My have currently reached Balic after a several session trip from Tyr which had them on a caravan. They had a murder to solve (they caught the assassin and had to let her go- Shadow tribe of elves) and there was a defiler on board as well who they didn't catch. Tomoorows session is in Balic with them heading towards Gulg as the Templars recieved orders to return their after invoking Lalali-Puy.
Currently I am running a slightly modified version of Tyrian Conspiracy- the group has had a run in with a defiler for the second time- well second for the two players who have been in the whole game, and this is going to eventually lead them to Balic after they help out in Tyr
The PCs started at 3rd level. My instructions for character creation was: 1) Create a character with no equipment. 2) Choose a name. 3) Explain why you are up for sale at a slave auction in Altaruk. A lot has happened since then. One of the adventures I ran them through was Tyrian Conspiracy.
The group I'm DMing for are my long time DS players and are playing the characters they've been using since the mid 90's.
I wish!All the people I know here that play D&D are freaky, with strong leanings towards poles like powergaming, rollplaying, and general abuse of the rules. Those that do respect the rules still conduct sessions as if they were 12 yo - making no use of tactics and mixing metagame and ingame knowledge - or are manga/anime maniacs that keep naming their characters with japanese names.
Haven't played D&D since about 6+ years, but I keep appraised of some buddies' "exploits". (Which goes to show that all the stuff I invent and post on this board comes from deep inside me, not from ideas gained while gaiming.)
The only group I've found that seems to to be composed of humans with full complements of brains is that of the local RPG shop owner and his buddies. They seem uninterested in starting a DS campaign however.
At the moment I'm not quite sure what to do next, although I have some ideas, especially now being in FY -1....
Snif
All the people I know here that play D&D are freaky, with strong leanings towards poles like powergaming, rollplaying, and general abuse of the rules. Those that do respect the rules still conduct sessions as if they were 12 yo - making no use of tactics and mixing metagame and ingame knowledge - or are manga/anime maniacs that keep naming their characters with japanese names.
Haven't played D&D since about 6+ years, but I keep appraised of some buddies' "exploits". (Which goes to show that all the stuff I invent and post on this board comes from deep inside me, not from ideas gained while gaiming.)
The only group I've found that seems to to be composed of humans with full complements of brains is that of the local RPG shop owner and his buddies. They seem uninterested in starting a DS campaign however.
We powergame to some extent. A half giant barbarian with a bulls strength spell for example is fine. A Half Giant Frenzied berzerker, War Hulk, Hulking Hurler is a kick in the nuts for anyone who tries it. We try and keep it withen limits. Powerful characters yes. Rules exploits no.
I have session summaries of the adventures (still need to finish writing up Arcane Shadows, though), but they are verrryy looongggg. I'll post the forst part of A Little Knowledge and, if you can slog through that and want to see more, I'll add the others bit by bit...
In the season of High Sun, three souls take passage aboard a House Resherek caravan at Silver Spring. The caravan is bound for the city-state of Tyr and, in addition to its passengers, carries two-dozen enslaved elves of the Jura Dai tribe in its hold. This choice of cargo will prove most unfortunate for Captain Weom and his crew.
The heavy, mekillot-drawn argosy departs Silver Spring at dawn and begins its lumbering journey westward. In the passenger hold, the three travellers endeavour to make themselves as comfortable as they can in the caravan’s stifling interior and take stock of each other and their surroundings.
Vok, an escaped mul slave from Urik and onetime gladiator for House Lubar, is fleeing a dark past and seeking a future of his own making, free from the master’s whip. Zaloc is a human of the wastes whose village was swallowed by the desert. He hopes to learn more of the harsh world of Athas and find the truth behind the legends that it was once a lush and verdant land. Lokar is a halfling of the Forest Ridge. His own people suffered greatly at the hands of raiders from the Tablelands and he now seeks both knowledge of his oppressors and vengeance in equal amounts.
The wagon departs the road in order to skirt the obstacle presented by the Canyon of Guthay and Vok spends the morning wandering the argosy, making small talk with the caravan guards and gazing out at the desert panorama. Zaloc attempts to strike up conversation with Lokar, but finds the halfling cautious at best and untrusting at worst. Any further discussions at efforts are forestalled, however, when a titanic explosion rocks the argosy, shattering the axle that connects it to the mekillots, and engulfing the front decks in flames. From the surrounding dunes come hails of flaming arrows and the shrieking ululations of elven war-cries. The Jura Dai have come to rescue their enslaved brethren.
Realising what is afoot, Vok finds sudden sympathy for the enslaved Jura Dai welling within him, and elects to take their side over that of the House Resherek slavers. He promptly begins to hack at the giant-hair ropes that seal the slave hold in an attempt to free the Jura Dai imprisoned there. Zaloc and Lokar dash from the passenger cabin in time to see hundreds of elves charging over the nearby dunes, howling for human blood. Within moments, the House Resherek guards are fighting a pitched battle in the corridors of the argosy as the elves swarm aboard.
Running through the smoke-filled hallways of the caravan, both Lokar and Zaloc seek to take advantage of the confusion to gather what goods they may. Lokar concentrates on waterskins and Zaloc takes a few moments to plunder the captain’s quarters of a bag of silver and a far more valuable map. He then rushes for the nearest exit as the flames threaten to engulf him.
Vok is able to break open the slave hold and begins freeing the Jura Dai captives, instantly earning their respect and gratitude. Lokar manages to persuade their bloodthirsty rescuers that he bears no love for the Resherek slavers and is permitted to leap to safety from the side of the wagon. Zaloc is less fortunate, however, as the battle-maddened Jura Dai mistake him for a Resherek cohort and take him prisoner, along with those members of House Resherek who have survived the initial assault.
Once outside the wagon, however, Lokar discovers that not all of the Jura Dai are so easily persuaded of his good intentions, and he is likewise captured. The surviving caravaneers, including Captain Weom, are lined up on the sand before the burning wagon, and Zaloc and Lokar find themselves numbered amongst them. One of the Resherek guards has already been beheaded by a vengeful elf before the Jura Dai chieftain appears on the scene.
Vok rapidly speaks to chief Tuga-Dai on behalf of his fellow passengers, as unwilling to see them the victims of arbitrary elven justice as he was to see the Jura Dai captives remain enslaved. Although the elves are easily convinced as to Lokar’s lack of involvement with House Resherek, they seem less willing to extend the same benefit of the doubt to Zaloc. Zaloc, however, is able to face down Tuga-Dai’s ire and the chieftain agrees to set him free. He orders the three passengers to head into the desert and avoid the road, stating that the Jura Dai intend to strangle all trade to and from Urik so long as their people continue to be enslaved. Death, Tuga-Dai threatens, will be the punishment for anyone caught on the road by the elven tribe. Seeing that he will not be moved on this issue, they take advantage of Tuga-Dai’s generosity for as long as it lasts and set out into the dunes. Behind them, Tuga-Dai spits the hapless Captain Weom on his elven longblade and the Jura Dai descend upon the surviving captives like a pack of hungry zhackals.
Splitting up what little water they have been able to salvage from the caravan, Vok, Lokar and Zaloc examine Weom’s map and elect to push westward for Fort Iron. By the afternoon, however, they are suffering considerably from the desert climate and make camp, only continuing their journey with nightfall.
Close to the camp, a scouting Lokar discovers what appears to be a small oasis surrounded by a thicket of brambles. When he can detect no other animal or plant life in the area, however, he keeps his distance and returns to inform his fellows. Later that evening, all three travellers examine the thicket and Vok takes it upon himself to crawl through an opening in the brambles in order to reach the water at its heart. This proves to be an unwise move, as the thicket rapidly animates, constricting its thorny brambles around him and draining his blood through 2-inch long thorns. And worse, when hacked at with weapons, the plant seeks to defend itself by lashing out with its barbed branches. Through sheer brute strength, Zaloc is able to pull Vok out of the entwining thicket and stanch his wounds with his ranger-craft. With a valuable lesson learned about Athasian flora, our three wanderers continue their journey westward.
A day or so later, during the heat of the afternoon, Lokar is foraging for food, having realised that their provisions will run low long before they reach Fort Iron. He notices a pair of aarakocra harassing a large flying insect, seemingly fighting over a waxy ball that the insect was carrying. Preferring not to get directly involved, Lokar watches as the aarakocra slay the insect and make off with the waxy ball, devouring its contents a short way off.
He informs his companions of these events and he and Zaloc head closer to investigate. The insect, which Zaloc is able to identify as a wezer, is mortally injured and Zaloc swiftly puts its out of its misery, retrieving an aarakocran spear from its corpse. Lokar determines that the pulp of the wezer’s abdomen should be edible and he proceeds to carve several mushy steaks from its bulk. The two rangers also deduce that the wezer is able to use naturally generated wax to fashion containers for water, which they presume it carries to a nearby hive. They return to their tent and the waiting Vok with the wezer pulp and build a small fire from lengths of hemp rope. The scent of the hemp, along with seasonings from the Forest Ridge, serve to mask the bitter flavour of the wezer, and they enjoy a passable meal.
Twice during the remainder of the day they hear the drone of wezers passing overhead and, when continuing with their journey the next evening, soon come across a dozen domes rising from the desert. The arrival of another wezer bearing a water-filled waxy ball in its mandibles leaves them in little doubt that this is the wezer hive. With only the three of them, however, the travellers judge that the colony of wezers would prove too much for them to handle, despite whatever stores of water might lie within, and they wisely pass it by.
And so on they forge, running dangerously low on water before they get their first sight of Fort Iron. Unfortunately, it bodes ill, for their first glimpse of the fortress is through the greasy columns of smoke that are rising from it into the olive morning sky. Fort Iron, it would seem, has come under attack in the past day or so and, while it has weathered the assault, has not done so without cost. A closer investigation reveals bodies hanging from gibbets along the fortress wall – elven bodies – and our travellers correctly deduce that the Jura Dai have made their displeasure known here as well. And the presence of flags indicating that Fort Iron is under the control of Urik’s House Stel proves to be the final dissuasion against calling upon the fortress’ hospitality.
The trio retire to their camp to decide what to do about their journey and their dwindling supplies. Eventually they elect to proceed as swiftly as possible towards Fort Skonz on half rations, foraging along the route as need be. Fortune, however, throws a bone their way in the form of a light House Stel caravan sneaking north from Fort Iron in an attempt to avoid the road and any Jura Dai that might still be in the region. Furthermore, our three wanderers discover that another trio are stalking this caravan. Zaloc uses his ranger-craft to sneak within earshot of this other trio and discovers that they are members of a slave tribe and are planning to raid the caravan as soon as they can agree on a plan. The strangers are presently divided between an assault for the entire cargo or a stealthy raid for whatever can easily be stolen.
Zaloc is spotted and emerges from hiding, swiftly opening negotiations with the three strangers. They are a dwarf called Kollus, and two humans, Marista and To-gahl. After a tense standoff, Vok and Lokar also make their presences known and the two groups come to an arrangement. They will raid the House Stel caravan together and split the profits, some fifty gallons of water. From the ex-slaves, it becomes apparent that the Jura Dai have poisoned a nearby oasis with methelinoc, which renders the waters poisonous to all but elves and insectile vermin. This has also impacted severely upon the dwarven settlement of Kled, whom Marista blames for starting the problems with the Jura Dai. She claims that it was the dwarves of Kled who revealed the location of the Jura Dai camp to the slavers from House Resherek, but Kollus does not accept this version of events. Either way, the Jura Dai have compounded their corruption of the oasis by abducting the druid who watches over it, so it is largely a moot point at present.
Such disagreements to one side, the two groups plan their assault against the Stel caravan, electing to hit it hard and fast. Zaloc and Lokar will lay down archery fire from the wall of the canyon in which the caravan has camped for the day, while the others charge its six guards from both ends of the canyon, Kollus and Vok from one side and Marista and To-gahl from the other. With little more to be said on the matter beyond wishing each other success in battle, the raid is shortly underway.
Zaloc’s first shot falls short of its mark, unfortunately, and the House Stel guards are alerted to the ambush. One the ground, Marista and To-gahl charge from their hiding place, with Kollus and Vok following suit from their end. Vok’s powerful mul physique brings him into combat first and he makes short work of his opponent. To-gahl fares much, much worse, however, as his blow goes wide and his target is able to gut him with a critically lucky blow. Marista is grief-stricken at the felling of her mate and goes into a furious rage, lashing out at the guard while Zaloc and Lokar begin to find their marks from the canyon ridge.
The battle is swift and brutal. Marista, although injured a number of times, holds her own against three of the guards while Vok and Kollus work their way through the Stel ranks towards her. Zaloc and Lokar are both able to fell enemy combatants, risking dangerous shots into the press of melee yet never failing to strike their targets. One of the caravan’s inix handlers attempts to escape in the heat of battle and is felled by a single arrow from the ridge and, with the guards slain, the others are butchered in short order. The last inix handler, seeing his death approaching, breaks into a panicked run, fleeing down the canyon, only to be slain by two perfectly synchronised arrows from Zaloc and Lokar. And with that, it is over.
While Kollus and Marista bury To-gahl and heap the House Stel dead into a mass grave, our trio of wanderers decide on the path before them: either to continue onwards to Fort Skonz, to accompany Kollus and Marista back to their tribe or to go to the aid of the abducted druid and confront the Jura Dai once more. A fresh perspective brings them to a decision that, four days previously, none would likely have considered. They decide to head north and make an attempt at freeing the druid of the poisoned oasis.
Learning of this, Kollus offers to accompany them, saying that they will need to pass through Kled in order to obtain directions to the Jura Dai camp. Although it is no longer his home, he was born in Kled and is sure that he can help them gain the information they need. And, he explains, en route they will likely pass by the poisoned oasis itself, where they can see the sacred monumental arch that stands there, an arch that bears inscriptions depicting a time when Athas was green and the sun burned golden in an azure sky - if such a thing can be believed...
(Session #1 ended here. The next session sees the group visiting the poisoned oasis, the village of Kled and a certain set of ruins to the north, once rumoured to have belonged to a long-forgotten Butcher of Dwarves...)
We haven't been able to pick it back up yet, at least on my part because I'm working full-time at the station and I've been saddled with shifts for the foreseeable future on what was game night.
We're using Donjon as our ruleset. Nyt is playing a Villichi Priestess and I'm playing a wandering Master of the Way. Our first (and thus far only) adventure was tracking down bandits who were enslaving villagers to work their hidden iron mines.
We discovered the ruins of a lost Green Age city and the mines beneath it, and found that the leader of the bandits was a sorceress who was working with an infernal patron whose plans we have yet to discover.
After stirring up dissent among the gith and human bandits (who didn't like each other much to begin with) and freeing those miners who had not been turned into the walking dead by the sorceress -- I presume because only the dead could survive the poisonous air in the deeper mines, and the dead don't complain, nor need rest or food -- we confronted and barely defeated the sorceress and a pet undead, giant spider.
Unfortunately, the sorceress left some nasty surprises behind in her lair, and while we were about to loot it, some kind of sand or dust elementals were unleashed upon us.
And that is pretty much where we left it.
Game Date: 3rd Flagstaad, Year of Priest’s Defiance, 190th King’s Age
(Session #1 ended here. The next session sees the group visiting the poisoned oasis, the village of Kled and a certain set of ruins to the north, once rumoured to have belonged to a long-forgotten Butcher of Dwarves...)
This was great. Its very interesting. Hope to see more of your campaign journal.
This was great. Its very interesting. Hope to see more of your campaign journal.
Thankyou
. Ask, and ye shall receive...Under Athas’ twin moons, the quartet travel north on their trusty inix. Halfway to Kled, Kollus steers the inix over a line of low crescent dunes and before them they see the oasis at the heart of the trouble besetting the region.
Surrounded by yypr trees, the oasis is hot, muddy and beset by clouds of insects – in other words, perfectly normal for an Athasian oasis. Less normal, however, are the two mekillots beside its shore, one of which is clearly dead. And, on closer inspection, it transpires that the mekillot is not the only casualty of the oasis, for the corpses of large numbers of small reptiles and tiny mammals can be seen littering the mud along its banks. Drawing nearer, our travellers detect a curious, bitter smell arising from the waters and deduce that this must be from the methelinoc, the venom with which the Jura Dai have poisoned its waters. Through the trees they are able to make out the monumental arch and accompanying bridge that has drawn their interest to this place. One side apparently depicts dwarves, although these dwarves are far from the hairless race common in present-day Athas.
Kollus relates that once all dwarves were covered in hair, with thick beards and brows. After their kingdoms were shattered by the Dwarf-Butcher in ages past, however, the last king of the dwarves vowed that all of his people would henceforth be hairless with shame for the realms and peace that they lost. Zaloc examines the arch more closely and is able to indeed make out remnants of dye that show the sky as an azure blue and the sun as an orb of glimmering gold. Less easy to interpret are the wavy expanses that spread out beneath the depiction of the dwarven citadel engraved in the arch. The waves do not look like sand dunes but, as Vok points out, they cannot be water, for water is never found in such great quantities.
The other side of the arch bears more enigmas – depictions of other bearded creatures that resemble dwarves but are smaller and of slender build. With long, clever fingers they mine gems and other precious nuggets from the green earth. Neither Kollus nor the investigating Zaloc has any inkling of what these might represent, however.
The examination is brought to a hasty close, however, when the sound of many kanks comes drumming across the dunes, accompanied by elven voices. Our travellers remount their inix and beat a hasty retreat, just as a party of Jura Dai elves arrive at the watering hole. Not staying to test their hospitality, the inix is driven ever northward, on towards the village of Kled and the ruins of the city of Kemalok.
Kemalok was the last dwarven capital, so it is said, and lay forgotten beneath the Great Alluvial Sand Wastes for many King’s Ages. Now it is in the process of recovery, as the dwarves of the recently founded village of Kled seek to reclaim its lost glory from the desert. Their domed adobe huts abut the sprawling ruins of the lost city, itself shrouded in crude scaffolding and swarming with dwarven labourers bent on its speedy excavation.
A welcoming party of dwarves greets our travellers, led by the wizened figure of the village Urhnomous, an aged dwarf called Barunus. Barunus is sceptical when he hears of their intentions to rescue the druid from the Jura Dai, already having lost a war-party of his own people in a failed attempt, but Kollus’ determination and the confident words of Vok, Lokar and Zaloc soon sway his opinion. He invites them to take breakfast with him in his own home and discuss the matter further.
Barunus serves a hot kip broth with surprisingly palatable water and speaks long and frankly to the newcomers. After a band of Urikite soldiers forced Kled to allow them use of the village’s water and supplies prior to a slaving raid against the Jura Dai, the elves have blamed the dwarves for revealing the location of their camp to the Urikites. Despite the dwarves’ protestations of innocence, the Jura Dai elves poisoned the nearby oasis with methelinoc and abducted the druid who watched over the place. The elves now lair in an abandoned fortress that was built by the armies of the Dwarf-Butcher, or so local legend tells. Home to some 300 of their tribe, it is an easily defensible place at the rear of a box canyon and it is unlikely that it could be taken by force. Barunus states that he tried to dissuade the dwarven war party from such tactics, but they paid him little heed.
The quartet decide that stealth, therefore, would be their best option, and elect to sneak into the fortress, snatch the druid - who is revealed to be a thri-kreen - and sneak out again. They also invest in a respectable supply of Balican fire oil, a decision that will later prove to be most prudent indeed. Kollus is outfitted in carru leather armour and Barunus provides the group with a map of the fortress from his best recollections.
Zaloc also takes time to examine Kollus, concerned at the apparent severity of his hacking cough. Kollus tells him that the cough comes from a poison in Kalak’s iron mines, where he worked for many long years. When Zaloc reveals that he believes the illness to be too deep to treat, Kollus agrees, saying that he has seen many men die slow, painful deaths as a result of Kalak’s brutal labour policies. The dwarf consoles himself with curses for Kalak and determination to see the rescue mission through to its end, while his three newfound companions wonder if the dwarf is facing his final endeavour beneath the dark sun.
With the next sundown, they are on their way. Leaving the inix behind, they creep through the sands and begin to mount the escarpments that line the western edge of the wastes. Only as they do so do they realise that they have, for all intents and purposes, crossed the Sand Wastes on foot, a feat seldom paralleled without great hardship and loss. With renewed vigour, they slip like serpents along the ridges and canyon cliffs until they are finally in position above the ruined fortress of the Butcher.
Lokar makes an exploratory foray into the largest tower in the fort, the group having chosen this one as the most likely holding place for the imprisoned druid. In the ruined upper level, he spots none other than Tuga Dai himself, busy with the preparation of his spells for the coming day. Lokar conceals himself until Tuga Dai is done with his arcane work, and then signals for his companions to join him. After a brief discussion, they drop a rope down into the tower and descend to explore.
Alerted to the presence of one or more groups of elves just beyond the doors to the ruined room at the top of the tower, they decide to strike hard and fast. Bursting through the door, they surprise three Jura Dai who, judging by their attire and the steel daggers that they wield, are of relatively senior rank. The battle is swift and bloody but does not go as easily as hoped, perhaps due to the combat skill of the elven opponents, and one of the Jura Dai is able to call for alarm before he is felled. Zaloc, attempting as best as he can to impersonate the Jura Dai accent, calls out that it was a false alarm and long, tense moments follow as the group waits to see if his bluff holds.
When no other Jura Dai come to investigate from the lower levels of the tower, they judge his words to have had the desired effect and proceed to the next level down. There they discover that a council of some sorts is taking place in the central chamber of the level, with another group of Jura Dai waiting in the hallway that surrounds it. From what can be overheard, it seems as if Tuga Dai and his sub-chiefs are debating how to proceed, now that they have the druid in their clutches. Tuga Dai wants to ransom him at Kled for enough dwarven steel to craft a hundred blades while others in his tribe wish to continue raiding until Kalak himself is forced to sue for peace.
Our companions pay little heed to this conference, however, and instead move swiftly against the elves in the outer corridor. While Zaloc, Vok and Kollus attack the elves, Lokar attempts to wedge the doors to the council chamber shut, preventing any interference from those within.
This battle is equally swift but again one of the elves tries to raise the alarm. Zaloc tries his bluff once more but is called on it this time and, once it is discovered that the nearby door to the corridor has been jammed shut, the deception rapidly begins to unravel. The four intruders flee to the next lower level, with Tuga Dai and his clan chiefs hot on their heels.
Hoping to discover that the druid is imprisoned on the level below, they instead discover that the next level instead houses Tuga Dai’s own quarters, along with his wife and daughter. The elf-maid reveals herself to have followed in her father’s footsteps as a student of the arcane arts when she unleashes a magic missile against Vok. Enduring the blast, he fells her with a single blow, only moments before Tuga Dai and his cohorts burst into the chamber.
The chieftain’s outrage and grief, however, is cut short when the first of the jars of Balican fire is unleashed against him. The highly flammable compound explodes into a fiery curtain, wreaking havoc in the confined quarters of the chamber. Seeing a spiral stairway leading still further downward, Zaloc and Kollus head swiftly down its steps while Vok and Lokar face off against the lord of the Jura Dai and his bondsmen.
The chamber below, however, likewise does not hold the druid, instead being home to the tribe’s supplies of methelinoc and a dried well. Kollus returns to the upper floor to lend aid in the fight and Zaloc puts torch to the methelinoc and then lowers himself into the well, seeking a possible escape route. Above, with his clan chiefs succumbing to the horrors of Balican fire, Tuga Dai finds himself sorely outmatched by Lokar’s relentless rain of arrows and Vok’s crushing thanak blows.
Braving the flames, Vok manages to close with the chieftain and decapitates him with a final swipe of his weapon. The surviving clan chiefs flee back to the upper levels to raise the general alarm, having seen with no uncertainty that these intruders will not be dealt with easily. And the intruders give chase.
On the main floor of the tower, the clan chiefs split into two groups, each seeking to alert a different section of the fortress. Swift deployment of more Balican fire seals one group off, blocking one bridge to the tower with searing flames, and our four rescuers take up positions at the other bridge, holding that entrance by sheer force of arms. They are able to take advantage of the cover offered by the tower entrance to avoid being mobbed by the elves but also realise that reaching the druid might be difficult, as they deduce that he is being held in a tower on the other side of the fort.
Vok decides that he will brave the press, trusting to his natural hardiness and his well-crafted bone armour, and charges along the battlements in the direction of the other tower. From all sides, the Jura Dai females who were sleeping along the ramparts strike at him with their slender bone knives, but he does not so much as break stride. Thundering through their ranks and bleeding from a number of injuries, Vok nevertheless comes charging into the lower level of the opposite tower relatively intact. The chamber he finds himself in sports a deep pit covered by a heavy wooden grate and in its depths he spots the hunched form of a thri-kreen – the druid. Four Jura Dai warriors stand guard over the pit and Vok wastes not a moment, throwing himself against them in a whirling frenzy.
Back at the larger tower, one of the surviving clan chiefs rallies the women for a charge as Kollus pitches another jar of Balican fire into their midst. As the first line of elven women charge, Lokar, Zaloc and Kollus unleash a display of martial excellence and pinpoint accuracy with their bows that leaves their charging opponents dead at their feet. The clan chief begins to exhort more of the warrior-maids to assault the intruders but finds that their morale is starting to waver in the face of so many losses.
Felling one of the guards in the prison tower, Vok suddenly changes tactics and, using his forearm axes to smash the wooden grate, bodily throws himself into the pit, landing in a rain of splintered wood at the feet of the kreen druid. The druid grabs hold of him with two of his arms and leaps out of the now-open pit, landing in the tower chamber above. His Jura Dai captors learn the depth of their folly as the freed kreen unleashes a crippling barrage of attacks against them. He then turns and, calling upon his connection with the spirits of Athas, unleashes a blazing wall of fire against the Jura Dai on the battlements and in the courtyard below. He grabs hold of Vok once more and, with only the briefest of warnings as to his intentions, leaps forty feet from the base of the tower, over the battlements and lands at the base of the cliff to the east of the fortress.
