Session 28

Revelations

Chapter 1: The Delivery

South Ledopolus is surrounded by a wall to protect it from invaders. From afar the wall appeared to be one solid piece of brick - it is only with close inspection that one can make out the barest of spaces between the bricks, expertly molded as they were. Dwarves climbed up and down the wall, some hauling these perfect bricks to unknown spots within the city, while others hang from pulleys and cranes, working upon towers and other structures. As the caravan progressed along the wall they could make out the silt river that separates the two parts of this village, as well as a bridge that is split in two. It must have been recently that the bridge was knocked down by giants, due to the sheer number of dwarves working on scaffoldings and ladders up and down its length. The argosy made its way around one corner of the wall toward the gate, and came to a rest. Helganost leapt from his position and clasped hands with several dwarves who looked at the argosy. They nodded and smiled. A lead dwarf then signals to a man flanked by a halfling and a halfgiant. The man smiling turned from the dwarf and heads toward the argosy. This is when Magnamus made out who this is: A younger version of Praetor Verzonious! He was flanked by the old champions of Bloodsand Arena, Petal and The Crusher.

Petal and The Crusher stepped away and both seemed to turn their back at the same time. The Praetor began to tremble “I… I…” panic took over him as he looked to his two guards. He dropped to his knees “Please... don’t hurt me... I’ll tell you whatever you want!”

Chapter 2: Interrogating a Praetor

They learn that through a web of secrecy and treacherous negotiations, a clandestine exchange of iron unfolded between Tyr and Balic, shrouded in mystery. Rhe Praetor, driven by his animosity towards the party, played a sinister role in these covert dealings. Tyr, a city whose mines were supposedly closed since the fall of Kalak, seeks to send this iron to Balic in exchange for 500 souls, who will be condemned to slavery.

The Praetor cunningly suggested that these 500 unfortunate individuals be drawn from Altaruk, a decision motivated by his spite for the party. This dark arrangement will culminate in a mass march to the foreboding Scouring Crags, also known as the Dragon's Altar, where the slaves from Balic will converge with a larger group of at least 1,000 individuals from Tyr. This ominous march is scheduled to commence in a mere one and a half months.

The list of names for these slaves, personally curated by the Praetor, includes a disquieting revelation—it features not only several trusted allies and Veiled Alliance operatives but also members of the party themselves. The Praetor, with a malevolent smirk, handed this list to the party, cautioning them about the dire consequences should the iron fail to reach Balic. With the specter of war between Andropinis and Tyr looming, the party is left with a choice—to let the iron proceed on its journey or to delve into the treacherous mysteries concealed within the Scouring Crags, where ominous secrets and nefarious plans await discovery.

Chapter 3: Meeting a Contact

They pass a multitude of busy dwarves as they moved through the streets of Ledopolus. Soon they entered a plain, unassuming fletcher’s shop and were quickly escorted behind the counter to a room back behind the stock of feathers and wood used to fashion arrows. The small room had only a handful of chairs, all of them low to the ground and bare, with hard, precise angles. The brick walls were clearly of dwarven construction and precisely fitted together in the same manner as the brick wall surrounding the city. All of them are covered in fletching supplies – in fact, they realize that there is nothing in the dwarf’s back room that doesn’t directly relate to his trade. Ferrokles was a tall dwarf with grey, tired eyes. He looked to them, “We are safe to talk here, and I am an ally of Federoth’s. Please tell me of what you have learned.”

Chapter 4: Return to Altaruk

Three grueling days of travel stretched endlessly before them as they embarked on an arduous journey, leading ancient crodlu that carried the weight of the group's precious supplies upon their shoulders. With every slow and measured step they took, the vast expanse of the desert seemed to stretch on, an unforgiving canvas of endless dunes and jagged crags.

In the midst of this desolation, the world appeared eerily still, the only companions on their lonely path being the relentless sun overhead and the whispering winds that carried tales of forgotten oases. The relentless sun beat down upon them, the scorching rays reflecting off the arid ground, creating a shimmering mirage that taunted their senses.

Amidst this oppressive silence, an unexpected and malevolent encounter shattered the monotony. From the rocky crevices that lined their path, eerie and shadowy figures emerged, their presence like a ghostly echo in the desert's heart. With an otherworldly prowess, these hejkin unleashed a psychic onslaught upon the weary travelers, their assault striking at the very core of their beings.

As quickly as they had manifested, these spectral assailants retreated, fading back into the unforgiving rock from whence they came. Panic and dread gripped the party as they scrambled to escape the psychic onslaught, their footsteps echoing with the palpable fear of the unknown. The desolate desert once more swallowed their cries as they fled, leaving behind only the haunting memory of a harrowing encounter in the heart of the merciless sands.

Chapter 5: Scouring Crags

The foreboding, jagged peaks of the Scouring Crags lay ahead of them. The air was oppressively hot and dry. Fine silt blew over the ground, clouding their vision and hampering their breathing. Several miles from the road, barely visible due to the haze, the wastelands gave way to blackened rock, leading to the red stone peaks of the greater mountain range. Earlier in the day, they caught site of some movement in the rocks. Nibenese military scouts, if they read their colors right before they darted away. Perhaps, if they could find out why they were there, they may discover their own fates as well.

Chapter 6: A Silt Storm

The wind had picked up, bringing no cool relief but hot dry wind laced with scouring sand. A storm was brewing, as the wind steadily grew to a gale. Several miles behind them, the silt sea blurred the horizon as silt and air whipped into thick clouds. A massive wall of dust rose from the sea and washed land inwards, wiping away the road and traveled towards them like an avalanche of silt. They all quickly ran to the lands and sheltered while the storm passed.

