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Dark Sun 3E Story Hour: Sands of Blood (updated 9/20)
- Thread starter Spatula
- Start date
Session 1, Chapter 1: Like Father
The eastern road passed through Nibenay’s outlying farmlands, then turned slightly north and headed into the hills and canyons of the Blackspine Gap. As the burning sun reached its zenith, the wagons were pulled to the side of the road and canvas canopies were set up to shield the kanks from the worst of the day’s heat.
Aral Karef sat down in the shade next to one of the kanks and propped up his quarterstaff nearby. He considered pulling off his boots and massaging his sore feet, but reconsidered. I don’t want to appear weak in front of Laalresh. If word somehow got back to father…
That’s right! What would your father think, if he saw his only son crying because of some tired feet? You need to stand back up and ignore the pain. Keep marching. If your feet start to bleed, keep marching. If your feet fall off from your shins, keep marching. All this sitting down and resting is just a distraction. The voice was uncannily like Aral’s own, only much sterner, and seemed to come from just behind his left ear.
Aral sighed and glanced down at the pouch hanging from his belt that held his psicrystal, a small piece of rock that was empowered with a portion of his own mind. I was not crying. Nevertheless, he stood, retrieved his staff, and began to slowly walk around the temporary camp. That’s the spirit!
Attracted by the sounds of laughter, Aral made his way over to a large gathering of guards. A particularly handsome man with long blonde hair was telling a story of Thogo the Orphan Halfling, much to the delight of the group. In such stories, Thogo is a friendly but incredibly dim-witted member of his race, and there were many tales of his search for new friends as he wanders the Tablelands. In every tale, the halfling encounters vile monsters and evil men who try to take advantage of Thogo’s cheerful naïveté for their own purposes. But in the end, they always wind up in Thogo’s stewpot, with the little halfling himself none the wiser. This particular tale concerned a Nibenese templar who attempts to use Thogo to kill and eat a rival, only to be killed and eaten himself in a humorous mix-up. I’ve heard this one before, only the templars involved were Tyrian, I thought. Still, Aral had to admit that the man was a great storyteller. What was his name… Kanyth? Father always said a caravan guard should know the names of the men and women that he could be dying next to.
To Aral’s right, two of the kank-handlers were looking at one of the insects’ legs with a wastelander woman. Tobias, Zaed, …and Basal, the earth priestess. Basal was wrapped in dirt-colored robes, and leaned on a stone club as she knelt down to inspect the kank’s leg. Her features had a touch of the exotic to them, and Aral noticed slightly tapered ears peeking out from under her head wrap. For a half-elf she seems surprisingly easy-going. The few I met at the academy were all moody and defensive.
Up on a nearby ridge, Aral spied the caravan’s lone thri-kreen impatiently jogging by. The young psion actually knew some of the mantis warrior’s language, and had spoken with it earlier on. Krik is its name. It said Laalresh has assigned it to roam ahead with the outriders, scouting for danger in the caravan’s path. The ‘kreen was a ball of energy, always moving, and seeming to have little use for the shade of the tents. Even now, at high sun. I do envy its ability to live out here in the heat and dust.
On the other side of the kanks from the handlers, two humans and a dwarf talked amongst themselves while looking over a map. On the left was Laalresh the caravan master. He was a tall man, with short dark hair and finely spun traveling clothes. At his hips he wore two iron short swords. Aral knew from his father that Laalresh often boasted of having trained under the Urikite blade master Belkali, but his father never actually saw Laalresh use the swords in a fight.
Next to Laalresh was a slightly shorter man who had the look of a rootless wanderer about him. Karick, I believe, the mysterious guide with red hair and green eyes. From what Aral knew, the man was hired at the last second before the caravan left Nibenay. Is Laalresh planning on taking us out into the wastes? He must have traveled this route dozens of times, so why would he need a guide? On the other side of Karick was Laalresh’s dwarven lieutenant, Gravik, stout and hairless and fearsome-looking.
Soon the three concluded their discussion, and Gravik rolled the map back up and cleared his voice. “All right, you worthless goldbrickers, listen up! Pack up your gear, tear down the tents, and let’s get a move on! Naptime is over! You, quit your grumbling, or I’ll come over there and knock your jaw off!”
The caravan was soon ready to move once again, and the wagons were gradually pulled back onto the road to Raam. Finally we’re moving! You know, I really like that dwarf; he’s got exactly the right attitude. Why can’t you be more like a dwarf, anyway? It would make my existence so much easier. Hey, don’t stop! What did I tell you? Keep marching! No time for idleness! Stay focused!
Aral had paused on the road and was shaking his head. The other guards gave him quizzical looks as they marched past him. I should have put more thought into my choice of psicrystals. With a sigh he readjusted his pack and resumed his march under the brutal sun, following the road that his father before him once walked.
The eastern road passed through Nibenay’s outlying farmlands, then turned slightly north and headed into the hills and canyons of the Blackspine Gap. As the burning sun reached its zenith, the wagons were pulled to the side of the road and canvas canopies were set up to shield the kanks from the worst of the day’s heat.
