Session 109

Battle is Joined

Chapter 1: Into the Domes

With no warning, the thri-kreen lunged forward, their chitinous limbs wrapping around the adventurers in a grip as strong as it was alien. In the blink of an eye, the ground fell away—stone and dust whipping past as the insect warriors leapt skyward, carrying their struggling captives effortlessly in their arms. Up the curved side of a massive earthen dome they soared, landing atop it with a heavy thud. The companions were unceremoniously thrust forward, stumbling on the sunbaked surface.

One of the thri-kreen hissed in its clicking dialect before translating with flat finality: “Chax-chik waits below.”

Before any questions could be asked, a hatch was pulled open, revealing a ladder that vanished into shadow. The only way was down.

Climbing into the dome’s hollow belly, the group emerged into a vast, circular chamber nearly fifty feet across. The air inside was strangely temperate—cool and still, a stark contrast to the sweltering world above. The curved walls were lined with hexagonal niches, forming a honeycomb pattern that rose from just above the floor to the point where the walls curved inward to shape the dome’s ceiling.

Each niche cradled a single item, as if placed with care: waterskins swollen with precious liquid, corked glass bottles that gleamed in the dim light, stone heads broken from forgotten statues, glistening globes of golden kank honey, bowls of tubers and wild nuts, dried meat arranged on flat plates, and a single censer exhaling wisps of fragrant smoke. The scent was sweet and thick, curling through the chamber like an incense offering to something unseen.

Chapter 2: Unusual Greenhouse

Without warning, the round hide door creaked open, and a thri-kreen lieutenant strode into the chamber with deliberate speed. Its chitin glistened under the dim light, and though its alien face revealed little emotion, its voice cut through the silence with sharp impatience. In halting but clear Common, it barked, “Chax-chik does not like to be kept waiting.” There was no room for negotiation. It turned and clicked a command over its shoulder, expecting the adventurers to follow without question.

The group was led through a connecting tunnel into another dome, this one glowing with a strange and beautiful light. Over a hundred translucent wax globes clung to the ceiling like oversized dewdrops. Each sphere held shimmering water inside, and a few had been pierced with pinholes, allowing glowing droplets to fall in a slow, glistening rain. The soft illumination filled the space, the result of clever enchantment—each globe imbued with a simple light spell.

The room itself was alive. A thick mat of green grass covered the ground underfoot, springy and cool. Vines twisted their way up the honeycombed walls, and every niche bloomed with small plants—flowering herbs, curling tendrils, and fragrant blossoms that perfumed the air with a sweet, earthy scent. Amid the foliage, two thri-kreen caretakers moved with silent precision, snipping wilted petals with delicate silver scissors, their alien grace in perfect harmony with the garden’s peace.

At the very heart of this living chamber stood a broken half-pillar, unmistakably hewn from the same stone as those once lining the ancient roads or the crater rim above. Perched atop it was a carved stone head—a portrait of a woman with fierce, commanding eyes. The resemblance to Mahlanda was undeniable… and unsettling. The likeness stared back at them as though challenging them to remember something long buried, or warning them of what lay ahead.

Chapter 3: Meeting With Chax-Chik

The heavy hide door creaked open, revealing another dome bathed in pale light streaming through a circular opening high above. At the room’s center sat a towering figure—larger than any thri-kreen they had seen—its sandy carapace adorned with vivid, intricate paint. A large crystal hung from a thong around its neck, pulsing faintly with psionic energy. This, the adventurers realized with uneasy certainty, was Chax-chik—the feared tohr-kreen psionicist.

Flanking her stood four deadly mantis warriors, each gripping gleaming gythkas, their chatkchas tucked neatly into pouches at their hips. Around their necks hung smaller shards of crystal, humming quietly with latent power. At their feet lay a battered thri-kreen, its body torn and leaking dark fluids from deep wounds. Without mercy, one of the mantis warriors jabbed the wounded creature with a sharp gythka, emphasizing their ruthless discipline.

