Session 117

Journey to Nibenay

Chapter 1: Prepare for Journey

Before they ever met Arru at the western gate, the companions prepared for their perilous journey to Nibenay, where the Shadow King awaited. Anvar, resolute and steady, took command of the group and charted their course with the precision of a seasoned leader. Shank, restless and eager, rode ahead as their outrider—but the map’s markings betrayed him, their meaning lost to the shifting sands and faded ink. Shiv, the ever-reckless quartermaster, spent the day in wild celebration, drinking and laughing as though the world might end with the dawn. Fazanna, drawn to darker wisdom, joined Shank in his scouting, consulting the occult in search of hidden guidance. Meanwhile, Safi stood watch as sentry, wandering through Raam to gather whispers and omens of the road that lay before them.

Along the journey, Anvar drew upon his inner resolve, his determination a steady flame that kept the weary band moving forward through the unforgiving wastes. Shank rode ahead, cutting a path through dust and danger, guided by Fazanna’s strange insights and whispered omens. Shiv, for once grounded, took up the burdens of the group, sharing the weight of their supplies with unexpected diligence. And when night fell, it was Safi who took the first watch, her vigilant eyes scanning the dark horizon for whatever shadows might come to test them.

Chapter 2: Old Memories

Night descended upon the camp like a shroud, heavy and unyielding. The fire burned low, its dying embers throbbing faintly as Ral and Guthay rose high — one a deep, blood-red, the other pale green — their light casting eerie, elongated shadows across the dunes. The wind had fallen silent; even the endless silt seemed to hold its breath.

At first, it was nothing more than a flicker — a tremor of movement at the edge of the firelight, where darkness pooled deepest. Then came the shimmer: faint threads of pale light swirling like mist until they began to take form. Slowly, impossibly, a figure emerged.

She stood motionless, her face turned southward. Moonlight filtered through her translucent form, revealing only the faintest traces of what she once had been — a suggestion of hair, a delicate shoulder, and eyes that gleamed without life or blink. There was something achingly familiar about her — the stillness, the quiet strength in her bearing — though the truth eluded them at first.

Then, as the fire hissed and a faint sorrow crossed her ghostly visage, realization struck like a blade: Tawa Tomblador.

Her name caught in their throats, unspoken yet understood. She did not move. Her gaze remained fixed upon the southern horizon, as though her spirit still beheld something far beyond mortal sight. The air grew colder. The fire waned to a dull glow. Beneath the twin moons of Athas, her ghost lingered — silent, steadfast, waiting for something none could name.

They called to her, pleaded even, but she gave no sign of hearing. Finally, Shank stepped forward, hand trembling, and reached out to her. The moment his fingers brushed her ethereal form, she dissolved into a swirl of shadow and mist, vanishing into the night as though she had never been there at all.

Chapter 3: Refugees

Under the scorching Athasian sun, the group pressed onward toward Nibenay, their shadows stretching long across the blistering road. Along the way, they encountered a haggard band of refugees, fleeing the unseen dangers that haunted the lands of Raam. Words of cautious greeting passed between the travelers, but Safi’s sharp eyes soon fell upon one of the elders — frail, worn, and clearly in need of care.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward, offering his aid. Gentle hands and careful attention eased her suffering, bringing a measure of comfort to the weary soul. In return, the refugees shared what little they carried — morsels of food, sips of precious water — and for a fleeting moment, a fragile connection bloomed beneath the harsh sun.

When the brief respite ended, the two groups parted ways, each continuing their journey through the relentless heat, carrying with them a quiet memory of shared humanity in a world otherwise ruled by hardship and peril.

Chapter 4: Belgoi

Early in the sweltering Athasian morning, as the sun climbed toward its zenith, the group pressed through a jagged canyon, their eyes catching a glimmer of water pooled among reeds near the crumbling foundations of a long-forgotten building. Movement stirred at the edge of the pool, and wariness rippled through them as a small tribe of belgoi emerged, ready for combat. A piercing tinkle from the tribe leader’s bell sent shivers through the party, disorienting many as chaos erupted.

