Dark Sun: Praetor

Preface to the Journal of Praetor of Kar Jerrek

It occurred to me that those who look back upon the rise of Kar Jerrek would benefit from a record of how exactly he rose and came to power. This is my private journal, from which such a record would be inspired but not directly produced, since the intimate and forthright details contained herein may not be suitable for proper public revelation.

If you are not authorized to read this journal or have come into possession by any other means than by the direct authority of Praetor Kar Jerrek, deliver it to him by the most expeditious means available. There are rewards for being a friend and those who become enemies of Kar Jerrek are not his enemies for long...

1st of Sorrow, Season of the High Sun, Year of Priests' Defiance, 190th King's Age
Jerrek Family Estate, Market Precinct, Balic

The Praetorial election results have come in and they've locked the bailiffs away to tally the votes. They'll announce them at dawn. Here's hoping our hard work pays off and I beat the worthless incumbent Livius Marnus.

2nd of Sorrow
Dephnical Family Estate, Villa Precinct, Balic

I lost the election to the Praetorship. This is obvious evidence of the corruption of the system and, simultaneously, my inability to properly leverage it. Lord Dephnical spent a small fortune on the appropriate bribes, feasts, public appearances, private discussions, meetings with Praetors and election officials, and more. Losing the Praetorship relieves me of any means of repaying him. I despise being beholden to anyone, especially someone who knows how to leverage debts as well as he does.

In the discussion we just finished, Dephnical suggested I meet an acquaintance of his that has helped him resolve certain issues in the past. We may be able to utilize this man.

Something needs to be done.

7th of Sorrow
Jerrek Family Estate, Merchant Precinct, Balic

I received the included note from my new friend Mortuus.

Dear Sir;

I would first like to congratulate you on your new appointment as Praetor, I hope that you will have years of prosperity and rewarding work ahead of you as well as many terms in office. A sad day indeed, that the election did not go your way, but we are able to rejoice in the knowledge you were there for us to fill the role when your rival met with misfortune in the market.

Upon the referral of Lord Dephnical, I am inquiring if you would be interested in retaining my services? As a minstrel in your employ, you will find a new level of prestige to help elevate you in your new social standings here in Balic. Providing you with more than simple entertainment I can help insure your term runs well for you as well as preventing any issues with your eventual re-election. You should find me very capable and my services most agreeable to you and your new status. If you seek any further information I can supply a Writ of Character from Lord Dephnical as well as other Patricians and various Houses of stature here in Balic.

I look forward to your response and to what will hopefully be a long and most beneficial arrangement.

Kind Regards
Mortuus Animus

To which I replied:
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]
My Dear Mortuus,

I took upon it myself as my first task as Praetor to see that the owner of a certain fruit stall where a certain Praetor choked on a certain sand plum be sent to the arena at once.

While my reelection stands nearly a decade in the future, I find myself quite fond of your special brand of talent - musical, of course. Lord Dephnical has already spoken to me in person and said that you played so beautifully at his daughter's wedding that he nearly cried. Tragic about the groom drinking too much and falling out of that window on the way to the consummation, especially with such a substantial dowry on the line...

While I and all the peers of Balic regret defenestration of such an upstanding young man and I traveled to Lord Dephnical's house personally to do what I could to console his widow, I doubt a young woman of her appearance and family stature should be lacking for a qualified suitor in the near future. Once the proper mourning observances have been upheld to satisfaction, of course.

In any case, we should meet soon. My father is holding a banquet in honor of my Praetorship and I would welcome your company, perhaps to help me compose a toast to my father's seemingly-perpetual good health.

Until that day,

Praetor Kar Jerrek [/FONT]

13th of Sorrow
The Crafty Crodlu Broy House, Merchant Precinct, Balic

Feasts, political meetings, religious ceremonies, banquets, speeches, quiet conversations with Dephnical, meetings with Darus on what to expect as Praetor, a hundred other engagements large and small - sleep is the luxury of the lazy and the idle. They say ambition has its price, and perhaps this is it - by the time I get home it will almost be time to get up again.

