Session 120
Second of Three
Embedded Files
Chapter 1: Ambushed!
Chapter 1: Ambushed!
After collecting the Star of Badna and ensuring Grogh-En’s defeat, the group took time to heal and discuss their next steps. They decided to return and rest before beginning their journey to Balic. However, upon exiting the nearly ruined Sepulchre, they were ambushed in the shattered streets of the Queen’s Hill.
Safi boldly advanced and conjured four floaters high above, then wildshaped into a kirre—the six-legged cat of Athas. A wall of fire erupted behind him, cutting him off from his companions. Shank, immune to fire, activated his boots of speed and dashed through the flames to join him. A rolling orb of magical thunder came barreling down the street, striking the group trapped behind the wall of fire.
Shiv charged through the blaze and stumbled into a hidden half-giant. Drawing on his action surge and fury of the arena, he unleashed a flurry of strikes that felled the towering foe. Another half-giant emerged from concealment and attacked Safi, landing a blow with its lotulis. Shank hurled his returning hand axe at the creature, striking true before the weapon flew back to his grip. Safi’s conjured floaters retaliated with blasts of psionic energy, but an archer swiftly cut down three of them. A second archer’s arrows forced Safi to lose his wildshape, and two more archers appeared, their arrows peppering him mercilessly. Two mul gladiators then closed in and assaulted Safi.
At the end of the street, Roal—the former templar—appeared and unleashed a devastating psionic mindstorm, stunning Shiv and Fazanna. Karnos countered with his own psionic power, pandemonium, affecting several foes. Then, unseen in the chaos, a defiler struck Safi with icy rays of magic, dropping the druid and siphoning some of Shank’s life force through defiling.
In response, Shank invoked his coffin of the mountain ability, raising a massive volcanic dome that trapped both allies and enemies within. Using his action surge, he brought down a defiler with his great axe and slew an archer soon after. Roal retaliated with a mindblast against Karnos before vanishing.
Anvar sprinted to Safi using his quickburst ability and restored him with vitality boost, then blessed Karnos with blessing of the tree. Under the effects of Karnos’ pandemonium, one archer dropped his bow and fled in terror. Regaining his feet, Safi once more transformed into a kirre and attacked a mul with tail, claw, and bite, though the maddened mul struck back in confusion.
The remaining half-giant confronted Shank, striking him twice, while two rogues slashed at him from behind, their precision attacks dealing grievous wounds. Roaring in fury, Shank swung his great axe in a deadly arc, cleaving through multiple foes. His volcanic dome then erupted in a fiery blast, annihilating all nearby enemies.
From the shadows, an unseen defiler fired six freezing rays at Karnos, killing him as he plummeted from the sky. In the battle’s final moments, Shiv dispatched the last visible enemies with a series of lethal blows.
After searching in vain for Roal and the elusive defiler, the weary group made their way back to the Sleeping Inix, bloodied but unbroken.
Chapter 2: Recovery
Chapter 2: Recovery
The group spent time recovering at the Sleeping Inix, their senses never fully relaxing as they remained on constant alert for any signs of danger in the surrounding streets. Fazanna finally regained her ability to speak, her voice returning with a mix of relief and weariness. Karnos focused on attuning himself to the Star of Badna, feeling the artifact’s latent power resonate with his own psionic abilities. Despite this, his night was restless; haunting visions of himself transforming into a mindless zombie tormented his sleep, leaving him drained and unsettled when the morning came. The group moved through the day with caution, each member aware that the dangers outside the inn’s walls were far from over, their nerves taut from the memory of recent battles.
Chapter 3: To Balic
Chapter 3: To Balic
Fazanna gathered her companions close and, with a surge of power and a ripple in the air, teleported the group into the heart of Balic—materializing near the dockyards amid the scent of brine and silt. Their sudden appearance startled nearby sailors and merchants, who stared wide-eyed for a heartbeat before returning to their work. The group, accustomed to suspicion, quickly blended into the crowd, their eyes scanning the bustling wharves for a familiar face.
