Session 89

In Urik

Chapter 1: Gates of Urik

The dark walls of Urik loomed before them once more, a foreboding reminder of the city's rigid laws and the iron rule of King Hamanu. Beyond the towering barriers, Destiny’s Kingdom—Hamanu’s immense fortress-palace—rose high into the sky, a monument to his unyielding dominion.

As they joined the throng of travelers pressing toward the city gates, memories of their last visit stirred uneasily in their minds. All the races of Athas were represented in the milling crowds, jostling under the relentless sun. The acrid stench of sweat and dust filled the air, threatening to choke the unprepared. Finding their place in line, they stood wedged between a weary human family and a richly adorned merchant caravan.

A voice muttered from the crowd, thick with dry amusement. "Welcome to Urik—waiting for your chance to break one of Hamanu’s million laws."

The hours dragged on, the brutal heat sapping strength as the sun crawled toward the horizon. By the time they reached the gate, dusk had fallen. Ahead of them, the family—a husband, wife, and four small children—halted before a bored city guard.

“Five ceramic pieces each to enter the wonderful city of Hamanu, King of the World,” the guard intoned, the phrase rolling from his lips with weary repetition.

The husband paled. “So much? We do not have enough.”

With an indifferent sneer, the guard shoved them back into the dust, already turning away.

Without hesitation, they stepped forward, pressing the needed coin into the guard’s hands. The family looked up, stunned, then hurried through the gates, offering grateful smiles before disappearing into the city’s labyrinthine streets.

Now it was their turn. The guard’s dull eyes flicked over them, his palm already outstretched. "Five ceramic per head," he droned, then arched a suspicious brow. "And tell me—what business brings you to splendid Urik?"

Chapter 2: Inside the City

The gates of Urik yawned open, swallowing them into the city's teeming heart. The streets pulsed with life—peddlers shouting their wares, merchants locked in fierce haggling with passersby, beggars rattling nearly empty bowls in desperate appeal. A torrent of bodies surged around them, each face worn by the struggles of Athas.

The air itself was a battleground of scent, an intoxicating mix of rich spices and sickly-sweet perfumes, undercut by the acrid tang of sweat from a dozen different races. The mouthwatering aroma of freshly cut fruit clashed with the stomach-churning stench of rotting vegetables left to fester in the heat.

But amidst the ordinary chaos of the city, a more imposing presence lurked—guards and templars patrolled in force. The latter stood out sharply, their pure yellow cloaks the only ones allowed in Urik, a stark reminder of Hamanu’s absolute control.

As they moved through the throng, whispers drifted to their ears—hushed, fearful, urgent.

A killer stalked the streets of Urik. It had struck again the night before. A woman’s body had been found that morning, half-eaten, her face frozen in a mask of pure terror. Six had fallen to the unseen predator, and fear thickened the air as surely as the midday heat.

Yet another death lingered in the city’s whispers—Rankir, Hamanu’s arch defiler, had been found dead in his tower days ago, around the time the strange interference field had swept across the land. Theories ran wild. Had the killer claimed him first? Or had Hamanu himself destroyed the widely feared defiler for some unknown crime?

Despite the unease gripping Urik, the city would not falter. Hamanu’s Day of Battle loomed, and no plans had been made to cancel the festivities. The arena would soon roar with bloodthirsty cheers, the undefeated Bloody Claw gladiators set to play a brutal match of death ball. Entry, for this special occasion, would be free.

Chapter 3: The Persistent Templar

The scorching sun bore down upon the stone buildings of Urik as the streets pulsed with movement, a symphony of voices rising and falling in the relentless heat. Then, like a blade slicing through the din, a sharp voice rang out.

“Stop, violators of Hamanu’s Code!”

The cry sent a ripple through the crowd. Heads turned, whispers hushed. Instinctively, their eyes locked onto the source—a female templar of Hamanu, standing tall and unyielding. Her golden cloak billowed as she strode forward, authority blazing in her gaze. Behind her, six city guards snapped into formation, their spears poised, their expressions grim.

The weight of the moment pressed down as the templar’s voice carried across the square. They had broken Urik’s laws—given alms to unlicensed beggars at the gate. A trivial kindness, but in Hamanu’s city, even mercy had its price.

A quick glance around revealed more templars lurking in the throng, more guards stationed just beyond. The city’s jaws were closing in. There was no time to argue, no chance for reason. With a silent exchange of knowing glances, they moved—disappearing into the shifting tide of bodies, slipping through alleyways and shadowed corridors, avoiding the relentless patrols.

For now, they had escaped. But in Urik, the Lion King's justice never slept.