Seeing the druid depart, Lokar, Kollus and Zaloc take this as their cue to depart. Using the remaining dose of Balican fire to cover their flight, they retreat as swiftly as they can up the tower and scale the ropes and tower wall at its ruined peak. Dropping down the other side, they are starting to make their way up the cliff face to safety when Jura Dai elves appear at the top of the ruined tower. At the same time, the druid has reached the top of the cliff in two mighty leaps and, with Vok at his heels, comes running to lend aid to the others. With Jura Dai throwing knives raining down around them, Kollus, Lokar and Zaloc are pulled to safety by Vok and the druid and the five go stumbling into the badlands. Behind them the Jura Dai begin to swarm out of the fortress in pursuit.
The kreen druid calls their headlong flight to a momentary halt. He calls upon the spirits to aid him a second time, summoning kanks from the surrounding desert. Kollus mounts swiftly and is away but the others have more trouble, unaccustomed as they are to riding beasts. Fortune favours the clumsy, however, and all three manage to keep control of their mounts as well as they are able and charge after Kollus and the sprinting kreen, leaving the Jura Dai with nothing but dust in their wake.
And such is victory. Long nights of recuperation at Kled follow, with our heroes enjoying the finest dwarven hospitality, the accolades of their peers and the gratitude of the druid T’klik’chik. A few nights thereafter they find themselves back at the oasis, along with villagers from Kled and, emerging from the desert night, the folk of Kollus’ slave tribe, all bearing hopeful expressions and empty waterskins. For the third time, the druid calls upon the wilderness spirits of Athas and unleashes his spellcraft upon the poisoned oasis. Life-giving, regenerative energies flood the waters, burning away the taint of the methelinoc and restoring the grove to its rightful status as refuge and sanctuary. Dwarven villagers and escaped slaves alike refill their waterskins and replenish their hope under the Athasian moons, for such moments of peace are brief and soon forgotten. For our heroes as well, the rising of the dark sun will bring fresh challenges, new choices and an open road ahead. Now armed with hard experience and a little knowledge, they have the wherewithal to enjoy the greatest of treasures that Athas has to offer. Freedom. For as long as it lasts…
(The next chapter, Freedom, brings the trio to the city state of Tyr, where they encounter the decadence of the rule of Kalak, and are joined by two new companions...)
The PC's work for Tajedra Drakis, head of a merchant house that just appeared a millennia or so ago and is quickly becoming the most powerful merchant house in the tablelands. Tajedra is really Sielba, the former Sorcereress-Queen of Yaramuke, returned from the dead and on a quest to restore Athas back to the Green Age (She's converted and is no longer an advancing dragon). The PC's know there's something odd about their boss, but no clues whatsoever. Their jobs are to ride with the caravans and gather as much information as they can about the city/village/outposts, the people, current events and such, giving this news to Tajedra, who has spies basically everywhere (The PC's jobs are kind of a 'Second Opinion').
Their last job (before the hiatus) involved them returning from Urik, from which they nearly didn't escape after a row with some of Hamanu's Templars and had to fight a running battle back to Tyr with a platoon of the Urikite Army in pursuit. Hamanu's not in a good mood but won't risk attacking the city while Kalak's still alive (This is before the events in the Prism Pentad, which won't happen in my campaign), but that won't stop him from using assassins to nail the Player Characters. Their next job will have them going to Balic, their first time there, so it promises to be interesting, particuarly since the SK's are growing suspicious of House Drakis' success and its increasing iron grip on supplies (Most of the other merchant houses have collapsed or been destroyed by Tajedra/Sielba).
My DS game has been on hiatus too (although thankfully not for any unpleasant reasons - hope things sort themselves out for you soon Ablamar). We have 5 DMs in our group so we rotate time behind the screen. It'll be a few more months until my time rolls around again. Still, this thread is a good excuse for me to dig out my old "Story So Far" files (and finish the last couple that still need doing, heh heh....)
Tyr. Wicked and decadent, legend has it that it is the oldest of the seven city-states of Athas. Ruled over by the despotic sorcerer-king Kalak the Tyrant, its reputation draws wanderers from across the Tablelands. After more than two weeks resting on their laurels in Kled, Lokar, Vok and Zaloc decide that the time has come to put legend and reputation both to the test and make the journey to this ancient settlement.
Saying farewells to the dwarven villagers, they head westwards atop their stolen House Stel inix. The journey is uneventful, although, with bad weather moving in from the east, the trio take no chances and push swiftly onwards. They camp briefly at the mouth of the Tyr valley before passing into its verdant belt and arriving at the city late the following afternoon.
From the crowded lines of other travellers gathered outside Tyr’s Caravan Gate, it becomes clear that folk from all across the Tablelands have been drawn to Tyr by the promise of profit, pleasure or the simple attraction of Kalak’s vaunted gladiatorial spectacle, due with the completion of his ziggurat. With fine dust being blown throughout the valley by the worsening weather and the afternoon drawing to a close, our trio are glad to finally gain entry to the city – although they are less happy about the silver piece toll that the templars on the gate levy upon them. Still, not wishing to make trouble on their first day in Tyr, they pay the fee and enter Kalak’s city. The gate templars note their names and backgrounds with the forbidden art of writing and welcome them to the city-state of Tyr.
Traversing Caravan Way, they are beset from all sides by hawkers and vendors selling all manner of wares, members of Tyr’s draqoman caste seeking to act as guides or factotums, and the heady aromas of spices and foods cooking in the late afternoon haze. The group decides that their first order of business should be to divest themselves of their stolen inix and they begin to search for an establishment that will buy it from them. Their wanderings take them down Caravan Way and through the prestigious Iron Square, where the great merchant houses of the Tablelands have their holdings. Iron Square opens directly onto the ziggurat itself and, for the first time, our heroes catch a glimpse of the edifice that has dominated Tyrian life for almost a century. It swarms with slaves labouring under the crimson sun and the overseer’s lash, all struggling to have the monument completed on schedule; rumour has it that Kalak wants his ziggurat finished by High Sun, now just over a week away.
Heading right from the ziggurat leads the trio into Tyr’s more disreputable districts, known as the Warrens, and the seedy throng that is Shadow Square. They weave their way through the evening market that is just coming to life and spot a hostelry bearing the sign of the Twin Kanks. Noting that the hostelry also sports a small corral to one side, they decide that this place might suit their needs and approach the landlord, one Balkaresh, to do business.
A swift bit of negotiation sees our heroes trading their kank for a few nights stay at the inn with full board. Balkaresh’ wife Kesh sees them to their shared room and introduces them to Patroo, the hostelry’s slave boy. While the trio settle into their new accommodation, Patroo organises their evening meal, which, although simple fare, proves to be the best meal they have enjoyed in months. Flushed with cactus ale and the security of safe lodgings, Vok allows Patroo to enjoy the leftovers of the meal and tips him a handful of ceramic bits for his work. The three then set out to partake the pleasures of the Tyrian evening.
They browse the market that has sprung up in Shadow Square, discovering that it is largely manned by elves of the Clearwater tribe. They recall having heard that the Clearwaters took refuge in the valley of Tyr to avoid the depredations of the Jura Dai tribe. However, it soon becomes apparent that the Jura Dai are making their presence known in Tyr itself, when a pair of raffishly dressed members of that tribe wander into the marketplace and begin to harass a half-elven beggar.
Still brimming with unspent dislike for the Jura Dai, Vok comes to the defence of the hapless beggar. Lokar blends into the crowd while Zaloc watches Vok’s back for additional trouble. Vok and the Jura Dai elves soon come to blows, unsurprisingly, and the mul finds himself sorely set upon from both sides. While Zaloc leaps to his aid, Lokar notices that the commotion has drawn the attention of a pair of black-cassocked templars, servants of the sorcerer-king. No sooner have the Jura Dai elves been laid low than the templars muscle in on the action, demanding an explanation and promising a swift journey to Kalak’s slave pits for those unable to satisfy their curiosity – or their greed.
Zaloc soon finds himself bargaining with the templars, named Mandax and Rhac, for Vok’s liberty. Presuming the mul to be a slave, Mandax is set to arrest him and put him to work on the ziggurat. It takes a bribe of no less than five silver pieces to buy Vok’s freedom and Mandax’ silence. Vok grits his teeth and bites his tongue, outraged at being bartered over in this fashion, but Zaloc manages to ensure that the transaction goes off without a hitch. Not to be outdone, the templars complete their business by arresting the half-elven beggar and the Jura Dai both. Lokar, Vok and Zaloc decide that they have seen enough of Tyr for one evening and rapidly return to the Twin Kanks until the morning.
The next day dawns a little brighter, much of the bad weather having blown itself out overnight. When Patroo brings their breakfast, the trio notice that he is sporting an ugly bruise across his face. Gentle questioning reveals that he used Vok’s tip to buy himself some new boots from the market, only to arouse the ire of Balkaresh, who presumed he had stolen the money and beat him for his larceny. Lokar and Zaloc both urge Vok not to add further violence to their troubles; the mul, for his part, promises to keep his temper but insists that he will have words with the innkeeper.
He confronts Balkaresh as the group are heading out into Tyr for the morning. Balkaresh denies any knowledge of Patroo’s story and claims that the slave boy is both a liar and a thief. Keeping his fists in check, Vok replies that Tyr would seem to be full of such characters, and coldly stalks away from the fuming Balkaresh.
The morning sees the three travellers heading deeper into the Warrens to sample more of the delights of Tyr. A broad thoroughfare runs through the heart of the city’s shadier district and they wander along its length, savouring the sights, sounds and smells of the Warrens shuffling into life around them. When Vok spies a pterran trader selling the traditional weapons of his people, including the mul’s favoured thanak, Lokar and Zaloc retire to a wineshop on the opposite side of the road to allow Vok to browse and haggle to his heart’s content. The pterran, Sûn Herrix, makes it clear that the masterwork thanaks are well out of Vok’s price range and instead bombards the mul with a bewildering variety of other possible sales. Slightly overwhelmed by Sûn’s sales pitch, Vok finds himself somewhat bemusedly coming away having bought a gourd of kank honey.
Lokar and Zaloc, meanwhile, settle themselves on the porch of the tavern and order some rather overpriced cactus ale. While they sit sipping it in the late morning heat, a young woman comes charging into the tavern and seats herself at their table, striking up an innocuous conversation with them, as if talking to two old friends. Before they can question her as to her strange behaviour, the reason becomes apparent. A group of templars, backed up by mul guardsmen, come sweeping in her wake, demanding that the “preserver witch” reveal herself. Although several of the tavern’s patrons would be able to identify her, their hatred of Kalak’s templars is stronger than their suspicions of the woman, and no-one utters a word. The templars move from table to table, soon arriving at the porch where the woman has joined the confused Lokar and Zaloc. Nevertheless, they elect to support the woman’s story that they are old friends, and the templars and their guards soon move on with their now-futile search.
The woman thanks Lokar and Zaloc for their kindness and introduces herself as Mahlanda. As Vok returns from Sûn’s stall with his kank honey, the others question her as to her motives. Although very guarded, she hints that there are those in Tyr who would do other than cower beneath Kalak’s rule and might actually seek to do something about their hatred for the immortal sorcerer-king. Unwilling to say more in such a location, she agrees to meet the trio in an hour at the sign of the Drunken Giant and then departs as inconspicuously as she can manage. Lokar follows her some way, but soon returns to his companions as she heads deeper and deeper into the Warrens.
Deciding that Mahlanda’s cause sounds like a worthwhile one, our three heroes agree to keep their meeting with her at the Drunken Giant, which happens also to be on Shadow Square and they make their leisurely way back in that direction. En route, there is a minor altercation when the bodyguards of a noble called Verrassi of House Minthur shove Zaloc into a fruit vendor’s stall. Having learned the dangers of a high profile in Tyr, however, our three travellers make as swift an exit from the scene as they can, leaving the fruit vendor locked in a pointless argument with the young Minthur lordling.
At the Drunken Giant, Mahlanda soon arrives and reveals a connection with the barkeep of the place when she secures a secluded alcove for their meeting. Opening discussions reveal that Mahlanda is part of a conspiracy that seeks to thwart the designs of Kalak, and she makes a reference to “those who wear the veil” by way of identification. Further elaboration is forestalled, however, when it becomes apparent that she, or one of our three heroes, has been followed, as a squad of templars led by Mandax come bursting into the tavern. Seeing that they are backed up by mul and half-giant guards, Mahlanda urges flight.
The barkeep tries to stall the templars as Mahlanda pushes aside the stone table around which they are seated, revealing a passage into a cavernous darkness beneath the inn. Mahlanda leads the way down a set of worn stone steps, calling upon preserver magic to light the way, with our adventurous trio coming hot on her heels. The steps lead down into a vast subterranean expanse. Our trio glimpse a sandy floor far below and strange pillars rearing off in the darkness. Further examination is halted by cries from above and they realise that the templars are giving chase.
Mahlanda picks up the pace, reaching the floor of the cavern just as Mandax cries out for his guards to make way for an “arcanamach”. Fraught with alarm, Mahlanda cries that this is one of Kalak’s personal defilers, and breaks into a run. At the same time, crossbow bolts begin to come whistling down the stairs. As his companions reach the ground, Vok is struck twice by the black-feathered bolts. Moments later, there is a flash and a crack of thunder and a lightning bolt arcs through the darkness. Vok and Zaloc are both felled by the bolt and, heedless of Mahlanda’s fate, a sorely injured Lokar rushes to their aid. He is only able to determine that Vok still lives before the arcanamach’s magic sends him tumbling into a sorcerous sleep.
When he awakens, he discovers that the arcanamach’s intent was clearly to capture them, for all three have survived. However, it might have been better had they perished, for they come to their senses to find themselves in Kalak’s slave pens, being stripped, shaved and clipped in preparation for work on the sorcerer-king’s ziggurat. Their overseer Theindar, himself also a slave, puts them to work in labour crews tasked with manufacturing the bricks from which the ziggurat is built, and our heroes-turned slaves begin to come to terms with their new existence.
Life in the slave pens is unforgiving and harsh. Water is dispensed once daily and those wishing to receive it are forced to run a gauntlet of guards who do their best to beat and trip those trying to reach the water. Mealtimes are a similar ordeal, with the food little more than watery gruel and the slave guards deriving immense sadistic pleasure from disrupting the attempts of the slaves to enjoy even this meagre fare.
Night brings incarceration in deep pits sunk twenty feet into the ground, jostling cheek by jowl with other huddled slaves in the gloom. Our trio find that, as newcomers to Pit Three, they are subjected to a brutal welcoming committee composed of a mul called Cabric and his cronies. Cabric’s demands for their waterskins prove more than enough to provoke Vok’s wrath, however, and Cabric soon finds himself on the receiving end of a sound thrashing. Having pounded Cabric and his aspirations into the dirt, Vok revels in his newfound status as top dog of Pit Three and our trio begin making plans for their escape. Initial thoughts about digging a tunnel to safety are soon discarded and intentions turn to the idea of mounting a revolt.
A scar-faced human called Granj from Pit One is named as being a likely contact in such an endeavour, and they resolve to seek him out at the earliest opportunity on the morrow. Night’s chill steals across the slave pens and our heroes fall into uneasy slumber, pondering on the twists of fate that lie ahead...
(Session #3 ended here. The next session sees the introduction of a new player and also sees me ditch large elements of the published plot of Freedom for a slightly more player-centred storyline...)
Addendum - Zaloc's Journal
Zaloc's player wrote a journal entry for this session, which I have included below. It's interesting to see what elements a player finds noteworthy... as well as what elements are lost in the translation, heh heh...
Zaloc’s Journal
Lokar, a halfling ranger, Vok, a Mul fighter and Zaloc, a human ranger finally reached the city of Tyr. It had been their original destination when they had left Silver Spring weeks before. Before they could enter the walled city they had to pay a single silver piece. This was a serious dent into the bands funds.
Having finally got within the walls they sold their stolen inix (riding animal) for food and lodging at the sign of the Two Murlaks. The three would have to share a room but in this new location this gave them some feeling of security. Having eaten perhaps their best meal for months they set out to explore their new surroundings. They allowed the young slave-boy to 'dispose' of the remains of the meal as he saw fit. Vok even went so far as to give him a few Bits (coins).
Within what felt like less than few hours of arriving in the city Vok had started a fight to defend a half-elf from a pair of Silt Stalker elves (bad guys we had recently kicked). A crowd quickly gathered in the market to watch the entertainment and luckily for Vok, Zaloc intervened at just the right time. The end result was that the half-elf ended up in as much trouble as the Silt Stalker's with the local Templars (nasty local police). This incident was a fine example of why it was not a good idea to get on the wrong side of Vok and perhaps a better example of why it was not a good idea to get on his good side.
Having slept well the group discovered that once more Vok's kindness was double edged. The slave-boy was sporting a large bruise due to his master believing him to have stolen the handful of Bits given to him by Vok. Once more they set off of explore more of Tyr.
In the Warren, the bad side of town, they found a stall selling some fine weapons, priced well out of their pockets. Lokar and Zaloc slipped away to get themselves a drink while Vok depressed himself at the stall. While sat sipping their massively overpriced ale a woman burst into the Wine Shop and decided that Lokar and Zaloc were old friends. Seconds latter her strange entrance was explained, a group of Templars entered the Wine Shop looking for her. Once the Templars had left, without the woman, she explained that she was part of an organisation trying to free the city from the tyranny of Kalak the Sorcerer-King. Vok with his free fermented honey found his friends in mid-conversation.
Having arranged to meet her later at the sign of the Drunken Giant the group decided that this sounded like the sort of cause they could side with. At the sign of Drunken Giant they meet their new friend but unfortunately the entrance of a number of Templars clearly showed that someone had been followed. After a brief chase and the near death of two of the group, all were caught.
Now the band now find themselves slaves helping to build the ziggurat. Have no fear; plans are already afoot to bring about the escape of our heroes.
My group has finally completed Dregoth Ascending. It is a milestone in our campaign, and two PCs and a cohort bit the dust in the final encounter. I have to say, those mutation tables are a hack! Kam, we might want to revise those and not include every oddity from the original manuscript. I mean, one PC ended up with an eye in his neck, becoming a quadruped with hooves, one leg becoming deformed, another leg turned into a lizard and ran away, etc.
He got the "limb turns into a lizard and runs away"? Ha! Excellent! Of such things are great games made. Well, from the DM's perspective anyway :D
Oh well, I guess we can amend them if people think that free-willed bodyparts are a bit much to handle....
The only group I've found that seems to to be composed of humans with full complements of brains is that of the local RPG shop owner and his buddies. They seem uninterested in starting a DS campaign however.
How about one hour of car to play? ;)
We usually play Wednesday night from 8pm to 12am or 1am.
My DS game has been on hiatus too (although thankfully not for any unpleasant reasons - hope things sort themselves out for you soon Ablamar).
Thanks, Kamelion. Hopefully we can make it through this year without too many problems. And keep posting your sessions; I enjoy reading them.
How about one hour of car to play? ;)
We usually play Wednesday night from 8pm to 12am or 1am.
Where's St-Arsène, anyway?
I think they want others to see the highlights of poorly planned choices-
There's just no pleasing you, is there?
I thought we did alright breaking into that merchant house and preventing a couple of assassinations. I wish we'd been a little more careful and tried to avoid the encounter upstairs... But what the heck. At least we won.
There's just no pleasing you, is there?
I thought we did alright breaking into that merchant house and preventing a couple of assassinations. I wish we'd been a little more careful and tried to avoid the encounter upstairs... But what the heck. At least we won.
Winning now often has unpleasant aftershocks... There is always someone else behind it all that you never see.
Up until the end of December, Nyt and I were playing in a DS game on-line, when we stopped for the holidays.
We haven't been able to pick it back up yet, at least on my part because I'm working full-time at the station and I've been saddled with shifts for the foreseeable future on what was game night.
Yeah. I'm hoping we can pick that up again soon, I miss it. Plus I have like no gaming in my life these days, was too worried about paying bills and silly stuff like that. Now I've got agood paying job that is going to be pretty long term and don't have to worry about those silly things anymore.
School is starting up soon too, but it's only one class for now and will probably be an internet one.
Actually going to start looking for something more local, maybe find some players that are a bit closer to me in age and aren't silly like the last bunch I gamed with (Not the group Raven and I are in, a local group I was playing in at the same time as the one Raven and are I are in).
I hope to run again one of these days once I finish up all my rules, but I'm not holding my breath on that one, heh.
Sleep brings strange dreams for Zaloc and Lokar. They find themselves sharing a curious vision in which they stand on the shore of a vast sea, seemingly composed entirely of salt water. Not far behind them lies a dense forest, green and lush, separated from the shoreline by a series of low dunes. In the slope of one of the dunes is an arch that they both recognise: it is the monument from the Oasis of the Arch, but newly hewn, its paintwork and carvings fresh. The dream comes to an abrupt end as they are woken by the tolling of the bells that signal the start of a new day under the lash.
The morning brings new arrival to the slave pits – unfortunate souls gathered from across the slums and ghettoes of Tyr in a series of press-gang sweeps. Amongst these is Ptellac, a pterran come to Tyr to visit his cousins. Other than his apparently appalling sense of timing, he is a polite and civilised fellow who rapidly finds himself ill at ease in the brutal confines of Kalak’s labour pool. Also new to the pens is a lumbering half-giant, likewise a victim of the press-gangs, although he seems oddly accepting of his fate, despite the fact that he could probably shatter his bonds with a single flex of his mighty thews. Ptellac is put to work carrying water in the same crew as Vok, and the half-giant is sent to carry brick to his fellows working on the ziggurat itself.
Ptellac learns the hard way of the trials brought on by mealtimes. He seems somewhat bemused by the gauntlet of guards who stand by the food bins and thus loses his waterskin to the blows of over-zealous guards – although he remains silent on how little this actually inconveniences him. However, the loss of his waterskin proves to have additional consequences when he has his welcoming encounter with Cabric.
Still determined to salvage some of his lost status, Cabric demands that Ptellac give him his water. When Ptellac politely responds that he has none, Cabric orders him to get hold of a skinful by the evening meal. Utterly unperturbed by the mul’s bluster, Ptellac smoothly mocks Cabric’s slow wits and is about to suffer a fist to the beak for his troubles when Vok makes an appearance and puts his little bald bully-boy back in his place. (The original writeup calls him something other than bully-boy, but the WotC code of conduct prohibits me from repeating the actual words - but they started with "b" as well...)
Introductions are made, with Vok, Lokar and Zaloc all advising Ptellac to be more careful with his words, and the group disperse with the end of the midday meal and return to their work crews. At evening, they gather again to learn more of each other – Ptellac is especially curious as to why Lokar seems to be accepting his captivity. He correctly divines that the halfling must have some escape plans in mind and gently offers his own assistance in regaining their liberty.
The evening meal is interrupted by a commotion coming from one side of the slave pens. On inspection, it is revealed that a group of captured elves are tormenting the newly arrived half-giant, mocking and berating him and relying upon their superior elven agility to evade his outraged swipes in their direction. True to form, Vok intercedes, laying the foremost of the elves flat on his back with a single punch. With the backup of his friends, he faces down the other elves and finds himself with a new companion: the grateful and impressed half-giant, whose name turns out to be Urrgos.
The meal that evening finds Vok, Lokar, Zaloc, Ptellac and Urrgos gathered together with the other slaves of Pit Three. While the slaves are getting to know Urrgos better, word comes that Granj, overseer of Pit One, is calling a meeting of all slaves interested in attempting to escape from the pens. Vok, having already made contact with Granj, attends the meeting, accompanied by Ptellac, who is determined to make his mark upon events in his own genteel fashion.
Various factions of slaves attempt to advance their ideas of how best to proceed with escape plans. Granj feels that efforts must be made to coordinate all the resources available to the slaves and try to escape once a sound, workable plan for a breakout has been devised. Hivash, a leader of the dwarven slaves, instead prefers to rally their forces and make a break for it that very night. Cavasaideen, a mul warrior, is even more bellicose and states that the best option would be to charge the guards irrespective of their chances; at least that way a glorious death could be achieved, if not actual freedom. And a fourth faction is represented by an elf called Niave of the Wastes, who sneers at all escape plans and thinks that the best and only viable course of action is for every man to fend for himself.
Although Vok finds much in common with Cavasaideen’s proposals, Ptellac’s cautious words soon swing his opinion to match that of Granj. The matter is put to a vote and the other factions reluctantly agree that a plan must be formulated. Granj suggests that all concerned return to their respective pits and assess the resources available to them. They will reconvene the following night and settle upon a solid plan for escape.
Back at Pit Three that night, the slaves sleep fitfully, taking it in turns to watch each others’ backs. It proves a prudent move as, in the small hours, a weary Lokar becomes aware that a shadowy figure is attempting to steal their waterskins. He responds as any good halfling would and sinks his teeth into the would-be thief’s arm, at the same time rousing his companions with cries and kicks. The thief, revealed to be a lanky elf, likewise calls for aid from his fellows and the two groups face off in the cramped confines of the pit.
Two of the elves pull makeshift weapons, including a dagger made from a digging tool and a wicked bone knife, while our heroes respond with balled fists and grim determination. Blood flows and bruises are dealt until Vok, deciding that the matter needs a swift conclusion, hammers a crushing blow into the face of one of the elves. His victim’s face is shattered by the killing strike and the elf goes down in convulsions. Zaloc and Ptellac knock two others cold and the initial thief backs away as rapidly as he can, all thoughts of theft fled. Zaloc examines the injured elf and soon realises that he is suffering from a mortal wound.