Safi acted swiftly, weaving confusion among two of the belgoi, while Shiv, Shank, and Cursy felt an unsettling tug at their minds — only the ash drake Cursy succumbed, lunging toward the enemy. Shiv sprang into action, flipping through the air to land with a splash near two belgoi at the water’s edge. His hammer struck with brutal precision, sending one into the pool and battering the other before he backflipped into the concealment of the reeds. A belgoi slashed at him with deadly claws, racking him with pain, but Shiv retaliated, driving it back with his hammer.

Shank and Cursy coordinated seamlessly; Shank activated his boots of flying, vaulting over the ruins’ low wall and striking from above with his great axe, cutting down a belgoi before his hand axe returned magically to his grasp and felled another. He expelled a cloud of volcanic ash, cloaking the battlefield, only to have a belgoi enter, its glowing blue eyes piercing the gloom. Claws found their mark, sapping his vitality, and yet he pressed on, even as successive strikes left him weakened.

Anvar attempted to dominate a belgoi with his crown, but the psionic creature resisted, forcing him to regroup. Fazanna darted forward, her bladesong shimmering, only to be blasted by an ego whip from the relentless enemies. Arru, drawing upon the surrounding flora, cast bless over the group, blackening the reeds and granting the party renewed vigor. The confusion spell incapacitated one belgoi entirely and sent another fleeing.

Shank erupted in fury, his great axe slicing through belgoi after belgoi. With an unstoppable surge of action, six fell before him, scattering the remainder. Shiv leapt from the reeds, crushing two more and roaring in exhilaration. Anvar ignited a bonfire behind the retreating belgoi, while Fazanna’s toll the dead bell claimed another, its echo clashing with the eerie tinkle of the enemy leader’s bell.

The belgoi leader, seeing his forces crumble, tried to flee. Fazanna’s dart and Safi’s hold person spell failed to stop him, but Arru’s deadly eldritch blasts struck with precision, draining life from the reeds and leaving them blackened and hushed. With a final shimmer, the leader teleported away, leaving the pool and its ruined surrounds eerily silent, the battlefield strewn with the fallen, and the hot sun casting long shadows over the grim tableau.

Chapter 5: Safi's Dilemna

Safi confronted Arru, Nibenay’s herald, after seeing the blackened reeds and felt the sour odor of defilement clinging to the scene; when he demanded whether she had been defiling, she shrugged it off with a cool, dismissive remark — “none of your business” — and turned away, leaving him stung by her indifference. Rage churned beneath his calm as his druidic guardian instincts flared; he called upon a probing spell to reveal the truth, and the answer struck him like a physical blow — a fetid, overwhelming stench of drained life and wide-reaching defilement that nearly buckled his knees. Torn between the urge to strike the herald down for her sacrilege and the need to understand why his clerical power had waned, he staggered on the knife-edge of fury and duty. His companions held him steady, their voices and presence pulling him from the brink; reluctantly he swallowed his vengeance, resolved to press on and unravel the mystery, all the while promising — dark and certain — that Arru would answer for what she had done when the time came.

Chapter 6:City of Spires

The party approached the fabled City of Spires, the Shadow King’s domain, its towers clawing skyward like jagged sentinels. As Nibenay emerged into view, a ghostly luminescence shimmered over the city, casting it in an otherworldly glow—an aura never seen on any prior journey to the sorcerer-king’s realm.

Arru’s voice cut through their awe and unease. The Shadow King had sealed the city with a potent ward, blocking all magical travel in and out. “We must move swiftly,” she urged, eyes flicking nervously skyward. “The shield will not hold forever.”

They hastened toward the Reservoir Gate, where three scantily clad women awaited with imperious composure. Arru introduced them: Djena, the icy enforcer of the king’s Law; Rejan of the Chamber of Water, graceful yet unyielding; and Kahayla of the Chamber of Earth, stern as stone. These high templars would escort the party to the Naggaramakam.

Passing through the gate, the grandeur of Nibenay unfolded—a city of spires and carved stone, a jewel of civilization under a sorcerer-king. Yet beneath the beauty, unrest simmered; the people’s fear and uncertainty were almost tangible. Djena’s voice cut through the tension like a blade, noting the panic stirred by the king’s protective spell and the disruption of clerical magic, before they pressed onward toward the Jade Hall.

