An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Ralmus.

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 worn tome on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Ralmus' scribed in dark red ink.

Author:  Ralmus
Date    Wed May 26 01:28:21 2004



Subject  Mykas



Bored as we were, Lyrac and I agreed on a little wager.

The first of us to entrap a knight of Solamnia and subject him to our whims
would emerge victorious. My prized collection of crystalline vials and beakers
(which dated back to the Cataclysm) was at stake, and so was Lyrac's ancient
gnomish atmoscope, which he had only recently unearthed. He knew nothing of
what to do with it, but I had discovered through meticulous research its
extraordinary potential.

So we began the wager by settling on the issue of who was to become our prey.
A knight of the crown by the name of Mykas was agreed upon, since his lack of
experience and combat expertise would make it much more of a contest between
Lyrac and myself to compare who was more efficient with his spellcraft...
without too many unexpected complications from our mutual target.

It ended rather more quickly than I had anticipated.

Unfortunately, I was unable to charm the knight to do my bidding.

However, that lack of entertainment was well made up for since Mykas was
easily devastated by my other, more direct magical attacks. Lyrac barely made
it to the scene before I had dispatched of the warrior.

The atmoscope was fairly won, and with some more research and some mechanical
conversions I shall be able to make full use of the device. What does it do ?
Ah, that is for me to know and Krynn to find out. I feel that a certain band
of rogues may be the first to feel the magnitude of its power.


Author:           Ralmus
Date    Thu Jun 15 00:07:52 2006
Subject  Prelude to "Last Night in Kalaman"

Not far from Kalaman to the east, there is a lone acacia that
towers over all other trees in the vicinity.  It has been there for
hundreds of years, at the center of a cedar grove where no animals
ever wander, and where no birds take nest.  

The origin of the acacia is shrouded in mystery, for few have
ever seen one, and even fewer know it is a tree that grows in 
plenty within the forest of Wayreth.  And so for many years 
now it has been the object of local curiosity and speculation.  

The acacia is majestic in size, with silver-blue leaves and bright 
orange flowers that have never withered and fallen from its branches.  
As beautiful as it is, not many ever venture to visit it.  Those who 
have often vow never to do so again, for they say that any who go
near the acacia are beset upon by an inexplicable and overpowering 
sensation of unease.  In the cedar grove surrounding it, horses have 
been known to suddenly lose control and throw their riders, and the 
fiercest hunting dogs are reduced to pitiful, whining pups, with no 
apparent cause in sight.

Some say that the acacia and the surrounding woods have been
cursed by an evil wizard, and some say that the tree itself is a demon's
prison.  Still others say that there is a great treasure hidden in those 
woods, and the acacia holds the key to finding it.

It would certainly be difficult to imagine that the truth is far 
simpler and perhaps far less interesting.  The acacia does not bind
a demon, nor is there any curse upon those woods, though an arcane
warding charm does protect it.  There is no buried treasure, but in 
the ground beneath the acacia, entwined in the earthen embrace of 
its roots, lay the skeletons of a young elven woman and her infant 
child.

For the acacia tree is a grave marker, planted by the murderer
not long after his victims were buried.  The elfmaiden had already 
been dead, but the infant was still alive, deep in an enchanted, 
dreamless slumber. 

The killer had stood, silent and still, for quite some time in the 
forest clearing, with the child - a girl, cradled gently in his arms.  
When dusk approached and the horizon streaked with crimson 
from the setting sun, he finally moved to place the child in the 
soil with her mother, and filled in the plot with little more than 
a wave of his hand and a whisper.  

And as he walked away into the shadows of the cedars, he left 
no footprints in the freshly fallen snow.

Since that cold, gray day centuries ago, the killer has without 
fail visited his victims at the first snow of each winter, to leave 
a bouquet of black roses and bell heather at the base of the 
acacia tree.

   *            *            *

(This is the intro for a story I started some time back,
but the story itself was never finished.  I may finish
the story and post it sometime in the future, or I may
forget about it again.  In any case, this is the intro.)

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.'