While Zaloc tries to decide if he should try to aid the hapless combatant, Vok grabs hold of the elf’s prone form and attempts to hurl him bodily from the pit. His aim is poor and the elf does not crest the lip of their prison, but the impact of his fall is enough to end his life. Vok takes a firmer grip and, with a second attempt, manages to throw him clear, his body to be dealt with by the ever-tender guards of the slave pens.
The next morning sees yet more arrivals at the pens. Rumours about the state of Tyr’s iron mine are confirmed when the mine slaves and their guards come tramping into the slave compound. Kalak, it would seem, has closed the mines and reassigned all who laboured there to the ziggurat. The slaves seem relieved to be away from the death-trap that is the iron mine, but their guards are less happy; for them work at the mines was a position of prestige and they do not take kindly to their new positions.
As the toil-filled day progresses, Ptellac learns more of the other three and shares some little of his own secrets with them, hinting at psionic abilities he has already used in the concealing shadows of the pit to sate his thirst and hunger. As the midday meal comes around, they are sitting in the shade of Urrgos, enjoying a few minutes’ respite, when a familiar figure approaches their group and deposits the welcome gift of additional waterskins in their laps. It is none other than Mahlanda.
She reports that her superiors amongst “those who wear the veil” have chastised her greatly for her carelessness in getting Vok, Lokar and Zaloc captured, as well as in having spoken to them of any plans to overthrow Kalak. Beyond their displeasure, she also feels personally responsible for their captivity and is eager to assist them. She also makes it clear that her allies feel that our heroes might be of considerable use in the conspiracy that seems to be aligning against the Tyrant of Tyr.
The slaves in turn tell her of the meeting planned for that evening to discuss escape plans and ask if she can coordinate assistance for the escape efforts from outside the pits. Mahlanda confirms that her allies would be able to do so the following night, but feels that any immediate attempt at mass escape would be doomed to failure, not least due to the presence of a battalion of templars stationed just outside the gates to the pens. Reconsidering their options, the captives ask if it might be possible for her to cover their own escape, if they leave on their own. Mahlanda favours this option and promises to return at the evening meal.
The evening cannot come soon enough. When mealtime finally arrives, however, it is signalled by a sudden clamour amidst the slaves. A pair of brawling gladiators, clearly fresh to the pens, send bodies, bowls and waterskins scattering in all directions as they trade vicious blows with one another. One, apparently called Kanla, wields a bolas, and whips it savagely at her opponent, Lissan. Although the exact cause of their fight is not immediately clear, it soon becomes obvious that Kanla has the upper hand. She makes short work of Lissan, straddling her back and throttling her with the bolas cord. While the guards place bets and onlookers stare in dismay, our heroes amongst them, Kanla spits invectives at her victim while Lissan gasps her last breaths. Unwilling to immediately become involved, the other slaves merely watch the grisly spectacle play itself out. Eventually, Vok decides to intervene but, by then, it is far too late. Where, for once, swift action might have saved a life, here it has been sorely absent, and Lissan lies dead at her assailant’s feet, eyes bulging and tongue grotesquely swollen in death.
When her rage passes, Kanla staggers off to slump in self-disgust at the base of one of the pen walls. Vok attempts to console her, telling her that it had been a fair fight between two gladiators. He asks what had caused the conflict and Kanla states that Lissan had been placed into a fighting pair with a man called Tachandral, Kanla’s mate. Kanla had been unable to accept that the pairing was only professional and the two had come to blows. Their trainer had sent them both to the pens to cool their heels, where Kanla found her jealous anger getting the better of her – and costing her the life of her friend. In conversation with Vok, she notices something of the patterns beneath his scars and correctly identifies the emblem of the Serpent of Lubar. Realising that Vok is a gladiator himself, she offers to put in a word with her trainer and have him transferred out of the pens, perhaps to fight in the arena. Although sorely tempted, Vok refuses her offer, realising that, for better or worse, his destiny is now tied with those of Lokar, Zaloc and Ptellac.
Back at Pit Three, the group wait for Mahlanda’s return. She makes her return visit as the pens are swarming with slaves and disgruntled guards alike, bringing with her five potion fruits that she claims will render the imbiber invisible. She also confirms that her allies “who wear the veil” are definitely interested in working together with the four, as well as cooperating with any slave uprising – although she repeats her caution that such an uprising would be a dangerous undertaking in the current climate. Our heroes agree to pass on her advice to Granj and the other would-be rebels and arrange to meet Mahlanda at an hour before midnight in the tavern known as The Red Kank on Shadow Square.
The meeting with Granj and the other members of the escape committee, now grown considerably in number, proceeds well, and our heroes pass on the information that a group of allies outside the pens stand ready to assist any break for freedom the following night. What they do not mention, however, is the fact that they have no intention of being around by then themselves.
As the evening turns to cold night, the mine guards begin to take out their frustrations upon the prisoners under their watch. Having beaten and kicked one man to death, they escalate the spectacle by forcing two more prisoners to fight each other, driving them to greater and greater acts of violence until their own bloody hungers are sated. These awful events almost compel Zaloc, Lokar, Vok and Ptellac to step in and throw all caution to the wind, but they keep their finer sensibilities in check and huddle down to wait for the cover of the confusion that comes with the return of the slaves to their respective pits.
As the milling captives begin to shuffle back to their sunken prisons, all four down their potion fruits and feel the preserver magic within take hold. As one, they fade from sight and are rendered invisible. Working their way across the slave pens, they notice a furtive figure conversing with pit guards in the shadow of one of the longhouses. Vok and Ptellac recognise this as Cruerex, an attendant at the escape committee meeting earlier in the evening. Clearly he is leaking the slaves’ plans to the guards. However, our heroes feel unable to intervene, having already taken their potion fruits, and instead pass the opportunity by. Sneaking to the base of a guard tower, they scale it to the top of the compound wall, slip over and down the other side and are finally free. They retrieve fresh garments left by Mahlanda for them in an abandoned kiln at the Brickyards and head for Shadow Square, drawing cowls and cloaks tightly closed to conceal their invisibility.
At Shadow Square, Lokar is able to gain entry through the back window into their room at the Twin Kanks Hostelry. To their delight they find that those belongings that they left there are still present, Balkaresh having stayed true to his word to keep out of their rooms. Discarding the invisibility granted by Mahlanda’s potion fruits, they call for Patroo and the spindly slave boy soon comes running, overjoyed to see his “Lords” safe and sound. Within minutes they are savouring the blissful taste of freedom and the simple fare that comes with it. They sate their dehydrated bodies and rest for the remaining hours, before heading across the square to keep their rendezvous at the Red Kank tavern with Mahlanda.
The tavern, renowned as a hub of rumour, gossip and underhand negotiations, is thronging with patrons at this hour. With even a few templars sampling its illicit seductions, it is the ideal place for just such a meeting. Mahlanda meets the quartet of would-be conspirators and leads them into an upper room that overlooks the square, where they encounter two of her allies. A copper-haired half-elf called Sadira and a stern-faced noble who identifies himself as Lord Agis of Asticles, these two apparently represent “those who wear the veil” – now named as the Veiled Alliance – and a group of highly-placed nobles who also seek Kalak’s downfall.
Sadira is openly scornful of Mahlanda’s recent record, but seems pleased to have the ex-slaves involved. Agis also reveals that he has a contact within Kalak’s templarate who has been leaking vital information to the conspiracy. According to this nameless contact, a decree will shortly be issued that will compel all citizens of Tyr to attend the ceremonies to mark the completion of the ziggurat.
Furthermore, devices have been installed in the arena that will allow its exits to be sealed, trapping all attendees within its walls. For obvious reasons, all concerned believe that Kalak has something horrendous planned, a belief that is only strengthened by rumours that immense quantities of obsidian have been imported from Urik to line chambers deep within the ziggurat. Sadira is certain that the presence of so much obsidian can only signify an impending act of cataclysmic defiling magic.
Agis states that the plan of the conspiracy is nothing less than the assassination of Kalak the Tyrant himself. Before he was killed, Sadira’s mentor Ktandeo had secured an agreement with a halfling sorcerer of the Forest Ridge for the use of an artifact called the Heartwood Spear, said to be able to slay even the mightiest of sorcerer-kings. Initially, Agis and Sadira had been planning to mount an expedition over the Ringing Mountains and into the Forest Ridge to secure the spear themselves. However, with the involvement of Lokar and the others, they feel it wiser to send them, leaving Agis to oversee the final phases of the coordination of the assassination with the other members of the conspiracy. Furthermore, Lokar, as a halfling of the Forest Ridge, would be an ideal choice as a guide. Mahlanda states that it was his presence in Tyr that led her to place her trust in our heroes and she would be more than glad to journey with them over the Mountains.
Sadira is having none of this, however, so dissatisfied is she with Mahlanda’s recent performance, and decides that she will accompany the ex-slaves herself. It thus falls to Mahlanda to sneak back into the slave pits and inform Granj and his associates that the escape attempt should be postponed in favour of cooperation with the Veiled Alliance’s plan. Agis places the resources of House Asticles at the group’s disposal, telling them to be ready for departure at dawn. Sadira and he depart, she stating that she will see them at Caravan Gate just before sunrise and reminding Mahlanda not to fail in her mission into the slave pens. Ptellac tells Mahlanda of Cruerex and suggests that she inform Granj of his treacherous activities, but adds that Cruerex would be a good channel through which they could feed disinformation to the guards. Mahlanda assures him that she will do her utmost to save the other slaves from disaster, and heads immediately back to the pens. For our four heroes, there only remain scant hours before they depart Tyr and head into the west, into the forbidding wilderness that is the Forest Ridge. They spend them back at the Twin Kanks Hostelry, sharpening their weapons and preparing themselves for the challenges that still lie ahead.
(This is where session #4 ended. The next session sends the characters over the Ringing Mountains and into the Forest Ridge in search of the Heartwood Spear...)
but remember to brush your fangs before bed time. There's just no pleasing you, is there?
I thought we did alright breaking into that merchant house and preventing a couple of assassinations. I wish we'd been a little more careful and tried to avoid the encounter upstairs... But what the heck. At least we won.
You guys did do good there- and I liked how you tried to bluff your way past the guards- it was fun. I would like to see some more of that creative thinking and role-playing in the next session- without Dakken and Baranus pulling weapons on each other like the last time the two of you were actually together- I thought for sure you two were going to really go for it- but it would have been fun to see who walked away from that fight too :D
Deciding to exile themselves from the table lands for a bit they left to stop a vile plan by an Ur Priest (Complete Divine) to sunder the pact of earth-air-fire-water which was basically a side trek for them. Once complete they were dragooned by a being called Farclunn (sp?) and forced to go and retrieve an artifact from the buried city (I also read the adventure "Black Waters). Once there they spent some time with an Elf tribe and while the female Templar (also played by a female) was busy being "serviced" by an Elven gigolo the party's steel greataxe was stolen. They've also found hints about Athas past as well and have explored a couple of halfling ruins and some ruins from a culture of "Orcs". They've also learned about the sun changing colour twice and suspect something about a white tower. They also know about the Dragon being called Borys and have figured out hints about ancient wars of extinction. However things are jumbled togather and they don't really know of names or the order things have taken place in nor do they know much about the timeframe involved. For those of you who have read Star Wars NJO they also recovered basically a vilip from a halfing ruin which lets them communicate with a halfling in Ogo.
He got the "limb turns into a lizard and runs away"? Ha! Excellent! Of such things are great games made. Well, from the DM's perspective anyway
That was his first one. The problem didn´t arise before he was turned into a quadruaped with hooves. He thought he became a centaur, I ruled he became the equivalent of a horse, and I said he couldn´t wield weapons - plus he wanted stats for the darn thing.
Oh, also, the NPC he fought got a +4 natural armor to AC from the first mutation. That was cool. The duel became a mutation gallery, with the NPC scoring four hits in the first round and the PC just one (since the AC boost made him even more difficult to hit).
The six Asticlian guards ride well-trained war crodlus and communicate using a clipped cipher that seems to be some sort of House battle language. While the passengers climb into the inix howdahs, a figure comes running through Caravan Gate, hailing them wildly. It is none other than Patroo, who admits to having followed them from the hostelry. He presses a worn ceramic piece into Vok’s hands and begs him to return as soon as possible. Sadira sneers in contempt and urges the inix handlers to get underway, convinced that they have attracted too much attention to themselves already. As the mounts lumber into motion, Patroo runs along beside them for as long as his young limbs will allow him, before he is lost from view in the rising clouds of ochre dust kicked up by the great reptiles.
Lokar and Ptellac ride in the foremost inix, the pterran lost in meditation and the halfling lost in thought, pondering his return to the lands of his birth. Sadira and Vok ride in the middle inix, she attempting to tease details out of the mul about his past. It transpires that she knows another mul who once fought for House Lubar, by the name of Rikus. Vok recalls the name but struggles to remember other details about his one-time housemate. Zaloc rides alone in the rear inix, continually glancing over his shoulder to be certain that they are not followed.
Their route takes them westward, up the Tyr valley, passing the plantations of the city’s nobles, the farms of its freemen and slaves and finally out of the verdant belt and into the canyons and gorges of the foothills. Even there they spot the occasional freehold, cactus farm or kank herd as the day lengthens to dusk and the mountains loom ever darker before them. A few hours before sunset, two of the guards forge ahead, returning shortly thereafter to announce that they have located a spot where the inix handlers can make camp. Reaching this location, a box canyon with a defile at its rear to allow rapid escape in the event of attack, the group gather what belongings they plan to carry and say their farewells to the handlers and their guards.
They head upwards into the foothills, leaving the Tablelands behind and heading into the windswept barrens above. As the sun sets and the temperature plummets, they realise that they will need to make camp soon. However, this is easier said than done and, with the time remaining to them before High Sun in short supply, they elect to brave the elements and press on for as long as they can manage. After some searching, they locate the first of their landmarks – a trail leading to the mountain village of Gunginwald – and they set out along its narrow pathway.
It is close to midnight before the chill starts to become too much to bear. Sadira’s information indicates that they need to take a pass over the mountains that lies somewhere to the west of the trail. However, even with the assistance of Sadira’s magically created light, the group is unable to locate anything resembling the pass. They are forced to make camp on the exposed mountainside, building a fire and erecting their small tent with limbs growing ever more numb by the minute. Before too long, though, the camp is pitched and the five travellers make themselves as comfortable as they can, set watches, and fall into uneasy sleep.
It is during Lokar’s watch that trouble strikes. The first sign he has that anything is amiss is the odd sound of trickling water from within the tent. Although he is initially unable to see anything amiss, closer inspection reveals an immense serpentine form lying in the shadows, cloaked in a translucent, amorphous membrane, its fangs sunk deeply into the group’s waterskins. This is the source of the trickling sound, for the creature is drinking deeply of the water, relying upon the shadows and the curious membrane to conceal it.
With an alarmed cry, Lokar leaps to his feet, draws his slodaks and attacks the beast. It responds with a blast of sheer psychic force, directing bestial hatred at the halfling. He resists the assault and redoubles his own attack. Within moments, his companions have rolled to their feet and join him in combat. Zaloc fires arrow after arrow into its open jaws, Vok steps around its bulk and flails at the back of its skull with mighty blows from his thanak and Ptellac unleashes psionic weaponry of his own. Sadira begins gathering the energy for a spell as the beast turns its attention upon the pterran, smarting from his mental barbs. It clamps its immense jaws about him and delivers a crippling bite, pumping icy venom into the telepath’s reptilian form and all but hurling him through the tent wall. Sadira launches a quartet of shimmering magic missiles against the serpent as it bites furiously at the other combatants that surround it.
Surprised to find that he has survived its ripping bite, Ptellac strikes again with his psychic force as Vok deals another dreadful blow to the creature. It flails madly about, snaring itself in the canvas of the tent, coiling and uncoiling in what are rapidly apparent as its death throes. Within moments it lies quivering upon the mountainside and, as quickly as the battle begun, it is over.
With Ptellac benefiting greatly from one of Sadira’s two healing fruits, the creature is promptly rolled some way down the slope, away from the immediate vicinity of the camp, and Vok sets about repairing the tent. Sadira examines the serpent’s corpse and deduces that it is a silk wyrm. The species generates a kind of silk that is highly valued in the city-states, but she lacks the knowledge of how to harvest it. Their nerves still jangling, the group chalk the encounter down to fortunate experience and retire to their tent for the remainder of the night.
In the morning, as they are striking camp, a group of three travellers wander past their camp, heading up the trail. They are caked with grime, their hair is matted with soil and mud and they do not look as if they have bathed in months, if ever. After cautious introductions, it becomes apparent that the three are worshippers of Earth who are headed to Gunginwald, to visit the shrine of Horth Araxis (although it is unclear if they are referring to a person, place or an object). They are impressed to see the dead silk wyrm a little way down the slope and offer to journey with the group, but our heroes decline the invitation, intent on keeping their true destination a secret. The pilgrims bid them farewell and continue along their way.
Waiting for the pilgrims to make some decent headway, the five travellers finish packing their gear and then resume their own journey. By midmorning, they are able to locate what must be the pass west over the mountains and they commence the hardest part of their journey so far. The winds are bitingly cold, the slopes exposed and the going is hard. It takes the remainder of the day to crest the Ringing Mountains and, just before sundown, they get their first view of the Forest Ridge.
An endless sea of green sweeps to the far horizon, rising and falling like immense waves across the rugged landscape. Spectral wreathes of mist cling to the dales and slopes, and strange birds with plumage in a riot of colours flit across the treetops. Alien cries and eerie flutings reach their ears and the air is cool and moist. The five stand in awe for long minutes, drinking in the sights, smells and sounds of Athas’ last great forest. Presently, Lokar and Zaloc scout the area for game while Vok, Ptellac and Sadira busy themselves with pitching camp for the night, the group having decided not to enter the forest until daybreak. The rangers manage to snare a pair of fat forest mole boars and soon they are roasting their dinner over an open fire.
The flames, however, soon attract the curiosity of a pair of aarakocra. Making their friendly (and hungry) intentions clear, the two avians approach the camp and are offered pieces of succulent, roast mole boar by the travellers. Ptellac is able to initiate telepathic contact with them and soon discussions are underway.
The aarakocra are called Kraa’ak and Ekuut and state that they are part of a larger nest that makes its home in the upper peaks. They keep clear of the forest, due to the predatory nature of the halflings and advise that the travellers do likewise; they are most discouraging when they hear that the group’s intention is to actually head into the forest in order to seek the halflings out. Thankfully, however, they have heard of Qurana and state that it lies at the end of a great “water snake” that winds its way through the woodlands, not fat from the pass. The meal finishes amiably and the birdmen say their farewells, departing for the upper airs. The group spends a tense night in the mouth of the pass, listening to the howls and cries of forest predators and their prey echoing up from the slopes below. It promises to be an interesting day on the morrow.
Shortly after daybreak, the five enter the Forest Ridge. For Ptellac, who hails from the Hinterlands, and Vok, Zaloc and Sadira, who are natives to the Tablelands, it is like entering another world, surrounded by vast plants and trees, the frequent, unfamiliar sounds of the arboreal realm, their way lit only by thin beams of sunlight that filter down through the canopy far overhead. And, although he does not admit it openly, Lokar realises that he has been away from these lands for far too long, noticing that he has forgotten more than he would like of his forest-lore.
In the verdant gloom of the trackless undergrowth, our travellers make painfully slow progress. Time drifts away until it is nothing but illusion, lost in the ageless wilderness that surrounds them. As noon draws near, Lokar begins to find something of his old forest kenning returning to him and is able to spot and avoid a large swathe of poisonweed spread across their route. His confidence returning, Lokar is doubly pleased when he hears the unmistakable sound of running water and, although his companions are less easily able to identify it, he pick up his pace and, before long, the group is staring at the magnificent spectacle of a forest river – the “water snake” of the aarakocrans. They take a brief rest from their journey to refill waterskins, wash away the grime of the trail and, in Vok’s case, examine the mysterious river creatures known as “fish”. Then, using the riverbank as a makeshift path, they continue downstream at a swifter pace, hoping to locate some sign of the village of Qurana before nightfall, all too aware that time is not on their side.
The river sweeps down the forested mountainside and then drops in a mighty waterfall into a deep, azure pool nearly 100 feet below. The craggy cliff face down which it plummets is easy to climb, especially with the use of their ropes, and in short order the group finds itself at the base of the waterfall, marvelling at the still, deep water and the white sand that lines its shores. Sadira eases her travel-weary feet in the shallows and Zaloc wonders at the curious sensation that overcomes him – a sensation that here, as in his dreams, the living world is speaking his name, calling to him in ways that he barely understands. For a few pensive moments he stands at the fringe of the clearing, staring at the pool, lost in contemplation at the mysteries of the living world and the dream that seems now to be visiting him in his waking hours. He soon puts his own curiosity to one side, however, and presses ever onward with his companions, deeper into the forest, yet still pondering at the voices that speak to his soul.
Dusk comes swiftly beneath the trees, and with still no sign of halfling habitation, our heroes realise that they must find camp soon. They search in vain for an easily defensible position and are about to give up and settle on the forest floor when Vok announces that he feels certain that a secure campsite can be found just beyond a stand of thick ferns. Lokar, not sure of the mul’s sudden burst of insight, inspects the bushes more closely. No sooner has he done so, when a monstrous cat leaps from its hiding place behind the ferns with a terrifying yowl and slashes and rakes the poor halfling, felling him in moments. Lokar’s companions unleash all of their attacks against the feline predator, finding it a dangerous and resilient opponent. And just when they have focussed all of their attention upon it, another of the creatures leaps to the attack from a tree branch, above and to the rear of the group. This time it is Zaloc who bears the brunt of the animal’s onslaught, feeling its savage bite and claws rip through his armour. With Sadira splitting magical missiles between the two beasts, it is not long before the first of the cats is downed, allowing the group to concentrate on the second. Although Zaloc is sorely injured, they are able to dispatch it swiftly and Zaloc rushes to Lokar’s aid. He is able to staunch his wounds and prevent any further blood loss, but it takes Sadira’s remaining healing fruit to return the halfling to consciousness.
The group catch their breath and decide that now would not be a good time to rest; instead, they resolve to press on, hoping to find Qurana before night falls completely. Once more, Sadira calls upon her magic, revelling in the rush of life energy that the forest provides, and lights the way before them.
Lokar, his strength returning, is able to avoid yet more of the forest’s hazards with his woodcraft, evading patches of jungle bloodgrass, a carnivorous plant that frequents tigone hunting trails (for such were named the great cats that had assailed them, psionic predators known and respected as fearsome hunters by the forest halflings). And in the process, he spies a solitary diminutive footprint in the murk, and realises that not only tigones use this trail.
No sooner has he communicated this to his companions than Sadira gives a startled cry and drops to the ground unconscious, a tiny feathered dart protruding from her breast. Halflings emerge from the gloom, slipping out from behind the foliage that had concealed them and dropping from lianas above. Their cover blown, and the group’s spellcaster disabled, the halflings surround the travellers, weapons drawn and at the ready and order them to surrender. Lokar identifies himself as a tribesman of the Uteg Quaree from the north, to which the other halflings respond with scorn, stating that the Uteg Quaree are no more. He replies that they seek Nok, halfling chieftain of Qurana and the halflings respond that they will meet him all too soon.
Our heroes are escorted through the forest, along the halfling trail, until they reach a deep, broad gorge. Several steep pinnacles of rock rise from its depths and the settlement of Qurana is built atop these, connected by an interwoven series of thick rope and vine bridges. At the heart of the cluster of pinnacles, one rises slightly above the others and is home to an ancient, gnarled and towering tree. It is towards this that the captives are led, with scores of tiny, childlike faces peering down at them from the huts and bowers that line the rocky towers. There they are met by a wizened halfling elder, an obsidian orb hanging from a braid about his neck. In the shadow of the great tree he greets them in the halfling tongue. It is Nok.
His face illuminated by torches that flank a pyramid of skulls, Nok questions them on their reasons for braving the Forest Ridge. The group is open and frank with him, stating that they have come on the advice of Agis and Sadira (who is still out cold from the halfling poison). Nok confirms that he had dealings with Ktandeo, Sadira’s mentor, and had promised the use of the Heartwood Spear in the event that the Veiled Alliance should attempt to slay Kalak. However, he also reveals that Sadira should know a great deal more than she has apparently revealed about the precise details of Kalak’s plans, and adds that Ktandeo also did not trust her entirely.
Then he turns his attention to the matter of the Uteg Quaree. Less than a month ago, it would seem, a tribesman of the Uteg Quaree led raiders from the Tablelands into the tribe’s heartland by hidden paths. He used his knowledge of tribal secrets to allow the raiders to gain access to the village and, as a result, the entire tribe was either slaughtered or carried off into captivity. Given that Lokar is doing something very similar at present, suspicion falls upon him. Lokar protests his innocence, saying that, as far as he was aware, the Uteg Quaree had suffered from raids but still existed as a tribe. Nok replies by saying that Lokar is not the only one of the group about whom he has doubts. Besides Sadira, he wonders as to why Zaloc ignores the voice of the Green when it speaks to him so clearly. And what trust might he place in a mul who was raised only to kill, or a pterran who listens so intently to what is being said and yet speaks so little? Ptellac admits that he does indeed know the halfling speech but Vok makes it clear that he can follow nothing of what is being said. Reviving Sadira with subtle sorcery, Nok begins speaking in strangely accented Common and states that, before he will surrender the Heartwood Spear to the group, they must be tested and found worthy by the Green. They are to enter a hollow beneath the great tree, where they will find fruit, which they must consume. If the Green finds them worthy, they will survive. If not, they will die.