They sought out Captain Davn, an old ally whose ship, Shiv’s Revenge, was well-known along the Balican coast. They found the vessel moored at the harbor, its crew busy with repairs and cargo, though the captain herself was absent—out securing supplies in the marketplace. Deciding not to linger, they made their way toward a nearby inn to wait, the city’s tension pressing against them like a storm front. Patrols of House Wavir soldiers marched in tight formation through the streets, their presence constant and watchful. Though Balic’s marble facades gleamed under the sun, there was a quiet unease beneath the surface—too many eyes watching, too many whispers in the air.
Since the disappearance of the sorcerer-king Andropinis, Balic had become a shadow of its former grandeur. Merchant houses had filled the void of power, carving the once-proud city into three uneasy realms. House Wavir seized the White Palace and the Silt Harbour, proclaiming Lord Tabaros Wavir as Trade Lord and ruler of the city’s most prosperous district. House Shom and House Amketch fled soon after, selling their holdings to Houses Rees and Tomblador, who divided what remained between them. The result was a city balanced on the edge of civility—Wavir’s district clean and orderly, Tomblador’s dark and oppressive, and Rees’ a tyrannical work camp where even nobles labored under the lash.
On the surface, Balic appeared whole: no walls divided the houses, no checkpoints marked their borders. But anyone who walked its streets for long enough could feel the fractures beneath the stone.
Later, as dusk painted the harbor in shades of rust and gold, the group returned to the docks and found Captain Davn aboard Shiv’s Revenge. Her sharp grin widened at the sight of Shiv. “Well now,” she said, her tone both amused and cautious, “what fortuitous winds bring you back across my path?” Their conversation began warmly, old camaraderie rekindling in the salt-heavy air—until Shank joined in. His blunt mention of templars and his harsh manner chilled the mood like a sudden storm. Davn’s smile faltered; she excused herself with a wink to Shiv and disappeared below deck, leaving only the creak of her ship and the uneasy silence of the docks behind her.
Chapter 4: House Wavir
Chapter 4: House Wavir
Just as the group prepared to leave the docks, a patrol of House Wavir guards appeared—lean, sun-hardened men clad in lacquered chitin and bone. Their leader raised a hand, calling out for the group to halt. The harsh desert light gleamed off their weapons of obsidian and sharpened agafari wood. Knowing that resistance here could spark needless bloodshed, the group exchanged silent nods and surrendered peacefully.
They were escorted through Balic’s winding streets, where sandstone villas and tiled courtyards rose from the dust like pale ghosts of the city’s former grandeur. Patrols of Wavir soldiers moved in measured formation, their presence constant and unnerving. The people of Balic went about their business with quiet urgency, eyes downcast, as if the weight of the city’s divisions pressed invisibly upon them.
The guards led them up the broad, sun-bleached steps of the White Palace, once the seat of Andropinis himself, now claimed by House Wavir. Once a symbol of sorcerous tyranny, it had become a monument of trade and ambition. Within, its gleaming marble halls still bore the marks of defilement and repair—ornate frescoes half-burned, columns blackened but reforged with care. The air was cool and heavy with incense as the group was brought before Falmon Darrow, a half-elf with sharp eyes and the quiet poise of a predator. His armor of chitin plates was painted in Wavir blue, and his expression betrayed both curiosity and suspicion.
Falmon’s questions came quickly—measured, precise, each one cutting closer to their purpose. Through patience and persuasion, the group managed to convince him of their good intentions and of their need to speak directly with Lord Tabaros Wavir. After a pause that felt like judgment itself, Falmon inclined his head and sent for an escort.
They were led into a grand chamber where sunlight filtered through silk drapes the color of bleached bone. The Trade Lord awaited them—a frail figure wrapped tightly in a woven agafari shawl, his skin drawn and pale beneath the flicker of braziers. He shivered slightly, though no wind stirred the air.
“With their master gone,” Lord Tabaros began, voice rasping but sharp with intellect, “the templars of Andropinis are nothing more than bureaucrats with ambition greater than sense. The cruel ones were slain or driven into the wastes years ago. Those with skill enough to serve were taken in by myself and my rivals. Yet no one trusts them. Should they ever attempt to reclaim power, the three houses would unite to crush them utterly. On that point, we stand together.”