Aral Karef sat down in the shade next to one of the kanks and propped up his quarterstaff nearby. He considered pulling off his boots and massaging his sore feet, but reconsidered. I don’t want to appear weak in front of Laalresh. If word somehow got back to father…
That’s right! What would your father think, if he saw his only son crying because of some tired feet? You need to stand back up and ignore the pain. Keep marching. If your feet start to bleed, keep marching. If your feet fall off from your shins, keep marching. All this sitting down and resting is just a distraction. The voice was uncannily like Aral’s own, only much sterner, and seemed to come from just behind his left ear.
Aral sighed and glanced down at the pouch hanging from his belt that held his psicrystal, a small piece of rock that was empowered with a portion of his own mind. I was not crying. Nevertheless, he stood, retrieved his staff, and began to slowly walk around the temporary camp. That’s the spirit!
Attracted by the sounds of laughter, Aral made his way over to a large gathering of guards. A particularly handsome man with long blonde hair was telling a story of Thogo the Orphan Halfling, much to the delight of the group. In such stories, Thogo is a friendly but incredibly dim-witted member of his race, and there were many tales of his search for new friends as he wanders the Tablelands. In every tale, the halfling encounters vile monsters and evil men who try to take advantage of Thogo’s cheerful naïveté for their own purposes. But in the end, they always wind up in Thogo’s stewpot, with the little halfling himself none the wiser. This particular tale concerned a Nibenese templar who attempts to use Thogo to kill and eat a rival, only to be killed and eaten himself in a humorous mix-up. I’ve heard this one before, only the templars involved were Tyrian, I thought. Still, Aral had to admit that the man was a great storyteller. What was his name… Kanyth? Father always said a caravan guard should know the names of the men and women that he could be dying next to.
To Aral’s right, two of the kank-handlers were looking at one of the insects’ legs with a wastelander woman. Tobias, Zaed, …and Basal, the earth priestess. Basal was wrapped in dirt-colored robes, and leaned on a stone club as she knelt down to inspect the kank’s leg. Her features had a touch of the exotic to them, and Aral noticed slightly tapered ears peeking out from under her head wrap. For a half-elf she seems surprisingly easy-going. The few I met at the academy were all moody and defensive.
Up on a nearby ridge, Aral spied the caravan’s lone thri-kreen impatiently jogging by. The young psion actually knew some of the mantis warrior’s language, and had spoken with it earlier on. Krik is its name. It said Laalresh has assigned it to roam ahead with the outriders, scouting for danger in the caravan’s path. The ‘kreen was a ball of energy, always moving, and seeming to have little use for the shade of the tents. Even now, at high sun. I do envy its ability to live out here in the heat and dust.
On the other side of the kanks from the handlers, two humans and a dwarf talked amongst themselves while looking over a map. On the left was Laalresh the caravan master. He was a tall man, with short dark hair and finely spun traveling clothes. At his hips he wore two iron short swords. Aral knew from his father that Laalresh often boasted of having trained under the Urikite blade master Belkali, but his father never actually saw Laalresh use the swords in a fight.
Next to Laalresh was a slightly shorter man who had the look of a rootless wanderer about him. Karick, I believe, the mysterious guide with red hair and green eyes. From what Aral knew, the man was hired at the last second before the caravan left Nibenay. Is Laalresh planning on taking us out into the wastes? He must have traveled this route dozens of times, so why would he need a guide? On the other side of Karick was Laalresh’s dwarven lieutenant, Gravik, stout and hairless and fearsome-looking.
Soon the three concluded their discussion, and Gravik rolled the map back up and cleared his voice. “All right, you worthless goldbrickers, listen up! Pack up your gear, tear down the tents, and let’s get a move on! Naptime is over! You, quit your grumbling, or I’ll come over there and knock your jaw off!”
The caravan was soon ready to move once again, and the wagons were gradually pulled back onto the road to Raam. Finally we’re moving! You know, I really like that dwarf; he’s got exactly the right attitude. Why can’t you be more like a dwarf, anyway? It would make my existence so much easier. Hey, don’t stop! What did I tell you? Keep marching! No time for idleness! Stay focused!
Aral had paused on the road and was shaking his head. The other guards gave him quizzical looks as they marched past him. I should have put more thought into my choice of psicrystals. With a sigh he readjusted his pack and resumed his march under the brutal sun, following the road that his father before him once walked.
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Session 1, Chapter 2: Good Omen
Shortly before dusk came to end the first day of the caravan’s travels, a ragged shout went up from one of the guards. “Silk wyrm to the north!” Everyone turned to look in the direction pointed out by the one who called out, and sure enough, a silvery ribbon could be seen flying through the air, several hundred feet away. It seemed to be heading towards the wagons in a lazy, aimless fashion. The assembled guards stopped to gawk at the sight, some turning to Laalresh for leadership.
The caravan master stood up from his seat at the front of one of the wagons and gazed at the distant snake-like monster with a scowl. “Hmmm, so it is. And it’s coming this way, I think. How unfortunate. What do you suggest, Gravik?”
