An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Seiryo.

A little gully dwarf runs by and says 'Wordwrap is at 65. 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 'Seiryo' scribed in dull black ink.

Author:    Seiryo         
Date:      Sat Dec  2 02:38:40 2006
Subject  A Note of Despair

Amid the decadence that flowed through Sanction at the crux of
the last
Dragon war, a brothel known as the Siren's Landing managed to
carve a name
for itself.  Headed by a horrible human woman named Sara
Mourglae, the
Siren's Landing owed it's success to their star attraction, an
elven woman. 
True, elf slaves were common, but this was no wild-elf, her name
was Anadae
Selthinissla and she was of pure Silvanesti stock.  Given the
rarity of this
"find" Anadae's popularity sky rocketed, thus it was no great
suprise when
she became pregnant.  Thinking to scam some of Anadae's regulars,
Sara
allowed her to keep the baby.  A decade passed as Anadae worked
and cared
for her half-human child, everything slipping into an almost
regular
pattern, she taught him of her culture and language, as well
instructing him
in the art of music and song.  That is until her little boy made
the mistake
of displaying his rudimentary talent to Mistress Mourglae...  As
he played a
simple reed flute and danced in the thin candlelight of the
brothels bar, a
slow and flowing tune of sadness, more and more patrons became
swept up in
the music, their drinks practicly falling from their fists as
they openly
wept, greasy hands brought to cover greasy faces in the
depression that
pervaded them.  Seeing limitless potential for a private dervish,
the nine
year old Seiryo was immediately enrolled in a sleazy magic school
which
encouraged his sound based power and a loss of all morales. 
After
graduation Seiryo began to get his feet wet in basic crime,
working mostly
robberies and collections to earn his keep at the brothel, he
would play in
the bar and lull the patrons to sleep, or accompany enforcer
groups to
inspire their rage with his voice.  It was partly to do with
these new
endeavors when a local street gang firebombed his home, killing
both the
Mistress Mourglae as well as his mother.  Homeless and penniless
Seiryo
turned to his meager crime connections for survival, finding
plenty of work
for a dervish with already bloody hands.  Years passed as he grew
and
worked, doing countless jobs for all manner of employers and
never missing a
beat, he almost grew to enjoy the din of battle and the spray of
blood... 
No matter where that could be found.  He committed unspeakable
acts to and
from his contracted jobs, inspiring the group that traveled with
him into a
blood-thirsty rage, and twisting their perceptions, before
turning them on
families or entire villages.  
( Continued in Part 2 )

Author:    Seiryo         
Date:      Sat Dec  2 02:40:58 2006
Subject  A Note of Despair ( Part 2 )

It was during one these outings, as Seiryo stood at the center of
a
burning village, his voice echoing out above the sound of
crackling flame
and cracking bone, he saw a woman run before his vision...  Her
long
platinum hair and extremely pointed ears ending his song
immediately.  It
was his mother...  But it couldn't be...  As Seiryo stared openly
he
witnessed her face, and the crying bundle she held in her arms...
 It was
him?!...  Confused, he began to chase after her, his voice
screaming out and
cutting down each of his bandits that reached to stop her.  He
pressed on,
trying his hardest simply to keep her in vision before she
stopped suddenly,
and a large figure slipped in front of her.  Screaming with all
of his
might, Seiryo tried to stop him...  But he was too far, and too
weak, the
bandit cut her down, his large falcata dipping in and out as he
reveled in
the frenzy Seiryo himself had created.  Racing forward, the
dervish screamed
again, his voice beginning to go hoarse and vanish...  But it was
enough,
the bandit fell to the ground, clutching his ears before lying
still. 
Coming to a reeling stop, Seiryo slumped down next to the elf
womans corpse,
his hands franticly checking for a pulse in her as well as the
infant... 
But to no avail.  His voice howling out in sadness the half-elf
sat back,
regarding the womans face...  It was not his mother...  But, he
had done
this...  He had done just as the ones who did it to him.  His
world
beginning to spin and darken, Seiryo fell back, the smoke filled
night sky
blurring out of exsistance.  He awoke days later, the village all
but burned
to the ground, and his former companions long gone.  Picking
himself up with
a curse and wiping away his still streaming tears, Seiryo began
to move
forward, slinking into the thick forest ahead of him before
raising his
voice in a gentle crescendo that echoed about the trees, a song
of loss and
mistakes, the song of his past.  

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.'