He paused, coughing into his hand before continuing, his eyes glinting beneath heavy brows. “As for this supposed hidden sect of those treacherous sons of kanks, I’ve heard the rumors. They say Andropinis’s former high templar—Asthira, I believe—leads them. My spies have found little evidence of such a cult. And even if it does exist—what of it? They are nothing without their master. Sadira of Tyr herself has told me he is imprisoned within something called the Black for a thousand years. A long time, indeed, for me to trouble myself with the ghosts of dead kings.”
His words lingered in the still air of the White Palace—part warning, part dismissal—as the light through the silk curtains painted the old trade lord in hues of gold and dust, a ruler of a city that still clung to its former glory by sheer will.
Chapter 5: Second Meeting
Chapter 5: Second Meeting
Realizing they had reached a dead end after speaking with Lord Tabaros, the group lingered in the cool, echoing halls of the White Palace, quietly debating their next move. Before they could decide, Falmon Darrow and a young trader named Tarinne—granddaughter of the Trade Lord—approached them with guarded expressions.
“No disrespect intended toward my grandfather,” Tarinne began, glancing over her shoulder to ensure they were not overheard. “But we’ve kept certain information from him. His age sometimes clouds his judgment, and he has always despised anything connected to Andropinis. Falmon and I, however, know how to contact the First Templar, Asthira. Before we share such knowledge, we must know why you wish to find her. Be warned—this information carries a price.”
The group exchanged uneasy looks before explaining the true purpose of their journey to Balic and their need to meet with House Wavir. Tarinne listened intently, eyes narrowing as she studied each of them, then turned to Falmon, who gave a slight nod of confirmation.
“Indeed,” she said finally, her tone shifting from suspicion to intrigue. “I would not have believed it if Falmon hadn’t vouched that you spoke the truth. I’ve dealt with Asthira since my grandfather took control of most of Balic. The ex-templar knows many secrets about this city. Through her, we’ve learned much about Houses Rees and Tomblador—knowledge we could not have gained otherwise.”
Her expression hardened as she continued. “Do not mistake me for an ally of hers. I don’t trust Asthira any farther than I could throw a crodlu. Our dealings are purely transactional, and we have never met in person. Whether the rumors about the templars and their imprisoned master are true, I cannot say. As my grandfather mentioned, Sadira of Tyr swore that Andropinis remains banished within the Black for a thousand years. I trust her word far more than I would that of any templar.”
She crossed her arms and added, “For the price of a favor to House Wavir, I will provide you with the name of our intermediary. After that, you’re on your own.”
The group agreed without hesitation. Tarinne then revealed their contact—Mox, a half-giant known to frequent a rough tavern near the harbor called the Lazy Mekillot. “Bring him a pound of salt and ten silver pieces,” she instructed. “If he deems you worth the risk, he may take you to Asthira. If not…” She shrugged, a faint smirk on her lips. “Then you’ll have bought yourself an expensive drink.”
With that, Tarinne and Falmon departed into the shadowed corridors of the White Palace, leaving the group with a tenuous lead—and a growing sense that their quest in Balic had only just begun.
Chapter 6: Mox
Chapter 6: Mox
The group made their way through the wealthy district near the White Palace, where marble streets shimmered in the late sun and merchant banners fluttered in the dry breeze. Between an incense shop and a jeweler’s villa stood a curious establishment—the Lazy Mekillot, a tavern of quiet reputation among Balic’s elite. Its polished sandstone façade and silk-curtained windows gave it the look of a respectable dining house, yet the lack of sign or open invitation suggested otherwise. This was a place where deals were struck in whispers, and where coin—or influence—spoke louder than words.
Standing before the double doors was Mox, the tavern’s bouncer, a half-giant whose size alone discouraged most trouble. He loomed like a statue of flesh and stone, his simple wrap and wide leather belt contrasting with the finery of the quarter. Despite his hulking frame, his expression carried a kind of placid curiosity as the group approached.
They offered him the pound of salt and ten silver pieces that Tarinne had instructed them to bring. Mox’s heavy brow furrowed for a moment as he looked down at the goods, then his wide mouth split into a grin.
“Mox’s boss tells Mox to take you to pretty lady Asthira for giving me this... right?” he said, his deep, rumbling voice oddly cheerful. “Mox knows these things because Mox is smart and sneaky when it comes to these things.” He tapped the side of his head with a thick finger. “You follow Mox through dark tunnels and he take you to hidden place of pretty lady Asthira and more of Mox’s friends... OK? But must leave now because pretty lady not be there later... OK?”