Tomorrow I go to meet Dictator Andropinis himself. I've spent the whole day with my brother going over the rules and rituals of the occasion and I just want to get it over with. I grow impatient with all these little social stepping stones that I must meticulously follow, playing the part of good, loyal, honest and respectable Praetor Jerrek. And while I play out this charade, others are free to work, building up their power bases while mine sit empty; bare foundations with only dreams yet erected upon them.

How interesting that at tonight's feast my father was "so proud" of me and even gave that elaborate speech. You never would have known that he tried to stymie me at every turn my whole life up until now.

"Don't join the Legions, we need you to be the foreman at the new Arvos Ludus we're building." "Don't associate with Lord Dephnical, he's not an honest man." "Don't run for Praetor, you'll never be elected."

The Legions were the only way I could get out of my father and Parlin's shadows and make something of my own. If I hadn't met Dephnical, I might have never gotten out of the Legions. If I hadn't run for Praetor, I would have never gotten out from under Dephnical's thumb. The only thing you've ever done for me old man is to give me a merchant house and a noble name to inherit once you and Parlin are out of the way.

Anyway, my father prattled on about "all that he had done for me", "family loyalty", and all that nonsense while my brother got drunk with his cronies, then made a spectacle of himself as he left just to spite me. And I had to sit there with a smile on my face, mouthing nepotistic platitudes and social niceties, gritting my teeth the whole time.

At least I got a chance to go meet with some of the boys from the Legion afterwards. With them, at least, I don't have to fake enjoying myself. Darus was there too since he's not allowed at the family estate. My old Legion-mates got a kick out of my introduction: "this is Darus, my bastard brother, not to be confused with Parlin, my brother, the bastard."

Little Kara stopped by with her gang of fellow tomboys. I'm sure she isn't allowed out of the house, but that's never stopped her in the past and it sure didn't tonight. Father has his work cut out for him trying to get her to marry now that she's turned of age. He'd have better luck finding a bride for Darus.

Speaking of Darus, never try to out-drink a Mul. I'm surprised I can still write.

14th of Sorrow
Praetorian Dormitory, The Praetorium, Balic

Darus showed me around the Praetorium this morning. I barely remember it. I saw my dormitory. Not exactly on the scale of my rooms in the family estate, but it's better than a Legionary tent. The rest of the Praetorium; large stone buildings, gardens, mul and half-giant bodyguards and Legionnaires everywhere... I'll spend plenty of time there, didn't seem much need to focus on it more, especially not today.

I met with Andropinis and all I remember is the sheer power that radiated from him. It wasn't just charisma and presence - I've met plenty of powerful men with those qualities - but a sense of the actual arcane power he wields; a spark of which it is said I now carry within me. He looked into my eyes as I said the words of the ritual, then he touched my head for a brief moment before moving on. And everything changed.

I can feel it now, like a vibration, like part of him remained with me when he left. The whole world looks different somehow, like everything is less substantial, less real than the power that thrums somewhere deep inside. My gift from Andropinis.

I don't even remember being led back to my dormitory nor do I know how long I've knelt here before I regained enough of myself to write. Minutes, hours, days?

It's irrelevant, I have this power for a reason.

My whole life I have been given sand and forged glass. Now I have been given a taste of real power and with it I will forge an empire that Athas will never forget.

Game Notes:

If it wasn't obvious already, we're playing an evil party(pre-4e equivalent: Lawful Evil). If anyone joins our campaign with a character more towards the good end of the spectrum than "unaligned" they would probably have issues with our goals and methodology.

The choice was somewhat inspired by our Rogue Trader game, where there really is no such thing as "good" in the frickin' universe and for us profit was the one and only motivator. Everything was bent towards increasing the group's wealth and power. Sure, we might end up helping others out along the way, but only those who could be useful to us in the future.