Chapter 4: The Killer Strikes

As the twin moons of Athas rose over Urik, casting eerie silver light upon the stone streets, they moved cautiously through the city's labyrinthine alleys. Then, a scream shattered the night—a cry of sheer horror, followed by an agonized wail that was abruptly cut short.

Without hesitation, they rushed toward the sound, their footsteps echoing through the near-empty streets. But by the time they arrived, they were too late.

A dwarven slave lay sprawled in the dust, his body grotesquely ravaged, half-eaten. His face, twisted in a final, silent scream, bore the unmistakable mark of utter terror. The killer had struck again.

The air was thick with the coppery stench of blood, but the murderer had vanished without a trace. No trail to follow, no sign of pursuit—only the chilling certainty that the predator still lurked somewhere in the darkness.

Then, the distant clatter of boots. Templars were coming, swift and unyielding. If they lingered, there would be no mercy.

With practiced skill, they melted into the shadows, slipping away before Hamanu’s enforcers could cast their net. The night belonged to the killer—and to those cunning enough to escape both its claws and the Lion King’s justice.

Chapter 5: The Stinky Kank

Navigating the shadowed streets of Urik, they arrived at a rundown inn—the Stinky Kank. The sign above the entrance left little to the imagination: a bloated, dead kank surrounded by a sickly green cloud. The stench wafting from within suggested the name was no exaggeration.

The door was barred shut. As they knocked, a narrow slit in the wood slid open, revealing a pair of wary eyes.

“It’s after dark. We’re closed,” came the gruff voice from within.

But coin spoke louder than caution. A few well-placed persuasive words and a handful of ceramic later, the bolts slid back, and the heavy door creaked open just enough to let them inside.

The dimly lit common room reeked of stale ale and sweat, its few remaining patrons eyeing them with quiet suspicion. Coins changed hands again, securing them rooms and a meager meal.

They set their watches, weary but vigilant. Outside, the city’s dangers prowled unseen, but within these walls, the night passed in uneasy silence. For now, at least, they were safe.

Chapter 6: The Shadow Returns

The next day, beneath the relentless sun of Urik, they scoured the city for any sign of the Veiled Alliance, hoping to make contact with the elusive rebels. The streets teemed with life—merchants hawking their wares, slaves toiling under watchful eyes, and templars patrolling with unyielding authority.

Then, Zahraan froze.

There, among the shifting sea of people, stood a figure that sent a chill down his spine—the nightmare man from their past encounter. His hollow gaze bore into them, an unsettling specter in broad daylight.

Before they could react, the figure turned.

With practiced urgency, they pushed through the throng, trying to follow. But by the time they reached where he had stood, he was gone. Not a footprint, not a ripple in the crowd to mark his passing. It was as if he had never been there at all.

Chapter 7: Meeting Old Friends

As Shiv finished his meal at a dusty food stall, the savory flavors still lingering on his tongue, a prickling sensation crawled up his spine. Across the bustling square, two men sat watching him. They wore the garb of common peddlers, but the rich food before them betrayed a wealth beyond their supposed station. They whispered to each other, their eyes never leaving him.

Then, without warning, they abandoned their meals and strode purposefully toward his table.

Before Shiv could protest, one of the men casually took the jug in front of him and poured himself a drink, his movements deliberate, claiming the space as his own.

"Welcome to Urik, friends," the man said smoothly, while his companion kept a wary eye on the crowd. Then, in a voice just loud enough to be heard over the murmur of the square, he asked, "Is the Great One well?"

Confusion flickered in Shiv’s mind—who was the Great One? A test, perhaps? A code? But pressing the strangers now would be unwise. Instead, he allowed them to linger, accepting their presence without hostility.

Satisfied, the apparent peddlers tossed a few coins onto the stall's counter, paying for Shiv’s meal as if it had been their own. As they turned to leave, one offered a parting whisper, his voice carrying an edge of hidden intent.

"Reliable information is hard to come by in Urik," he mused. "What shops have the best bargains, which taverns serve the finest drinks—that sort of thing. Should you require assistance in your... sightseeing, come to the Dustdevil Inn this evening. Some old friends want to say hello."

And with that, they vanished into the crowd, leaving only questions in their wake.

Chapter 8: The Dustdevil Inn

After a long day spent scouring the markets, sifting through trinkets, and prying for rumors, they approached the Dustdevil Inn at dusk. The setting sun cast long shadows across the battered sign, its faded paint barely visible in the dimming light.

Stepping inside, they were met with an eerie silence. For five heartbeats, the entire room held its breath. Every gaze turned toward them, measuring, assessing—friend or threat? The weight of scrutiny pressed down on them like a smothering heat.