The streets of the city fell away beneath the templars’ guiding hands, leading them to the monstrous gates of the Naggaramakam. Towering agafari trees loomed over the walls, casting elongated shadows, as if to warn outsiders of the forbidden city within. The heavily guarded gates swung open, revealing the palace of the Shadow King in all its terrifying majesty: a colossal human face, hair cascading to the ground like a living curtain. Carved into the strands were the likenesses of thousands of women, rumored to be every templar to have served the king.

A steep stairway led them beneath the face’s chin, and the high templars guided the party inside. Eyes of templar-wives followed them with frosty contempt, while the rare males present dared not meet their gaze, heads bowed, silent witnesses to the oppressive majesty of their master’s domain. Every step forward felt heavy with foreboding, as if the very city itself was watching—and waiting.

Chapter 7: The Jade Room

After ascending the near-vertical steps of the Naggaramakam, the party entered a dark corridor heavy with foreboding, a weight that clung to them with every step. The only light came from faint, magical flames that cast trembling shadows along the walls. The passages twisted and turned in a disorienting maze, until the travelers lost all sense of direction, swallowed by the oppressive darkness.

Finally, the corridors opened into a vast hall, rectangular and carved entirely from jade. Three dozen glowing emerald orbs, suspended from chains of bone, bathed the chamber in an eerie green light that made every surface seem alive with a strange, unsettling shimmer. The party moved cautiously, hearts thudding, until three figures emerged from the shadows—one seated upon a throne towering above them, the others standing silent at either side.

They approached the throne, the seat of the Shadow King, and the templar guides fell to their knees in reverence. With a graceful wave of his hand, the king caused the jade orbs to flare, illuminating the hall to near-normal brightness. The shadowy figures resolved into recognizable forms: Hamanu of Urik and Lalali-Puy of Gulg. Shock flashed across the party’s faces, met by a soft, knowing chuckle from the direction of the throne.

“Not since the release of Rajaat by the usurper Tithian has Athas faced such peril,” the Shadow King intoned, his voice echoing against the jade walls. “Dregoth the Undead Dragon King, Third Champion of Rajaat, rises toward godhood, and unless he is stopped, all priestly magic on Athas shall be extinguished!”

Chapter 8: Dregoth's Designs

“I see by the looks on your faces you are not convinced,” continues the sorcerer-king, “but it is true nonetheless. The destruction of Raam was only a single component in the spell our fellow Champion casts, one he doubtless fabricated with knowledge gleaned from his travels to the Outer Planes. Have you not felt the loss of priestly magic from the Elemental Planes? It is only the beginning. Soon all magic procured from the Inner Planes will be lost!”

The Shadow King suddenly sits back in his throne, a drained look upon a face you know to be an illusion. It is then that the Lion of Urik steps forward, his bold strides carrying him with an air of authority that is difficult to disregard.

“You must excuse our host,” he states, “for the power it takes to maintain the magical boundary surrounding the city can be taxing. Perhaps you’ve asked yourselves why you are here? It is quite simple really – we are in need of your services. The three of us cannot openly act against Dregoth without incurring his wrath. In many ways, he has become even more powerful than the Dragon ever was. The fate of Raam would befall all cities large and small should we directly interfere, and I would guess that all would be killed instead of used to power his sinister spell. Hence, we need powerful agents armed with the knowledge needed to defeat him, and, with the continual loss of priestly magic, our templars would prove ineffective for this task.”

“Do you mortals even realise what is happening here?” rudely interjects the Oba of Gulg after seeing your trepidation. “Do you have any idea how magic travels from the Elemental Planes to Athas? Elemental magic travels from the Inner Planes to Athas along conduits. On other worlds beyond this one exist beings that gather energy from their worshippers along similar conduits – conduits which do not exist here on Athas. Dregoth plans to move the conduit from the Inner Planes to the Outer Planes, as he believes that this will make him a god like those that exist on other worlds. If he succeeds, only those who worship him shall receive priestly magic. Their devotion will feed him, and he will reward them in turn with elemental magic. Do you understand the peril now?”