So, one by one, the group descend into the cavern beneath the tree, there finding bulbous white fruit shot through with veins of crimson. Zaloc is convinced that the fruit contain venom but, with little choice before them, he follows his companions’ example and together they down the bitter pulp and pith, feeling nausea wash over them. Any further contemplation is forestalled, however, as their initiation into the Green is interrupted by shrieks and cries coming from the village above. They rush to investigate and discover that Qurana is under attack from forces bearing nothing less than the emblem of the city-state of Tyr. It would seem that they have been followed through the Forest Ridge and now the halflings are paying the price. As flames begin to lick the halfling homes at the edge of the settlement, our heroes rush to Qurana’s defence.
Vok and Lokar charge to the outermost edge of the settlement, where a half-dozen warriors armed with steel weapons have already raced across the first of the rope bridges, while Sadira, Ptellac and Zaloc stand guard at the base of the great tree. Of Nok there is no sign but overhead, halflings mounted atop a species of giant wasp fly in to join the fray. Seeing that half-giants are already beginning to cross the rope-bridge, Lokar busies himself with cutting its strands while Vok launches a vial of his trusty Balican fire at the single half-giant already upon the bridge’s span. The unfortunate brute is engulfed in flames and loses his grip upon the vine railings, plummeting in a screaming, blazing mass to his death in the gorge below. Arrows begin to impact in the turf at Vok and Lokar’s feet as Tyrian archers there seek their marks, and Vok retreats from the edge of the bridge, hunting down the human guards who are already putting more halfling homes to the torch and slaughtering all inhabitants that they can find.
From the main pinnacle, Sadira unleashes a blast of lightning that slays many of the archers and sends others pinwheeling into the ravine. Zaloc begins laying down precise and withering arrow fire into the ranks of other Tyrians on the far side and Ptellac sizes up the field of battle for suitable targets, bolstering his own defences with his psionic might. And then comes the chilling sound of voices raised in prayer to Kalak, as the group realise that they are facing more than steel and sinew – the Tyrant’s templars call upon their lord to send fire to destroy their foes.
And send fire he does. Flames leap out across the gorge and Lokar grits his teeth in agony, feeling the inferno engulf him. Yet the Green is with him and he weathers the assault. With a last, desperate swipe, he severs the final strands of the bridge, sending yet another half-giant to meet his doom in the darkness below. Vok fells the first of his opponents but, facing five more, he realises that he is outnumbered and vows to make them pay dearly for every drop of his blood that they spill. Zaloc lowers his aim and, with yet another display of excellent bowmanship, fells one of Vok’s opponents from across the gorge, allowing Vok to make short work of a third.
Kalak’s templars cry out to their king again and send another searing blast of flame at Qurana’s defenders. This time Lokar is unable to evade the full impact of the blaze, and he crumples under the attack, perishing in burning agony. Vok fares little better, finally outflanked by the three remaining warriors. Unable to meet every blow directed towards him, he is stabbed through his chest by Tyrian steel and meet’s a gladiator’s end on the tip of his enemy’s blade. The three warriors then charge across the remaining rope bridge that separates them from the pinnacle of the tree, towards the waiting defenders.
Invoking Kalak’s name a third time, the templars rise into the air under the influence of their lord’s vile sorcery and come swooping towards Qurana. Still airborne, one of the templars unleashes terrible magic from a scroll he carries, and Sadira succumbs to its effects. Her resulting pain is mercifully short, as her body disintegrates in a flaring of eldritch fire and rapidly dissipating dust. Zaloc unleashes further missile fire against them as Ptellac sends waves of psychic energy at the templates and the three guardsmen now racing towards him. He is able to slay one of the templars, shattering the man’s mind and rendering him a still-quivering corpse within moments. And then the guardsmen are upon him. One falls to a psionically enhanced claw attack and the other, deeply demoralised, keep his distance, unsure of the actual strength of the last two defenders still facing him. At the last moment, however, he chances his luck, and Ptellac’s streak of good fortune comes to an abrupt and bloody end under his steel blade.
Zaloc, now the last man standing, is able to make short work of the last two warriors, only to see the remaining templars come drifting through the air towards him. Still some distance from him, one of them channels magic from Kalak’s ancient, immortal mind and hurls it like a hammer blow against Zaloc, who collapses in an eclipsing swoon.
He wakens minutes later to find the templars standing over him, one of them driving Tyrian steel down towards his chest. With a superhuman effort, Zaloc rolls to one side, feeling the blade slide across his body like a brand and leaps to his feet. The templars are aghast and immediately set about him with furious blows. Filled with desperation, Zaloc is able to take advantage of their confusion and holds his ground for a few moments longer before he too finally succumbs. The last sights he sees as the templars fell him with cold disdain are of the forest, the stars and a green world that he had only just begun to understand.
A voice whispers his name. In the darkness he struggles to respond, and slowly finds himself coming to his senses. It is Nok who stands over him and gently calls him back to consciousness. He is still in the grotto beneath the great tree and around him his companions are likewise stirring into wakefulness. The battle was naught but a living dream, a hallucination brought on by the tree’s enchanted fruit, a test sent by the Green to divine their true mettle. And it is a test that they have clearly passed, for in his hands Nok holds a carved spear that seems to glisten with a life of its own.
He congratulates them on their success and states that he is more than satisfied with what they have shown him. He thrusts the spear into the soft earth of the grotto and Vok steps forward to claim it. It almost writhes in his hand and he has the distinct impression that it is looking at him. Nok tells the group that they may rest and recuperate in Qurana for the night, but on the morrow they must return with all haste to Tyr, for their confrontation with the sorcerer-king Kalak. And, he adds, they should be sure that they have a sound plan, for they are setting themselves against a mind with a sleepless hatred and an unyielding intellect. But, for the moment at least, they have peace – perhaps the last peace that they will ever know beneath Athas’ dark sun.
(Thus ended session #5. Session #6 brings "Freedom" to a close, introduces the final member of the group and pits the characters against the Tyrant of Tyr himself...)
Next, they may go into trading. I may drop some hints about the evils of the other city states, and how Kalak is building a ziggeraut and such. who knows where it will go from here.
The following day brings a swift return journey eastwards. With the aid of Qurana scouts, the travellers soon depart the Forest Ridge and cross the Ringing Mountains, rejoining their House Asticles escorts in the foothills. They make for Tyr without further delay. The journey passes without incident, save for a series of intense discussions with Sadira, during which our heroes seek to plumb the mystery of Kalak’s transformation and pressure Sadira to reveal what she knows. Sadira is, at first, unwilling to speak openly of the issue, claiming that the Veiled Alliance demands a vow of secrecy on such matters. However, she soon agrees that the time for secrecy is past, and discloses that Kalak is planning to perform a ritual of transformation, an act of defiling magic known as the Dragon Metamorphosis.
Precise details on the nature of the ritual are sketchy, even to Sadira, but she states that she has been told that, through this ritual, Kalak and Dragon will become as one. Ptellac suggests that the Dragon is nothing less than the rage of the Earth Mother personified, and that Kalak seeks to forge a spiritual union with this force. Lokar wonders if Kalak will seek to become the Dragon himself, while Vok raises the idea that Kalak might even seek to bind the Dragon to his will. Sadira states that she doubts that the Dragon of Athasian legend really exists as a single beast, but thinks that all of these possibilities might contain some grain of truth.
When asked what the Veiled Alliance would do in the case of a victory, Sadira replies that her personal preference would lean towards divulgence, the revelation to the general populace of the Veiled Alliance and its aims. It is clear, however, that Sadira is far from a senior figure in the Alliance, and it is unlikely that she will have much, if any, say in the political makeup of Tyr after any successful assassination.
Arriving back at the city-state of Tyr, the travellers see it more hectic and crowded than any can remember. Clearly, Kalak has issued his edict, ordering all citizens under his rule to attend the opening ceremonies of his mighty monument. Winding their way through the press of bodies, Sadira leads them to the Asticles townhouse, in the noble’s quarter of the city. There they enter a world of opulence and luxury, seemingly miles away from the sweat and suffering of the city at large.
Agis greets them in his arboretum and the travellers see that he is not alone. A burly mul and a woman warrior stand to one side of the senator, while a calm yet well armed and armoured man stands to the other. Agis introduces the mul and the woman as Rikus and his fighting partner Neeva, and the other human as Draxis, a cleric of the element of water and an ancillary to the Veiled Alliance. Within moments, it is apparent that Rikus has been expecting all along that he will wield the spear against Kalak, and it comes as some surprise to him to catch his first sight of it in the steely grasp of Vok. Much mulish blustering ensues from both sides, with each gladiator asserting his right to be the one to deal Kalak his deathblow.
In the meantime, Agis outlines the plan as it stands. His templar contact is revealed to be none less than Tithian, High Templar for the Games and the King’s Works, the very man responsible for overseeing the construction of Kalak’s ziggurat. Tithian has told Agis that, although Kalak will be present at the games, he will be barely visible for the majority of the day. He will, however, proclaim a manumission over the final victor of the day’s Grand Melee, and Tithian has suggested that this will be the best, if not only, shot at him that the conspirators will get all day. Agis states that, as Kalak’s royal balcony is shielded with arcane energies, Sadira will breach this shield with the sorcerous aid of Ktandeo’s Cane. In the same instant, Agis and a number of other psions amongst the conspiracy will level a series of concerted psionic attacks directly at Kalak, in order to distract him from the real threat, namely the Heartwood Spear. With the mention of the spear and its use, the discussion is once more stalled by Rikus and Vok, who set to arguing again. Eventually, it is decided that Neeva will aid the rebel slaves in their uprising, planned to coincide with the attack upon Kalak, allowing Rikus and Vok to fight together in the Grand Melee. Vok will bear the spear, with Rikus using it in the case that Vok is knocked out of the competition prior to the Melee.
With these matters settled, the conspirators go their separate ways. Vok makes a return visit to the slave pens, under the cover of a potion fruit of invisibility, and briefly meets with Granj and Hivash. Although Granj is disappointed at the disappearance of our heroes on the eve of the last planned uprising, he agrees to have those loyal to the cause at the ready on the morrow. And he is encouraged when he learns that House Asticles agents will be working their way through the crowds, arming the slaves. Following this, Vok and Rikus head to the arena itself, where Vok waits out his time until the battles that the morning will bring.
In the morning, along with almost every citizen of Tyr, Ptellac, Draxis and Zaloc file into the arena. Ptellac and Draxis sit in the nobles’ stands, along with Agis, while Zaloc heads into the upper stands with Neeva, there to mingle with the other slaves of the city. Lokar and Sadira, meanwhile, hang back in the cover of an abandoned building. When the crowds begin to thin out, they slip into one of the entrance tunnels of the arena, opposite Kalak’s balcony.
The games begin. Chariot races, beast-fighters and other sundry entertainments are thrown to the throng, upping their spirits in preparation for the chief bouts of bloodletting. Before long, Vok finds himself being ushered by the gladiator handlers towards the gate out onto the arena sands. He is stripped of all his gear (save for his steel Jura Dai blades, hidden in his boots), armed with a club and sent out to fight. His opponents are two similarly armed slaves from the ziggurat – clearly meant to be little more
than grist for the mill. Disgusted at the spectacle in which he is being forced to participate, Vok drops his club and goes for the two terrified slaves, bare fists at the ready. It is a one-sided and bone-bruising battle as, with solid blows from his hardened knuckles, Vok beats the two men senseless. However, once the crowd becomes aware that Vok is attempting to save the lives of his opponents, they are outraged and calling for blood in moments.
And then, for the first time in decades, Kalak himself makes an appearance at the rim of his balcony. He extends a bony fist, with thumb turned down. Death for the defeated. Vok refuses to slay the unconscious men, calling for mercy. Kalak’s response is to close his psionic might about Vok’s mind with a crippling intensity. Against his own volition, Vok’s hands are moved by Kalak’s will to grasp a discarded club. There is a moment of lancing pain through Vok’s skull to remind him of the consequences of disobedience and then his will is his own again. With a cry of rage and horror mingled, he picks up the club and swiftly ends his opponent’s lives with its blunt weight. Numbed and shocked, he walks in silence from the arena to await his next combat.
In the stands far above, Zaloc and Neeva take in their surroundings, noting where the other slave leaders are. They are joined by the jovial form of Urrgos, who sits himself down next Zaloc to partake of the spectacle. Urrgos reveals that, if the slaves find freedom, he intends to open a wine shop and drink all of his stock. Zaloc can find little to fault with this approach.
In the entrance tunnel, Sadira and Lokar are suddenly surprised by the appearance of a pair of templars, who have apparently been stationed in the winch room directly above the tunnel. Sadira bribes each templar with two silver coins and they agree to leave her and Lokar in peace. To strengthen her position, Sadira follows the bribe up with a spell of charming directed at one of the templars. Overcome with admiration for her, the guard returns her silver and reaffirms his promise to leave her be.
Vok, meanwhile, has been assigned his next battle. As he is being prepared, he realises that he will be fighting none other than Cabric. The two muls are tied together at their left wrists by a ten-foot length of giant hair rope. Each clutching a spear, they are marched out onto the sand and the battle is underway. While they are fairly evenly matched in skill, Vok has greater speed and endurance and, after a few harsh blows have been exchanged, he slowly begins to get the upper hand. Each combatant tries to use the rope to pull the other off-balance, but so awkward does this prove, that the rope becomes little more than a hindrance. It is, however, a hindrance that ultimately plays out in Vok’s favour. Reeling from a stabbing thrust to his thigh and a lancing jab into his abdomen, Vok manages to arc his spear-tip over Cabric’s guard, and impales his old adversary through the throat. Cabric dies instantly and Vok salutes his fallen foe as the handlers come to usher them from the blood-stained sands.
He has barely had enough time to receive battlefield healing from the games’ attendant templars, when he is called for his third battle of the day. This bout is against a pair of dwarven gladiators, one wielding a spear and the other carrying a club and a net. Vok is finally permitted to wield his trusty thanak and wades lustily into combat. The dwarves are canny foes, however, and Vok swiftly finds himself ensnared in the heavy net. Undeterred, he bunches his shoulders and bursts the giant-hair strands holding him down. Ripping his way to freedom with his Jura Dai knives, he launches himself at the two dwarves. He mortally injures one, hurling his body at his companion. The second dwarf’s nerves break, and he flees wildly away from Vok. The mul’s limbs surge into action and he easily runs the dwarf down, spearing him with his own weapon. And with that, it is over and Vok is through to the Grand Melee.
Draxis and Ptellac both notice templars and their guards beginning to move into position around the arena. At the same time, there is a dull, thudding boom heard all around the arena. Most of the crowd have no idea what it represents, but, in the entrance tunnel, Sadira and Lokar see an immense stone block come slamming down from above, blocking the exit from the arena.
In the gladiator pens, Vok is receiving further battlefield healing while the games’ handlers prepare for the Grand Melee. He is joined by Rikus, who is sporting a number of injuries of his own but nevertheless spoiling for the final bout of the day – and for the assassination that will follow it. With Rikus taking up his favoured cahulaks and Vok arming himself with the Heartwood Spear, they head out to meet their fellow combatants.
A quartet of other teams await them, including pairs of nikaals, gith and hulking baazrag. A half-giant paired with a slender elf rounds out the melee.
However, before battle begins, a trapdoor opens in the centre of the arena. Often used to raise and lower props to and from the arena floor, this time it lifts into sight a curious obsidian pyramid atop which squats a horrendous shelled arachnid. Rikus hisses in consternation, for this enormous beast is a gaj, and is possessed of a fearsome intellect, paired with powerful psionic abilities.
And with that, the Grand Melee is underway. The two nikaals succumb almost immediately to the gaj’s psychic powers, one being driven to attacking his fellows. The half-giant and the elf strike out against the baazrags and Rikus and Vok charge the gith. The reptilian humanoids are no match for the well-trained muls, and are slain in short order.
The nikaals fare equally badly; no sooner has the one felled the other than he is attacked directly by the gaj, which appears to feed on his psychic energies. At the same time, the gaj unleashes another psionic assault against the half-giant, compelling him to attack his elven team-mate. Rikus and Vok turn their attention to the baazrags as the half-giant slays his hapless elven companion. The baazrags are dangerous foes and Rikus soon finds injuries he suffered earlier in the day reopening beneath their cudgel-like fists. Still, skill and the Heartwood Spear are on their side and, before long, the baazrag are slain. Noting that the half-giant has also fallen to the gaj’s psionic hunger, the two gladiators realise that they still need to deal with the creature before the Grand Melee can be called to a halt.
However, they are not alone in their analysis of the situation. The gaj has also analysed the situation and it opens psychic contact with Vok’s mind. If Vok makes it appear if he has slain it, the gaj agrees to play along and feign defeat. It desires freedom as much as he does and it will aid him if it will improve the odds of it surviving. Startled to find that a beast of the wastes could share the same needs as himself, Vok agrees and tentatively approaches the gaj. When it does not attack him, he responds by dealing it a swift and sudden blow with the Heartwood Spear. The weapon punches clear through the creature’s carapace and he feels the gaj quiver in pain. It retracts its legs in a spasmodic frenzy and lies motionless. Believing Vok to have been victorious, the crowd goes wild and all eyes turn to the balcony on the Golden Tower.
As expected, Kalak appears at the edge of the balcony and raises his spindly arms for silence. In that moment, in the entrance tunnel to the arena, Sadira draws upon the power of Ktandeo’s Cane and begins casting her spell. She does not stop with the power of the cane, however, but extends her reach into the earth around her, gathering spell energy with greater and greater force. Even when the ground at her feet blackens and turns to ash, she does not stop. Only when she is bloated with the stolen lifeforce of Athas itself does she unleash her magic. A crackling bolt of argent fire streaks across the arena and shatters the magical barriers surrounding the balcony in an overloading surge of arcane force. Before Kalak can react, Agis links minds with all of the other psionic members of the conspiracy, scattered throughout the arena, and sends a wave of psychic assaults blasting at the sorcerer-king. Ptellac feels his own attack echoed and amplified as it hammers into the aeons-old consciousness of the Tyrant of Tyr. All of which serves only as a distraction to draw attention away from Vok. Gripping the Heartwood Spear, he runs across the sand to within safe throwing range and hurls the weapon at Kalak. It flies an unerring course, streaking through the air without wavering once, and impales Kalak clear through the chest.
As Kalak is dragged away from his balcony by half-giant guards, his unearthly screams fill the arena and then the entire city. They do not fade away, but instead grow in bestial intensity. On the lower stands, Agis draws his blade, joined by other noble lords and their retinues, while on the upper stands, Zaloc, Neeva, Urrgos and the other former slaves launch themselves at the templars and half-giants who seek to hold back the suddenly thronging horde. Around them, they spot Granj and Hivash rallying their supporters and taking the fight to the templars. In the access tunnel, Lokar is incensed at Sadira’s abuse of the environment and, damning her for a defiling witch, he draws his bow and attacks her. The noise of their conflict attracts the attention of the templar guards above the tunnel, and they come swiftly to investigate.
Back on the arena floor, Vok hears the Gaj whispering into his mind once more, telling him that Kalak is alive and moving beneath the arena floor. Vok realises that there must be a tunnel joining the ziggurat to the Golden Tower. At the same moment, a wave of weariness floods through the arena, matched by a glow in the heart of the obsidian pyramid atop which the gaj had risen into the arena. Here and there in the crowd, the elderly and weak begin to crumple as their lifeforce is drawn from them by Kalak’s awful endgame. Vok begins running for the ziggurat.
In the lower stands, Draxis unleashes a sonic blast against a knot of templars clustered at the edge of the drop-off to the arena floor. As they go tumbling to either side, he and Ptellac rush through the gap and drop the handful of feet to land upon the sand. They go charging after Vok, coming to the same conclusion as he has and realising that Kalak is already drawing upon the life energies he needs for his mysterious transformation.
Vok mounts the ziggurat steps in moments and finds an obsidian-lined stairwell leading down into the monument’s heart. Without a moment’s hesitation, he plunges into the darkness, hearing only bestial roars growing in volume and intensity below him. He emerges in a square chamber, walled with glimmering obsidian and sporting an open trapdoor in its floor. A monstrous pupa-like form writhes on the floor, it head a reptilian parody of the humanoid and its limbs all but lost within its larval bulk. The Heartwood Spear lies discarded to one side, along with almost a dozen black obsidian orbs, from the size of a small fruit to that of a large melon. Vok rolls across the chamber, grabs the spear and attacks. The beast howls in pain at feeling the touch of the spear once more, but rather than attack, it instead lunges forward and devours the smallest of the obsidian orbs. A wave of energy rips through the thing’s body and the outer casings of its pupa fall away. From out of the slime and discarded flesh emerges a draconian humanoid, taller than a half-giant and with a long, toothy crocodilian snout. It roars its contempt at Vok. The entire race of ogres fell to dust beneath its feet – what fear should it have for a solitary mul?
Meanwhile, in the upper stands, Zaloc, Neeva and Urrgos have joined forces with Granj and Hivash and are already forging towards one of the exits, their ready band of former slaves hungry for blood and vengeance in equal amounts. They manage to hew their way through the initial line of templars and guards and reach ramps that lead to the lower level of the arena and, presumably, freedom. In the entrance runnel, Lokar and Sadira are still exchanging blows, he from enchanted arrows and she from summoned lightning. Realising that to remain would mean either Lokar’s death or hers, and seemingly unwilling to accept either outcome, Sadira begins to withdraw while Lokar urges the templars and their half-giant guards to attack her.
Draxis and Ptellac reach that end of the arena and spot the confused combat taking place around the entrance tunnel. Seeing the half-giants attacking Sadira, they cover her retreat, allowing her to flee with the use of a spell of flight, before charging up the ziggurat steps and going to Vok’s aid.
Vok is barely holding his ground against the monstrosity that now focuses all of its attention upon him. With the beast unleashing anything up to three magical and psionic attacks each round, it is only the Heartwood Spear that allows him to give as good as he gets. Shortly, however, Ptellac and Draxis are with him. Ptellac, spotting the obsidian spheres, guesses their importance and promptly unleashes a bolt of sonic energy against them. The majority of the spheres shatter under the blast and Kalak howls his frustration. He forgets all about the mul with the spear and rips into Ptellac with claw and tooth. The pterran collapses under the ferocity of the attack and Draxis rushes to his side, administering vital healing magic in the nick of time.
Reaching the lower levels of the arena, Zaloc discovers what Lokar already knows: the exits have been sealed by immense stone blocks dropped from above. When attempts to physically heave them out of the way fail, Zaloc begins scouting the area and discovers a stairway leading into a room that sits directly above the tunnel. Leading Urrgos, Neeva and a group of slave warriors up the stairs, he emerges into the winch room. There, a solitary templar commands a quartet of half-giant guards. The templar urges his guards to attack the slaves, even as the slaves call for the half-giants to join them against their former masters.
In the ziggurat, Ptellac pulls himself to his feet as Draxis charges to Vok’s aid. The pterran psion lets rip with another sonic bolt, shattering the last of the obsidian spheres. With Kalak’s transformation halted, Vok redoubles his efforts, knowing that he cannot keep going against Kalak for much longer. All of his skill and training as a gladiator comes into play as, with an upward blow, he skewers Kalak’s skull from jaw to crown. The sorcerer-king goes rigid, gives one final, seething bellow, and then falls dead at the mul’s feet. It is over.
In the winch room, and elsewhere throughout the arena, the templar screams as his connection to his monarch withers and dies. The half-giant guards see which path fate has taken, and throw in their lot with the former slaves. With their help, they winch the stone block back up from the exit and the first of Tyr’s citizens burst forth into liberty.
And still not all is done, for as the folk of Tyr are taking stock of what has happened, Tithian’s magically enhanced voice rings out across the city. The former templar stands at Kalak’s balcony, now flanked by Agis, Rikus and others. He proclaims himself the liberator of Tyr, even as the true heroes of the day are emerging from the ziggurat, and takes Kalak’s crown for himself. Even as Tithian names himself king of Tyr, he is reminded by Rikus and Agis of the path that led him to this destiny, and he turns once more to the crowds to make his first royal proclamation. From this forth, all citizens of Tyr are free. No more will slavery hold reign in the city. A new age for Tyr, and for Athas, has dawned, and none can say what changes it will bring…
(So that's that for session #6 and "Freedom". With the group complete, session #7 takes us on the "Road to Urik". If there is interest, I'll post the writeups for that adventure and the one that follows sometime soon...)
I would like to see some more of that creative thinking and role-playing in the next session- without Dakken and Baranus pulling weapons on each other like the last time the two of you were actually together- I thought for sure you two were going to really go for it- but it would have been fun to see who walked away from that fight too :D
The sun burns all who oppose it's sovereignty.
*now raising my voice so every one can hear what I say*
Althoughs he's by far the best DM I've ever had!
Which is no lie, by the way, and he's one of those NPC geniuses. His NPCs always have character, and that, IMHO, is what makes the best DMs. Those who put most of their energy into their NPCs. Because in the end, it's the NPCs that make the adventure seem more alive, monsters are there to get killed and the NPCs are there to set the mood to the adventure.
I know this was no story, but I just wanted to tell you guys how lucky I am :D
The game has centered in Draj most of the time. A masterful (%^$*^%$) move by the heir of the merchant House Tzalaxa has left me the last remaining member of my tribe. (There may be others but I have yet to find them.) Now I am (no wait, WAS) in the service of House Tzalaxa. (My plan was to win trust and then avenge my tribe, and profit, of course, while waiting.)
