The Great Library of Palanthas
An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.
Stories of Ansalon from the view of Paraske.
A little gully dwarf runs by and says 'Wordwrap 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 large tome on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Paraske' scribed in brilliant blue ink.
Author: Paraske Date: Sun Jun 9 09:39:17 2024 Subject call
The peculiar wanderlust of Paraske, of Southern Kendermore, began near the coast. She was hiking in the hills down there, when she thought she heard a voice coming from over the next rise. When Paraske crested the hill, she saw the sands of the beach crashing into the waves of the ocean and was mesmerized. She had been to the beach in the past, of course, but never like this. All of it filled her whole senses, the warmth of the quartz grains under feet, the complex symphony of the water, and the seeming eternity of the horizon. But she realized, beneath all of that, there was indeed a voice. Paraske turned toward the hills to see if she had missed it there, but she hadn't taken three steps before an insistent, imploring voice behind her swung her back. No person was there, the birds high overhead and a few crabs behaved normally. The voice was unseen and unheard, but still obvious. Paraske gradually knew the voice as everything around her, the feel of the sand, the sand, the sound of the waves, the songs of the birds, the taste of the salty air in her mouth. All of it spoke to her. She listened enraptured for hours and learned its meaning, its call. Come, kind soul. Help me. Be my voice. How could Paraske respond otherwise? "Yes," she whispered. The voice answered in what felt like a warm embrace on a cold day. Pushed east by the current, an uprooted tree appeared out in the surf. Paraske knew this was for her. She strapped her hoopak to her back, waded into waves, and swam out.
Paraske's tree floated along with the ocean currents until it encountered a passing fishing vessel. She thanked the tree and accepted passage from the crew. The voyage was calm at first, and the fishers enjoyed laughing at the kender's talking to the birds, the wind, and waves. Paraske, however, was eagerly exploring her new connection. She rose with the sunrise and listened to the dawn, not learning or understanding much at first. She didn't mind, still fascinated at listening at this deeper level. At two weeks, two ships in earnest combat overtook the fishing boat. Each had a spellcaster aboard, loudly calling on the heavens to smite the other. As the amount of flashing and banging attested, the heavens were apparently only too happy to oblige. The violence several times almost destroyed the humble fisher vessel. Although the conflict was loud and distracting, the kender never lost track of the voice. After the two ships thankfully raced on past the fishers, both left a trail of wreckage floating in the water, bodies, flaming chemical patches, debris. The voice again spoke more insistently to Paraske, the calls of the gulls, the rush of the wind in her hair, the slap of waves against the hull. You see what they do to me. A goddess claiming the sea seeking to destroy and a god claiming the same seeking to defeat her but also having the same result. Paraske was revolted.
A week later, the fishers pulled up there nets and didn't touch them again. When Paraske asked why, they answered, "No point, ain't much fish in the Blood Sea." The kender again asked why, and was told that she'd see for herself in a few days. Paraske asked the voice, which she began understanding as female, why this was. Over many hours, the kender understood that the the voice was speaking with great emotion. Strong winds and rough seas followed abruptly by calm. The fishers has stopped laughing at Paraske. She--the voice--said that the gods had injured her to punish their own followers, a great gaping wound still raw after hundreds of years. The land is no different in places. The fishers were right, she couldn't describe it to Paraske, the kender had to see it for herself. Days later, the winds began screaming and the waves grew in height, Paraske understood it as the voice crying out in pain. The kender didn't understand what she was seeing, until she was looking *down* the water. The giant whirlpool. The kender was weeping in sympathy for the voice, now knowing who she was. As the fishing vessel pulled away from the hole in the sea, Paraske addressed her, among the listening fishers, "I will not pray to or serve the gods, who create such horror. I will serve you, my friend. I will serve the land and sea herself!"
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 872 storytellers on Ansalon pen their epic stories here for all to read.'
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