The dwarf had already unslung his heavy crossbow and was busy cranking it. “Get out our bows and crossbows and shoot it until it dies! Damn beasties, killed my parents they did…”
The thri-kreen jogged over to Laalresh and spoke in its dry, raspy voice. “Many pardon, hoz, but I am familiar with creature like this. Difficult to fight without losing one or many tekmma’ak. Suggest we keep low and do not move, in hope that creature does not see tek.”*
“Hmmm, that sounds like a good idea, I suppose. Stay your hand, Gravik. Everyone else, get down and stay still. Perhaps it won’t bother us.” Laalresh followed his own advice by climbing into the wagon bed and hiding himself under the safety of its covering.
With some grumbling (the vast majority of it coming from the dwarf), the caravan guards and handlers did as they were ordered. The wyrm continued its slow flight towards the party. By the time it had closed half of the distance, its form could be seen much more clearly. Its body was roughly 40 feet long, covered in lumpy-looking chitin and capped by a wedge-shaped head that featured an extremely wide mouth.
“First it ate my family, now it’s back to finish the job!” groaned the dwarf. “We need attack before it’s on us!”
Still almost 200 feet away, the silk wyrm swiveled to look at something below it. Like a striking snake, its head reared back for an instant. It then dived down and out of sight, apparently attacking some unseen creature on the ground. The group remained where they were, anxiously watching the last visible spot the wyrm occupied. In short order the monster resurfaced, carrying a giant lizard in its massive jaws, and started moving away from the caravan. With sighs of relief, the guards stood up, dusted themselves off, and after Laalresh emerged from his hiding spot they resumed their journey.
When camp had been made that night, the men and women of the caravan sat around their campfires, gambled with their yet-to-earned wages, and spoke of the silk wyrm. “To see a wyrm on the first day, have it approach, but not attack? That’s a sign. It’s a good omen, it is,” said one of the men. “I’m thinking this trip is going to be the easiest money I’ve ever earned.”
But unbeknownst to the guards, a hunched over humanoid figure looked on the camp from far beyond the light of its fires. After a time, it turned around and ran off into the night.
* hoz = leader; tek = pack; tekmma’ak = packmate.
Shortly before dusk came to end the first day of the caravan’s travels, a ragged shout went up from one of the guards. “Silk wyrm to the north!” Everyone turned to look in the direction pointed out by the one who called out, and sure enough, a silvery ribbon could be seen flying through the air, several hundred feet away. It seemed to be heading towards the wagons in a lazy, aimless fashion. The assembled guards stopped to gawk at the sight, some turning to Laalresh for leadership.
The caravan master stood up from his seat at the front of one of the wagons and gazed at the distant snake-like monster with a scowl. “Hmmm, so it is. And it’s coming this way, I think. How unfortunate. What do you suggest, Gravik?”
The dwarf had already unslung his heavy crossbow and was busy cranking it. “Get out our bows and crossbows and shoot it until it dies! Damn beasties, killed my parents they did…”
The thri-kreen jogged over to Laalresh and spoke in its dry, raspy voice. “Many pardon, hoz, but I am familiar with creature like this. Difficult to fight without losing one or many tekmma’ak. Suggest we keep low and do not move, in hope that creature does not see tek.”*
“Hmmm, that sounds like a good idea, I suppose. Stay your hand, Gravik. Everyone else, get down and stay still. Perhaps it won’t bother us.” Laalresh followed his own advice by climbing into the wagon bed and hiding himself under the safety of its covering.
With some grumbling (the vast majority of it coming from the dwarf), the caravan guards and handlers did as they were ordered. The wyrm continued its slow flight towards the party. By the time it had closed half of the distance, its form could be seen much more clearly. Its body was roughly 40 feet long, covered in lumpy-looking chitin and capped by a wedge-shaped head that featured an extremely wide mouth.
“First it ate my family, now it’s back to finish the job!” groaned the dwarf. “We need attack before it’s on us!”
Still almost 200 feet away, the silk wyrm swiveled to look at something below it. Like a striking snake, its head reared back for an instant. It then dived down and out of sight, apparently attacking some unseen creature on the ground. The group remained where they were, anxiously watching the last visible spot the wyrm occupied. In short order the monster resurfaced, carrying a giant lizard in its massive jaws, and started moving away from the caravan. With sighs of relief, the guards stood up, dusted themselves off, and after Laalresh emerged from his hiding spot they resumed their journey.
When camp had been made that night, the men and women of the caravan sat around their campfires, gambled with their yet-to-earned wages, and spoke of the silk wyrm. “To see a wyrm on the first day, have it approach, but not attack? That’s a sign. It’s a good omen, it is,” said one of the men. “I’m thinking this trip is going to be the easiest money I’ve ever earned.”
But unbeknownst to the guards, a hunched over humanoid figure looked on the camp from far beyond the light of its fires. After a time, it turned around and ran off into the night.
* hoz = leader; tek = pack; tekmma’ak = packmate.
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Session 1, Chapter 3: Ambush!
Two days later, the wagons were almost upon the Blackspine Mountains. Further ahead, the road would turn northward, leading out of the Blackspine Gap, but Laalresh had other plans. The caravan pulled off of the main road and onto a smaller trail that led southeast, staying in the hills that surrounded the mountains.
On the next day, the caravan fell into a well-prepared ambush.