One of the house gladiators (a mul) was killed in a set-up match against a half-giant that was WAY out of his league. The Old Man was punishing his grand-daughter (the mul's actual owner) for getting uppity. He also killed all of her loyal agents within the house. Only my character survived. (I was in templar custody at the time. Don't ask. It involves a botched disguise roll.) I decided that helping Her Ladyship get some of her status and wealth back would work out well for me in the future (before I kill her for destroying my tribe) I stole the mul's body from the arena pits (that was fun) and dragged it out into the desert along with another dead body someone was paying me to smuggle. I knew the customer was raising their body, I figured I would make them raise the mul (I swear if this mul wasn't played by my brother I would have just let him rot in the unmarked grave...) It worked out, though not without some problems. The dudes who hired me to do the smuggling said they were Earth Priests, but the templars that found us later said we had been consorting with defilers. (lovely) One of the templars was assigned to take the mul back to town and sell him. I was claimed by the lead templar. (I just LOVE playing females in DS.) I escaped. (The templar was an idiot.) In the process of getting back to Draj I stumbled onto some raider plans fore-knowledge of which would help House Tzalaxa. (I considered NOT telling the Lady and letting that be my revenge, but then it seemed like I was letting a bunch of scruffy, smelly human raiders avenge my tribe, and they wouldn't even know it. That was unacceptible.) I snuck away and got back to Draj, told Her Ladyship about the plans and averted my friend/worst enemy's demise. She presented her plan for gaining some of her status and wealth back. She wanted to break into her family's treasure vault. Unfortunately, the mul and I (he was stolen back from his new owners) got lost in the dungeon/tunnels under the house. Our way in/way out was cut off by a cave-in he caused. (Some people are better left dead, really.) We found another way out, but it led to a rival noble house. By this time I was unconscious (from saving HIS butt) and the mul is NOT gifted at sneaking out of a place he is not supposed to be in. We got caught. The mul was confiscated. (How convenient that we ended up in the house I had stolen him from!) I was arrested. Now I belong to a templar. (Yay) (I just love playing a female in DS.)
Game Date: 24th Fortuary, Year of Wind’s Reverence, 190th King’s Age
In the three months since the death of Kalak, much has changed in Tyr. Kalak the Tyrant has been replaced by Tithian the Liberator, the Senate has been replaced by the Council of Advisors and slavery has been replaced by freedom. However, the city has not taken to its new life without trouble. With the freeing of Tyr’s slaves, much of the labour needed to support life in the city goes undone. The fields and plantations are slowly claimed by weeds and neglect. The mines remain closed. Trade festers. Even the former slaves find themselves with precious little hope, faced with soaring unemployment, ever-higher prices and the pressures of finding accommodation amongst the warrens of Tyr. Riots flare up frequently across the city and the nobles barricade themselves in their estates. Although Agis and others on the Council struggle to restore order to the beleaguered city, it seems as if the victories of the revolution that toppled a tyrant are hollow victories indeed.
Contemplating the fate of the city as well as his own destiny, Lokar decides that the time has come for him to depart and seek the truth about what happened to the Uteg Quaree. He gathers his belongings together and prepares to leave Tyr but is met at the city walls by none other than Sadira. Clearly struggling with the ramifications of her act of defiling during the overthrow of Kalak, she comes to him with half apology, half farewell. Lokar, his fury at her actions now seemingly spent, tells her that he has little kinship with the folk of her city and is determined to discover the fate of his own people. Sadira thanks him for not having spoken to anyone of her defiling, adding that the Veiled Alliance would pronounce a death sentence upon her if it were ever discovered. Lokar shrugs this off – he is clearly past concern for the consequences of Sadira’s actions – but he thanks her for her words, bids her farewell in turn, and vanishes into the desert.
As he departs, however, Sadira notices a commotion taking place down by Caravan Gate. The guards there have spotted a lone figure stumbling towards them through the sand. A solitary elf, caked with the grime of the desert and clearly exhausted from a long, lonely run through the wastes, comes staggering towards the city. And the news that this elf bears will spell a terrible doom for the Tyrians.
The elf’s name, it transpires, is Nefen Ar’Taran’Dai; he is a scout for the Taran’Dai tribe of elves who call the northern reaches of the Great Alluvial Sand Wastes their home. Nefen had been journeying south and learned of losses suffered by a tribe cousin to his own – the Jura Dai. Hearing that a small band of travellers had wreaked havoc with the Jura Dai at the ruined fortress of the Dwarf-Butcher, he elected to track these travellers down and learn the truth of the matter. En route, however, he spotted something that demanded his attention in a far more pressing manner: the army of Urik on the march towards Tyr. Nefen ran the remainder of the journey at full-tilt, bringing the news of war to the free city with words of breathless desperation.
The news is greeted with utter dismay, unsurprisingly. King Tithian broaches the subject during a particularly unruly council session and promptly plunges the city into panic. Far from being prepared for war, Tyr is split into numerous factions, all competing for power and position in the aftermath of Kalak’s fall – rather than rallying together, many will see this latest challenge as little more than a way to carve themselves a bigger piece of the pie. And amidst this, there are ever-more strident calls for an investigation into the recent regicide, calls that threaten to implicate Tithian himself and reveal the hand of the Veiled Alliance in the affair. Nevertheless, Tithian wastes no time in declaring a state of war between Tyr and Urik and promising that he will take all necessary steps to get the city on a war footing.
Which is where our heroes come in. They are called to a meeting with Agis of Asticles within a day or two, in which he outlines the troubles that lie ahead of them. Primarily, certain noble houses, namely Minthur and Tyrthani, are refusing to commit sufficient troops to the muster in the hope that they can win favours or footing in return for their participation. Beyond that, there are accusations being levelled at Tyr’s merchants, principally House Valex, by the local craftsmen. The latter group believes the former to be guilty of price-fixing and profiteering and ugly confrontations are breaking out all across Tyr. Thirdly, there is severe unrest amongst the gladiators, many of whom are hungry for the coming battle and appear to be taking out their burgeoning enthusiasm upon the citizenry. And, finally, there is the looming spectre of the Council’s sudden interest in the precise details surrounding the death of Kalak, something that bodes ill for the conspiracy of nobles, templars and preservers that laid low the Tyrant of Tyr. Agis asks the group to look into these matters with some urgency and report back to him as soon as there are developments. He also informs them that he will be sending Nefen to meet them, as the elf’s personal experience and knowledge of Urik’s army may be able to swing matters in their favour.
The group repairs to the Twin Kanks, where they are still lodging, and discuss how best to proceed with the various problems set before them. They decide that they need a contact who is familiar with the comings and goings of Tyrian society and Vok and Zaloc recall the draqoman Ojoba from their arrival Tyr. This figure seems as sound a choice as any and they elect to seek him out and obtain his services. They agree that dealing with the recalcitrant nobles should be their first order of business (although Vok is keen to knock the malcontent gladiators into shape) and none are looking forward to tackling the issue of the regicidal conspiracy any time soon.
Presently, Nefen arrives at the hostelry and, after introductions are made, the group hears what he has to say about the disposition of the Urikite army. It becomes immediately obvious that Tyr is in no shape to deal with the coming threat on the basis of numbers alone. It is clear that the regular citizens of Tyr will have to be drafted into service and Draxis heads into the Warrens to gauge the reactions – and ability – of the common folk to face such a fate. Nefen is apprised of the situation in Tyr and lends his input in devising methods likely to help resolve matters.
The group head swiftly to the Draqoman station near Caravan gate and locate Ojoba. With the ample amount of silver pieces that change hands, Ojoba is persuaded to work exclusively for our heroes, with the promise of more rewards to follow. Before he is put to work arranging a meeting with House Tyrthani, he is first questioned regarding what he knows of the various factions at work in the city. He has little good to say on House Minthur, deriding Lord Trevalis Minthur as a money-grubbing renk and his son Verrassi as a worthless fop. House Tyrthani, however, he reckons will prove a tougher nut to crack. Lord Vildeen Tyrthani is extremely influential amongst the nobles and his word will carry great weight. Ojoba is also asked about what he knows of Agis, and reveals that current gossip places Agis in a strained love triangle along with Sadira and Rikus. A little unsure of what to do with this last nugget of somewhat unwelcome information, the group proceeds directly back to Caravan Way to see what can be done about the situation at House Valex.
At the Valex emporium, they discover that Councillor Turloff, something of a figurehead amongst the city’s craftsmen, is at the head of a mob who are thronging the gates of the Valex compound. An ugly confrontation is brewing as mercenary guards in service to House Valex are on the brink of dispatching the mob with physical force. As Turloff is bodily pulled from the wagon atop which he is haranguing the crowd, our heroes kick into action. Ptellac and Vok flex psyche and sinew while Draxis and Zaloc call for restraint from all sides. Nefen keeps himself out of the press, observing the strange ways of the city-dwellers.
The rising commotion finally draws the attention of Master Sintha, lord of House Valex, who invites Turloff and his saviours into the compound for a meeting. One beyond the gates, it becomes clear that House Valex have been hoarding produce of all kinds and are indeed profiteering shamelessly in the face of the coming conflict. Sintha is made aware of the precarious nature of his position in no uncertain terms – the Council of Advisors will not stand for those who seek to leech the city dry with the army of Urik on the march. Turloff, on the other hand, is reminded that the taking up of arms against fellow citizens of Tyr is equally ill-advised.
Under the baking midday sun, a deal is brokered between Turloff and Sintha. Turloff agrees to have the craftsmen provide their produce to House Valex at favourable rates and Sintha promises to sell these goods on to the city at large at equally favourable prices. In return for this, House Valex will guarantee steady sales of goods for the craftsmen and the Council of Advisors will ensure that House Valex is awarded an exclusive deal to provide supplies and materiel for the army of Tyr. Both sides come out smelling of faro blossom. Turloff is assured a position of continuing power, both with the craftsmen and the Council, and House Valex is assured a position of wealth and influence amongst the trading houses of Tyr.
Leaving the Valex compound, the group finds Ojoba looking for them. Word has just come from the Council of Advisors. As expected, demands are still coming thick and fast for an investigation into the assassination of Kalak. Senator Turax, a wily old nobleman, has called for the creation of a commission to bring the assassins to justice. Although all are glad to see Kalak gone, many are disturbed by the rumours that the shadowy Veiled Alliance had a hand in his overthrow, along with certain noble families, or so rumour would have it.
Of course, this is clearly a play for power by Turax and his supporters. Darker rumours are already afoot that Tithian himself was involved in the conspiracy and such revelations could threaten or even topple his own rule. On the heels of Turax’ demands, the group meets with Agis and Tithian in secret. Tithian makes it eminently clear that there is to be an investigation and promptly assigns our heroes as royal investigators. He then orders them to bury the truth about the assassination, turn the investigation into a whitewash and find a scapegoat to take the fall. As Tithian returns to the Council chambers, Agis elaborates that an exposure of the truth about the conspiracy that toppled Kalak would plunge Tyr into disarray at best – and civil war at worst. With the Urikite threat looming on the horizon, the matter must be laid to rest as soon as possible.
It does not take long for the group to select a suitable scapegoat – House Stel. The premier Urikite trading house will make an easy target. It will be a small matter to forge documentary evidence and plant it on Stel employees. The group decides to identify and ambush a suitably small Stel caravan in the next few days and use this as an opportunity to present their case against the trading house. They decide to enlist Sadira’s help in the creation of convincing documents and Agis agrees to get word to her and arrange a meeting with our conspirators.
Word comes for Vok that Rikus is seeking him – apparently Rikus has been expecting Vok’s presence at the old arena, where the city’s former gladiators are undergoing training for the coming conflict. Vok, accompanied by a bemused Ptellac, heads to the arena to answer the call of duty. En route, they run across a small group of gladiators who have absented themselves from training in order to take out their frustrations on the local populace. As earlier rumours suggested, there are more than a few gladiators who believe that they are capable of defending the city without help from other forces and are eager to take to the field to prove it. These desires stymied by the dictates of the Council, they have instead taken to demonstrating their martial prowess on any hapless citizens of Tyr who are unfortunate enough to cross their path. One such posse is led by a fellow who goes by the name of Quick Wenzer. He and Vok exchange threatening glances, then hostile words, and finally bruising blows. However quick he might be, Wenzer is no match for the Kingslayer, and Vok pummels him into respectful silence before ordering his flunkies to report to the arena double-time. He follows in their wake at a slightly more leisurely pace.
At the arena, Rikus is engrossed in putting almost a thousand gladiators through their paces. He brusquely welcomes Vok and wastes no time in assigning him responsibility over a group of half-giants, whom Vok is to train in the use of double-handed weapons. Vok relishes the prospect almost as much as Ptellac relishes the chance of watching Vok struggle with the half-giants’ sorely limited intellect. It is an entertaining afternoon by all accounts.
Back at the Twin Kanks, Zaloc and Nefen meet with Sadira. They explain to her their plan to frame House Stel for the assassination of Kalak, outline their need for incriminating documentary evidence and ask if she can use her contacts in the Veiled Alliance to fabricate perfect forged documents. She confirms that this would indeed be possible and the trio spend the remainder of the evening devising the exact nature of the evidence they will be concocting. The days of House Stel are numbered.
Draxis, meanwhile, heads back into the Warrens, where he seeks out former Tyrthani slaves and questions them as to rumours regarding the noble family. It is soon obvious that the Tyrthani are hugely wealthy and that Senator Vildeen is something of a bigot, having little liking for the non-human races of the Tablelands. His staff (both current and former) is entirely composed of humans and he often refuses to admit non-humans to his estates. In addition to this, there is suggestion of some murky relationship with his manservant Hanfros. The rumours on this topic run the gamut from the speculative to the lewd, and Draxis makes a mental note to examine the connection between the two men more closely when the opportunity presents itself.
Ojoba reports that an appointment with the Tyrthani has been secured and the group reconvenes that evening to discuss precise plans before heading to their meeting with Senator Vildeen. With little to go on, they elect to attempt to pressure him into a realisation of his plight. If he fails to support the call to arms, many lesser noble houses will follow suit and Tyr may fall to the Urikite army. There can be no profiting from such an approach. Reason, they hope, will win through.
Without further ado, they leave the city and proceed to the Tyrthani estates, almost a mile beyond the walls. They are met by Vildeen’s manservant and scribe, the soft-spoken Hanfros. Through their initial conversation with Hanfros, it becomes clear that the Tyrthani employees are little better off now than they were when they were slaves, trapped in perpetual debt to their powerful landlord. Draxis makes overtures to Hanfros, suggesting that it might be possible to arrange for alternate employment for him elsewhere, such as with House Asticles or some other amenable family. Hanfros is clearly quite stunned by the offer and seems almost unwilling to consider it, so contrary does it run to the life he has been living. Nevertheless, Draxis’ calm words of persuasion seem to strike a chord in the man and he promises to give the offer serious consideration. With a strangely unreadable expression on his face, he brings the group into the presence of his master.
The lord of House Tyrthani has just come from his bath and, perfumed and pampered, receives his guests in the house arboretum. He listens to their reasoned pleas, to their considered persuasion and to their intimations of disaster should he fail to acquiesce, and he politely ignores it all. Vildeen makes it eminently clear that he intends for House Tyrthani to profit from the current situation and demands an exorbitant price for his support of the Council. He demands a vast sum of steel from the city treasury in return for contributing Tyrthani troops to the muster and, unless his demands are met, he promises to stir up even more trouble for the Council by convincing as many lesser houses as possible to refuse their requests for support. Our stalwart negotiators impress upon him the dangers posed by his position but he displays not the slightest whit of concern. Vildeen states that, should Tyr fall to Urik, Hamanu will still have need of a strong nobility to rule the city for him. Who is to say that House Tyrthani might not be able to prosper under Urikite rule? While the rest of the group struggle to respond to this bald-faced show of politicking, Zaloc lets his disgust show and levels cutting insult upon cutting insult at the Tyrthani lord, treating him to a scathing bout of verbal offence. To a desert wanderer such as Zaloc, Vildeen epitomises all that is worthless about city-dwellers, wallowing in their water-fat lucre behind strong walls and shallow lies. Unfortunately, this outburst is more than enough to rouse Vildeen’s self-righteous ire, and the noble lord calls the meeting to a close. He orders the group off his property and tells them not to return unless they come bearing gifts of steel. Roundly chastised, our heroes depart to lick their political wounds and consider how to proceed. As Hanfros escorts them from the estates, he commends them on their courage and laments that he has never had the strength of character to speak to Vildeen in that fashion. When questioned on the precise reason that he has remained with House Tyrthani for so long, he makes a revelation that stuns the entire group: Vildeen is none other than Hanfros’ father. Reeling from the ramifications of this startling fact, the group return to the city to prepare for more pressing issues – their imminent ambush of a hapless House Stel caravan...
(Thus ends session #7. The following session sees the characters face the consequences of insulting a noble lord of Tyr, as well as bringing them into battle with agents of House Stel. Truth, murder and lies in the city of the free...)
The remainder of the night passes uneventfully, allowing the group to slumber in peace at the Twin Kanks. The predawn hours, however, bring fresh danger in the form of a slender intruder who steals into their room while they sleep. He pads noiselessly between the beds until he stands over Zaloc’s bed. Then, without a sound, he stabs the sleeping ranger with a slender bone longblade. Only sheer luck prevents Zaloc from being slain outright. Grievously injured, he rolls from his bed, screaming in terror and feeling venom flooding through his system. The assassin strikes again, this time with both the poisoned longblade and a finely crafted slodak. As the others tumble from beneath their covers, they struggle to make out the assassin’s form, for an amorphous cocoon of ectoplasm blurs his outline. Nevertheless, they rally their senses, grab their weapons and battle is joined in the stifling darkness. The assassin proves a wily foe, wielding not only poisoned weapons but also an array of psionic defences to ward himself from attacks. Zaloc, struck several times by weapons that bear psychic venom as well as physical, succumbs to his injuries and falls into convulsions. Draxis rushes to his side, all too aware that the ranger is dying before his very eyes. His work apparently done, the assassin beats a path back to the window through which he entered and leaps to safety in the alley behind the boarding house. Or so he would think. Unwilling to let their foe escape so easily, both Nefen and Vok hurl themselves through the window after him, with varying degrees of elegance. They corner the assassin in the alleyway and cut him to ribbons with a series of savage blows, severing his head with gory precision.
Draxis is able to save Zaloc’s life with a potion fruit that neutralises the poison in his system and begins to nurse him back to help with the blessed magics of elemental water. Nefen and Vok drag the assassin’s remains back into the room and Ptellac examines the corpse for signs as to his identity. It is eventually the severed head that provides the answer, for beneath the assassin’s hair is a tattoo depicting the emblem of nothing less than House Tyrthani. Realising that this might come in handy at a later date, the group place the head in a pickle jar and hide it in the cupboard.
Resolving to deal with this bout of Tyrthani treachery at a later date, our heroes turn their minds to the precise details of their imminent ambush of the House Stel caravan. Sadira joins them just before dawn and provides them with a variety of papers that make it seem as if House Stel has been performing espionage operations in Tyr, stockpiling weapons and sending vital information back to the Lion of Urik. Nefen and a somewhat recovered Zaloc then head out of Tyr in the darkness before the dawn and scout a suitable site for the ambush. The caravan they have selected to ambush leaves shortly after dawn, and the group needs to be in place by then. The elf and the ranger select an ideal spot near the mouth of the Tyr valley and return to the city to inform their companions.
With swift preparations made, they bid farewell to Sadira and ask Patroo to keep an eye on the room, with strict instructions not to let anyone open the cupboard. Nefen remains at the city gate and Zaloc leads the others as quickly as possible out to the ambush site. They settle themselves into position and await Nefen’s arrival, for the plan requires him to run ahead of the caravan as fast as he can once it leaves Tyr, and alert the ambushers to its approach.
Nefen arrives, dust-caked and breathless, only minutes ahead of the Stel caravan itself, and scrambles into position atop the small bluff that overlooks the road at this point. The caravan trundles into view: two howdah-laden inixes and four outriders mounted atop war crodlu. Once the caravan has passed beneath the overhanging cliffs of the bluff, our conspirators spring their trap.
Nefen and Zaloc begin peppering the outriders with arrow fire, assisted by well-placed shots from Draxis’ light crossbow. Ptellac unleashes a mental assault against the lead inix, driving into a confused charge away from the road, and Vok draws his trusty thanak and goes thundering into melee, seeking to prevent the second inix from escaping. The archers prove extremely effective, and Nefen takes advantage of his own skills as a skirmisher by descending from the cliff-top and weaving his way in and out of the field of battle. One of the crodlu goes down almost immediately, his rider likewise felled. Draxis soon joins Vok in melee, as the latter brings the second inix to a halt, learning the hard way not to come within biting distance of one of the great beasts. Recovering their senses, the surviving Stel outriders loose a few arrows of their own and then steer their war crodlu into the fray. Our heroes swiftly learn why war crodlu are so highly prized, as the reptilian mounts begin to carve great chunks out of them with their razor-sharp beaks and claws. Ptellac send one psychic attack after the other at the Stel warriors, felling one but drawing the attention of another and soon he is facing a crodlu rider on his own. Nefen is in a similar predicament – he finds that, even though he is able to kill one of the outriders, the man’s mount is trained to continue fighting even when its rider is slain. He calls to Vok for help, and the mul finishes off the second inix handler and comes running to the elf’s aid. Still atop the cliff, Zaloc sinks another handful of arrows into the third outrider while Draxis battles the fourth, and then hurries down the cliff to assist Ptellac. His help comes not a moment too soon, for Ptellac is cornered against the side of the bluff by an enraged crodlu. The pterran has managed to kill the beast’s rider, but this seems only to have goaded the warmount to greater fury. Together they slay the crodlu as Vok dispatches the one attacking Nefen with similar aplomb. The final surviving crodlu and rider do not last long after this and, within moments, our heroes are celebrating their victory, bandaging their wounds and counting the spoils of their attack.
In addition to the two inixes and their tack, the ambush has netted almost five thousand ceramic pieces worth of silk and silver ingots and a half-dozen finely crafted carru leather breastplates and Draji macahuitls. It is a respectable haul for such dirty work and the ambushers quickly drag the dead bodies away from the road and return to Tyr, making great show of the fact that they have halted a caravan of Urikite spies. Word soon spreads from Caravan Gate into the city and they head immediately to the Council chambers to present their evidence. Brandishing the forged documents that they have planted in the inix howdah, our conspirators make their case to the assembled Councillors and lay the blame for Kalak’s assassination at the feet of the hapless House Stel. Hungry for someone to blame and doubly pleased that the alleged perpetrators are Urikite, the Council promptly find House Stel guilty of complicity in the regicide of Kalak and order that Nebuteph Stel be brought before the Council for questioning.
The will of the people of Tyr, however, moves more swiftly than that of the Council, and so does their thirst for vengeance. As our heroes accompany the Council guardsmen to the Stel compound on Iron Square, they see that a bloodthirsty mob has already stormed the gates of the enclave and are exercising summary justice on the unsuspecting House Stel employees within. The guards move to disperse the mob, but for most of the people of House Stel, it is too late. Lord Nebuteph himself is found hanged from the first floor balcony and his servants and family are left like ragged scraps of meat in the courtyard. Shocked that their actions have had such dreadful ramifications, the ambushers wonder at the justness of their involvement in the cover-up and walk with heavy feet back to the Twin Kanks. Only Draxis lingers at the scene of the impromptu massacre, almost disbelieving the sights that are so plain before his eyes.
The evening is a subdued affair, as the realities of Tyrian politics sink home. Nefen heads down to the elven market to clear his head and sample some local broy, while the others mull over the events of the day. On his way back to the Twin Kanks, however, Nefen overhears some decidedly suspicious conversation being whispered in a nearby alley. He gets as close as he dares and strains his elven hearing in an attempt to discern what is being said. It transpires that someone with a Tyrian accent is passing on vital details about the makeup and disposition of the Tyrian forces to a second individual, whose voice bears the unmistakeable strains of the city-state of Urik. It seems as if the framing of House Stel was not entirely inaccurate in its presumption, for it is clear now that there are indeed Urikite spies in Tyr. Certain that he would not be able to deal with the matter on his own, Nefen hurries back to the hostelry and informs his companions of the development.
Further action will have to wait, however, for the group has been able to secure a second meeting with Senator Vildeen. Certain that they will be acceding to his demands, Vildeen has agreed to the meeting, quite unaware that the conspirators have other plans in store for him. At the very least, they hope to offer sanctuary with another house for Hanfros, and Draxis has already made overtures towards House Asticles with this very idea in mind.
Returning to the Vildeen estate, our wily conspirators are met by Hanfros, who is barely able to contain his anticipation at coming events. Draxis confirms that there would be a place for him with House Asticles and the manservant nods in affirmation of his desire to see the matter through. As for the Senator, Hanfros states that he is currently “hunting” on the estate, and escorts our heroes to see him. The hunting, however, seems to consist of little more than Vildeen sitting under a large canopy, sipping on chilled wine and feasting on sweatmeats, while beaters chase small game through his fields into the line of fire of a rank of bowmen, who subsequently shoot any and all wildlife that they can. The very picture of noble excellence and skill.
Vildeen, unsurprisingly, is quite unhappy with the arrival of his visitors, and seems a tad surprised to see Zaloc there at all. Our heroes waste no time in getting to the point. They make it clear that they will brook no further prevarication from Vildeen and, going on the offensive, demand his cooperation with the Council and all but insist that he make all necessary efforts in ensuring that his supporters and flunkies follow suit. Vildeen responds with his usual disdain, berating the group for ruining his hunting expedition and restating his demands for payment in steel from the city in return for his support.