The key to a harmonious game was the group's profit, not any individual player/character's at the expense of another. A less lawful/group-focused game would be a much different sort of beast which could be fun in its own right, you'd just have to have players mature enough to keep meta-knowledge out of the game and not take in-game conflicts into RL.

Here is this same philosophy in a fantasy world. That doesn't mean there might not be moments of nobility, sacrifice, good deeds - just that each likely has an ulterior motive.

A couple house-rules/conventions for this game (it's 4e - don't hold it against us ):
*Divine Power Source is allowed, but you have to come up with a good justification (such as being Praetors of a Sorcerer King).
*Dark Sun and General Backgrounds are allowed, Dark Sun Themes are allowed.
*There are no skill restrictions by class, though each player receives the normal number of skills for their race/class.
*Weapon breakage rules are in effect with their severity increased: your weapon always breaks on a 1, but when it does you can either try to salvage it (save and it's ok) OR reroll your attack and have it break automatically. If it breaks, you can make another save for it at the end of the encounter to salvage it.
*For arcane characters, defiling works similarly: you always defile on a 1 with a daily, you can make a save to try not to defile OR use the reroll.
*We're using inherent magic item bonuses.
*Sanzuo(our DM) is using the random treasure tables from the Rules Compendium. However, he had a brilliant idea for when magic items are rolled - give consumable(s) worth what a magic item rolled would normally be worth. For example, if he rolled a level 5 magic item(1000gp), he would instead give consumables worth a total of 1000gp - such as a single paragon-level potion. Thus, there are still magic items, they are powerful and relatively rare, and they are spent when you use them.
*XP is only quest xp. Each player receives a minion's worth of xp for minor achievements (trivially easy battles, interesting minor scenes, etc) and a standard monster's worth of xp for major achievements (hard battles, important goals reached, major events, etc). Thus, anything that advances the game, be it combat, roleplay, puzzle solving, scheming, etc is all rewarded roughly equally.

PC: race theme class (build)
Kar Jerrek: Human Templar Blackguard (Domination)
Darus Sandstone: Mul Templar Runepriest (Wrathful)
Mortuus Animus: Bogtangle Human Athesian Minstrel Executioner (League of Whispers)
Hakar: Human Gladiator Fighter (Tempest)*

*"Drop-in" - unlikely to play again

Haraxes' Dormitory, Praetorium, Balic

Darian Haraxes tossed sand onto the parchment then tilted the page and blew lightly to clear it away.

"One thing we'll never run out of, sand," Haraxes said, handing the scroll an attendant to roll and seal it. "See that this gets to the Praetor Emantius immediately."

The attendant nodded and carefully took the scroll to the next room, pausing at the door as another slave arrived.

"There's a Praetor Jerrek here to see you, Praetor," the attendant said. "Shall I let him in?"

"Yes, give me a few moments then lead him in."

He leaned back in his chair and picked up the iron sphere from his desk. Its weight helped him think - a symbol of his ever-rising power and wealth, yet also the weight of his responsibilities.

When Praetor Jerrek entered, Darian was standing at the balcony overlooking the dust and bustle of Balic, distant cries and aromas - fair and foul - from the markets drifting on the hot winds from the Forked Estuary, the faint grit of the ever-present silt lending its own gritty texture to the air.

He let the young Praetor wait for a minute as he thought, then finally turned.

The new Praetor was a handsome young man, his long black bangs stirring in the desert wind blowing in from the balcony, alternately hiding and revealing dark, intent eyes. A faint smile played about Jerrek's lips as if something amusing was about to happen, his skin was the light tan of the aristocracy with just a hint of weathering from his years in the Legions. He wore heavy armor of black chitin, held together with straps of thick leather. Here and there about him, black and red silk stirred faintly and brushed against the bone hilt of the slender sword at his side.

"Congratulations," Haraxes said. "You came through the ceremony I see."

"Glory be to Dictator Andropinis," Jerrek said without missing a beat. "I'll admit the rush of contact with him was significant and nearly debilitating, but I have mastered it and am ready to do his will."