Yet, it was not Chax-chik nor her fearsome guards nor the wounded that commanded the adventurers’ gaze. Just behind the psionicist, a group of humanoids stood—Urikites. The same treacherous Urikites who had betrayed the party to the giants and later tried to plunder the treasure of Haakar. Recognition struck cold like a blade.

The Urikites’ eyes locked onto the party, shock freezing the room in silence. Then, Thorvadorak stepped forward, voice dripping with scorn. “These are the ones you hoped would fight your war? They will only betray you to the Order,” he spat. “Kill them now, before they strike from behind!”

Tension crackled as accusations flew and weapons were drawn. The thri-kreen guards moved swiftly to protect the adventurers, standing resolute against the Urikite threat. But before the conflict could escalate further, Chax-chik raised a hand, demanding silence. Her voice was cold and commanding as she declared she must prepare for Bokum—the looming enemy. With chilling finality, she ended the life of the spy, then turned and vanished, leaving a heavy silence and a sense of dread hanging in the air.

Chapter 4: Kitchen

Left to their own devices, the group pressed deeper into the labyrinth of domes, their footsteps echoing softly against the earthen floors. The next chamber they entered revealed itself as the kitchen—a space alive with the lingering scent of food and toil. The honeycombed walls were lined with niches brimming with provisions: fresh and dried meats hung and rested side by side, raw vegetables spilled from woven baskets, plump fruits glistened invitingly, and countless bottles of rich, amber klick-wine stood ready to pour. The room spoke of a strange, deliberate hospitality, a quiet pause amid the looming dangers that surrounded them.

Chapter 5: Training Room

A low, eerie buzzing drifted from the open door of the next dome, drawing the group’s attention. Inside, eight thri-kreen children swayed rhythmically, their bodies humming in unison as they rocked back and forth, heads bowing to the floor in a strange, trance-like ritual. The adventurers watched in stunned silence as one child’s form blurred and dissolved into a ghostly smoke that drifted silently through the wall like a whispered secret. Nearby, another child halted its rocking, eyes fixed in fierce concentration on a small bowl of water that suddenly roiled and bubbled as if boiling from some unseen fire. Elsewhere, a third child tracked a chatkcha buzzing in an erratic orbit around the chamber—jerky, unpredictable, yet mesmerizing. At the end of its chaotic path, the chatkcha dove into a tethered lizard, snapping off its head with cold precision.

The room’s other exit stood guarded by a solemn thri-kreen sentinel, its gaze forbidding, denying the group any further passage. The children’s strange rituals and the silent barrier hinted at mysteries too dangerous—or sacred—to be disturbed.

Chapter 6: Dinner

The players were summoned to dine with Chax-Chik and her lieutenants—a rare invitation that carried weight and unspoken meaning. Seated alongside them were the Urikites, their old enemies now temporary allies under a strained truce. The atmosphere was tense, made stranger still by the customs of their hosts. The thri-kreen ate standing and in constant motion, pacing slowly as they tore into raw meat with their powerful mandibles, placing what remained back into communal baskets without pause or concern.

The adventurers did their best to adapt, though their every misstep—hesitating, sitting too long, or touching the wrong food—was met with quiet ridicule from the Urikites. Snide remarks and hushed laughter drifted across the table, but the mockery faded as the party quickly adapted to the alien ritual.

After the uneasy meal ended, Chax-Chik offered no words, only a gesture of dismissal. The two factions were shown to their camps—set deliberately on opposite sides of the ancient stone road. Though there was no open conflict, the air between them remained thick with distrust, and both groups knew that this uneasy alliance might shatter with the slightest provocation.

Chapter 7: Night Plans

As the twin moons cast their pale light across the strange settlement, the adventurers settled into their camp. All around them, the sleepless thri-kreen moved with tireless purpose, clicking softly as they patrolled or worked under the starlit sky. The air was thick with tension—the fragile peace with the Urikites hung by a thread, and everyone knew it.