This time, however, the group is prepared for this approach. They immediately play their trump card and drop thinly veiled references to the assassin that attacked them a few days previously, and the fact that his head bore the Tyrthani crest. Vildeen blanches – clearly he had not expected the assassin to either fail or be captured, much less slain. And, rather than just threatening to inform the authorities of the attempt on the life of agents of the Council, the group takes a far more devious approach. Where would Vildeen’s reputation be, they ask, if it became public knowledge that his assassins were so inept and allowed themselves to be bested and identified so easily. Clearly, the nobles of Tyr would come to realise that the glory days of House Tyrthani were gone and the house had begun its slow slide into toothless degeneracy. The proposition of such a blow to his cherished repute strikes at the core of Vildeen’s greedy little heart, and he begins to waver. Swiftly enough, however, he begins to muster his composure, and calls our heroes’ bluff. At first he claims that they cannot possibly have any solid evidence, but this tactic is rebuffed when he is informed that the assassin’s head is actually in a pickle jar under lock and key. He then takes the tack that nobody would believe a group of complete unknowns – at the end of the day it would be their word against his, and his credibility would win out.
Which is when Hanfros steps forward. Coughing gently to get his father’s attention, he states that he would step forward and corroborate our heroes’ story in its entirety. Vildeen, after he is finished spluttering and blustering, states that Hanfros would never dare go against his house. Hanfros smiles broadly, and promptly disowns his father, house and heritage. Regarding the utterly dumbstruck Senator coldly, our conspirators make it clear that he had better pitch in with the coming muster, or the days of House Tyrthani are indeed numbered. Taking his mute horror for assent, they leave as swiftly as they can, Hanfros in tow, and set forth upon the path to destiny that now opens up before all of them.
The murmur of war is soon heard throughout Tyr. With the Urikite army only a few days away, the Tyrian forces muster for the coming battle. King Tithian has decreed that the Tyrian army shall march out to meet the Urikites, ideally meeting them in battle in the lands beyond the valley of Tyr. This way, he hopes, Tyr’s outlying settlements will be spared the rigours of battle and the Urikites will be turned back while still several miles from the city’s walls.
As freemen, former slaves and warriors from the noble houses rub shoulders with templars, craftsmen and gladiators, our heroes move amongst the milling throng. All told, Tyr’s army numbers just over six thousand souls. Nine hundred of these are gladiators, skilled and hardened in the way of battle. Another five hundred are templars, black-cassocked and armed with fine steel weaponry. Some two and a half thousand warriors from the city’s various noble houses have also answered the muster, as have some twenty-two hundred freemen. This latter group are the least skilled in battle but, having recently tasted freedom in the slave revolt, are the least willing to give it up and suffer the yoke of another sorcerer-king.
Vok is summoned to the command tent where Rikus is in council with his advisors. Given command of the army by Tithian, the mul is seconded by his old fighting partner Neeva. Beneath Rikus and Neeva’s general command, Lord Agis of Asticles has nominal oversight of the noble factions, with Senator Jaseela overseeing the freemen. High Templar Styan commands the Black Robes while the hulking half-giant Gaanon is responsible for the gladiator faction. Lastly, Sadira is also on hand to lend her particular expertise to matter, although none discuss her role openly, for old superstitions die hard.
Rikus wastes no time in getting to the point. He assigns Vok the rank of Lieutenant and assigns him command of the army’s vanguard. Vok is to lead the vanguard ahead of the main force, scouting and clearing the route and dealing with any threats as they arise. It is also made clear that Vok’s force will probably have the first contact with the Urikite force, and so must be mobile, responsive and alert at all times. Vok accepts the commission with characteristic gruffness and Rikus informs him that his troops will be reporting to him shortly at the muster station outside the walls. Rikus also instructs Vok to assemble a suitably competent command staff and Sadira volunteers her services for this role immediately. There are a few moments of simmering jealousy from Rikus and Agis both, but both acquiesce, agreeing that her skills would be most useful in the forefront of the action. Vok, naturally, raises no objections.
As for his command staff, Vok knows exactly who the best candidates would be – his fellow ex-slaves, who have proven themselves so capable in recent months. Of course, the others agree, only too glad to risk their lives wandering around the desert in search of ten thousand marauding Urikites. Ptellac is assigned the role of chief-of-staff, seeming to relish the prospect of dealing out discipline and intimidation in equal amounts. Draxis assumes the function of overseer for morale, logistics and the spiritual and personal welfare of the vanguard troops and Urrgos takes the role of Vok’s personal bodyguard. And mascot. Nefen and Zaloc are each assigned command of individual patrols in the vanguard, where their deep-desert skills will prove most useful.
And what of the troops themselves? Forty gladiators, all immensely proud to be serving under the command of the Kingslayer form the core of the force, and are led by none other than Kanla, former pit-mate of our heroes. A hundred and twenty guardsmen from assorted noble houses augment this core, the majority coming from House Tyrthani, assigned to Vok’s command in recognition of that great house’s failed attempts at extortion. Twenty freemen, bold and resolute also add their number to Vok’s force, which is rounded out by twice that number of craftsmen and engineers. Nominally under the command of a crafter called Feylan, the most notable members of this group are the familiar figures of Granj and Hivash, both of whom have made sure that they are able to lend their assistance to their former fellow conspirators from the days of the slave revolt. And, finally, twenty templars lend administrative expertise and skill at arms, themselves under the command of a certain Mandax, who once crossed wits with Vok and Zaloc in a time that seems a lifetime away. And so, with two hundred and forty men under his command, Vok leads his vanguard out into the desert, leaving Tyr behind, with only the grim certainty of bloody conflict ahead.
Most of the Tyrians are extremely nervous at the prospect of heading into the deep desert. For many, life begins and ends within Tyr’s verdant belt, and it soon becomes clear that the general plan is to get beyond that region as quickly as possible. Both Draxis and Ptellac soon have their hands full dealing with problems of low morale and rumour-mongering within the ranks of the vanguard.
Vok himself suddenly finds that he has unexpected concerns when Patroo is discovered to have smuggled himself in amongst the troops and is accompanying the vanguard on its campaign. Dressed in armour that is two sizes too big for him, he is soon spotted and brought before the commander. Vok is torn between outrage at his audacity, fear for his safety and admiration for his bravery. Patroo, incensed at the idea that he should be left behind while his “lords” risk themselves in battle for the sake of the city, flatly refuses to return to Tyr. In the end, Vok settles on assigning him the role of a messenger and runner between the vanguard and the main force of the army. Somewhat mollified by this compromise, Patroo agrees to take messages back to Rikus and Vok hopes that this will protect him from the certain danger that lies ahead.
The commander soon finds that he has more pressing demands on his attention, however. As the vanguard moves further from Tyr and draws near to the mouth of the valley and the wastes beyond, ugly murmurings amongst the troops suggest that members of the Tyrthani house guard have been stealing water rations from their comrades. When this turns out to be true, there are calls for their execution or banishment while the four guilty men themselves snivel and beg for their lives like the desperate wretches that they are. While Draxis berates them for defiling the sacred element in this fashion and Ptellac menaces them with the threat of psionic lobotomy, Vok devises a far more dreadful punishment. The men are separated and sent to join Zaloc and Nefen’s advance patrols at the front line of the vanguard. This highly dangerous assignment terrifies the thieves into cowed submission and, fearing their own imminent death, they report to their new supervisors.
Their fears do not prove unfounded. The very next day one of Zaloc’s outriders notices suspicious movement in the southern foothills of the Tyr valley. Closer investigation reveals a pair of gith scurrying away into the canyons. Worried that these two might belong to a larger force, Zaloc and his men give chase, pursuing the gith into a narrow winding canyon. It proves to be a costly move, for the gith have led them into an ambush. From the canyon walls come the harsh, grating cries of more than a dozen gith warriors, who hurl bone spears down at the Tyrians in the canyon below. With his men dropping around him, including several of the Tyrthani, Zaloc rallies his troops, ordering them to take cover and return fire. Within moments the Tyrians and the gith are engaged in a brutal crossfire, trading arrows and spears through the dusty air. Zaloc himself takes down the gith chieftain with a volley of well-placed shots and then focuses the fire of his troops against the enemy. Although his patrol suffers grievous losses in the ambush, Zaloc’s cool head and deep-desert experience finally turns the tide and every last gith meets a grisly end beneath the dark Athasian sun. Licking their wounds and burying their dead in the loose sand, the patrol return to their scouting duties, all the more wary for their losses.
The following day, the vanguard finally reaches the mouth of the Tyr valley, with the Great Alluvial Sand Wastes yawning vast and desolate before them. Nefen’s patrol intercepts crodlu outriders on the road, who are apparently seeking to approach Tyr. Nefen and his men make it clear that an army follows behind them and the crodlu riders respond that they are forward scouts for a trade caravan from House Uinjinjum of Raam. They offer to trade with the Tyrian forces, but Nefen makes it clear that the army has no interest in trade and orders the merchants to turn about and return the way they came. He is furthermore suspicious that there is more to this encounter than meets the eye. As the House Uinjinjum caravan reverses its course and heads back into the desert, Nefen takes his two best trackers and follows it at a safe distance. Word is sent back to the vanguard and the main army to delay their progress until he is able to properly report back. The Uinjinjum caravan swiftly makes its way to Fort Skonz, a small handful of miles beyond the valley, and is given entry there. Nefen and his trackers observe the fort for a short while until they are certain that the Uinjinjum traders mean no mischief, following which they return to the vanguard and report on what they have seen.
Moving at a cautious pace, over the next couple of days the Tyrian army advances into the wastes. Rikus sends orders for the vanguard to head into the desert north of the road in the hope. With no sign of the Urikites, he believes that the Tyrians have made good enough time to meet their foes well away from the Tyrian valley and feels that a desert battle will favour their smaller force. Vok agrees, and orders his patrols to spread out for a march north. It proves to be a prudent move as, before long, Nefen’s patrol spots an Urikite patrol moving in the opposite direction. In true Urikite fashion, the patrol is large and heavily armed and gives its position away to the smaller, lighter Tyrians. Nefen and his men fade away like ghosts into the sand and go speeding back southward to report back to Vok and the command staff. Hungry for first blood and keenly aware that the Urikite advance force can now not be far behind, the Tyrian vanguard mobilises for battle.
With Nefen’s aid, Vok chooses a suitable location between a group of crescent dunes and hastily prepares an ambush. The hapless Urikites, completely unprepared for an encounter with their enemies this far away from Tyr, blunder into the trap and a small-scale massacre ensues. Tyrian archers mow down the small force of Urikite infantry and Nefen and his runners give chase to the enemy’s crodlu riders, who immediately seek to flee north and carry word back to the advance force. The Urikites try to put up a brave fight, with a templar and a defiler marshalling their magical might as best they can. They are no match for the elite strength of the command staff, however, and are slaughtered to a man. The crodlu riders likewise only manage to put a short distance between them and their pursuers before Tyrian arrows pierce their fleeing bodies and spill their lifesblood into the sand. Picking through the corpses for booty, Vok notices that the templar bears the serpent emblem of Lubar in addition to the crest of the Lion of Urik. It would seem that his old masters are afoot with the Urikite army – there is a promise of vengeance to come in addition to the defence of his adopted city.
Nefen volunteers to follow the tracks of the Urikite patrol back to see if further intelligence can be gleaned regarding the nature of the Urikite army. His desert kenning allows him to move swiftly and unseen through the dunes, but the discoveries that he makes are hardly encouraging. When he finally closes on the Urikite army, he counts something in the region of ten thousand warriors massed and ready for battle. A smaller, mobile force of three hundred or more act as an advance unit, functioning as the eyes and ears for the main army. Swallowing his fear and letting it give strength to his limbs, he runs like only an elf can and carries word of the enemy back to Vok. Vok decides that the vanguard should regroup with the rest of the Tyrian army as quickly as possible and seek Rikus’ advice on how to proceed.
Returning to the main Tyrian force, there is a swift conference between Rikus and the vanguard command staff. If the Urikite advance force can be separated from the bulk of their army, the main body of the invading force might be effectively blinded and vulnerable to an ambush. Vok is ordered to draw out the Urikite advance force and meet it in battle. In the meantime Rikus will lead the Tyrian army in a flanking manoeuvre and catch the chief Urikite force unawares. It is a bold gamble, but of such things are victories made. Vok returns to his troops and briefs them on the plan. Although there are grave concerns about the dangers inherent in the proposal, none disagree that this is their best chance. And so they are swiftly underway. The vanguard scouts the lands to the north and selects an area of terrain that meets the requirements of a central area of low ground flanked by hills on either side. Nefen and his swift-moving patrol, meanwhile, set off on their own to draw out the Urikite advance force and lead them back towards the rest of the Tyrian vanguard. They are live, fast-moving bait for the trap and everything rests upon them…
(Session #10, the final part of the adventure, was entirely composed of the mass battle between the Tyrian vanguard and the Urikite advance force. I made a few changes here and there to the enemy force for added zest - life is always better when there's a high drik in the mix...)
Before long, Nefen’s patrol comes across the Urikite army. It is a vast, bloated mass that sprawls across the dunes, sluggishly making its way southwards. The patrol deliberately allows itself to be spotted by the Urikite advance force. The Urikites give chase and the Tyrians flee back towards the waiting ambush as swiftly as they can.
In the meantime, the remainder of the Tyrian vanguard work feverishly to prepare the ambush site. The craftsmen dig a line of defensive earthworks and ditches for the infantry, archers take up positions on the flanking hills, the command staff dig in on the central ground, supported by the templars, and the gladiators conceal themselves in a low gully. And then they wait.
Before long, a cloud of rising dust is spotted on the horizon and lookouts report that Nefen’s patrol is returning, pursued by several hundred Urikite warriors. With only minutes to spare, Nefen and his men rush into the ambush site and take up their positions on the flanking hills. A tense silence settles over the Tyrians. Vok realises that his men are all looking at him, fear and expectant hope mingled in their features. Hivash murmurs that they need a word from their commander to steel their nerves. Completely unused to being in this kind of position, Vok nevertheless finds the words within himself, and rallies his men to valour, courage and determination. And, if not that, to desperation.
And then the Urikites come, swarming around the low outcropping at the mouth of the ambush site, and charging towards the Tyrians. Archers on both sides exchange volleys, and the sky turns black with feathered shafts. The first casualties fall as the Urikite commanders take up their positions, and the Tyrians see that they are led by the fearsome form of a High Drik – a mutated reptilian monstrosity as tall as a beasthead giant. And, what is more, Vok spots the banners of House Lubar fluttering over the enemy troops. His suspicions are confirmed – his old masters have brought the battle to Tyr in the name of the Lion of Urik, and they are accompanied by one of the King’s defilers.
Responding to the hails of arrows from the flanking hills, the Urikite infantry divide into two groups and begin to battle their way uphill towards the Tyrians. Meanwhile, flurries of ash amongst the Urikite commanders signal the casting of defiling magic. The Urikite defiler vanishes from sight and the High Drik rises into the air and begins to fly towards the Tyrian commanders, well above the main body of the battle. At the same time, a force of Urikite kank cavalry charge the defensive earthworks, although at present it is not clear how they will be able to get through. And, as if this were all not bad enough, a squadron of Urikite templars begin a steady march across the battlefield, hoping to flank the earthworks entirely.
Staring at the rapidly approaching High Drik and coming under spellfire from its airborne form, Vok muses how they will be able to defeat it. Ptellac makes an offhand suggestion that someone might as well be thrown aloft, so slim are their chances of defeating it. Urrgos, however, takes him at his word and, without further ado, grabs hold of Vok and hurls him bodily at the High Drik. The mul recovers from his shock and outrage, and pulls his steel Jura-Dai dagger from his boot. Stabbing outwards, he is able to snag a hold on the High Drik’s leg, and finds himself in a highly improbable melee with the creature, dozens of feet above the ground. The High Drik swipes at him, grabs hold and sinks his corrupt fangs into Vok’s flesh. Vok feels the creature’s venom flood into his system, but his dwarven blood shrugs the poison off in moments. In response, he drives his blade deep into the High Drik’s hide again and again, dealing deep and crippling wounds. The High Drik spins groundwards and is set upon by Draxis, Ptellac and Urrgos in a flurry of blows, magic and flaring psionics. It defends itself as best it can, but to no avail. Within moments it is no more than smoking meat beneath the Athasian sun.
The taste of victory is short-lived, however. For scant seconds later, the Urikite defiler reappears. He comes into view at the very tip of the Tyrian earthworks and unleashes a lightning bolt down the line of entrenched defenders. With a crack of thunder, a blaze of azure light and a tang of ozone, two thirds of the Tyrian infantry are slain. Although the defiler is swiftly cut down, the damage is done. Moments after this, the kank cavalry crash against the now virtually undefended earthworks and smash through, pouring into the heart of the Tyrian ranks. The shattered infantry attempt to rally themselves, backed up by the Tyrian templars, but things begin to look grim.
The battle fares little better on the flanks. Although the archers have levied heavy losses on the Urikite warriors, those same warriors finally win through to the tops of the flanking hills and engage the archers in bloody hand-to-hand combat. Although Nefen and Zaloc lend their considerable expertise to these side battles, they are facing half-giants and seasoned warriors alike. One after the other, the Tyrians succumb.
And then Kanla leads her gladiators out of their hiding place in the dry gully and rush to the aid of Nefen and his men, who are the nearer of the two embattled flanks. They trap the Urikites in a pincer movement, and begin to slaughter them en masse. Despite their training, the Urikites are unused to the chaos of toe-to-toe combat. The gladiators, by comparison, have built careers on such carnage, and are in their element. On the opposite flank, Zaloc is able to turn the tide of the melee single-handedly and, although only a few of his men survive, he leads them down into the heart of the battlefield to lend support to the infantry and templars.
The Urikite templars, on the other hand, are not idle. They divert their course and charge into the rear of Kanla and her gladiators. Although Kanla and her forces have helped Nefen and his troops to crush the Urikite infantry besetting them, it has cost them dreadfully. When the Urikite templars rip into their aft flanks, it is clear that this part of the battle will not go their way. Kanla shouts to Nefen that he should save himself and lend aid to the command staff, and then she leads her gladiators in a death-charage against the Urikite templar squad. The cream of Tyr’s arena sell their lives dearly on the blood-soaked sand.
And so the battle moves into its final phases. The remnants of the Tyrian infantry, Zaloc’s archers and the Tyrian templars find themselves in savage combat with the Urikite cavalry and templars under the command of Salovar of House Lubar. As the ground turns as crimson as Athas’ sun, the daring heroism of the command staff lead their troops to victory. Finally, with bodies strewn all about them, the last of the Lubar warriors are slain, Salovar beheaded by Vok, and Tyr is triumphant. Yet what a hollow victory it is. None of Zaloc or Nefen’s men remain. Kanla and her gladiators lie dead. Only the barest handful of the infantry survive. The templars have fared little better. From the distance comes the sound of another battle, as Rikus springs the larger trap and strikes against the Urikite army, now bereft of its advance force. But our heroes have little stomach left for the fight, and turn instead to tending their own wounded and putting the dying out of their misery.
But just when it seems that all blood has been shed, there is another twist yet to unfold. The Tyrian templars, their ranks thinned, realise that an interloper has made his way amongst them. They raise the alarm, crying that they do not recognise one of their number. This impostor, although he wears the Black Robes, is not a templar of Tyr! The stranger is singled out and, while protesting his innocence, unleashes strange psionics in an attempt to escape. Nefen recognises his voice as being that of the spy he had overheard in the Warrens, and Ptellac feels a curious twinge at the psionics that the false templar uses. The man is surrounded and felled as he tries to flee and all stare in horror as he bleeds not blood, but some bizarre milky fluid. With his dying breath he curses Tyr and Urik both, and spits that his masters will bring an end to the vile rule of sorcerer-kings, defilers and preservers alike. And then he perishes.
Draxis steps forward. Where the elements are concerned, death is no refuge. Calling upon the sacred might of elemental water, he calls the man’s spirit back from the Grey and interrogates his shade. Permitted but three questions, Draxis established that the creature calls itself an elan. Its masters are something known as The Order, and they make their home somewhere known only as Dasaraches. With this vital knowledge gleaned, the elan’s spirit is claimed by the Grey, and our heroes have fresh mysteries to ponder.
As they prepare to rejoin the rest of Tyr’s defenders, they find themselves hearing the bitter tones of Mandax, who is among the surviving templars. Never before, he says, has he truly understood the cost of victory. Under Kalak it was always presumed that victory was a righteous thing, that battles were won through justice and purity of purpose. Now he sees the truth. Victory is a terrible thing, its true nature reflected in the staring eyes of the fallen and the cooling blood of the dead. No more will he seek victory, he says, and no more will he wear the Black Robes. Instead, he turns to Draxis and asks for instruction in the ways of water, in the ways of life and of peace. For Mandax – for all of Tyr – the war with Urik has brought a new future. And only the victorious shall bear its terrible burden.
Last weekend I kickstarted a new DS campaign. Decided to try playing with fire and set up a mini-campaign set 15 years after the PP events (25 years after Kalak's death). Its an extension of my old 2e DS campaign, which ran for 5 years back in the 90s... its also my first foray into DS with 3.5.
Characters are "near epic", starting at 20th level. Only one is an actual carry-over conversion from the original 2e campaign, but since I've long ago parted ways with all the other players...
The group consists of:
Ineluki - male half-elf fighter/bard/poison master/dervish
Cassiel Sol II - male human air cleric/soulknife
Zeypher - male human kineticist
Nightwalker - male elf rogue/shadowdancer/horizon walker
Eramil - male elf rogue/scout/ranger
Fairly well balanced, though they don't have a upfront tank fighter, or a full-up cleric.
Session I Synopsis
It is Free Year 25. Well known heroes of the Tyr city and region, Ineluki and his companions are summoned to Tyr for the funeral ceremony honoring Rikus the gladiator. It is rare on Athas for a mul warrior to die of old age, perhaps even rarer for its people to stop and memorialize the dead. But the aspect of Rikus bears much more than many in this new age.
The group arrives in Tyr a few days before the funeral and sets up base at the townhome of trader Talar Givar (one of Ineluki's former comrades). The days leading to the ceremony are quiet but hot and clear, as High Sun approaches. During the wait, Ineluki is able to reminice with old friends, including the wizardess Darana, and the halfing druid Tarnin.
The funeral ceremony begins at dusk, nearly an hour before sunset. The market tents have been cleared from the gladiatorial stadium for this special event, and the stands are full with citizens for the first time in two and a half decades. Many in attendence were not even born on that auspicious day. The funeral pyre is set at the stadium's center with Rikus laid on top. Many of the city's notable are seated around the pyre at the ground floor, including Sadira, Neeva, Timor, and the cities highest nobility, merchants and templars.
Rkard presides over the ceremony for his surrogate father. Starting with the nobles, eulogies are read for the somber crowd, highlighting Rikus's great deeds and sacrifice for Tyr and freedom. Timor gives a long-winded speech about the great power of King Kalak and what it took to defeat him, while Sadira concludes with a simple reminder that Tyr was not always free, and the memories of Rikus (and Agis) should serve to keep the city that way. As the last sliver of sun falls beneath the horizon, Rkard concludes the funeral with a blast of firey sunlight, setting the pyre alight and delivering Rikus into the Gray.
Ineluki and the others bear through these proceedings with a mixture of sobriety and quiet gallows humor. Their mirth comes to a swift halt when a figure, standing halfway up the ziggurat stairs, dressed in a black cassock and wearing a long-snouted dragon mask, draws the attention of the crowd with a magically-amplified shout, "Long live the King!"
Anxious murmurs run through the gathered crowd as the figure gestures, conjuring a great wall of prismatic colors at the base of the ziggurat. At the same time, magical walls of stone, fire and force appear over the many arena exits. Ineluki feels a sinking in his gut of dejavu. To conclude the sense, a black plume begins to rise from the ziggurat as a deep, pulsing vibration runs through the ground and all fourty-thousand in attendence suddenly feel their life forces being drained into the ziggurat! The crowd erupts into chaos.
"The same damn thing is happening again!" Ineluki shouts and gathers his companions to assault the ziggurat. Reacting quickly, Eramil draws the others close and uses his enchanted spyglass to teleport all but Zeypher to the dragon-masked figure on the stairs, completely bypassing the prismatic wall. The black-cassocked man, bedecked with magical defenses, proves an elusive target. The group fights off the man's spells, including a summoned demon and heart-stopping illusions. Only after several moments of trading blows do they realize the figure is only a projected illusion, and the actual wizard stands in the ziggurat entrance above. Seeing them notice, the masked figure withraws inside.
Meanwhile the ziggurat continues to drain vitality from all. The group heals and readies (and is rejoined by Zeypher) and enters the ziggurat. At the entrance, they pass a magical symbol of pain, and once inside, are ambushed by a powerful elder elemental, a defiler and a mindbender, but not the original masked figure. After a strenuous battle, they are able to bring down the elemental, and Ineluki's poison quickly dispatches the two humans. After another quick respite, with life literally draining with time, they continue below.
In the meantime, here is the writeup for session 11 of our campaign, namely part one of Arcane Shadows. This one stayed pretty close to the published material, apart from the methods that the PCs used to get into Urik, which were quite amusing in an ironic sort of way (selling stolen House Stel property back to House Stel!) Arcane Shadows was to be the final part of the first campaign arc, and its subject matter made for a good finale to what had gone before...
