An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Raeton.

A little gully dwarf runs by and says 'Wordwrap is at 80. 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 'Raeton' scribed in faded white ink.

Author:    Raeton         
Date:      Mon Sep  3 22:45:03
2007
Subject     Raeton

Born to Bakurna Lazil and his wife Eryna,
Raeton was a child destined to
follow in his father's footsteps from birth.  A
Lord Knight of the Solamnic
Order of the Crown, Bakurna simply knew from the
very first breath that his
young son would follow him into the hallowed order to
serve as a Knight.  It
was said the young boy was practically born with a blade
in his hand. 
However fate was never one to allow things to be so simple, and
while the
child was raised to fight and was well trained, his destiny tracked
down
another path.  Raised from a young age to follow the ways of the Gods of
the
Triumvarate; Paladine, Kiri-Jolith, and Habbakuk; Raeton learned honor
above
all else.  He knew the sacred ways of the Gods of Light, yet their
truth
would soon become spoiled in his eyes.  Honor was lauded above all
else,
even it seemed as the boy grew, over common sense.  The tactics he
learned
trained him well, but in several situations, Raeton was held back
from
finishing or starting an engagement in a way that could well have ended
his
life in a true battle.  Even as a teen he began to see these flaws.  One
day
Raeton and his father were out in the training yards, when during the
fight,
Bakurna yielded to his son, and the teen, rather than allowing mercy
and
allowing his opponent an advantage, made the killing move, stopping short
as
he was expected.  Bakurna fell back, looking at his son half outraged,
half
stunned.  'What are you doing boy?  ' Raeton shrugged as he sheathed
his
training blade.  'What's to stop you from gutting me when I lower my blade?

It's a fine goal to show mercy, but if these enemies are as evil as you
say,
how am I to trust in their honor?  ' He stared hard at his father, his
gaze
not breaking away from his elders.  'My son, there are things you
must
understand in this world.  Without honor what better are we than
our
enemies?  ' Again the boy shrugged.  'But what good is your honor if all
it
gets me is a knife in the back.  I've seen out in the streets how
people
truly fight.  Swords and shields and honorable combat is all well and
good,
but if you ever see a true fight all that is going to do is get you
killed. 
' Bakurna looked at his son sadly.  'Son, if we hold true to the Oath
and
the Measure, the Gods will protect us.  Faith and Honor will save us.  '
The
boy shook his head vehemently.  'You just don't understand!  Your ideals
may
be good but in the real world they serve only to hinder.  Serving
the
general good is admirable, but you gain the world if you die simply to
show
honor!  ' Turning on his heel he stomped off and out of the training yard.

That same night, Raeton decided that it was time to leave this place and
find
his own way in the world.  He wanted to do what he could to help the
world, but
the stodgy ways of the Solamnic Order would serve only to hold
him back.  So,
with tears in his eyes and a prayer to the wind, he sped out
of his family's
manor and into the wilderness.  After riding what seemed
like forever, the young
man ended up in Solanthus.  Cold, wet, and hungry as
a horse, he wandered
desolately through the streets looking to find what he
could, until exhaustion
finally took over him.  When he awoke he found
himself in a small home, with a
figure huddled in front of the fire, seeming
to be working something within the
fireplace.  Raeton stirred awake quickly,
felt for his sword, and cursed softly
when he realized he was unarmed.  The
figure turned and revealed itself as an
old man holding out a bowl of warm
soup and a spoon to him with a smile.  'My
name is Khalain.  I found you in
one of the streets, passed out and looking
dead.  Your horse is stabled
outside my home, with feed to keep him.  Go ahead
and eat, you look as if
you could use it, and it will warm your bones besides. 
' He again smiled
his grandfatherly smile and turned back to the fire.  Grabbing
a bowl for
himself, he pulled a chair up near Raeton and sat down.  'So what's
your
name son?  ' Raeton, not bothering with the spoon tilted back the bowl
and
took a long drink of warm soup.  'My name is Raeton....  I'm from
Palanthas.
I left there because me and my father didn't exactly see eye to eye
on our
views of the world...  ' He trailed off staring into his bowl of soup, as
if
it would show him some sort of sign.  'From the looks of your gear,
you're
the son of nobility if nothing else.  You're lucky I found you, instead
of
what could have happened.  Your things are in the corner, clothes should
be
dry by now.  Your blade is with your things, I didn't want you to wake in
a
panic and stick me with that thing.  ' Khalain chuckled.  'From the looks
of
your weapon, either daddy bought you a nice little toy, or you know your
way
with a sword.  ' Raeton cast his glance to his things.  Everything seemed
to
be in place, but he was still somewhat wary.  'I do know how to handle
myself
in battle....  That's part of the reason I'm here.  ' He sighed
heavily.  'My
father was a Knight of Solamnia.  A brave man, and honorable,
but the Solamnic
Order is too stuck upon politics and their code to realize
that it's eating away
at them...  ' Khalain smiled with a laugh.  'Good men
the Knighthood has, but
you're right.  Honor is perfectly admirable in a
man, but most men who try to
fight a real fight like they do end up with a
knife between their shoulder
blades.  ' Raeton sat up further, with an
inquisitive look at the older man. 
'You sound like one with some firsthand
experience.  ' The old man chuckled
again.  'That I do.  I am a mercenary of
sorts.  Not an ordinary sell-sword who
will fight for the highest bidder,
but a professional soldier.  I never sold
myself out like some, merely
picked and chose my battles.  I never fought for
money or power, simply
fought when I thought the situation was worthy.  ' The
old man smiled
fondly.  'Kiri-Jolith has guided my hand well in battle so far,
and I've
never been shamed for my tactics.  You know I could use one like you at
my
side, to take my place when my time on this world grows short.  ' Raeton
sat
silently for a few moments, then spoke.  'Teach me.  ' 

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.'