the man turned and began to walk away,
calling over his shoulder Remember my son, I am here to guide you. It is up to
you to follow me.. With that, the man disappeared. And thus began Osirion's
worship of Branchala.

This is the beginning of Osirion's tale, for Osirion will face many
challenges many foes, and many other problems in his future. But, with his
past firmly behind him, one hopes Osirion will help shaped the world into
one where the common folk can live without fear of behind persecuted by
those who think themselves better than others. 

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 868 storytellers on Ansalon pen their epic stories here for all to read.'