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My Dark Sun 4e Game Experience Updated 01/22/2013
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<blockquote data-quote="Raunalyn" data-source="post: 5708566" data-attributes="member: 72670"><p><strong>Interlude: Kratas in the Desert</strong></p><p></p><p><strong><em>Kratas</em></strong></p><p><strong><em>Reborn</em></strong></p><p> </p><p><strong><em>It was but an hour from dusk when Kratas left is companions to their Amketch employers. Quietly he made his way out of the compound, across the streams and into the sands of the encompassing desert. He had a purpose.</em></strong></p><p> </p><p>Kratas was a noble by birth, born and raised in Tyr, though his father had not earned his title. He never knew his mother, as she died giving him life. His father told him little of her, and he could only get half the story from his wet-nurse-turned-nanny years later.</p><p> </p><p><strong><em>He tracked across the sands for a few miles, coming to a small basalt formation rising from the sand like a tooth of a long dead monster. What was he doing? Images not his own flashed like lightning through his weary mind. A symbol,... ancient? Forgotten? He knew of its origin...the Far Realm. His resolve wavered as he stared at the menacing rock scar and pulled forth a shard of coal.</em></strong></p><p></p><p>Leatra, his nanny, and perhaps the only friend he had for his first fifteen years, spoke only briefly about his mother. "A mind-witch from the deep desert, and you too have her <em>Gift." </em>She never explained further, but it was evident that his mother and father were a strange match.</p><p> </p><p><strong><em>He scratched the symbol onto the flat stone before him. He knew the words...for they had been whispered to him for days since the great battle with the Gith, or perhaps even the time he touched the Defiler relic. Reaching into himself, he summoned forth all of the psionic strength within him, creating countless turns in a mental maze, hoping it would protect him from what was to come...</em></strong></p><p></p><p>Kratas's father was Khadhar, dominant lord of the Maktrel Ludis, or gladiatorial school. Slaves were a way of life to the growing noble's son, and the cries of men living and dying around him a constant din. Khadhar was a hard man, and would not suffer weakness from his child. By the time he was fifteen, he had seen hundreds die in and out of the fighting ring.</p><p> </p><p><strong><em>The lines of the Star blur and ignite, burning in inky black flame, bleeding peals of silent thunder. A connection is made as foreign and forgotten words burst forth from the Star, clouding his mind. Sweat drips from his forehead as he strains to keep the frayed ends of his sanity from leaking away like the forgotten rains of his desert world...</em></strong></p><p></p><p>His father gave no ground, and accepted no excuse while Kratas trained in the Mind arts. He was to be an Adept, a powerful Psion...and Khadhar would accept nothing but perfection from his son. These disciplines came easily enough, but it was the Arcane that truly excited him. Knowing words and formula to alter the fabric of his world; this was what he really wanted.</p><p> </p><p><strong><em>He could feel them. The burning, faceless things that inhabit the black places between time and space. He could hear the foul piping of alien flutes, and listened in horror to the music of the spheres...</em></strong></p><p> </p><p>Many a night, Kratas could be found in his room, poring over arcane primers and ritual formulae. It took many years for them to take hold, as they were somewhat alien to his mental training. His friend Dryder, a minstrel and vagabond, teased him without end in those early years for his bookishness.</p><p> </p><p><strong><em>The gates of his mind and the doors of ancestral memory are battered down, self knowledge expands as the Star's three-lobed eye opens and dialates... There is speech, the language is thought, idea and desire. The Outer Forces make plain their aims and goals for the physical world. Kratas's will bends...but does not break. He bears the weight of the heavens, deafened by silence and foul, alien thoughts.</em></strong></p><p> </p><p>He remembers the day of the uprising. He remembers the bloody end his father met at the tip of a slave's sword. Dryder was insistent that he not tarry, and assisted Kratas's escape from the slave’s vengeance. He will always be grateful to his low-born elven friend; though they fight as cats and dogs, their team is as eternal as the sands of Athas.</p><p> </p><p><strong><em>E'saadri, his mother was Kalashtar. Knowledge of his true ancestry strikes him like a cold wind. His blood, too, is Kalashtar; one of the Estranged humans of the deep desert. Knowledge of self brings strength; he pushes back the massive onslaught of amoral insight, powered by the writhing chaos without...</em></strong></p><p> </p><p>For months/years after the fall of the Ludis and the death of his father, Kratas wandered the city streets. Fortune had smiled on the night he had escaped when Dryder handed him the small fortune his father had kept. This money sustained him for a while, but did nothing to lift the yoke of loss from him. He had known nothing else, and now he had nothing. He spent the last of his coin for armor and weapons and set out to find Dryder...and perhaps a new life.</p><p> </p><p><strong><em>It takes every ounce of his remaining will to end the connection to the Far Realm. The brand of the Outer Things burns cold on his back as the black flames die out. He feels charged with power, but knows there is a price for this bargain. No matter, he has become a weapon...Let his enemies tremble at his approach, for he does not come alone - "They" are with him.