The trail had slimmed as it snaked uphill between a pair of rocky ridges. As the kanks struggled to pull their load through the most narrow section, shouts of “Chaaldach!” were heard from all sides, and a score or more gith appeared on top of both ridges. The stooped creatures continued to shout as they easily jumped down from their hiding locations and charged the surprised defenders. Most of the gith carried stone-tipped spears, though a few swung massive greataxes with blades shaped from bone.
Aral Karef struggled to recall his studies at the academy as two of gith advanced on him. In his mind’s eye, he could feel minute traces of moisture in the air, and more in the bodies of those near him. He quickly drew forth barely perceptible amounts of the water from all around while mentally transforming it into another form. A deep bass hum sprang up around him as his mind gathered the result of his work into two daggers composed of pure coldness.* He directed the missiles at the approaching gith, who fell over when struck with a look of great surprise on their faces (and a light coating of frost). The entire process took only a handful of seconds.
The young student of the Way looked on his handiwork and smiled to himself. But he was broken from his reverie by an arrow clattering on the packed dirt near his feet. Gith remained atop both ridges, and were firing arrows down into the melee.
Nearby, Krik charged the nearest gith to him, who appeared unarmed, but the thri-kreen's opponent easily jumped back from the thri-kreen’s hasty claw rake. One of the gith’s own clawed hands suddenly blazed with a reddish hue, and the creature attempted an overhand slash. Krik barely managed to lean backwards and avoid the deadly strike. The gith’s momentum carried its claw into the ground, where its strange glow discharged harmless into the dirt.
The thri-kreen responded with a flurry of claws and mandibles. Some attacks the gith dodged; others were harmless deflected by the surrounding air itself, as if it had somehow been hardened into an invisible shield. A gith chakak?** No matter, I will still bring it down and feast on its flesh.
Over on the other side of the caravan, a gith carrying a quarterstaff had remained on its ridge with the handful of archers. Since the attack began, it had been chanting with a strange voice while holding its staff aloft and grasping a piece of crystal that hung by a cord around its neck. It finished its prayers with a shout, and a humanoid shape rose from the dirt near the rear wagon. The newly formed figure was roughly three feet tall and composed of sand and stone. When it opened a mouth-like hole in its head, a deep rumbling sound issued forth: an elemental battle-cry.
Basal the earth priestess picked up the heavy crossbow that she had been reloading and moved closer to the earth elemental. She held forth the rock that hung from her neck and called out in Terran, “With the power of stone I command you to hold! Return to your home and bother use no more!” The rock began to glow with a soft brownish light, and the elemental shrank back in fear from the radiance. By the time the battle had ended, it had sunk back into the earth without moving from its spot.
In the meantime, the defenders struck down many gith, and some of the humans were pierced by many spears and fell next to their attackers. Aral continued to drop gith with his missiles of cold until he ran out of nearby foes. Scanning the melee for the best targets, he was surprised to see the mysterious guide Karick creating javelins of lightning from the air and hurling them at his foes. Another kineticist! On the opposite ridge, he could see that Gravik had reached its top and was swinging his stone war hammer at the gith cleric. Basal fired her crossbow into the back of another gith that had just stabbed one of the guards with its spear. Behind Aral, the thri-kreen and the gith psion were still struggling in vain against one another.
Down at the other end of the caravan, Aral spotted one of the axe-wielding gith, full of arrows and frothing at the mouth, as it readied a charge against some of the guards. Aral formed a single missile and directed it into the creature’s back. It gave a final shudder and collapsed.
Another raging gith disemboweled two guards with a single swing of its huge axe. Karick shocked it with a lightning missile, to no noticeable effect. The hulking monster turned on him and charged with a scream, slicing the guide’s midsection open with its axe. Karick desperately loosed another bolt of lightning while avoiding the gith’s attacks, again with no visible result (except perhaps angering his opponent further). As the gith readied for a powerful swing to split the human’s head in two, it was stuck simultaneously by several arrows and a massive crossbow bolt from Basal. The gith paused in mid-stroke, blood running from its mouth. After a long moment, it fell forward and on top of Karick, pinning him to the ground.
The few remaining gith routed. The one that fought tooth and claw against Krik backed off and ran to the hills. The thri-kreen, its shell covered with numerous claw marks, declined to give chase. A few arrows and bolts were half-heartedly loosed at the fleeing gith, to no great effect. When the situation appeared safe, the men and women descended on the bodies for some well-earned looting.
Gith corpses littered the landscape, along with several of the guards. Basal spread her healing around the wounded, thought the two disemboweled guards were beyond her aid. When she reached the thri-kreen, a raised claw stopped her short.
“Will your magic preserve my scars, ikthok?”**
“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. Your scars will fade as if they were never there.”
“No! If I have no scars on my jidz, how will those who look to me know my prowess as a kak?”**
“Uh… okaaay. Well, let me clean your wounds, at least. I can wash them with urine and pack them with dirt; that’ll keep them from drawing an infection.”***
“Very well.”
“And I will have to say a short prayer over the wrappings, in order to ensure full protection.”
“Very well.”
The priestess packed the wounds as promised, and wrapped them in long strips of cloth. Afterwards, she said her short prayers, which were in reality a handful of minor healing magics. Krik seemed not to notice.