Watches were set, and the night passed in cautious silence. But during the final watch, a restless gleam flickered in Shank’s eyes. The thought struck him like a blade in the dark—what harm could there be in slipping across the road and stealing something from the Urikites? Just a little payback.

He moved like a shadow, low and quiet. But before he could cross the divide, Safi caught the glint of movement. Her voice, low and firm, cut through the silence. “Don’t,” she warned, eyes scanning the perimeter. “Too many thri-kreen. You’ll bring their wrath on all of us.”

For a long heartbeat, Shank stood still, the urge to act burning in his chest. But in the end, he exhaled a sharp breath and nodded, backing away from the road with a scowl. The opportunity faded, and the uneasy peace held—at least for now.

Chapter 8: A Private Audience

At dawn, as the final watch still held the quiet stillness of the desert, Shiv was summoned for a private audience with the enigmatic Chax-Chik. The thri-kreen leader, tall and poised in the morning light filtering through the chitinous dome, revealed her bold intentions—raids on both the Order’s stronghold and the encampments of Bokum’s forces. But it was her revelations about Bokum that struck deepest.

A spy had uncovered the truth: Bokum, the dwarven psionicist, was deceiving the thri-kreen. Cloaked in illusions, he had convinced them he was no ordinary being, but an avangion—a winged figure of power and grace. Using his formidable psionics, he had unveiled this radiant, winged form to them. Enraptured, they called him the Great One, a messianic figure they believed would bring rebirth to the desolate Hinterlands.

With a pause weighted by meaning, Chax-Chik leaned closer and spoke of what might come after the bloodshed. She extended a rare invitation—to visit her in the distant tohr-kreen city nestled beyond the Ringing Mountains. As a token of this promise, she presented Shiv with an amulet, its carvings alien and intricate, a sign of passage and recognition among her people.

Their meeting ended not with farewells, but with silent understanding. The storm of war was coming—but after, perhaps, a new path would open.

Chapter 9: Battle is Joined

The first sign was not sight or sound, but silence—an oppressive, unnatural stillness that settled like a weight upon the chest. The wind ceased. The heat thickened. Then came the trembling, a subtle pulse rising from the earth, crawling up their legs and anchoring itself in their bones.

Without warning, a pressure wave tore through the air—soundless but unmistakable, like a scream felt rather than heard. A nearby thri-kreen warrior staggered, mandibles twitching in confusion. Another howled and dropped its weapon, clutching its head as if fending off something invisible.

Then came the sound—metallic and alien, shrieking through the dust. With it surged a wave of raw psychic force—fear, confusion, disorientation—all crashing into the minds of those present like a stormfront.

Figures stepped from the rocks, impossibly close. Dozens of them, armored and silent, moved with chilling precision. And at their center walked a figure like a gathering storm: squat, powerful, bald head slick with sweat beneath a black leather cap, glass-and-leather goggles glinting with cruel purpose beneath the red sun.

He said nothing, but the world bent subtly around him—air rippling with force, space itself trembling. Bokum had arrived. The attack had not begun; it was already underway.

The thri-kreen snapped into action. Some fell to the pressure, weapons clattering from stunned claws, but others rallied at Chax-Chik’s cry. Her voice—sharp, commanding—cut through the chaos.

"Stand! Stand now! This is no raid—this is a psion-war! Fight beside us and earn an alliance the Order will learn to fear!"

And with that, she vanished into the storm of dust and shrieking air, her lieutenants at her side, charging toward the figure whose very presence warped reality.

No name was spoken. None needed to be.
It was Bokum.

Chapter 10: Round 1

The battlefield erupted into chaos as the thri-kreen surged forward, a blur of flashing claws and snapping mandibles. Dust swirled in blinding clouds, and the very air trembled with psionic resonance. The Urikites, caught in the maelstrom, hesitated—unsure if the frenzy before them was foe, ally, or something worse.