</em></strong></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Raunalyn, post: 5708566, member: 72670"] [b]Interlude: Kratas in the Desert[/b] [B][I]Kratas Reborn[/I][/B] [B][/B] [B][I]It was but an hour from dusk when Kratas left is companions to their Amketch employers. Quietly he made his way out of the compound, across the streams and into the sands of the encompassing desert. He had a purpose.[/I][/B] [B][/B] Kratas was a noble by birth, born and raised in Tyr, though his father had not earned his title. He never knew his mother, as she died giving him life. His father told him little of her, and he could only get half the story from his wet-nurse-turned-nanny years later. [B][I]He tracked across the sands for a few miles, coming to a small basalt formation rising from the sand like a tooth of a long dead monster. What was he doing? Images not his own flashed like lightning through his weary mind. A symbol,... ancient? Forgotten? He knew of its origin...the Far Realm. His resolve wavered as he stared at the menacing rock scar and pulled forth a shard of coal.[/I][/B] [B][/B] Leatra, his nanny, and perhaps the only friend he had for his first fifteen years, spoke only briefly about his mother. "A mind-witch from the deep desert, and you too have her [I]Gift." [/I]She never explained further, but it was evident that his mother and father were a strange match. [B][I]He scratched the symbol onto the flat stone before him. He knew the words...for they had been whispered to him for days since the great battle with the Gith, or perhaps even the time he touched the Defiler relic. Reaching into himself, he summoned forth all of the psionic strength within him, creating countless turns in a mental maze, hoping it would protect him from what was to come...[/I][/B] [B][/B] Kratas's father was Khadhar, dominant lord of the Maktrel Ludis, or gladiatorial school. Slaves were a way of life to the growing noble's son, and the cries of men living and dying around him a constant din. Khadhar was a hard man, and would not suffer weakness from his child. By the time he was fifteen, he had seen hundreds die in and out of the fighting ring. [B][I]The lines of the Star blur and ignite, burning in inky black flame, bleeding peals of silent thunder. A connection is made as foreign and forgotten words burst forth from the Star, clouding his mind. Sweat drips from his forehead as he strains to keep the frayed ends of his sanity from leaking away like the forgotten rains of his desert world...[/I][/B] [B][/B] His father gave no ground, and accepted no excuse while Kratas trained in the Mind arts. He was to be an Adept, a powerful Psion...and Khadhar would accept nothing but perfection from his son. These disciplines came easily enough, but it was the Arcane that truly excited him. Knowing words and formula to alter the fabric of his world; this was what he really wanted. [B][I]He could feel them. The burning, faceless things that inhabit the black places between time and space. He could hear the foul piping of alien flutes, and listened in horror to the music of the spheres...[/I][/B] [B][/B] Many a night, Kratas could be found in his room, poring over arcane primers and ritual formulae. It took many years for them to take hold, as they were somewhat alien to his mental training. His friend Dryder, a minstrel and vagabond, teased him without end in those early years for his bookishness. [B][I]The gates of his mind and the doors of ancestral memory are battered down, self knowledge expands as the Star's three-lobed eye opens and dialates... There is speech, the language is thought, idea and desire. The Outer Forces make plain their aims and goals for the physical world. Kratas's will bends...but does not break. He bears the weight of the heavens, deafened by silence and foul, alien thoughts.[/I][/B] [B][/B] He remembers the day of the uprising. He remembers the bloody end his father met at the tip of a slave's sword. Dryder was insistent that he not tarry, and assisted Kratas's escape from the slave’s vengeance. He will always be grateful to his low-born elven friend; though they fight as cats and dogs, their team is as eternal as the sands of Athas. [B][I]E'saadri, his mother was Kalashtar. Knowledge of his true ancestry strikes him like a cold wind. His blood, too, is Kalashtar; one of the Estranged humans of the deep desert. Knowledge of self brings strength; he pushes back the massive onslaught of amoral insight, powered by the writhing chaos without...[/I][/B] [B][/B] For months/years after the fall of the Ludis and the death of his father, Kratas wandered the city streets. Fortune had smiled on the night he had escaped when Dryder handed him the small fortune his father had kept. This money sustained him for a while, but did nothing to lift the yoke of loss from him. He had known nothing else, and now he had nothing. He spent the last of his coin for armor and weapons and set out to find Dryder...and perhaps a new life. [B][I]It takes every ounce of his remaining will to end the connection to the Far Realm. The brand of the Outer Things burns cold on his back as the black flames die out. He feels charged with power, but knows there is a price for this bargain. No matter, he has become a weapon...Let his enemies tremble at his approach, for he does not come alone - "They" are with him.[/I][/B] [/QUOTE]
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