In the midst of the carnage, Laalresh and Gravik sought out Karick. The guide had been healed by Basal, but his clothing was torn and he was covered in blood. “My, you are quite the surprise, aren’t you? Here I thought I had hired but one master of the Way, and it turns out I have two. And you’re an accomplished guide as well!” Gravik gave a short grunt in agreement.
“I am a man of many talents,” was all that the red haired kineticist would say in response.
“What do you think of these gith? They seem a rather ragged lot, no? I wonder why they left their homes in the mountains…”
Karick thought over the puzzle for a small while before replying. “Perhaps a stronger tribe chased them off? There are many gith living in the Blackspine.”
“True, true. But even… Hey, what's the thri-kreen doing over there?”
Gravik snorted. “Looks to me like he’s stripping the meat off of a gith.”
“I, uhm… Well…” Laalresh quickly turned around. “Gravik, go over them and tell him to stop. Or at least tell him to do it out of sight of the men. Yes, the men, that’s it.” The dwarf gave a coarse laugh and went to perform his duty.
* It was actually five missiles, but the energy missile power has since been toned down in our game and I would like to keep the story consistent with later events.
** chakak = psion; ikthok = earth cleric; jidz = chitin / shell; kak = warrior.
*** Fun survivalist fact - if water is scarce, urine can be used to clean wounds!
Two days later, the wagons were almost upon the Blackspine Mountains. Further ahead, the road would turn northward, leading out of the Blackspine Gap, but Laalresh had other plans. The caravan pulled off of the main road and onto a smaller trail that led southeast, staying in the hills that surrounded the mountains.
On the next day, the caravan fell into a well-prepared ambush.
The trail had slimmed as it snaked uphill between a pair of rocky ridges. As the kanks struggled to pull their load through the most narrow section, shouts of “Chaaldach!” were heard from all sides, and a score or more gith appeared on top of both ridges. The stooped creatures continued to shout as they easily jumped down from their hiding locations and charged the surprised defenders. Most of the gith carried stone-tipped spears, though a few swung massive greataxes with blades shaped from bone.
Aral Karef struggled to recall his studies at the academy as two of gith advanced on him. In his mind’s eye, he could feel minute traces of moisture in the air, and more in the bodies of those near him. He quickly drew forth barely perceptible amounts of the water from all around while mentally transforming it into another form. A deep bass hum sprang up around him as his mind gathered the result of his work into two daggers composed of pure coldness.* He directed the missiles at the approaching gith, who fell over when struck with a look of great surprise on their faces (and a light coating of frost). The entire process took only a handful of seconds.
The young student of the Way looked on his handiwork and smiled to himself. But he was broken from his reverie by an arrow clattering on the packed dirt near his feet. Gith remained atop both ridges, and were firing arrows down into the melee.
Nearby, Krik charged the nearest gith to him, who appeared unarmed, but the thri-kreen's opponent easily jumped back from the thri-kreen’s hasty claw rake. One of the gith’s own clawed hands suddenly blazed with a reddish hue, and the creature attempted an overhand slash. Krik barely managed to lean backwards and avoid the deadly strike. The gith’s momentum carried its claw into the ground, where its strange glow discharged harmless into the dirt.
The thri-kreen responded with a flurry of claws and mandibles. Some attacks the gith dodged; others were harmless deflected by the surrounding air itself, as if it had somehow been hardened into an invisible shield. A gith chakak?** No matter, I will still bring it down and feast on its flesh.
Over on the other side of the caravan, a gith carrying a quarterstaff had remained on its ridge with the handful of archers. Since the attack began, it had been chanting with a strange voice while holding its staff aloft and grasping a piece of crystal that hung by a cord around its neck. It finished its prayers with a shout, and a humanoid shape rose from the dirt near the rear wagon. The newly formed figure was roughly three feet tall and composed of sand and stone. When it opened a mouth-like hole in its head, a deep rumbling sound issued forth: an elemental battle-cry.
Basal the earth priestess picked up the heavy crossbow that she had been reloading and moved closer to the earth elemental. She held forth the rock that hung from her neck and called out in Terran, “With the power of stone I command you to hold! Return to your home and bother use no more!” The rock began to glow with a soft brownish light, and the elemental shrank back in fear from the radiance. By the time the battle had ended, it had sunk back into the earth without moving from its spot.
In the meantime, the defenders struck down many gith, and some of the humans were pierced by many spears and fell next to their attackers. Aral continued to drop gith with his missiles of cold until he ran out of nearby foes. Scanning the melee for the best targets, he was surprised to see the mysterious guide Karick creating javelins of lightning from the air and hurling them at his foes. Another kineticist! On the opposite ridge, he could see that Gravik had reached its top and was swinging his stone war hammer at the gith cleric. Basal fired her crossbow into the back of another gith that had just stabbed one of the guards with its spear. Behind Aral, the thri-kreen and the gith psion were still struggling in vain against one another.
Down at the other end of the caravan, Aral spotted one of the axe-wielding gith, full of arrows and frothing at the mouth, as it readied a charge against some of the guards. Aral formed a single missile and directed it into the creature’s back. It gave a final shudder and collapsed.
