The Great Library of Palanthas

An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.

Stories of Ansalon from the view of Zeboim.

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 small book on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Zeboim' scribed in orange ink.


Author:           Zeboim
Date    Tue Mar 28 15:28:34 2006
Subject  The start of a very bad day.


Eyes turn up to the sky as shadows fall across the land.  Mothers
of
children call out of windows for children to come inside.  Where
the sun
was shining, it is now a greenish-grey color.  Soon rain falls
roughly,
small hail stones fall.  People run into homes trying to not get
wet. 
Old timers can be heard saying they hav'ent seen a storm like
this in
sometime. Lightning licks the tops of trees, people pray that a
fire
will not start. Its looking like a start of a very bad day.....
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
ooc: Write stories, rp the storm and we shall see what happens
next.

Author:    Zeboim         
Date:      Fri Aug 27
12:16:54 2010
Subject     And the Docks fell Ill.
Palanthas

Month of Spring Rain, Day of Winged Trade.
Palanthas Docks.

The darkest part of the night is gone. The
fishermen ready their tools for
the long day ahead. Merchants run
around with goods brought from distant
lands, readying themselves
for a day of sales. Today is a good day to trade.
Shinare smiles
on most of them as their pockets are filled with money. 

A dim
light can be seen to the west. The sun finally arises from
its
slumber. Sails are brought to life with the warm colors that
shine upon
them.

Suddently, a chill runs through the fishermen's
spines. No cloud can be seen
at the sky, but there is a deep
sense of bad weather comming. The air is
stale and there is a
deep silence throughtout the docks. Everyone is
suddenly standing
still, waiting for something that they cannot explain.

A Strong
gust of Wind hits the docks and awakes the sails from
their
torpor. Paper and leaves fly about and carry with them dust
and mist. As
everyone shelters their eyes from the dust, they
listen more intently to the
howls in the wind. A fowl voice seems
to whisper in it, but no one can
really make out the words.
Canvas are ripped from their stands, fruits and
fish seem to have
been blown by the wind. Chaos can be seen througout the
docks.


The wind dies and all that is left is the misery of a small
tempest. Sailors
and Merchants alike stare at their spoiled
goods. Everyone seems now too
busy picking up the pieces that no
one takes a second to look at the
horizon.

As minutes pass, a
strange smell can be perceived. Those attentive enought
can see
some strange vivid green color arrising to the surface of the
water.
In a matter of minutes, the whole coast is colored in a
bright green color. 
 

Author:    Zeboim        

Date:      Sun Aug 23 18:55:17 2015
Subject     Black
Clouds and Blacker Sails Part I

Young Bartholomew Cassidy struggled to stifle the yawn that caused his thin shoulder to shuddered as he drew in his breath. Using his free hand, he vigorously rubbed his face, trying in vain to massage feeling back into his cheeks. He did, however, manage to finally wipe the sleep from his eyes. Thank the gods, I can see again. Just in time to light these miserable lanterns. He adjusted his hat and shrugged his long lamplighters rod into a more comfortable position on his shoulder, thankful for the warmth of his thick guild cassock. Young Bart was lagging behind again, it took until just before rising light to light his way to the harbors. He envied the older guild lamplighters who were assigned duties as the sun set If could be worse, Young Bart thought to himself, I could be a fisherman, smelling like that shit all day.. He scanned against the dark, looking for any sailors on the docks where he ended his route every morning. But no boats were launching this early, they would wait just a little longer. None of the ramshackle fishing boats would risk navigating by stars, even if they knew how. He strode quickly across the creaking wooden boards, eager to finish his work and listening to the lap of the waves against the pier. Poor Young Bart was never a brave lad, and he was particularly wary of the dark and frigid ocean below him. Old Bart had been fond of the sea, though he was most fond of the drink in his later days but Young Bart never inherited his fathers joy, preferring the solid land to the unpredictable temper of the waves. And when Old Bart failed to return home after a difficult and treacherous storm, Young Bart never seemed to forgive the harbor. The fog was rolling thick, the few candles that were lit at the entrance of the harbor did little to illuminate the young mans way. He disliked these duties the most, he saw little point in maintaining the candles that never took. But old Master Jaynce always seemed to know when Young Bart forgot to light them, so the thin boy sighed and carried on. As Young Bart neared the edge of the pier, he noticed the faint light of the candle, flickering weakly in the mist. It wavered and danced, blinking in and out on the verge of death. Young Bart frowned, muttering to himself That light cant still be lit. It should have gone out ages ago. He hurried to the furthest post and was surprised to find a full, thick candle set in the lantern. It was squat and ugly, and burned with a certain spice Young Bart managed to guide his pole into the lantern and fetch the strange candle without too much difficulty. He made a face, the candle felt oily and strangely heavy in his hand Taking it in both hands, he felt deep gouges marring one side of the candle. He brought his own lantern closer to his face and squinted against the wavering light. A crude skull, crossed with twin bones scarred the candle. Young Bart tightened, his fingers deforming the candle in his hand, and his heart skipped a beat. A rough voice growled behind him, sounding like slow gravel ground together. The hairs on the back of Young Barts neck stood up. Hello there boy, thank you for finding my candle. And then the voice chortled wickedly.

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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