In the confusion, Safi extended a hand and summoned spectral erdlu to stampede through the Urikite ranks, hoping to sow disorder. But the warriors of Urik saw through the ruse, their eyes narrowing with suspicion and growing resentment.

Shiv stepped forward like a war spirit of the wastes, brandishing the bloodstained mace taken from the slain Urikite, Ulreg. The message was clear: he would not be trifled with. The Urikites’ hesitation deepened, edged with fear.

Karnos, reaching inward, summoned his psionic shield—intellect fortress—but found it offered little protection in the close-quarters madness. All around him, the lines broke and reformed in dust and fury.

Then Shank roared, a primal cry lost in the din, as flames erupted around him. The sand itself cracked and split, birthing a ring of molten stone. A miniature volcano surged from the battlefield, scattering thri-kreen like startled insects.

Amid the chaos, Anvar spun to intercept a blow aimed for Safi, his blade deflecting the strike with a flash of steel. Nearby, Zahraan was caught unprepared, swept into the storm of violence with no time to react.

All around them, the dust danced with blood and power. This was no battle of tactics or alliances—it was survival, raw and wild, beneath the burning gaze of the crimson sun.

Chapter 11: Round 2

Psionic energy crackled fiercely overhead as Bokum and Chax-chik locked minds in a battle of wills that shook the very air. Around them, the thri-kreen frenzy surged like wildfire, their movements growing more violent and desperate with each passing second.

Amid the chaos, Zahraan slipped free from the crushing grip of a thri-kreen grappler, his breath ragged but resolve unbroken. Anvar lunged forward just in time to wrench Safi from another predator’s grasp, their escape fleeting but vital.

Shank roared as he unleashed his bio-technique, flames roaring to life along the edge of his great axe, sending shards of blazing fury scattering the thri-kreen like frightened prey.

Karnos reached deep within, attempting a psionic strike against the Urikites, but his attack missed its mark, only stoking their wrath and sharpening their hostility.

Shiv stepped forward, voice steady but desperate, seeking peace and understanding with the wary Urikites. His words, however, fell like dust upon stone, rejected and cold.

In the midst of mounting tension, Safi summoned a flicker of light behind the thri-kreen ranks, a brief glimmer that fractured their focus and granted a moment’s precious distraction.

The battle raged on, minds and blades clashing beneath the searing glow of the dark sun.

Chapter 12: Round 3

At the height of the psionic storm, the air cracked with unseen force. Minds locked in battle strained beyond mortal limits — until, with a final surge, one mind shattered. The loser crumpled to the dust, lifeless. The victor loomed in silence, radiating raw mental might. A tremor swept across the battlefield. Thri-kreen scattered in every direction, their cohesion broken, and the Urikites—those hardened desert soldiers—fled in panic, their courage undone.

Zahraan struck from the shadows of a magical darkness, his blade flashing as he danced within the black sphere. Above, Shank roared with fury. His boots ignited with arcane energy, lifting him into the hot air. From above, he unleashed burning hands in a torrent, scorching the battlefield below with wildfire fury.

Amid the chaos, Anvar seized the moment to pull Safi to safety, shielding the elder druid from a killing blow. Shiv made no such retreat. With fire in his eyes, he faced the Urikites, driving fear into their hearts. As they watched, he plunged his bare hands into a thri-kreen’s chitinous shell and ripped it open, his expression unreadable, merciless.

Safi, battered but unbroken, summoned the power of nature into his staff with shillelagh and lashed out, but the enemy’s blow sent him reeling. Karnos, desperate to rally his allies, called upon his gift as a master tactician—but his voice was drowned in the storm. In that moment, there was only dust, fire, and the quiet terror of defeat whispering through the wind.

Chapter 13: Aftermath

The battle had reached a fevered pitch, chaos choking the very air. High above the carnage, Bokum and Chax-chik faced each other like twin storms, their minds locked in a psionic duel so intense the atmosphere shimmered with invisible violence. The ground trembled with each mental blow, ripples of force shaking the dust and distorting sound.