Another raging gith disemboweled two guards with a single swing of its huge axe. Karick shocked it with a lightning missile, to no noticeable effect. The hulking monster turned on him and charged with a scream, slicing the guide’s midsection open with its axe. Karick desperately loosed another bolt of lightning while avoiding the gith’s attacks, again with no visible result (except perhaps angering his opponent further). As the gith readied for a powerful swing to split the human’s head in two, it was stuck simultaneously by several arrows and a massive crossbow bolt from Basal. The gith paused in mid-stroke, blood running from its mouth. After a long moment, it fell forward and on top of Karick, pinning him to the ground.
The few remaining gith routed. The one that fought tooth and claw against Krik backed off and ran to the hills. The thri-kreen, its shell covered with numerous claw marks, declined to give chase. A few arrows and bolts were half-heartedly loosed at the fleeing gith, to no great effect. When the situation appeared safe, the men and women descended on the bodies for some well-earned looting.
Gith corpses littered the landscape, along with several of the guards. Basal spread her healing around the wounded, thought the two disemboweled guards were beyond her aid. When she reached the thri-kreen, a raised claw stopped her short.
“Will your magic preserve my scars, ikthok?”**
“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. Your scars will fade as if they were never there.”
“No! If I have no scars on my jidz, how will those who look to me know my prowess as a kak?”**
“Uh… okaaay. Well, let me clean your wounds, at least. I can wash them with urine and pack them with dirt; that’ll keep them from drawing an infection.”***
“Very well.”
“And I will have to say a short prayer over the wrappings, in order to ensure full protection.”
“Very well.”
The priestess packed the wounds as promised, and wrapped them in long strips of cloth. Afterwards, she said her short prayers, which were in reality a handful of minor healing magics. Krik seemed not to notice.
In the midst of the carnage, Laalresh and Gravik sought out Karick. The guide had been healed by Basal, but his clothing was torn and he was covered in blood. “My, you are quite the surprise, aren’t you? Here I thought I had hired but one master of the Way, and it turns out I have two. And you’re an accomplished guide as well!” Gravik gave a short grunt in agreement.
“I am a man of many talents,” was all that the red haired kineticist would say in response.
“What do you think of these gith? They seem a rather ragged lot, no? I wonder why they left their homes in the mountains…”
Karick thought over the puzzle for a small while before replying. “Perhaps a stronger tribe chased them off? There are many gith living in the Blackspine.”
“True, true. But even… Hey, what's the thri-kreen doing over there?”
Gravik snorted. “Looks to me like he’s stripping the meat off of a gith.”
“I, uhm… Well…” Laalresh quickly turned around. “Gravik, go over them and tell him to stop. Or at least tell him to do it out of sight of the men. Yes, the men, that’s it.” The dwarf gave a coarse laugh and went to perform his duty.
* It was actually five missiles, but the energy missile power has since been toned down in our game and I would like to keep the story consistent with later events.
** chakak = psion; ikthok = earth cleric; jidz = chitin / shell; kak = warrior.
*** Fun survivalist fact - if water is scarce, urine can be used to clean wounds!
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Session 1, Chapter 4: Unwise Actions
Two days had passed since the ambush, and the thri-kreen was ranging ahead of the caravan with some of the mounted outriders. His wounds from the fight with the gith had mostly healed, leaving a number of shallow scars that crisscrossed his carapace. As he sprinted along the rocky slope that bordered the road, effortlessly keeping pace with the kanks on the packed dirt below him, his insectoid mind was filled with the joy of the relentless hunt. Find the prey, bring it down, consume it, never stop moving. It was what he was made for. But for the most part, the scouts had spotted nothing aside from the occasional bird or lizard.
Then, unexpectedly, the prey presented itself.
On top of a rocky outcropping that abutted the road in the distance, Krik spotted a humanoid figure. The humanoid had apparently noticed the thri-kreen and riders as well, for it turned to present its profile to them, and raised a long, curved stick in front of its body. Then it pulled its other arm backwards in a familiar motion…
“Archer!” A shaft loosed from the humanoid’s longbow as the thri-kreen broke into a run to close the intervening space as quickly as possible. The outcropping was a good position to guard the road, he noticed, as there was no easy ascent to the archer’s position from the mantis warrior’s direction. The arrow arced through the sky and struck the ground near one of the kanks. The archer was already drawing another. “It is mine,” Krik called out to the mounted humans. “Go back and tell the tek!”* He kept moving without checking to see if they complied. His mind was bent on the hunt.
Arrows chased the ‘kreen as he raced towards the rock formation. When he got closer, the humanoid lowered its bow and clambered down from its perch, behind the stones and out of sight. Krik followed the road as it curved around the large rocks and spied that on the other side, their height descended closer to the dirt. He skidded to a halt, turned, and made an astounding standing leap from the road up onto a ledge. Another short hop brought him on top of the outcropping and within sight of his prey.
Unfortunately, his prey had friends. Five tall and slender elves, their skin darkened by constant exposure to the desert sun, were climbing up from a camp on the other side of the outcropping, seven-foot longbows in hand. Without hesitation, Krik charged into their midst.
