The Great Library of Palanthas
An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.
Stories of Ansalon from the view of Tariadal.
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 massive tome lined with fake jewels on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Tariadal' scribed in deep red ink.
Author: Tariadal Date: Sat Nov 25 06:38:06 2017 Subject Patience
The gleam of the morning sun struck Tariadal in the face even through the dense canopy of trees. He wasn't ready to be awake, but he heard the rest of the camp stirring and regretfully stood, stretched and began to pack up his bedroll. No one spoke. They rarely did this early and certainly not to him. He began muttering to himself as he packed away the rest of his belongings. There seemed to be a dialogue he engaged in from the time he woke until the time he went to sleep. This was best odd and at worst annoying - even to those who'd travelled with him for years. As the rest of camp began to pack the wagons, Tariadal sat on a nearby stump and began writing. He absentmindedly chewed an apple as he wrote, only stopping to argue briefly with himself. Once the rest of the caravan was packed, he slipped his book into a side pocket and mounted his horse. As they began to move Tariadal tried to take in all that was around him. He'd always done this and over the years found that he'd learned much from the land and his fellow travelers. Although he rarely joined in, he was aware of the conversation happening all around. It was only in these past few years that what he heard and saw began to darken. The conversations became more fearful, animals seemed to be less plentiful, and tension was in the air. When they drove through towns he found that the locals eyed him warily. Others refused to even let them in. This made the merchants he travelled with afraid. Without potential buyers, they were loaded down with quickly wasting food, trinkets that no one wanted, and weapons. The bladesmiths easily made out the best, but even they were struggling. As they ventured further and further out from the lands they knew things became much worse. They were struck by goblin raiding parties, highway bandits, and slavers. He'd managed to avoid the worst of these even while his companions were injured and killed. A party that had one been twenty-five men strong were dwindling. This latest trip only eight others wanted or could afford to move on. Tariadal was silent as they road on. He listened to the sounds of the forest as they went. It was not right. No birds, no animals, even his companions seemed to notice and became silent. They heard them before they could see them. The ground seemed to shake as the steps of hundreds of men walked towards them. They quickly moved off the road and hid in the forest. Tariadal had no trouble keeping silent. The others weren't so lucky. The dwarves' armor clanked. The human's breathing because nervous and loud. Thankfully their marching covered most of the noise. As we started to prepare to get back on the road we were met with a straggler. He sounded the alarm and en-masse a large force of the dark one's army turned to face us. Fighting was out of the question. They were far too many and we too few. I knew that I would be able to escape into the woods and considered it. If I didn't want to me found there I wouldn't be. I turned towards the wood and then stopped. My companions were frozen. Their faces cold masks of fear. I urged them into motion. The dwarven bladesmiths moved to the forest with a little prodding from one of our mercenaries. The mage and I had a quick conversation. She set the wagons ablaze to distract them. We then hurried into the forest ourselves. The forest provided deep cover and as we shoot volley after volley of arrows the force seemed to just give up. They weren't built for guerrilla warfare - although we seemed to be. Unfortunately, our livelihood was ruined. This would effectively end the career of every merchant among us. When we set up camp again that night the entire party was quiet and deep in thought. I sympathized with them. What do you do when your world goes to shit? I paced slowly around the edge of the camp listening to the wind through the trees. They brought no better news. Climbing a taller one I could see fire in the distance. The countryside was burning. End of Part 1
Tariadal nimbly climbed down the tree and then whispered to it. Once he reached the ground the others formed a semi-circle around him. He turned to each and saw masks of firm commitment and the scared eyes that seemed to flit everywhere but towards him. He took a moment to think and collect his thoughts. This would be the most he'd spoken to these people in the past decade. "This is much worse then I initially expected. Their numbers are great, they appear to being burning and ravaging the land as they go, and...." This pause wasn't for effect, he couldn't believe what he'd seen and didn't know whether his companions were going to either. "They have dragons." Two of his companions mocked him openly. "Myths! Children's Tales. Nothing more, nothing less." He turned his gaze to the other five. They didn't seem as confident. At least this made him feel better. As the others argued amongst themselves, Tariadal continued to make notes in his book. The notes had grown from simple sketching and short hand musing to detailed image, pictures he couldn't get out of his mind. Battle plans that would need to be drawn. Tariadal's thoughts raced. Images of his family, his friends (though few they were), Krynn itself, and the knowledge that was his life's purpose. These were all at odds. He couldn't be in two places at once never mind four. He made some final notes and then turned back to the group. "Believe me. Don't believe me. This is happening. Leave if you wish. The rest of us have a long road ahead." Their immediate position wasn't in trouble. They were on the edge of Qualinesti and his own home was not far away. More importantly, Tariadal knew that he had brothers and sisters, invisible though they may have been, watching their every move. We were eight to start, but our party dwindled to five. Those who would not stand with us began to salvage anything they could from the wagons. As they reached the cart they fell forward. Dead. The others gasped in alarm. I sighed. The archer seemed to materialize out of the forest. "It couldn't be risked. They were foolish, and far worse than that, they didn't know how foolish they were." I nodded my ascent. The ranger was correct. She addressed me quickly in my home tongue, "Was this your first encounter with the *spit* Queen's army?" I responded in kind, "Thankfully. We've heard rumors but nothing like this. Destroying the lands, being in league with those beasts...I shudder to wonder what men like them have done." The ranger help up her hand for silence and the entire party stopped at once. She once again spoke in the common tongue. "It's time to move. Even in our forest we are not safe. The Dark Queen has eyes everywhere. We have much to discuss and nightfall is upon us. You must be hungry. We will eat tonight and speak with our leader in the morning." Tariadal made more notations in his book and then nodded. "Lead on, sister."
The relief of being home seemed to lift the weight that Tariadal had experienced when first seeing those dragons. Though they were miles away, he felt that he could hear the screams of innocents as this army destroyed their homes and raized their crops. He would have prefered sleeping in his own bed; however, any home, especially that of Senator was quite suitable. Qualinost itself was home. After a full meal, each of them had returned to their own assigned rooms. Although the Qualinesti are an open and friendly people, he knew that the racial prejudice was alwasys lurking in the background. They'd given him the nicest room and had gone so far as to drag a beautifully crafted desk and chair in so that he could continue his work. Ths silence of the house and the surrounding woods was comforting to him. He worked dilligently through out the night. He outlined plan after plan, contigency after contingency. He wrote letters to his kin, letters to friends he may never see again, and then a final letter which seemed to break him. He closed his book, tossed that last letter into the embers of the fireplace and finally fell into a restlesss sleep. He woke the next morning to a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's time" were the only words the elf uttered. Tariadal nodded and gathered his papers. He asked for the letters he'd written to be delivered and took the rest under his arm. After he'd left, the servant straightened the room. She made the bed, cleaned stray ink marks, and tucked the letters Tariadal asked to be mailed into her robe. She swept the rug and cleaned the fireplace when she noticed the half-burnt letter. She glanced towards the doorway and made sure no one else was around. Then she read it. Then twice more. Tears began to form in her eyes. She carefully folded the letter and placed it inside another pocket in her robe and said a silent prayer to Paladine. She finished cleaning the room, closed the door behind her, and went off to deliver the set of letters Tariadal had handed her.
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.'
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