Below them, the thri-kreen descended like a living tempest, a hurricane of clicking mandibles and flashing claws. The Urikites, already uncertain in their shaky alliance, broke under the pressure. They vanished into the choking haze of battle, abandoning their former allies to the swarm.

The adventurers found themselves alone, hemmed in by an endless tide of insectoid warriors. The wind carried the scent of sweat and blood, and dust clawed at their lungs and eyes. There was no time to think, no path of retreat—only the primal instinct to survive. Blades sang, psionics flared, and still the thri-kreen came, wave after wave of chitin and rage.

Across the battlefield, barely 200 feet away, the duel reached its zenith. Bokum faltered, shoulders slumping—until his hands rose, twisted like talons, and hurled his will forward. Chax-chik, defiant to the last, staggered back. Her limbs jerked once. Then she sank to the ground with a keening death cry that echoed across the battlefield.

A hush fell among the thri-kreen. Their leader was dead. But Bokum did not roar in triumph. He merely stood over her body, his breath shallow, his strength spent. Whatever victory he had claimed came at a cost too deep to savor.

Chapter 14: Final Acts

At last, the chaos subsided. The roar of battle gave way to a haunting stillness as the dust settled over a field strewn with broken bodies and shattered weapons. The desert wind whispered mournfully across the sand, carrying the silence of the fallen. Around the battered adventurers, the thri-kreen hordes—once a relentless storm of frenzy and violence—had all but annihilated one another. The ground was littered with the corpses of mantis warriors, their alien forms twisted in death.

The few survivors stood in shock, their rage dulled by the devastating loss of their leaders. No more snarls, no more bloodlust—only heavy breath and weary motion as the survivors began gathering their dead. In solemn silence, they moved to form the Circle, a sacred ring in the sand where the bodies of the fallen would be honored.

Amidst this grim aftermath, the adventurers took stock of the field. The Urikites were gone, having fled into the storm of dust and death when the tide turned. But the thri-kreen were not blind to the danger their escape posed. Quietly, efficiently, a hunting party was dispatched—swift stalkers who would track and silence the deserters, ensuring the sacred Circle would remain hidden from the outside world.

Then, in a final, chilling act, Shiv approached the broken figure of Bokum. The dwarven psionicist stood dazed, hollow-eyed after his brutal mental duel. Without a word, Shiv reached forward and, with his bare hands, snapped the man's neck. Bokum collapsed beside the body of his foe.

The thri-kreen bore Chax-chik’s lifeless form to the center of the Circle. There, she was laid with reverence—warrior, leader, and martyr. The sun beat down mercilessly from the dark sky above, and the desert bore witness to both tragedy and ritual, blood and silence, as the survivors honored the dead in the unforgiving land of Athas.

Chapter 15: Time to Leave

Realizing it was time to move on, the group sprang into action, each assuming their roles with purpose and precision. Anvar stepped forward as leader, his eyes fixed on the distant Dragon Crown Mountains as he carefully charted their course through the harsh terrain. Karnos, ever vigilant, took up the role of outrider, with Zahraan at his side as sentry, rallying the party and keeping watchful eyes on the horizon.

The brothers, Shiv and Shank, shared the burden of quartermasters, efficiently packing gear and ensuring nothing essential was left behind. Meanwhile, Safi stood apart as the weather watcher, reading the shifting skies with a calm, steady gaze that promised guidance through the unpredictable desert.

As they pressed onward, Anvar summoned every ounce of inner strength to steady their resolve. Karnos searched tirelessly, leaving no stone unturned to secure their path. Shiv and Shank bore the weight of their comrades, their muscular forms steadfast beneath the heavy loads. With quiet determination, Safi and Zahraan slipped the noose of danger behind them, guiding the group toward the uncertain promise of the journey ahead.

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