The group exchanged wary glances. The half-giant’s childlike manner belied the strength and confidence in his voice. Clearly, he knew exactly what he was doing—and where he was leading them.
After a tense pause, they nodded their agreement. Mox turned, ducked under the tavern’s low lintel, and motioned for them to follow.
Inside, the Lazy Mekillot’s main room was dimly lit, filled with the muted murmur of conversation. Patrons sat at low tables, draped in silks and sipping dark wine, while servants moved quietly between them. Mox led the group past the main hall, through a curtained doorway, and down a narrow staircase that descended into shadow.
The polished marble of Balic gave way to cold, time-worn stone as the air grew heavy and still. “This way,” Mox whispered, surprisingly softly for his size. “Mox show you where pretty lady waits.”
And so, beneath the opulent heart of Balic, the group followed the half-giant bouncer into the hidden underways of the city—toward the secret refuge of Asthira, the First Templar of Andropinis.
Chapter 7: Asthira
Chapter 7: Asthira
Mox led the group away from the bright streets of Balic, his heavy footsteps echoing softly through a maze of narrow alleyways behind the Lazy Mekillot. The scent of spice and salt faded as they wound deeper into the backstreets, until they reached a dead end near the northern edge of the city—an unremarkable adobe wall, cracked and weather-worn.
The half-giant leaned close to the wall and whispered a guttural word the group couldn’t quite make out. Then he turned to them with a grin. “Follow Mox quickly. Just walk into the wall like Mox does…” And with that, he stepped forward and vanished, the wall rippling briefly where his massive frame had passed through.
There was a brief hesitation before the group followed. A flash of vertigo gripped them as they crossed the threshold, and then they stood in a damp underground chamber, carved roughly from solid rock. The air was cool and heavy, thick with the scent of stone and moisture. Dozens of floating globes of light illuminated the space, casting pale reflections over the uneven walls. Several tunnels branched off into shadow, their ends lost to the dark.
Then—movement. From those shadows emerged a dozen black-robed figures, silent as smoke. Their presence chilled the air, a palpable wave of malice and discipline rolling over the intruders.
At their center stepped a tall woman, her bearing commanding, her black hair spilling from beneath the hood of her robe. Her voice was cold, smooth, and steeped in authority.
“I am Asthira, First Templar of Andropinis,” she declared. “I did not summon you, yet you knew the proper tribute to have Mox bring you here. Why do you seek us out?”
The group revealed their purpose—the plans of Dregoth, their journey across the desert, and their desperate search for the Pearl of the Sunrise Sea.
Asthira listened in silence, then stepped closer, the edge of her robe brushing the stone floor. Her face remained hidden, but her voice carried the weight of forbidden knowledge.
“I know of both the Pearl and the Dread Lord,” she said. “But I do not know where the artifact lies. To locate it would require contact with my master in the Black. Oh yes,” she added, her tone sharp with pride, “it is true that we can speak with him—though only for brief moments. Many of us have learned the ways of the Black since his imprisonment by the First Sorcerer. In time, that same power will free him… and restore Balic to its former glory.”
Her words hung heavy in the air, her intent unmistakable. “We will help you,” she continued, “but only if you swear to return the Pearl to us—should you survive your confrontation with Dregoth. Swear it, and I shall contact my master on your behalf. Refuse… and you shall never have the Pearl.”
There was no mistaking her tone. Her terms were absolute.
After a moment’s tense silence, the group agreed. Asthira inclined her head slightly, satisfaction flickering behind her shrouded features. The chamber’s lights dimmed as she raised her hands, shadows stretching like living things around her.
And with a whisper of power, the First Templar of Andropinis began to call upon the Black.
Chapter 8: Andropinus
Chapter 8: Andropinus
At their word, Asthira stepped forward, her movements soundless as a shadow gliding across the stone floor. With a deliberate motion, she drew back the hood of her robe—and the group recoiled in shock. Her head and arms were not flesh, but void—a silhouette of deepest darkness, as if her body had been consumed by the Black itself. The edges of her form blurred and wavered, her presence both there and not, like a memory struggling to exist.