Game date: 12th Thaumast, Year of Wind’s Reverence, 190th King’s Age
Six months have passed since the war against Urik and House Murlak is prospering. The House has set itself up as traders in arms and other small goods, capitalising on absence of House Stel from Tyr. Following the victory over Urik, our heroes have also been awarded the property on Iron Square that formerly belonged to House Stel and have made this the base of their rapidly growing business empire. Hanfros has been made their Chief of Mercantile Operations, welcoming a position with his liberators rather than a previously discussed assignment with House Asticles. Ojoba has been hired to handle public matters and take advantage of his numerous contacts throughout the city (at a lucrative rate to ensure his loyalty). Patroo has also been taken on board, acting as a general dogsbody and messenger and Urrgos has accepted the position of captain of House Murlak guards. As for the guards themselves, six veterans of the war with Urik signed up immediately, bringing the initial staff to ten.
These months hold much to occupy our heroes. Draxis busies himself with establishing a small shrine to Water in grounds of the property and commences Mandax’ initiation. Vok and Urrgos begin the training of the guardsmen in gladiatorial combat, augmenting their military skills with the close-quarters combat common to the Arena. Ptellac and Zaloc talk to Ojoba and, with his aid, begin to ensure that tales of the Tyrian victory over Urik spread and take hold within Tyr. Nefen contacts Sadira and asks her to research anything that she can about the Order and Dasaraches through her Veiled Alliance connections, and Draxis asks Mandax to do the same through his links to the Templarate.
Sadira learns that the Order is a group of incredibly powerful masters of the Will and the Way. Occluded from Athasian society in general, they work behind the scenes and are most noted for their tendency to kill those who refuse to join their ranks. Mandax learns much the same, but also discovers that Dasaraches was a Green Age fortress belonging to a group of long-lost preservers known as the Wind Mages. Presumably the Order have since taken possession of it, but where Dasaraches actually is, none can say.
In addition to bringing lore on the Order, Sadira also has other news from the Veiled Alliance. They have heard from their contacts in Urik that a legendary preserver known as Korgunard will be visiting the city of the Lion. Apparently he will be visiting the Urik chapter of the Veiled Alliance, and the Tyrian chapter wishes to send envoys to contact him on behalf of Tyr. Perhaps he could be encouraged to visit the Free City once he is done with his business in Urik? Sadira says that there are many tales surrounding Korgunard – he is something of an iconic figure amongst preservers. He is said to be immortal, operate from a hidden citadel far in the north, and know secrets that date back to the Green Age. Our heroes take her hint and offer to be the envoys that the Tyrian chapter of the Alliance seeks. She concurs, and the group begins making preparations for a journey to Urik.
They decide to use House Murlak as cover for their activities – in addition to giving them a believable reason for visiting Urik, a merchant caravan should also allow them to turn a tidy profit in Urik. They decide to capitalise once more on House Stel’s absence from Tyr. Since Stel’s ouster, the weapons trade between Tyr and Urik has all but dried up, giving House Murlak a perfect opportunity. So our heroes call on their contacts and put together a collection of weapons and armour and a pair of inixes (liberated from House Stel some months earlier, ironically enough). And without further delay, they head east out of Tyr.
Their route, atop inixes and fast-moving crodlu, takes them across the Alluvial Sand Wastes and towards Silver Spring in record time. The difference between the first time that Vok and Zaloc made this journey (in the opposite direction and in the company of Lokar) is striking. They make excellent time and are at Silver Spring in two days. Vok arranges for accommodation with his former associates at the oasis and in the morning they continue northwards. It takes another two days of hard travel and then they are passing through Urik’s client villages and come within sight of Hamanu’s city.
Urik is a walled monstrosity, built in regimented lines around Destiny’s Kingdom, Hamanu’s mile-wide palace. Entering is relatively easy, but slow, as great queues wait outside the gates. Each visitor must pay their tolls to the gate guards and pass beneath their scrutiny before being admitted. Our heroes, Draxis in particular, are moved to real emotion by the plight of several of Urik’s citizens. Draxis helps one poor family with their admittance toll, but his companions prevent him from drawing too much attention to himself, and they bite down upon their finer sensibilities and enter the city. They obtain the services of an Urikite draqoman called Varesh and ask him to set up a meeting with representatives of House Stel. In a display of staggering gall, our heroes intend to sell back to Stel many of the same goods that they stole from them in the ambush several months earlier.
After a brief period of waiting at an inn on the edges of the Templars’ quarter, they have a meeting with Tiho and Blassach, two merchants of House Stel. Negotiations are a little strained, given recent clashes between Tyr and Urik, but soon a price is agreed upon for House Murlak’s purloined goods. The Stel representatives agree to return in the morning with payment, giving the visitors time to carry out their true mission.
According to Sadira, they need to head to the King’s Cup pottery shop in the Potter’s Court, ask for Abbin and say they wish to buy an agafari wood ceremonial bowl. Delighting in the wonderfully covert nature of this arrangement, they do so and – true to Sadira’s word – are ushered into a rear room where Abbin lifts a broken potter’s wheel from a frayed mat bearing the design of two lips. Beneath there is a shaft leading into a series of subterranean chambers.
They are met with suspicion by a woman called Elentha, who harshly questions who they are and what has brought them here. And she is not alone in her questions. Surrounded by harsh eyes and angry faces, the envoys are bombarded with question after question. Only the intervention of an aged man called Jaggo stills the unwelcoming voices. He simply states that they are expected by Korgunard. This comes as a surprise to our heroes no less than it does to the Urikites, but it mollifies most suspicions (although Elentha is barely polite in her gruff acceptance), allowing the Tyrians to mingle with their Urikite brethren. After dealing with these initial suspicions, they gain some wary trust from the Urikites. They hear rumours of an alliance between a slave tribe and an undead creature in the desert near Silver Spring. They hear the slightly amusing rumour that Rikus has been captured by slave raiders near Tyr. They hear that Dragon himself has been seen in Urik. But on a grimmer level, they learn that Urik’s chapter of the Veiled Alliance is torn with dissension. The chapter’s long-time leader Morlak (an interesting coincidence of nomenclature) disappeared some time back and, since then, the chapter has been split into two factions. The faction currently assembled is led by a powerful invoker called Leoricus, while the other is led by a half-elf called Thania. Leoricus is expected to put in an appearance today and there are further rumours that Thania may also attend (and yet other rumours that the entire meeting is a trap prepared by her faction). And, of course, they hear about Korgunard.
As conversations rise to a climactic hubbub, Jaggo turns with a certain degree of theatricality and announces the arrival of the legendary preserver, almost as if the moment were planned long in advance. He pulls back a curtain in the chamber and standing in the doorway is a tall, imposing figure. His bald head is held high and his strange, golden eyes move across the occupants of the chamber. All present feel his gentle, understanding gaze rest upon them before passing on. His skin has a metallic glow, appearing to be coated in the same golden shine that fills his eyes. He thanks the attendees for accepting his invitation, confirming that he specifically arranged for the envoys from Tyr to be present. He says that he has travelled the wastes of Athas for many years now, often remaining alone for much of his journeys. But now he needs the help of the Alliance and its friends in order to accomplish something of extreme importance. Although he would prefer to wait for Leoricus to arrive, he regrets that time grows short and Ral is already climbing through the sky to eclipse the sun. He adds that he had hoped that Thania would come, too, as the division of Urik’s Alliance saddens him deeply. He sighs, then again gazes at the crowd. It is time to begin, he says. And when all is finished, he promises, all shall witness a shift of power from the sorcerer-kings to those who wish to restore Athas to its former glory and abundance.
Korgunard’s discourse changes in tone as he begins to toss items into a burning brazier before him. He tosses a vile, black shape into the flames, causing the fire to leap excitedly. Then he begins to speak words of power, words of preserving magic. These words echo through the chamber, and though none present understand them, it is immediately clear that Korgunard has begun to cast a spell of surpassing power. He tosses more items into the flames and magical energy begins to fill the room. The water in the large bowl begins to swirl and small clouds of gentle rain rise up. The flames and rain swirl around Korgunard, forming a cocoon of light and water which clings to him like a well-worn, sparkling cloak. The sparkling cloak is strangely beautiful and none feel threatened by these events. In fact, the onlookers feel calm and at peace. Within their hearts and minds, the envoys from Tyr experience strange visions. Ptellac feels a deep rapport with Korgunard’s spirit and knows that the preserver is weaving potent psionics in and around his magic in a serene reflection of the dread transformation attempted by Kalak. Nefen senses the fundamental power of Korgunard’s spell and knows that the preserver’s road is but the beginning of wisdom, not its end – and it is a road that is well-travelled by the ancient mage. Vok, simply put, knows peace, perhaps for the first time in his memory. Urik is his home, although his recollections of that time are lost to him. Under Korgunard’s spell, those lost years fall away from him and – for a time at least – their injury is healed. Zaloc hears the voice of the Green calling him with ever-greater strength. It is both his chosen path and his fated destiny to be at one with Athas’ living spirit, and Korgunard’s magic is a vital reminder that Athas’ spirit is as alive as ever. And for Draxis comes perhaps the strangest of visions. He hears not the Green, but instead glimpses a world of glittering water, a Blue Age of oceans now completely lost in the vastness of Athasian history. Something of Korgunard’s spell promises that such days may come again.
Deep in the vision-state, our heroes are as wrapped up in the serene ceremony as the members of the Veiled Alliance, their gazes locked on the noble features of Korgunard. The cocoon of light and water seems to thicken around him as they watch, cloaking him in the glow of light. The curtain behind him is drawn back, and another figure appears. Too late, the see that it is an officer of the city guard! Too late, they see the guard’s metal sword swing forward in a deadly arc! Too late, they see Korgunard fall beneath its sharp, cutting blow...
And then all hell breaks loose.
Urikite templars and guardsmen pour through entrances into the basement room, half-giants begin to thunder down the ladder from the upper floor and spellfire is unleashed across the room. Jaggo begins to drag Korgunard backwards out of the room, calling for the others to both aid him and cover his retreat. As the local preservers begin to fall beneath Urikite blades and the invoked magic of the Lion, our heroes leap into action.
Vok, enraged at having precious moments of peace snatched from him, is flooded with berserk frenzy and charges the nearest half-giant. To his surprise – and that of his foe – he fells the brute with a flurry of ripping strikes. And then moves on to the next one. Zaloc leaps atop a table, lifting himself out of the general melee, and begins peppering the intruders with volleys of arrows. Draxis likewise takes the fight to the enemy, concentrating on helping Jaggo beat a retreat with the assistance of Elentha, and Ptellac opens his fearsome psyche and begins a series of withering assaults upon the Urikites. But it is Nefen who takes the most striking approach, when he calls upon preserving magic himself and begins blasting at their attackers with well-placed spells. Previously not known to be a spellcaster, the Taran’Dai tribesman reveals his true colours in high style.
The battle is a chaotic mess, with flames soon licking through the chamber, Urikite preservers and templars falling alike, and an unexpected blade barrier adding further confusion to the combat. Additionally, Ptellac detects the same curious twinges of psionic recognition from somewhere within the Urikite ranks – clearly an elan is present! But he has little opportunity to act upon this revelation, so hard-pressed are the defenders. The templar commander Malestic does come under concentrated assault himself, forcing his men to drag him bodily from the chamber, struggling to extinguish the flames that engulf him.
Zaloc lays down a truly awesome rain of covering fire and the group inches its way out of the chamber and into the adjoining sewers. With Jaggo and Elentha carrying Korgunard’s dreadfully injured form, they make their escape into the darkness beneath Urik. There, Jaggo cradles Korgunard in his arms and notices for the first time that the cocoon of light and water seems to be sustaining him, despite the deep injury to his head. Korgunard whispers something, which Jaggo interprets as an order to head for Tyr by the fastest route. Nefen’s sharp elven hearing, however, picks up the injured preserver’s words with greater clarity.
“Must go... finish spell... toward Tyr... but not by the roads...” Korgunard says. Toward Tyr. But not by the roads. Those words of wisdom will prove to be life-saving in the days to come...
(Session #11 ended with the PCs hiding out in the sewers. Session #12, up next, finishes the adventure, taking the PCs from Urik to Desverendi's valley and a return confrontation with Malestic and the forces of Hamanu...)
Realising that Korgunard had some reason for calling them to this meeting in the first place, our Tyrian heroes offer to take him across the wilderness to his destination (for it clear that Jaggo is far from competent enough to do it alone). Elentha says that she will go on ahead to scout the way and lend what aid she can. In the meantime, however, there is the small matter of escaping Urik with the forces of Hamanu searching high and low for Korgunard.
In the dank darkness of the sewers, Jaggo outlines a number of possible options used by the Urik Veiled Alliance. They can provide the group with funds to allow them to bribe Urik’s templars and water to help them survive in the desert. They can give the group the name of a merchant sympathetic to the Alliance who would be able to get them aboard a caravan. They can use contacts amongst the slave overseers and have the envoys added to a slave detail outside the walls, from which they can later escape. They can give the name of a certain gate-guard who works for the Alliance, allowing the group to slip out of the city unchallenged. Or they can send them to the Wanderer’s Friend trading post, where an Alliance contact can provide them with gear and equipment at a greatly reduced price.
The group decides to retain as much control of their activities as they can and elect to use the option of the sympathetic gate-guard and so get themselves out of the city as rapidly as possible. Jaggo concurs and tells them that the guard in question is a half-giant by the name of Gregen. He works on the city’s eastern gate and the password needed to gain his aid is hurrums sing in the wilderness. And so, wrapping Korgunard in a heavy cloak, the Tyrians bid farewell to Elentha and Jaggo and slip out of the sewers.
They make their way as swiftly as possible to the eastern gate, evading wandering templar patrols along the way. The templars, however, are not the only problem that they need to contend with. Nefen and Zaloc both note that they are being paid an unusual amount of attention by certain elves in the city. Nefen recognises them as being from the Sun Runners tribe and the group surmise that elves from the tribe have been bribed to assist the templars in their search for the fugitives. It soon becomes obvious that these elves are trying to follow them and, when one of them goes running back into the city, the group are convinced that a templar patrol could be upon them in moments. They redouble their pace and press onwards for the eastern gate. As they arrive there, they look back through the press of citizens leaving the city and indeed notice a templar patrol being led after them by a pair of Sun Runner elves. The group makes contact with the half-giant Gregen and slips out of the city with only moments to spare. Gregen further proves his loyalty when he intercepts and smoothly misdirects the templar patrol, giving the fugitives vital minutes to complete their getaway.
They buy an inix and a powerful kank (for Vok) from a local trader and rapidly depart the city. For all their haste, however, Ptellac counsels caution. It is clear, he advises, that Hamanu will send further forces after them. So, rather than heading directly for Tyr, he proposes that they take a route north around the city and come into the Great Alluvial Sand Wastes to the west of the city, heading south from there. And, once they depart the immediate surrounds of the city, Zaloc says that he will call upon the Green to obscure their tracks from any pursuers seeking to follow them.
And so it is that the Tyrian envoys put Hamanu’s city behind them, with one of Athas’ greatest preservers in their care. Driving their mounts hard, they skirt north around Urik and are soon forging their way through the dunes of the Sand Wastes. As the heat rises, however, Zaloc reminds them of the first rule of desert travel – namely that you move by night and rest by day. So as soon as they are confident that they have put enough distance between themselves and Urik, they make camp and swelter out the remainder of the day in fitful slumber.
Sleep overtakes them after their hours of travel. As they fall deeper and deeper into sleep, strange images begin to fill their minds. The images are fast-moving shadows, dark shapes that have no definition, no substance. But there is an urgency to the scenes, a dread foreboding that the dreamers can’t quite understand. They see a dark tower, shadowy nightmare attackers framed by bright moonlight, and a strange, somehow peaceful being of winged night. They hear a distant voice whisper, “not by the roads.” The images flash into their minds with painful force, and then they awaken in a cold, clammy sweat.
Unsure of what to make of the dreams or whence they came, the group are nevertheless struck by the fact that they had all experienced the same visions. One thing they all draw from their experience is a certainty that they have not shaken off their pursuers. That evening Zaloc works more of his concealing magics and the group decides to double back along their own trail. With a little scouting and observation of the behaviour of the local wildlife, both Nefen and Zaloc are sure that there is an oasis a few miles away to the west, and so the group heads in that direction in order to confuse any enemies and thence forge a new path onwards. It proves to be a curiously fateful decision.
Thankfully, Nefen’s natural caution prompts him to scout out the oasis before the group as a whole arrives. In doing so, he discovers that another group are already there and, judging from their hushed conversations and the way they hide amongst the undergrowth, are planning no less than an ambush of our heroes. Unable to discern exactly how this group knew to expect them at the oasis when our travellers had only decided to head there themselves a few hours previously, Nefen sneaks back to rejoin his companions and warn them of the ambush.
As they have so many times before, our wily heroes decide to turn the tables on their foes and carry out a little ambushing of their own. They proceed as normal and set up their camp, taking pains to perhaps be a little noisier than might otherwise be the case. And then they lay their trap. Nefen and Zaloc climb tall yypr trees, Ptellac and Draxis hide at the edge of their camp in the tall oasis rushes and Vok sits atop his war-kank in the group’s tent, waiting for the enemy to come to him.
And come they do. Lured in by the sound of our heroes making camp, their ambushers move stealthily in for the kill – or so they presume. Once they are within striking distance a group of kank riders charge the tent, ripping through its walls in the hope of surprising the sleepers within. Instead, all they find is a grinning Vok waiting for them, lucky thanak drawn and ready. The kank riders raise the alarm as the rest of the raiders come charging up behind them, but it is far too late. From their positions in the trees, Zaloc and Nefen begin raining down death from above, placing one well-placed shaft after another into the unsuspecting flesh of the raiders. And from their positions of concealment, Ptellac begins sending waves of psionic attack at the enemy, while Draxis calls upon sacred Water to empower himself before charging into the fray.
As might be expected, the would-be raiders fare poorly. All that those outside the tent witness of the battle between Vok and the kank riders are gouts of blood spraying up the inside of the canvas, screams and howls of agony and Vok’s terrifying laughter from within. From their lofty vantage points, the twin archers shatter the raiders’ ranks, and Draxis and Ptellac drive a wedge of pain through the heart of the thwarted ambush.
The battle does not go completely without a hitch, however. A halfling raider proves to be a dangerous foe when he strikes unseen, dealing considerable injuries with his twin blades. And a defiler also accompanies the raiders, calling upon a blazing fire elemental to oppose Draxis’ command of the element of water. The halfling is swiftly slain, however, and Draxis extends his reach into the plane of Earth and summons a xorn to fell the defiler. Nefen finishes the defiler off moments later and the one solitary surviving raider throws down his weapons and surrenders in desperation.
Zaloc examines the halfling’s body and, from the tribal markings on the small corpse, deduces that the raider hailed from the same tribe as Lokar – the Uteg Quaree. Clearly Lokar was not the sole survivor of his people. As for the single living raider, his interrogation reveals a few interesting facts. The attackers were part of the Black Sand Raiders tribe and were specifically hunting Korgunard (whom they refer to as a “Gossamer”). The tribe’s chief defiler Fevil had apparently devised some method of draining Korgunard of his power (possibly under the tuition of the nameless undead horror that is said to watch over the tribe). He had sent his current apprentice Hespulto with the raiding party in order to capture the Gossamer – the same apprentice who so recently perished beneath Nefen’s blade. Aghast at this news, and at the realisation that forces other than those of Hamanu are on their trail, the group debates precisely how to proceed and what to do with their prisoner. On the latter issue, at least, the debate is short-lived, as Vok emerges from the carnage-filled tent and kills the captive raider with a skull-shattering blow of his ever-lucky thanak.
Binding their wounds and looting the dead, the group break camp at nightfall and continue on their way, still heading towards Tyr. They are ever more cautious of any pursuers, especially as Nefen is sure that, from time to time, he spots a dust cloud on the northern horizon. Hamanu’s templars, although delayed by Zaloc’s magic, have a sorcerer-king on their side, and cannot be evaded forever.
Fortune smiles upon them eventually, however, though they do not recognise it as such at first. Their path southwards skirts the edges of the western escarpments of the Sand Wastes and they realise that they are being observed by a number of desert-clad strangers. Emerging from the rocks and dunes, these motley nomads hail our heroes and offer a chance to meet and parlay.
Needless to say, the group is extremely suspicious. But when one of the strangers steps forward and identifies herself, suspicion becomes recognition and then relief. It is Elentha. She greets the group in her customarily gruff fashion, and then relents somewhat and smiles in genuine welcome. Her magical skills have allowed her to cross the miles between here and Urik and she has rallied her compatriots to lend aid to Korgunard and his escort.
As they lead our heroes to a hidden village at the heart of a star-shaped canyon complex, Elentha identifies the desert-dwellers as none other than the legendary slave tribe known as the Free. She adds that she is a member of the Free herself, working along with Urik’s Veiled Alliance in recognition of her origins as a citizen of that city-state. She is alarmed to hear of the increased activity of the Black Sand Raiders, and is especially concerned by reports that Black Sand defilers are able to somehow track Korgunard’s movements through the Tablelands.
There is ample time to discuss all of this at the Free’s encampment, where rest, recuperation and (relatively) decent food is on offer. And, as with all such groups, rumours and dissent are not unknown. A man called Jeevo wonders at the significance of Korgunard (whom he refers to as “Great One”), stating that desert animals have been observed staring northwards in recent days as if expecting something to come from that direction. A half-elven woman called Nenburri blames this recent strangeness on the Great One himself. She suspects him of being evil, perhaps even another sorcerer-king. There are no “Great Ones”, she says – only masters and slaves – and the Great One is just another master. A mul called Hecco disagrees, saying that the Great One is clearly a preserver and so is to be trusted, just as Elentha is to be trusted. He has also heard Korgunard called “Gossamer” but does not know what this might mean, save that he has heard that water springs from the ground and dead trees come to life wherever a Gossamer walks. Another half-elf, called Varrel, scoffs at this. He believes that the Great One will drain life, not take it. It is a reminder that Athas is doomed – and it is a doom that Varrel welcomes instead of this existence that men wrongly call life. Our heroes can only shake their heads in dismay that – even here – discord has taken hold. Perhaps Athas is indeed doomed; doomed to die at the hands of foolish, quarrelling mortals.
Our companions leave the Free to their arguments and spend some time talking to Elentha. She can shed no light on how they might best proceed, or what might lie ahead. But she confirms their suspicions about what lies behind them. Malestic did indeed survive the battle beneath the Potters’ Court. Either he was revived at the site of the battle, or he was raised from the dead with necromancy – either way, he lives. His features have been scarred and ruined from the flames that engulfed him during the battle, and he lusts for revenge as much as he seeks to do his master’s bidding in capturing Korgunard. He is hot on the trail of the Gossamer even now, with a body of templars, archers and elite half-giant guards. Elentha says that, if possible, the Free will attempt to delay him, for they possess greater numbers. But she cannot promise that they will throw their lives away in battle with the Urikites. As the group has already seen, they are far from united in their opinions about Korgunard. But she will see to it that they do what they can. She also provides the group with some vital potion fruits and offers her own tents for rest that evening. Our heroes gladly take her up on her offer.
And once again, as sleep overtakes them, strange images fill their minds. The images seem alien, as though they originate from somewhere outside their subconscious. The images are fast-moving shadows, dark shapes with little definition and no substance. There is an urgency to the images, as though they are trying to communicate something important. The dreamers see a dark, jutting stone shape with human features imploring them to come closer, motioning for them to join it inside a narrow canyon of some sort. They hear a low, far-away voice: “Must go... finish spell... toward Tyr... but not by the roads... must go... the valley...” And then, as before, they awaken in a cold, clammy sweat.
So it would seem that Tyr is in fact not their destination, but instead some valley. But where might it lie? Zaloc wonders if the Order could somehow be involved – might the tower represent Dasaraches itself? There is, for now at least, no sure way of knowing. In the morning, despite the heat, the group prepare for departure. With Malestic close on their trail there is little time to waste and they must be en route again before he has chance to gain on them any more than he already has.
And so they bid farewell to Elentha and the Free and embark on the final leg of their quest. Travelling south at a great pace, they skirt the foothills of the Ringing Mountains, suspecting that any valley would lie in that direction rather than out in the wastes. It is a wise decision. After an hour or so of travel, the ground ahead of them bulges slightly as a small amount of dirt and sand erupts out of the ground. A small animal, which they recognise as a ground mole, emerges from the newly-formed hole, panting heavily from obvious exertion. The mole, apparently parched and famished, looks at them, then runs towards them, stops, and runs in a straight line to the west. It does this three times. Then it collapses, quivers once, and dies from exhaustion, its motionless snout pointing west toward the Ringing Mountains.
Realising the significance of this strange event, our heroes turn westwards and begin heading towards the mountains. Ahead, the sands gently fade into a grassy plain as the land rises into the foothills, becoming forest. An opening in the forest reveals a protected valley full of lush vegetation. They see a jagged rock jutting up, overlooking a still blue pond that reflects the rock on its mirrored surface. In the distance, they hear the unmistakable sound of falling water. The most amazing sight, however, is the odd collection of small animals waiting like some noble’s procession before the forest passage. The animals bow down and pay homage to Korgunard, predator and prey united in eerie obeisance. Tenderly stepping forward onto the carpet of grass, the group feels goodwill and peace radiate out of the valley and the lush growth. The weariness of the trail ebbs out of their bodies as some powerful force heals their wounds and restores their vitality.
And then a voice speaks to them from the air, the ground and the very waters, its words echoing out of the valley like an earthquake: “I, Desverendi, welcome the protectors of the Great One. Peace to you all. Bring the Great One into my presence and we shall finish what was begun.”