“Though ill-mannered,” replies the Shadow King with an apparent second wind, “my dear Lalali-Puy is correct. Unless Dregoth is stopped, all priestly magic as we know it will no longer exist, and the Ravager of Giants will reign supreme. After viewing your efforts in Raam, and your previous exploits, you are our first choice for opposing Dregoth’s plans. Defeating the Undead Dragon King will be no easy matter and you’ll be in need of powerful magic if you’re to succeed – magic we’re prepared to give you. The reward for this task would be great, as you would have the thanks of three sorcerer-kings to fuel your greed. There is no deception here. Our words and compensation are authentic. We must know your answer forthwith, as every moment brings Dregoth that much closer to his goal.”

Chapter 9: Facts and Gratuity

The Shadow King spoke with measured gravity, outlining the peril that awaited Athas. He explained that defeating Dregoth required both shielding oneself from his overwhelming power and wielding a weapon capable of truly harming a Champion of Rajaat—an ability few items possessed. The legendary Scourge of Rkard, once mighty, now lay broken in the magma of the Ring of Fire, its destruction secured by Sadira’s wards.

Yet the Scourge was not the only artifact of Athas’ past. When Dregoth had first fallen two millennia ago, several relics had been taken by his slayers to counter his power. It was these that the party was to seek. Unfortunately, two of the three were held by the now-lost hands of Abalach-Re and Andropinis, while the third had vanished long ago, though whispers hinted it might yet return.

The Shadow King reclined upon his throne as the sorcerer-queen of Gulg, Oba of icy composure, stepped forward. She spoke first of the Star of Badna, a flawless sapphire once owned by Abalach-Re, enchanted to protect against defiler magic. The gem had vanished with her death, though a former templar named Grogh-En might know its location. Rumors told of a terrible curse accompanying the Star, whether truth or fabrication, none could be certain. Their path would lead them to Raam to uncover the gem’s fate.

Next, the ruler of Urik revealed the Scorcher, a sword crafted by Rajaat himself, which had delivered Dregoth his first death blow. To prevent its misuse, he had cast it into the Silt Sea, believing it lost forever—until a century-old rumor placed it briefly in Cromlin before vanishing again. Their hunt for the Scorcher would begin in that village.

Finally, the Shadow King’s voice grew low and heavy as he spoke of the Pearl of the Sunrise Sea, a halfling artifact created in the age before psionics. Bestowed upon Albeorn—Andropinis’ true name—by the First Sorcerer, it protected its bearer from psionic powers. Though lost after Andropinis’ imprisonment, it was rumored to be hidden somewhere in Balic, known only to secret templars who could contact their former master.

With the three relics, the Shadow King declared, the party held the best chance to thwart Dregoth’s looming spell. Divinations suggested the ritual would not be complete for at least two weeks, but every passing moment would erode the land’s priestly magic. If the mission failed, the Shadow King warned, the devastation could engulf the Ivory Triangle. New Giustenal would likely be the site of the final confrontation, and the weight of Athas’ fate rested squarely upon the party’s shoulders.

Chapter 10: Parting Words

Shiv requested the sorcerer-kings reveal the location of the kaisharga that had taken his hammer, while Anvar petitioned Lord Hamanu to lift the curse of defiling imposed upon him. The remaining three sought potent magical items to aid in their perilous quest. The rulers, their expressions grave, agreed to these requests.

“The dragon you face is beyond any mortal’s might to slay,” the Shadow King warned, his voice heavy with authority. “But you need not kill him. Your task is to prevent the completion of his spell. Disrupt it, and the elemental conduits may be restored, returning clerical magic to Athas. Once this is done, a swift retreat is advisable, for Dregoth will be furious at your interference. His agents—dray of cunning and deadly skill—lurk in every city, ready to impede you or alert their master. Should you confront Dregoth unprepared, with fewer than all three artifacts, death is all but certain. Move cautiously, attract no attention until your moment arrives.”

With their instructions delivered, the Shadow King concluded, “If you have no further questions, my high templars will escort you, ensuring you are equipped with what you need. Speed is crucial. Your time is limited, and failure could doom all of Athas.” The party was then led from the Naggaramakam, where the templars healed their wounds and supplied them with essential materials, sending them forth into the perilous world beyond.

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