“You seem shocked at my appearance,” she said with a soft, hollow chuckle that echoed unnaturally through the chamber. “It is the price I paid to become a shadow wizard, powerful enough to reach my imprisoned master. Now stand ready. Our interaction with Andropinis shall last only minutes.”
She began her spell, whispering words of shadow as the bright globes of light around the chamber dimmed to embers. Reaching into a small pouch, she scattered a silvery dust into the air—it shimmered briefly, then vanished as though devoured by darkness. Pulling her robes tight, her entire form melted into shadow, her essence unraveling into a cloud of living night.
Then, before their eyes, the darkness shifted and grew, swelling upward to a height of nearly eight feet. The slender silhouette of Asthira twisted and thickened, reshaping into that of a powerful man with regal bearing and an aura of terrible authority. The deep, resonant voice that followed seemed to echo both within the room and within their very minds.
“I am Andropinis, Sorcerer-King of Balic,” the shadow intoned. “Who dares to waste the power of my templars, and why do you disturb my agonizing imprisonment?”
The group stood firm and revealed their mission—the rise of Dregoth, the Dread Lord’s threat to Athas, and their desperate quest for the Pearl of the Sunrise Sea.
For a long moment, the shadow said nothing. Then it inclined its head slightly, a sound like a dark sigh reverberating through the chamber.
“So,” mused the shade of Andropinis, “Dregoth still lives. We had suspected as much for centuries. Of all Rajaat’s Champions, Gallard’s mastery of magic was greatest, and if he believes Athas faces a true threat, then it must be so. Even here, in the Black, I have felt the disruption of the Inner Planes’ energies, and your tale gives that disturbance form.”
His voice deepened, resonating with quiet power. “You are bold to confront Dregoth. The Pearl will aid you—though it is no trinket of mercy. Rajaat told me it was born in the Blue Age, saturated in the energies of the Pristine Tower for millennia. I once possessed it myself, and it shielded me from even the strongest psionic assault… yet in doing so, it drained my own power. In the end, I hid it away, sealed so that none could turn it against me. It remains where I placed it two centuries past. Upon Asthira’s return, she shall fetch it for you.”
The shadow leaned closer, his voice turning into a venomous whisper that slithered through the air like smoke.
“The Pearl is no gift—it is a curse. Its bearer withers, body and spirit, while all who draw near sicken and die in torment. It feasts upon sanity, whispering madness, gnawing through dreams until nightmare and waking become one. And when its hunger is full, your death will not be your own—it will devour all who stand beside you. Remember your oath: return it to Asthira… if you wish to live.”
With that final warning, the massive shadow began to shrink and unravel, the light of the chamber slowly returning as Andropinis faded back into the Black.
Asthira reformed moments later, her spectral outline flickering like dying embers. “Wait here,” she commanded, before disappearing into one of the dark tunnels.
The group waited in uneasy silence, the air heavy with the lingering dread of the Sorcerer-King’s words. At last, Asthira returned—robes trailing shadows, her hands cupped around a small object wrapped in cloth.
She stepped forward and held it out to them. Beneath the wrappings lay the Pearl of the Sunrise Sea, faintly pulsing with an inner, cold light. Where she had found it, she did not say.
Her hollow voice echoed one final time: “Take it, and may the Black have mercy on you.”
Chapter 9: To Cromlin
Chapter 9: To Cromlin
With a surge of arcane light, Fazanna teleported the group across the barren wastes, and in an instant they stood once more on the outskirts of Cromlin, the ramshackle settlement clinging to the edge of the Silt Sea. The air was thick with swirling dust, and gritty waves of pale silt blew through the narrow streets, coating everything in a dull, choking haze.
Ahead loomed the familiar outline of the Dirty Lizard Tavern, its crooked sign half-buried in drifting silt and creaking in the wind. The muffled sounds of shouting and laughter leaked through its warped wooden door.
The group exchanged wary glances, recalling the riotous welcome they had received on their last visit. Hands tightened around hilts and spell components, and they brushed the silt from their armor as they approached the entrance.
In Cromlin, even a greeting could start with a fight, and they intended to be ready for it.
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