Chapter 7: Traveling the Crags

As they moved on, the terrain became more uneven, until whole stretches of rock were filled with jagged shards of obsidian that cut through even the thickest soles. Karnos nearly cut his foot to shreds but was saved purely by his luck.

Chapter 8: A Hundred Screaming Souls

The air was heavy and breathing got more difficult, as the heat rose and a miasma saturated the air. Their skin started tingling, as if an unseen force was washing over it. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. Then a piercing scream sounded in their ears – no, their minds! Another voice is added then another, and more and more, until a cacophony of screams, as if hundreds of people dying in sheer agony, filled their heads and forced them to their knees. Most were able to stave off the effects of the Dragon's defiling but Fazanna was not so lucky.

Chapter 9: A Baazreg Swarm

A horde of small, lizardlike creatures claw their way in panic over the rocky hills towards you. Their hide is thick and covered with spikes. They bite and claw their way forward, over the rocky draining soil and even their own kind. There is no point outrunning them, and there are too many to fight. All they can hope is that they won’t rip into you as they pass. Most of the group found safety though Karnos and Fazanna failed to avoid the swarm.

Chapter 10: The Archway

Amidst the rugged, unforgiving crags, a crude stone archway emerges as a gateway to an enigmatic path that ascends sharply into the towering precipices. Hewn from the very bedrock that surrounds it, this archway maintains a humble presence, almost concealed within the formidable terrain, a hidden secret waiting to be unveiled.

But it's not the arch's unrefined craftsmanship that arrests their attention; it's the mysterious tapestry of pictograms and symbols etched upon its surface. Obscure and cryptic, most elude comprehension, shrouding the arch in an air of ancient enigma. Yet, amidst this arcane script, a common thread emerges—a chilling message that transcends the barriers of language. The decipherable symbols all bear the same foreboding declaration: the land beyond this archway belongs to the formidable and dreaded "Dragon of Tyr."

Chapter 11: Stand-Off

As they venture further into the unforgiving crags, the horizon unfolds a grim tableau of conflict. The arid winds carry the echoes of a fierce battle, leaving behind a haunting scene of desolation. Amid the sand-swept chaos, two survivors emerge, both bearing the desperate plea for salvation, their fates now intertwined in a deadly dance.

On one side stands a formidable Nibanese Templar, a dwarf of imposing stature clad in armor that gleams black. In his grasp, he wields an immense greatsword, its obsidian edge reflecting the unforgiving sun's merciless glare. His eyes blaze with the fervor of a battle-hardened warrior, and his presence exudes an aura of indomitable strength.

Opposite him stands a man, a stark contrast to the templar's imposing figure. Clad in rags that have long lost their former luster, his body is covered in a shroud of crimson clay, a stark symbol of his journey through the merciless sands. In his hands, he clutches a crossbow, its wood weathered and its string taut with tension. His eyes, shadowed by the harsh reality of the desert, betray a desperation that matches the dwarf's intensity.

Facing an impossible choice, they opt to confront the Nibanese Templar, unleashing a clash that resonates through the arid expanse. The skirmish is a frenzied whirlwind of weapons and sand, where each step brings the risk of stepping on venomous cacti hidden beneath the shifting sand. In the midst of the chaotic fray, Fazanna, brave and resolute, falls beneath the obsidian greatsword's cruel strike.

Yet, hope is not lost, for as quickly as the desert can bring death, it can also offer a fleeting chance at salvation. A moment of divine intervention sees Fazanna's wounds healed, a testament to her companions.

In the shadow of impending danger, the man they've aided steps forward, introducing himself with a sense of urgency that matches the ominous surroundings. Dahk, his name, escapes his parched lips as he casts furtive glances in all directions, a man acutely aware of the lurking threats that surround them.

With a hushed urgency, Dahk begins to move, his every gesture imploring them to follow swiftly. He paints a grim picture of their perilous situation, his voice a hushed whisper carried away by the desert winds. His name, Dahk Nehet, reverberates through the barren landscape, a name born of survival amidst the harsh crucible of the desert.

In cryptic brevity, he hints at the tribe he hails from, the Altar Skulkers, a disparate assembly of survivors who have endured the horrors of mass sacrifices, a chilling testament to the unforgiving desert's cruel traditions. He waves away their inquiries, a silent promise that the veiled secrets of his tribe, and the enigmatic nganga Yuemenka who leads them, remain shrouded in mystery until she deems it otherwise. With each step, they follow Dahk into the heart of the unknown, their destiny entwined with the Altar Skulkers and their enigmatic leader.

Chapter 12: The Fallen Templar

a mysterious figure emerges from the dark cave, her presence enigmatic and captivating. Yuemenka, a woman of intrigue and purpose. Adorning her face is a half-skull mask.

Her attire is a patchwork masterpiece, a mantle sewn together from a hodgepodge of materials. Hide, scales, and tattered leather scraps form a patchwork tapestry that drapes around her. Delicate beads and vividly colored strings are meticulously woven through her long, flowing hair, creating a mesmerizing tapestry of hues.

However, it is her eyes that hold the most intrigue. Piercing beneath the mask, they are windows to a soul as cold and calculating as the unforgiving desert itself. In a voice that carries the weight of secrets untold, she reveals her proposition. If they aid her in defeating the formidable Nibanese, she offers a lifeline—a way to escape the dreaded Dragon's levy, a promise that could change the course of their destiny in the unforgiving sands of Athas.

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