An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Tyranael.

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 well written novel on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Tyranael' scribed in burnt red ink.

Author:  Tyranael
Date    Wed Mar 13 21:52:21 2002


Subject  The Return



Tyranael stood before the Tower of Wayreth once more, the last
time being when
she had lost Nuitari's favor.

She had been lucky this time, for she had been given his power
once more. She
basked in the energy of the Dark Moon, invisible to all but his
followers. She
entered the familiar halls, the many passageways that she had
traversed when
she had been younger. Although not old by elven years, she was by
human
standards.

She had not yet gained all her power yet, for she had numerous
spells to
recommit to memory. But she knew of the dark spell books that
held power
spells, so powerful that if one not of sufficient power attempted
it he or she
would instantly die. But as of now, she was content to slowly let
her magical
stamina grow for it had shrunk somewhat from her past powers.

Tyranael began to walk towards the archmage's chamber, but when
she got there
it dawned upon her that she was no longer the archmage of the
order and that
she knew very little or none of the mages that had sprung up
while she had
been absent. Pulling up her hood so that she would not be
recognized, she
began to walk towards the remote areas of the Black Tower so that
she might
study in peace, regaining the knowledge that had been stripped
from her. She
found an empty cell and entered it, setting her minor luggage
against the
wall. She sat down upon a wooden stool, one of the sparse
furniture that was
within it, and went into deep thought.

Nothing could be read from her expression, but her eyes glittered
of malice,
of cold calculating strategy.

Without warning the expression vanished from her face and was
once again
normal. She pulled out a few spellbooks she had been meaning to
study and
began the arduous task of strengthening her magical knowledge.



Author:  Tyranael
Date    Sun Mar 17 21:51:11 2002


Subject  Tyranael Emerges



The seasons had passed without seeing even the passing shadow of
Tyranael. She
had stayed within her room, exiting only in the darkest of nights
to get her
books or nourishment for her body. The books that she took from
Conclave
Library were those that she had hidden there so many years ago,
when her
powers began to fail her.

She knew that she couldn't allow anyone to get possession of her
spellbooks
for one day she would find a way to regain her magic and with it
the need of
these very books. Therefore, she had taken great care in hiding
them, not
letting their true nature be known. Within the musty Library, she
placed them
upon different shelves always taking great care in covering their
true
identity. These books had waited for many years for their
mistress to return
to them and finally she had come. Tyranael began to master the
spells that she
had known so well, and  practiced casting them. The more
difficult spells she
did not yet attempt, but the others she could cast easily without
a thought.
She felt that she was now ready to step out of the shadows and
begin to
reclaim the power that she that she once had. She emerged from
her room, a
cloak of confidence and malice upon her. Her cold face showed no
expression,
but her ice blue eyes were hard and glittered with hatred. As
some of the
lesser mages scampered from her, a melodious laugh escaped from
her lips.
However, the laughter did not rise from glee or joy, instead it
sprang from
the deep wells of anger and hatred within her. The laughter was
both pleasing
and grating to the ears for it was both sweet and horryifying at
the the same
time.



Author:  Tyranael
Date    Fri Jul 22 16:32:21 2005
Stamp   1122067941
To      all 
Subject  The Return to the Tower


The light of the Solinari and Lunitari lit up the courtyard of
the Tower of
Wayreth as she walked towards the tower that held her room and
laboratory. A
long time had passed but for this dark elf, but had very little
effect upon
her features. The ageless beauty and grace of the Silvanesti were
the only
things that the others had left her with when she had been
exiled. If they
could have, she was sure they would have taken those as well.
That had been a
whole lifetime ago and she had been prepared to give those up for
the powers
that she believed only Nuitari would be able to bestow upon her.
For him and
for magic, she had done anything and everything with no regrets.

She took off the intricate spells she had placed on her door and
entered.
Taking a sweeping look around her room to make sure everything
was the way she
had left it, Tyranael headed over to where her wines were kept.
She poured
herself a glass of imported Silvanesti wine, an indulgence that
she gave
herself every once in a while, and took a seat on her high
backed, cushioned
chair. The Conclave seemed to still be flourishing with its many
initiates and
apprentices that ran about. The High Archmages must have been
doing a good job
in overseeing things but Tyranael realized that she did not know
who currently
ran the Conclave, especially those of the Black Robes. Getting a
little more
comfortable, she decided that there would be time enough for that
later. For
now, she would sip on her wine and relax in her room - it had
been much too
long since she had been able to fully take her mind off things.



Author:  Tyranael
Date    Tue Jul 26 19:25:00 2005
Stamp   1122423900
Subject  Problems in the Tower


Tyranael was sipping on her wine when there was a slight knock on
her door. A
young human black robed apprentice asked, 'Are you the initiate
Tyranael?'

She eyed him a bit before answering, 'No, but I am Tyranael.'

The human looking a little disgruntled said, 'You need to come
with me.' 'And
why would I do that?' she replied.

The human said exasperatedly, 'Because the Black Robe Council
would like to
speak to you' Tired of the insolence shown to her by this insect
of a human,
Tyranael replied in an icy cold voice 'You are nothing more than
an apprentice
and should watch your tone when you speak with me. Unless of
course you want
to me to just show you' A grin appeared on her face but her eyes
showed
malicious intent. The human backed up a step before stammering
his apologies.
Tired of this discourse and a bit curious as to why she was
summoned by the
Black Council she bid the apprentice to lead on.

Upon arriving at the council chamber, Tyranael noticed that all
the seats were
filled with faces that she did not recognize. I've been away too
long, she
thought to herself. A balding human spoke first, 'Are you the
initiate
Tyranael?' Again with the initiate nonsense! Tyranael was getting
a bit tired
of their joke. She spoke dryly, 'Do you find calling me an
initiate funny? But
yes I am Tyranael.'

A stern look appearing on his face, the old man responded, 'Speak
with more
respect to your betters initiate. Else no one might become your
master. Your
previous rank means nothing to us now. We know of you and the
position you
once held. However, in your absence new powers have come to be
and your new
status is that of an initiate. You are barred from using any
spells beyond
those of initiate level, otherwise you will be considered a
renegade and
hunted down. This has been decided by the council and is final.
You may
leave.'

Tyranael could not believe what had just been said to her.
Stripped of title
and office? An INITIATE? These fools must be out of their mind.
Yet there was
nothing she could do at this point, no way to oppose the council.
There would
be too many to take on alone, thus she glared icily at them and
stormed out
and back towards her room. She didn't understand how this could
have happened
but she knew one thing...vengeance will come to those that sat on
the Council. 

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.'