Just the right amount of piety, a touch of revealing honesty and shared experience, mixed with obedience and a taste of eagerness without being needy, Haraxes thought, nodding slightly to himself. This one is no empty political tool, he might actually be useful.

"I have a task," he said, gesturing towards the stool that he'd had a slave bring in before Jerrek arrived. As Jerrek sat - somehow seeming relaxed and attentive at the same time - Haraxes took his own seat and leaned back, one hand resting lightly on the iron sphere.

"There is a Lord Ermak that has an estate at the edges of the Verdant Belt. His loyalties are... questionable and we'd like you to bring him in."

Jerrek nodded. "I understand. And if there is resistance?"

"That is where the unit of Legionnaires you'll be leading come in. Raze his estate to the ground after you have secured him. If he is a source of sedition, it is important that the presence of Andropinis be felt."

"I see. I'm assuming the men are ready to go?"

"Yes. This needed to be done so they are already ordered to assemble at dawn tomorrow. Take whoever else you think might be necessary." He paused. "Also, Keep in mind, this is not an order."

"No." Jerrek smiled. "It's an opportunity."

Ermak Estate, Verdant Belt, Balic Territory

Aray climbed to the top of the gate and felt a stab a fear pierce her gut. Armored figures approached through dust and broken earth, rippling like a mirage or psychic's illusion in the baking heat of the sun.

It was no mirage.

She turned to the people Ermak had left in her care, trying to stay calm.

"Legionnaires from Balic approach," she said, raising her hands to calm the sudden cry and tumult from below. "Yes, we have been afraid of this, but know that our work will go on, even if we die here today. Some of you are to be runners and spread the word of what happened hear and be sure our work lives on - you know who you are - the rest get your weapons and return here. They will be here soon."

She turned and watched the figures become more substantial, like a nightmare slowly materializing from the realm of dreams. A few deep breaths steadied her shaking slightly, but did little to blunt the jagged dagger of fear lodged in her gut.

It seemed like only a few seconds that they were at the gate, the Legionnaires halting in formation, desert cloaks masking their faces and features, hiding all traces of humanity but hard, dark eyes. They could be armored demons for all Aray knew and, for all intents and purposes, they may have been.

At the lead of the unit a mul with a wicked long-axe and a giant stone axe strapped to his back stood beside a young man with black hair who wore heavy carapace armor, a sword strapped at his side and a giant gleaming tortoise-shell shield on his back. Praetors. Behind them stood a nondescript man in cowled desert clothing carrying what looked like a flute of all things. Aray had no time to consider the oddity.

"What are you seeking so far from Balic?" she called out.

In another situation, Aray might have found the young Praetor that stepped forward handsome. He spread his hands in supplication, the traces of a faint smile on his lips. "We just need to have a word with the master of the estate."

"He's not here."

He frowned and furrowed his brows as though deep in thought for several seconds. "I'd like to be able to take your word for it, but my superiors in Balic wouldn't be happy if I didn't at least take a look around. If he's not here, we'll be through and on our way quickly."

She thought quickly, fear and adrenaline fogging her mind. She couldn't think of a justifiable way to deny him entry.

Maybe he will do as he says, just search and leave? she thought, realizing as she did that it was just her mind scrambling for some faint hope. No, we can't take that chance. If they get inside, we'll have no chance against a full platoon. We have to hit them now, to give our runners more time if nothing else.

"Open the gates," she said, turning to glance in the courtyard. Even if they pulled off a perfect ambush, the poorly armed collection of servants and freed slaves inside the estate's crumbling stone walls had little chance, but they'd have to take it - their cause was too important.

Kneeling so the wall would hide her from the view of the Legionnaires, she spoke in a loud whisper to those below. "Get ready, attack them once the first few are inside, maybe we can kill the Templars at least."

The Praetors walked through the gate almost casually, weapons still sheathed, and for a moment she thought they might have a chance. Then there was a cry from the rear of the estate and four lanky warriors wearing bright-feathered cloaks and carrying heavy battle axes ran into the courtyard, throwing the heads of Aray's runners into the dust.