The elves nimbly avoided his claws, however. The elf in front of the ‘kreen dropped her bow and pulled out an elven longsword, its edge fashioned from shards of bone. Her companions backed off, loosing arrows at the mantis-man as they moved. Three elven shafts sunk themselves in Krik’s shell, and he began to think that taking on five elves by himself had not been a wise decision.
Krik jumped over a low sword-swing and retreated. He leaped down to the hard dirt surface of the road, then ran across it and up the rough slope on the opposite side. Three of the elves advanced to the edge of the outcropping and continued to fire arrows, while the other two, swords drawn, made their way down to follow on foot.
Just then, bolts of pure coldness struck two of the archers, felling both of them. Two hundred feet down the road, back in the direction of the caravan, three kanks could be seen, carrying their normal riders along with Basal, Aral Karef, and Karick Reshaw. Aral’s kank had been stopped by its rider to allow the young kineticist to better concentrate on the Way. The elven archer that still stood took stock of the situation before retreating away from the road and out of sight.
From his seat behind the saddle of a galloping kank, Karick glanced over his shoulder in surprise at Aral. Karick knew how to perform the same “trick” with ambient energies (though he preferred to use lightning over cold), but the range of his abilities was not nearly so long.
Meanwhile, Krik had also moved out of sight from the road, and had temporarily outrun his pursuers. A quick scan of the surrounding terrain revealed a shadowy hollow under a boulder to the thri-kreen’s right, which he proceeded to squeeze himself into. He concentrated on his hidden talent, deepening the shadows around him and hopefully concealing himself from sight. The ‘kreen then took stock of his wounds. Not good. If the ikthok offered to remove my scars right now, I would not refuse her.* His compound eyes were drawn to a nearby movement; the two elves had caught up and were searching the empty landscape for him. One of them noticed a trail of dark yellow thri-kreen blood on the reddish rocks, and followed it with his eyes to Krik’s hiding place. “There it is! Kill it!”
The desperate thri-kreen burst from the shadows and leaped at the elves. Krik held no hope of survival, but he was determined to inflict as much damage as possible before dying. His claws tore into the side of one the elves, tearing her leather armor and drawing blood. His foes moved into flanking positions and beat at him with their swords.
Then a thick crossbow quarrel sprouted from the shoulder of one elf, and flashes of electricity and cold struck both of them. Krik breathed heavily in relief as the two elves fell to the ground, dying or dead, burnt and covered in frost. His companions from the caravan sat on kanks atop a hill, back in the direction of the road. The thri-kreen wearily nodded in appreciation and then bent down to slit the throats of his attackers. The riders and their mounts made their way down the hill towards him. When they were closer the thri-kreen spoke.
“Ikthok, I humbly ask for healing prayers. These scars will fade from my jidz, but the memory of them will not fade from my mind.”*
Basal gave the young warrior a nod to signal that she understood as she dismounted.
“Aren’t you going to eat these elves like you ate the gith?” asked one of the outriders, gesturing towards the bodies. “I thought elf meat was a delicacy for your kind.”
“So it is said. But I was raised in slavery and have never tasted the flesh of an elf.” Krik regarded the almost-elvish ears of Basal with curiosity as she bent down to heal his wounds with her prayers.
Karick knelt over the bodies, examining their clothing and weapons. “They look like they’re members of the Silver Seeker tribe. I didn’t even know that the Seekers traveled this region. Why did they attack you?”
An outrider spoke up. “They just did. There was no warning.” He inclined his head in Krik’s direction. “Maybe they really hate ‘kreen?”
“The first arrow was aimed for you, or your mount. They were guarding the road, I am certain.”
“We need to return to the caravan and warn Laalresh,” Aral said. “This looks like trouble.”
* tek = pack; ikthok = earth cleric; jidz = chitin / shell
Two days had passed since the ambush, and the thri-kreen was ranging ahead of the caravan with some of the mounted outriders. His wounds from the fight with the gith had mostly healed, leaving a number of shallow scars that crisscrossed his carapace. As he sprinted along the rocky slope that bordered the road, effortlessly keeping pace with the kanks on the packed dirt below him, his insectoid mind was filled with the joy of the relentless hunt. Find the prey, bring it down, consume it, never stop moving. It was what he was made for. But for the most part, the scouts had spotted nothing aside from the occasional bird or lizard.
Then, unexpectedly, the prey presented itself.
On top of a rocky outcropping that abutted the road in the distance, Krik spotted a humanoid figure. The humanoid had apparently noticed the thri-kreen and riders as well, for it turned to present its profile to them, and raised a long, curved stick in front of its body. Then it pulled its other arm backwards in a familiar motion…
“Archer!” A shaft loosed from the humanoid’s longbow as the thri-kreen broke into a run to close the intervening space as quickly as possible. The outcropping was a good position to guard the road, he noticed, as there was no easy ascent to the archer’s position from the mantis warrior’s direction. The arrow arced through the sky and struck the ground near one of the kanks. The archer was already drawing another. “It is mine,” Krik called out to the mounted humans. “Go back and tell the tek!”* He kept moving without checking to see if they complied. His mind was bent on the hunt.