However, as the group move forward with Korgunard in their arms, the animals of the forest cry out in alarm. In the distance, but drawing nearer with every passing second, dust plumes signal the approach of a force of warriors. Although they cannot yet recognise him, there is no doubt that Malestic has found them.
Our heroes ignore the cries of animals to concentrate on the rock formation rising over the clear pool. As they watch, the rock shimmers, taking on distinctive human features. They realise that they are seeing a Spirit of the Land emerging from the rock itself. “I am Desverendi,” the spirit says. “Nefen, Ptellac - add your powers to mine to save the Great One.”
At his bidding, Nefen and Ptellac comply, opening their inner wellsprings of energy and feeling the awesome might of Desverendi doing the same. The sensation reminds them of the arcane shadows that invaded their dreams, but now they are fully awake. They join with Desverendi and each other to break the shield of unconsciousness currently in place in Korgunard’s mind.
Meanwhile, Draxis, Zaloc and Vok take up defensive positions on the far side of the pool, towards the mouth of the valley. As the psion and the mage combine their powers to waken Korgunard, long, grim minutes pass, with their enemies drawing ever closer. The hot breeze blows and death seems to wait on the wind. They share a quiet moment of reflection, knowing that their time may well have come. But, at the very least, if they are to die today, it will be for as worthy a cause as has ever been seen beneath the dark and brooding sun.
Presently, Malestic’s force comes into full view. His archers take up positions on the flanks, and Malestic and his templars bless the half-giants with Hamanu’s dark magics. From behind the rise of a dune, Malestic’s arrogant voice calls out: “You have led me on a wild chase through these forsaken wastes, but the chase ends here. Before I have you killed, I offer you one last chance to surrender. I am sure you shall refuse, like the fools you are,” he says, sniffing in disdain, “but I can be merciful, if given half a chance.” Malestic pauses for a moment, then asks, “What will it be, worthless ones? The shackles... or the blades?”
At best, it is a foolish question.
Zaloc opens fire and Malestic responds with an order for his own archers to return fire. Before long, the Urikite archers have found their marks and our heroes are taking their first injuries from black-feathered shafts that fall from the olive sky. Only their armour and agility allows them to avoid being slain outright. And then the half-giants begin their charge. Vok races forward to meet them, but it is clear that he cannot best them alone, even with backup from Draxis and Zaloc.
Thankfully, in that moment, Desverendi releases Ptellac and Nefen from the revivification ceremony, saying that he can continue without them for a short while. Their companions are in sore need of their assistance, and both rush to their aid.
Draxis and Nefen hold the eastern flank, Zaloc and Ptellac take up the centre ground, while Vok continues to battle the half-giants near the western treeline. Nefen skirmishes around the Urikites, Ptellac uses his psionic skills to bolster Vok’s strength and resilience, saving him from certain death at the hands of the mighty half-giants, and Draxis takes the fight to Malestic himself. All the while, Zaloc’s unending rain of arrows levies an ever greater toll upon their attackers.
But the Urikites fight with great skill and fervour, and step by step they begin to drive the defenders back. Shrugging off the magical attacks of both Draxis and Nefen, Malestic responds by summoning a shadow giant from the Black. Against this dread foe, most attacks are useless and Draxis almost succumbs entirely before Nefen is able to destroy the beast with his magical flames. Draxis takes further injuries from a half-giant and templar, with only Elentha’s potion fruits saving his life, and together with Nefen’s skirmishing expertise he is able to clear the eastern flank of the battle. On the western side, Vok is near death, only his diehard constitution keeping him alive for precious moments – long enough to bring down Malestic himself. In those moments, as is so often the case, the tide of the battle swings back in their favour, and Ptellac and Zaloc begin to mop up the stragglers. Then, finally it is over. Numbed and battered, Nefen and Ptellac return to Desverendi’s side and complete the revivification of Korgunard, while Draxis and Zaloc tend to the poor, broken Vok.
As they watch, Korgunard slowly regains consciousness. His watery cocoon envelops him completely, becoming a blazing corona of light that all but blinds the onlookers. When the light fades, Korgunard, still wrapped in a cocoon of sparkling blue water, stands before the rock formation. Now the cocoon is a swirling blur of water end lightning dancing excitedly around the legendary preserver. All hear Korgunard’s clear, powerful voice in their minds as he calls to them: “You have performed a service beyond any I could ever hope to repay,” he says, and it sounds like nature’s song to their ears. “You have done well. But I must call on you all for one more favor. Add your life-force to mine to complete the spell of transformation.”
As they open themselves to Korgunard, they feel themselves joining with the others in the valley, with the spirit of the land, with the animals and insects, and even with the grass and plants. Energy flows from them and into Korgunard, slowly changing the preserver into something... wonderful! Then the energy flows back into our heroes, passing through the land as it returns. In its sparkling wake they see flowers bud, see them grow end flare open where no flowers had been before. They see blades of grass sprout, thicken, and form lush green carpets. They are participating in a ceremony of purest life, and can feel its song singing in their deepest soul.
Hours pass and all are lost in the timeless moment, where past, present and future – memory, prophecy and fantasy – become one immortal country, living one eternal day. The animals of the valley grow increasingly excited as the ceremony nears its completion. Even the elemental spirits of the world seem to have come to this hidden valley for the proceedings. The companions feel the earth shift slightly beneath their feet. They hear waves lap against the shore in the previously still pool. They see heat ripple in the air. They feel a breeze blow into the valley, singing through the surrounding trees. Then their attention turns to Korgunard.
The metallic glow of the preserver’s skin glitters in the sunlight as life-giving forces dance over his body. His eyes, which always seemed to glow, now become the brightest silver. These eyes are at once gentle and all-seeing, noble and caring. Then, as they watch in awe, small gossamer wings sprout from his back and shoulders. The wings themselves are filmy and nearly transparent, budding out to only three feet, but they are the most beautiful wings our heroes have ever beheld. They hear the booming, earthquake voice of Desverendi claim, “Hail Great One! Hail Gossamer! Hail Korgunard! Hail Avangion!” They think they hear the proclamation in the wind, the heat, and the waves. Korgunard’s head wound has healed, but not faded. Instead, it appears as glowing fire across the top of his regal heed. What should have been completed in a few hours in Urik has taken days, but now that it is done, Athas’ rebirth can begin...
Addendum - Draxis' Journal
Draxis' player wrote a journal throught this adventure - it is included below. The coolest thing about it is the way that the player mis-heard Gregen's password. Instead of "hurrums sing in the wilderness", he heard "harems sing in the wilderness". I have to confess that I far prefer his version, as the image of groups of close-harmony concubines serenading each other out in the Athasian desert is much more pleasing than some shiny bug humming to itself... :D
Draxis’ Journal
It was good to leave the city once more and be out in the wilderness; walking on the earth, beneath the fire of the sun, breathing the desert air… and all the while bolstered and protected by the life-giving water, greatest of the elements! Zaloc, if possible, seemed even gladder than me to be away from Tyr.
I was happy to think on Mandax's conversion as I left. Seemingly, at least one person in a thousand in that city can rise above the wretched life we must all suffer on Athas. Already he has proven to be an excellent ally, discovering useful information for us…
I must note too the boots created for me by the mindbender Ptellac. Although I have had cause to be thankful for my mekillot armour, at times its weight has slowed me. It is good to move quickly again, especially with danger seemingly with us at all times. Perhaps mindbenders can be of some use? (Although I still do not trust them!)
After several days travelling, posing as merchants, we reached the walls of Urik. It seems that the place is fouler even than Tyr under Kalak, with the templars crueller and more arbitrary in their punishments here. I gave a few coins to help a family gain entrance to the city – I will continue to do what I can. If only I could have intervened to stop the horrible punishments I witnessed! Sadly, however, it was politic to remain discreet.
We had dealings with House Stel (the name should be a source of shame to all from Tyr!) and then made our secret rendezvous with the Veiled Alliance. We witnessed an incredible transformation, the opposite of Kalak's vile ceremony. I wonder what kind of creature could be the opposite of a dragon? Perhaps I will see? Perhaps this is proof that there is hope for the people of the Tablelands?
During this transformation, I had a hallucination – and I am sure that my fellows also witnessed things. I saw that Athas had an age even before the mythical Green Age – a Blue Age, with water abundant! If such a thing did exist, then surely some remnant remains. I swear to my patron element that one day, no doubt far off, I will kneel before this body of water and pray!
Of course, the wicked templars of Hamanu interrupted the ceremony and we had cause (again) to draw weapons and cast spells. During the battle I witnesses two strange things: Vok becoming berserk and slaying many half-giants and a powerful templar; and Nefen revealing himself to be a wizard (praise the sacred water, he is a preserver, though)! Ptellac and Zaloc slew many – I began to think that Zaloc had the battle-lust and could not be drawn away from the fray.
The hand of our real enemy, the elan, was revealed once more (as Ptellac told us later - he detected their distinctive psionics).
Now, we journey on, avoiding the roads. I am fearful of the mention of undead and I have prepared my spells and steeled myself accordingly…
We left Urik, abandoning our merchant wares, and I could not honestly say that I was unhappy to leave the place. Rikus may have been right in wanting to bring an army to crush Hamanu (curse his name!) and his legions.
The Veiled Alliance arranged for a half-giant ally, Gregen, to let us out of the city ('harems sing in the wilderness'), while all the while Hamanu's best soldiers searched for us. We watched from the sewers as half-giants and templars armed with steel stalked the streets. I noted that the Veiled Alliance seemed split over Korgunard. I fear that they will never be able to strike against the Lion of Urik if they are riven to such disunity. I raise my voice in worship to my patron element that our own tyrant, Kalak, was overthrown and slain!
We arranged for a howdah-carrying inix (and a fast-moving war kank for Vok), and soon we were riding across the Tablelands. We slept in the day and journeyed through the night, protecting ourselves from the wrathful gaze of Athas's sun. As instructed by Korgunard, we avoided the road. I witnessed once again the harsh beauty of our world, baked by the heat of the sun and raked by lightning storms. What has caused our world to come to this?
I must note now two things from our journey. First, we were aided by Ptellac's misdirection on our departure from Urik and by Zaloc's spell. Zaloc drew a spell from the Green (I wonder about the nature of his spells…) that hid our tracks as we travelled. Second, our dreams were haunted with a strange vision – whether from Korgunard or from some strange enemy, we could not say.
We found an oasis to rest at. Sadly, this blessed bounty (praise the life-giving water!) had attracted others. The jackals who call themselves the Black Sand Raiders had prepared an ambush for us. Thanks to Zaloc's stealth we spotted them and prepared an ambush for the ambushers. Mayhem ensued as we fell on them with spells and weapons: Vok sprung from his hiding place to rain bloody havoc on their heads, Nefen, clinging to a tree, unleashed magical fire and other spells, Zaloc fired his deadly arrows with uncanny skill, and Ptellac used his mindbending powers to blast many of them with fire and ice (and other powers I can only guess at).
During the battle I used some of my newfound spells to attack our opponents, calling on the anger of my patron element to smite an accursed defiler and summoning a creature of elemental earth, a xorn. After the villains had been slaughtered, a captured bandit gave us interesting information. The Black Sand Raiders ride out from a ruined city and their leader is said to be some kind of an undead spirit. Unsettlingly, this monster seemed to know of Korgunard and was seeking to take him for some foul purpose. Perhaps we should visit this place one day…
I note also that one of their number, a coward who attacked me from behind, was a halfling called Lokee, seemingly from Lokar's tribe. This halfling, who now lies dead thanks to my allies, was empowered by obsidian orbs, no doubt laced with degenerate defiling magics. Although I only knew Lokar for a little while, I hope that this death would please him. We continued on, with the days bringing more strange dreams. Zaloc interpreted one dream as, perhaps, a clue to the location of Dasaraches, the fortress of 'the Order' – that group of mindbenders who hate preserver and defiler alike. (Although, at least, I can't fault them for hating the latter!) I pray to the sacred water that this Order will be revealed to us soon, because their punishment is long in coming! Of course, their power might be too great for us to stand against…
Thankfully, we again encountered the Veiled Alliance preserver Elentha, whisked by her arcane magic from Urik. She gave us succour in a village of free men and women in verdant surroundings. This was a great boon after days of dusty and hard travel. Sadly, although slavery had been banished here, schism and discord had not. Some were apprehensive of, or even hostile to, Korgunard. I was reminded that our harsh world can make even the best of us hard-hearted and incapable of trust.
We left, only slightly refreshed, not wishing to draw danger to this secret place. We were given potionfruits – a blessing from the elements – and a warning. Elentha told us that the templar Malestyx was alive (raised from the dead by his cruel brethren) and in pursuit! His features had been ravaged by fire and he was desirous of revenge against us. The memories of the terrible blades he summoned to slash my flesh were still fresh in my mind. I had no wish to feel them again.
Later in our travels we witnessed a strange sight. A ground mole appeared, exhausted and nearly dead, apparently urging us to travel west. We complied and found ourselves in a green valley around a pool of life-giving water. Many animals had gathered here to welcome Korgunard – a unique sight. A voice belonging to an unseen being called Desverendi bade us to help Korgunard finish his ritual. Vok placed him on a rock, while Nefen and Ptellac meditated, seemingly aiding him in some invisible way with their respective arcane magic and psionic power.
At this point we saw the dust plumes of a force arriving. Malestyx was upon us, bringing half-giants, templars and archers. We steeled ourselves and prepared for what we knew could be our final battle. Malestyx offered us the chance of slavery over death, but of course we fought! The wretched and disfigured templar had come a long way to die for a second and final time…
I set off with Nefen to the east of the pool. (I noted, incidentally, his great skill at skirmishing.) Vok set off in the direction of the treeline to the west, while Ptellac and Zaloc held the middle ground.
In the heat of battle I could not record their deeds, but all suffered grievous wounds and all fought with bravery.
Nefen and I, bolstered by magic, surged forward. My silence spell failed to still the lips of Malestyx and his vile entreaties to Hamanu. He and his templar lackeys boosted their half-giants with spells while we traded spells and missiles with the archers. Their arrows rained down on all of us, and this was followed by the attacks of the half-giants. These brutes were stronger and more skilled in fighting than any I have ever encountered.
Soon we had been driven back to the pool, greatly fearing the shadow giant that Malestyx had summoned. I felt it try to draw me into the Black – I was so very near to succumbing that I thought I had seen the last of this world. To my relief, Nefen killed the creature with a spell: a fan of flames that erupted from his fingertips.
In the past I have had cause to question the sanity of those clerics who worship fire, here, in a land ravaged by the fires of the sun. Today at least, I can appreciate the destructive power of that element.
I was also nearly brained, a half-giant's blow cracking my skull. Then, later, I again felt Malestyx's magical blades cut into me. I had exhausted nearly all of my spells and things were looking grim. Across the pool, I could see that Vok was horribly wounded and barely alive. When Vok is hurt, then things really are bad! Praise the elements for the psionic powers, spells and arrows of my allies, or I surely would have been killed!
Finally, as the battle was drawing to a close, with Vok toe-to-toe with Malestyx across the pool from me, I was nearly gutted by a hated templar. Again, I began to consider that my end had come. Barely alive, and unable even to fight properly, it was all I could do to raise the potionfruit to my lips and save my own life! Vok hacked down Malestyx (and continued to dismember his corpse), while one by one our other enemies were killed by Zaloc, Nefen and Ptellac. The battle was over.
Our struggle finished, Desverendi revealed himself to be a wood spirit of some kind. More importantly, we were honoured and rewarded by the awe-inspiring sight of Korgunard's transformation. Standing before us now was a golden-skinned creature, the like of which I had never seen before, with beautiful and fragile wings sprouting from his back! As he walked, plants sprouted from his footsteps. This was Gossamer the avangion!
For the first time I felt real hope in my heart for a better future for the people of the Tablelands. I kneel down and pray to my sacred element that this is true.
And so ended our dozen sessions of Dark Sun! It has been some time since those games (as noted above, we rotate DMing and there have been many other games in the offing). Wednesday, though, sees a return to Athas, with a little one-shot that should keep the veterans on their toes.
For those who are interested, here is the breakdown of the party as it stood at the end of Arcane Shadows:
Vok - Mul male - Gladiator 3/Mul Paragon 3/Barbarian 1/Arena Champion 1
Zaloc - Human Male - Ranger 9
Ptellac Terrorclaw - Pterran Male - Psion (telepath) 6/Pterran Paragon 3
Draxis - Human Male - Cleric (water) 9
Nefen Ar Taran'Dai - Elf Male - Scout 5/Wizard (evoker preserver) 4
Nefen's player also played Lokar (Halfling Male, Ranger 5) up to the end of Freedom but replaced him with Nefen. Other than that, there were no character tree changes, and no deaths either! A first for me in DS. Either these guys are skilled players, or I am getting soft in my old age. Ah well, there's always next week to make amends in that regard... ;)
The Thri-Kreen gladiator, Chik'Spox escaped from the clutches of the Nibenese Templar Lady Kanyassa with the aid of Vorak the Mul, Arena Champion/Sex God, and Hermanaard the Sniveling Bard (Unofficial title).
They escaped into the reservoir and made their way into the Crescent Forest. Eventually, Lady Kanyassa caught up to them and Chik'Spox was forced to battle Kanyassa and her Half-Giant bodyguard, rescuing another slave, Rowan the Mul Child, along the way.
They wound up in Gulg, and promptly had to flee the city the next day due to Chik'Spox and Rowan's accidental murdering of a local nobleman who attempted to use them to further his own (evil) agenda.
Fleeing across the verdant belt, the party encountered one of Hermanaard's former employers, a small merchant house from Altaruk, whom he sorta burned bridges with in their last meeting.
Managing to elude their angry persuers, they avoided Altaruk and instead made their way through the desert, headed for Tyr.
They were eventually ambushed by hired slavers from Altaruk, and held at their camp. Rowan was quickly sold and shipped out, while Hermanaard was taken for torture. During an argument with Chik'Spox, Vorak used his incredible strength to snap his bonds and physically beat two guards to death.
Freeing Chik'Spox, the two managed to free Hermanaard and kill the defiler woman tormenting him, and then quickly stole a few mounts to chase down the departed slaver caravan.
Eventually catching up to it, Chik'Spox and Vorak managed to leap aboard, with Hermanaard providing cover fire. They managed to kill the driver, but the sudden violence had spooked the mekillots and forced them out of control toward a cliff-face.
Panicking, Chik'Spox quickly decapitated the beasts, crashing the wagon. Vorak managed to save Rowan, taking only a few moderate cuts in the process, and the day was effectively saved.
To celebrate their new-found freedom, they decided to head to Tyr on the eve of a grand gladiatorial battle...
Furthered the mini-campaign a little bit this weekend. Here are the highlights...
The group heals up as best as they can, then delve deeper into Kalak's Ziggurat. The massive structure throbs with vile purpose as the heroes continue to feel their vitality drained away. The cleric of air, Cassiel, uses his powers to animate the half-giant corpse as a heavy decoy, sending it stumbling down the stairway into darkness while Nightwalker scouts beside it
Two stories down they hear arcane chanting, and moments later, the half-giant zombie comes back up the stairs, seeking victims. The group quickly cuts down the animated fighter, and then finds the central chamber of the ziggurat.
At the center of the chamber, a three-foot diameter globe of flawless obsidian draws the life energy from the ziggurat, while a dozen smaller balls surround it. The dragon-masked figure is there, overseeing the dark ritual, while shadow-form figures the size of halflings gather up the smaller obsidian balls and then shift to the Black.
As soon as the party rounds the last landing and sees the central chamber, they are assaulted by a barrage of powerful sonic and necromantic spells from the defiler. Also, two of the shadow figures remain behind, shifting forms into twenty-foot giants. Nightwalker and Ineluki, having dealt with Shadow Giants before, recognize these foes, but something about them is 'wrong'. They emit a tainted cold aura, and their figures, while shadowstuff, are also twisted, disproportionate and emaciated. These shadow giants are undead. [DM note, modified Nightshades]
The combat is quick and furious. Nightwalker and Eramil try to engage the masked defiler in melee, but are grappled by the undead shadow giant guards. After getting healed by Cassiel after a devastating sonic spell, Ineluki sunders the central obsidian globe and the handful of smaller satellites that remain with a fireball spell. Abruptly, the life draining ritual ends, and the group feels palpable relief from the vile magic.
With the ritual disrupted, the masked wizard attempts to escape, but the group pummels him with attacks, physical and psionic, to lay him low. One shadow giant grabs the corpse and shifts to the black, while the other disperses into a cloud of cold, dark mist, filling the chamber. The party sees no reason to stay and retreats back to the ziggurat entrance. The last giant doesn't chase, and when checked later, it is gone.
[to be continued...]
I run a half-giant that was successful in clearing all the giants from the Island of Ledo for the dwarves in a campaign taking place one hundred years before the stuff in Dark Sun takes place.
At the entrance, the group is met by Sadira, Rkard and a handful of other Tyrian heroes, all battered and bruised from combating the masked and cassocked spell-casters, and aiding the mobs of frightened citizens. The dark sun is now below the horizon, leaving the sky deep lavender, growing darker. The arena is a chaotic mess, as citizens filter quickly out of the few opened exits, leaving behind wreckage of the funeral and many, many hundred bodies of the drained and trampled.
The two groups compared notes, describing what happened inside and out of the ziggurat until the draining power was stopped. Outside, Sadira and company rallied to battle the cassocked defilers standing atop the arena walls, who were attacking any that made an active attempt to breach the magical walls blocking the exits. Each of the defilers were powerful, and only a couple were taken down at range. When the ziggurat stopped, all of them escaped, even taking their dead with them.
Ineluki has one body, however – that of the psion they encountered inside the ziggurat. Tearing off his nondescript mask, he finds he recognized the man: an ex-templar of Kalak named Ziurk, the man was known to turn to learning the way after Kalak was slain, and he became a personal bodyguard of Tithian’s. Dressed in the black cassocks of Kalak’s templarate, and using the late sorcerer king’s method of drawing life energy through the ziggurat, the group asks Sadira to send out the city guards to account for all former templars of Kalak. Of that number, except for Ziurk, only Timor, the ranking templar in Tyr, is found missing.
They then retire to the Golden Inix to rest and heal, and begin planning to scout Timor’s estate house. Rich and in power for over two decades, Timor lives in a huge mansion close to the public gardens in the Templar District. After sunset the next night, Ineluki, Nightwalker and Zeypher set out with N’click-tok, a thri-kreen psion and ranger. Using stealth, subterfuge and psionics, they manage to infiltrate Timor’s estate without alerting the guards or staff. One servant, collecting garbage from the grounds, is ambushed and interrogated about the whereabouts of Timor (“gone since yesterday morning”), his house guards (“ten in all, on patrol and led by Therg, a half-giant ex-gladiator), and where the housemaster might hide his experiments (“the basement, by the baths, is off-limits, and those who even ask are sacked”).
The group makes its way stealthily through the house to the baths, and finds the basement door. Nightwalker finds the magical trap guarding it easily, but botches the attempt to remove, setting off a powerful ward. An image of a screaming ghost emerges from the door, letting out a terribly loud wail easily heard throughout the estate. Also, as the ghost brushes its hands across their foreheads, Ineluki and Zeypher are knocked into an illusory state of near-death.
Reacting quickly, Night steps through the deep shadows to the far edge of the estate, where they had ditched the unconscious body of the servant, and brings it back while N’click-tok opens the basement door by force. Before the guards arrive, they drag Ineluki and Zeypher’s body down the stairs, closing the door and leaving the servant outside.
When Therg and other estate guards arrive, the ruse works. Believing the servant tried to open the trapped door, they grumble numerous curses at him and drag away the body. After nearly twenty minutes, the two unconscious companions suddenly awaken as the effects of the magic trap dissipate.
They continue below and find a huge winery cellar. A thorough search quickly turns up a movable wine rack concealing an illusionary wall, through which they discover Timor’s laboratory. The large chamber is mostly empty, with signs of recent abandonment. Inbetween the wall and a scarred table they find a shred of a torn letter.
Even more significant, the walls of the laboratory are covered with writing, sigils, magic runes and diagrams, mostly a chaotic jumble indecipherable to any in the party. With enough evidence to continue, Zeypher teleports them all back to the Golden Inix.
Here's an excerpt of the 2nd session, which I'll be running sometime this week:You wake up with your head spinning. Your throat feels like its on fire, and you can’t seem to move your hands. You’re not sure how long you’ve been out, or where you are now. The only thing you can feel aside from pain is the smell of dirty bodies and Mekillots. As you slowly become aware of your surroundings, you realize that your hands and feet are both fastened in hard leather manacles. Your weapons, and even most of your clothes are gone.
You are a slave.
Straining your neck, you can make out several humanoids as well as a Thri-Kreen in the dim and dusty hold. Most of the other slaves appear to be sleeping, with the exception of the bug man. You’ve been told rumours that the bug men don’t sleep. The slave guard notices that you’re awake and coughs out a cruel mirthless laugh. When you look up at him, he sneers and spits his foul smelling chew onto your shoulder.
After another day of hot uncomfortable travel with little water and no food, you hear the calls of the gate guards. The slave guard cracks his whip across the bony chest of an Elf who jolts awake, hissing in pain. “Welcome to your new home, slaves!” Ｈe laughs as the loading ramp of the argosy opens filling your eyes with blinding sunlight.
Rough hands haul you to your feet and half-drag you out onto the dusty road. Instead of the large fortified walls of a City-State, you see low mud-brick walls common in the smaller cities and villages of the Tablelands. A rough-looking man is walking up and down the line of slaves, inspecting each with eyes so cold you almost forget the heat of the sun.