With series of war chants, the Legionnaires charged through the gates, the Praetors' weapons flaring with the corrupted magics of their Sorcerer-King.

***

Praetor Darus Sandstone stood in the courtyard of the estate and watched the flames dance, a skein of thick smoke swirling up in front of the simmering red sun.

A dusty, blood-spattered Legionnaire stopped beside him and saluted. "Praetor, there was no sign of Lord Ermak. We searched the whole place before it burned."

"Any survivors?"

"Yes, there were a few."

"Any useful information?"

"Nothing substantial."

"There were no survivors."

The Legionnaire saluted and departed.

Jerrek joined Darus, wiping the blood from his sword torn bit of cloth. "No sign of Ermak?"

"No," Darus said.

"Unfortunate. Let's leave the flankers behind in case he returns. Nothing more we can do here."

Darus nodded and whistled, then called out a short war chant. A few minutes later, they were on the march back towards Balic, leaving the bodies of the fallen to bloat in the sun beside the broken and burning shell of the estate.

17th of Sorrow
Unknown Estate, Verdant Belt, Balic Territory

An interesting few days.

Ermak's estate is a corpse-strewn ruin, but the man himself was long gone by the time we arrived. The traders at the outpost we departed from in the middle of the night said Ermak's estate was poor - which I can verify from the paucity of loot the Legionnaires sized from it - and the man reclusive. Better a reclusive, impoverished subversive than a popular, wealthy one I say.

Still, the thought of reporting our relative failure to Haraxes leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

An ex-gladiator from Tyr accompanies us out on our current hunt. His sword arm - or should I say sickle arm since he fights with twin razor-sharp bone sickles - has already proved itself useful, but the information he brought from Tyr is even more so.

Apparently, Sorcerer-King Kalak is dead, killed by a lowly gladiator with a wooden spear. This is not information that should be widely disseminated, but I don't see how Andropinis can stop it.

The Sorcerer-Kings are not immortal. I find this news disturbing and... interesting at the same time.

Back to our current hunt. In the middle of the night, a House Tomblador caravan guard by the name of Eanus rode up on a crodlu, nearly collapsing from exhaustion, bringing word of a small caravan attacked by raiders not far from the outpost.

We left in haste - without the rest of the Legionnaires as they are due back in Balic tomorrow - only to find the caravan site swarming with kestrekel. Realizing the scavengers were in great enough numbers that they might reach the threshold for a psychic swarm if we didn't act quickly, we attacked at once.

Darus and I fought back-to-back as we have before in the alleyway brawls and Legionary skirmishes of a misspent youth, with Mortuus nearby, using that strange blowgun of his to potent effect. Hakar, the gladiator, charged off like it was some arena exhibition, wading into the things with flourishes and roars that would have gotten a crowd on their feet - if there were enough people to fill a hut within an hours travel in any direction.

The remaining kestrekel switched from attack to dispersal in an instant, the latent psychic power that makes them so dangerous in large numbers somehow binding their tiny brains together in united egress.

There was one survivor, a wounded guard named Timious, hiding under an overturned wagon. Once Darus patched him up and we got him to stop attacking "Eanus the Coward", he directed us in the direction the raiders had departed.

Eanus elected to disprove Timious' appellation by scouting for us as Timious limped back towards the outpost.

After a few hours of tracking, we found some slaves working in a field by a remote estate, the promise of double rations for information that would lead us to the bandits finally loosening a slave boy's tongue.

One of the guards watching the slaves had the temerity to ask who was paying for the double rations. I informed him that he now was and to lodge any complaints with Dictator Andropinis.

By the glare he gave that young slave that stepped forward and told us where the raiders had gone, the guard is going to leave Andropinis out of it and take his complaint up with the slave.

No time to deal with that now - the boy's information must have been correct; Eanus just motioned that he found the raiders tracks leading off to the east.

Right into the teeth of that incoming siltstorm.

Perfect.