Arrows chased the ‘kreen as he raced towards the rock formation. When he got closer, the humanoid lowered its bow and clambered down from its perch, behind the stones and out of sight. Krik followed the road as it curved around the large rocks and spied that on the other side, their height descended closer to the dirt. He skidded to a halt, turned, and made an astounding standing leap from the road up onto a ledge. Another short hop brought him on top of the outcropping and within sight of his prey.
Unfortunately, his prey had friends. Five tall and slender elves, their skin darkened by constant exposure to the desert sun, were climbing up from a camp on the other side of the outcropping, seven-foot longbows in hand. Without hesitation, Krik charged into their midst.
The elves nimbly avoided his claws, however. The elf in front of the ‘kreen dropped her bow and pulled out an elven longsword, its edge fashioned from shards of bone. Her companions backed off, loosing arrows at the mantis-man as they moved. Three elven shafts sunk themselves in Krik’s shell, and he began to think that taking on five elves by himself had not been a wise decision.
Krik jumped over a low sword-swing and retreated. He leaped down to the hard dirt surface of the road, then ran across it and up the rough slope on the opposite side. Three of the elves advanced to the edge of the outcropping and continued to fire arrows, while the other two, swords drawn, made their way down to follow on foot.
Just then, bolts of pure coldness struck two of the archers, felling both of them. Two hundred feet down the road, back in the direction of the caravan, three kanks could be seen, carrying their normal riders along with Basal, Aral Karef, and Karick Reshaw. Aral’s kank had been stopped by its rider to allow the young kineticist to better concentrate on the Way. The elven archer that still stood took stock of the situation before retreating away from the road and out of sight.
From his seat behind the saddle of a galloping kank, Karick glanced over his shoulder in surprise at Aral. Karick knew how to perform the same “trick” with ambient energies (though he preferred to use lightning over cold), but the range of his abilities was not nearly so long.
Meanwhile, Krik had also moved out of sight from the road, and had temporarily outrun his pursuers. A quick scan of the surrounding terrain revealed a shadowy hollow under a boulder to the thri-kreen’s right, which he proceeded to squeeze himself into. He concentrated on his hidden talent, deepening the shadows around him and hopefully concealing himself from sight. The ‘kreen then took stock of his wounds. Not good. If the ikthok offered to remove my scars right now, I would not refuse her.* His compound eyes were drawn to a nearby movement; the two elves had caught up and were searching the empty landscape for him. One of them noticed a trail of dark yellow thri-kreen blood on the reddish rocks, and followed it with his eyes to Krik’s hiding place. “There it is! Kill it!”
The desperate thri-kreen burst from the shadows and leaped at the elves. Krik held no hope of survival, but he was determined to inflict as much damage as possible before dying. His claws tore into the side of one the elves, tearing her leather armor and drawing blood. His foes moved into flanking positions and beat at him with their swords.
Then a thick crossbow quarrel sprouted from the shoulder of one elf, and flashes of electricity and cold struck both of them. Krik breathed heavily in relief as the two elves fell to the ground, dying or dead, burnt and covered in frost. His companions from the caravan sat on kanks atop a hill, back in the direction of the road. The thri-kreen wearily nodded in appreciation and then bent down to slit the throats of his attackers. The riders and their mounts made their way down the hill towards him. When they were closer the thri-kreen spoke.
“Ikthok, I humbly ask for healing prayers. These scars will fade from my jidz, but the memory of them will not fade from my mind.”*
Basal gave the young warrior a nod to signal that she understood as she dismounted.
“Aren’t you going to eat these elves like you ate the gith?” asked one of the outriders, gesturing towards the bodies. “I thought elf meat was a delicacy for your kind.”
“So it is said. But I was raised in slavery and have never tasted the flesh of an elf.” Krik regarded the almost-elvish ears of Basal with curiosity as she bent down to heal his wounds with her prayers.
Karick knelt over the bodies, examining their clothing and weapons. “They look like they’re members of the Silver Seeker tribe. I didn’t even know that the Seekers traveled this region. Why did they attack you?”
An outrider spoke up. “They just did. There was no warning.” He inclined his head in Krik’s direction. “Maybe they really hate ‘kreen?”
“The first arrow was aimed for you, or your mount. They were guarding the road, I am certain.”
“We need to return to the caravan and warn Laalresh,” Aral said. “This looks like trouble.”
* tek = pack; ikthok = earth cleric; jidz = chitin / shell
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Regarding Krik's "hidden talent", all the PCs started with a random 1st-level psionic power and 2 power points (sort of like the Hidden Talent feat from the XPH, only for free and random). Krik's wild talent is control light, Basal's is stomp, and Kanyth the bard's is attraction. I'm not sure what the kineticists' talents are, since they got 'absorbed' into their regular list of known powers.
(Psi)SeveredHead
Adventurer
Is it just me, or does the thri-kreen never hit?
Heh, there's actually a reason for that. After the first few sessions, the thri-kreen's player realized that he forgot to add in the attack and save bonuses from his racial hit dice - he was basically taking a -2 penalty to hit on all attacks and a -3 penalty to his reflex and will saves (which explains why he kept failing to deflect any arrows). Also, I think he wasn't rolling too well during the first session.
Now that the oversight has been corrected, his character is much more dangerous.
Now that the oversight has been corrected, his character is much more dangerous.
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