Then, somewhere in the hush, a muttered insult slithered through the air—a crude remark about their mothers bearing a resemblance to dune freaks. A few chuckles followed, and as if on cue, the tension shattered. Conversations resumed, mugs clanked, and the pulse of the inn returned to its usual rhythm.

The room teemed with activity. Hooded figures haggled with a thri-kreen, merchants whispered over stacks of ceramic coins, beggars collected quiet tributes from shadowed patrons. Dice rolled, secrets traded hands, and alliances formed over shared drinks. If Urik had a darker side than what they had already seen, it was here, washing away the dust of the day in the haze of ale and quiet deals.

A serving woman, balancing a tray of fragile mugs with practiced ease, gestured toward an open table as they wove through the crowd. When she returned, she took their orders, and for the better part of an hour, they ate, drank, and listened. No one approached them. No one spoke, save for the woman who refilled their drinks.

Then, as the hour waned, she leaned in and, in a hushed whisper, said, “You’re expected upstairs.”

A nod toward the stairway at the far end of the room. A knowing wink. Then she melted back into the throng, vanishing among the clamor of voices.

Rising, they felt the weight of many eyes tracking their ascent.

At the top of the stairs, a broad-shouldered dwarf stood guard, his back resting against the wall, cradling an unusual crossbow in thick, scarred hands. His gaze met theirs, steady and impassive. Then, without a word, he nodded toward an open doorway.

The meaning was clear. Enter.

As they stepped inside, the door shut behind them—sealing them within whatever awaited beyond.

Chapter 9: The Alliance Responds

The room beyond the door was a world apart from the dim, raucous common room below. Soft hides and long couches replaced the grime and smoke of the Dustdevil Inn, the rich furnishings hinting at wealth and secrecy.

Lounging on one of the couches was a tall woman with long, dark hair and piercing eyes. She introduced herself as Elentha, a preserver balancing her time between Urik’s Veiled Alliance and the rebel slave tribe known as the Free. Nearby, two men sat on another couch—identical in every way, from their long red hair to the mischievous grins they wore.

Elentha nodded in greeting and gestured for them to sit. “We have much to discuss, my friends,” she said. “The Great One has asked me to aid you.”

She called for food and drink, then listened as they spoke of their needs. When they finished, she revealed what they had been searching for—a secret way into Hamanu’s palace.

The passage, she explained, had once been used by an old slave to slip into and out of Destiny’s Kingdom unnoticed. Though abandoned for decades, it should still be passable. The entrance was marked by a dotted square, a symbol of great meaning to the Veiled Alliance.

"Begin in the disused sewers," Elentha instructed. "Seek the northern reaches, where a dead-end wall bears nothing but the dotted square. That is your first secret door."

Beyond it lay a narrow tunnel leading to a second hidden entrance, which would deposit them into an abandoned cellar deep beneath the fortress-palace. In a shadowed alcove across the room, a spiral staircase ascended into the unknown.

"Climb past four landings," she continued, "until you find another concealed door marked with the dotted square. That door leads to an abandoned wing of the palace, sealed for over a generation."

They were to follow the wide corridor, pass a great set of double doors and a deserted chapel, and seek another dotted square in the room beyond. This would reveal yet another hidden door—one that spiraled downward.

"One level below the abandoned wing, another secret door will take you to a kitchen in Hamanu's guest area," she revealed.

That kitchen sat dangerously close to the council hall, the very place where Hamanu and his generals would soon convene. According to her informants, the meeting had been scheduled for two hours past dusk tomorrow night, waiting only for a few key guests to arrive. Whatever secrets Urik’s Sorcerer-King sought to guard, they would be laid bare within those walls.

"When you have learned what you need," Elentha concluded, "return through the same path."

She admitted that rumors of the meeting’s purpose were endless, but she suspected it was tied to the psionic interference that had blanketed the region. The Alliance would provide whatever supplies they could—fruits of invisibility to shroud them within the palace, along with weapons, armor, and spell components. However, neither Elentha nor her allies would dare accompany them into the sewers or beyond.

With that, she wished them luck, informing them that she had arranged lodgings at the inn. The twins would be available in the morning to help them gather what they needed, but no other magic would be offered.

Their path was set. The shadows of Urik waited.

Chapter 10: Beneath the Streets of Urik

As dusk fell over Urik, the twins led the group through the winding streets of the tradesmen’s district, their path ending at a dark, abandoned building. Inside, five imposing figures waited in silence—guards of formidable stature, their gazes sharp and unwavering. Though they did not bear the insignia of the Veiled Alliance, their purpose was clear. They had volunteered to keep the escape route open, ensuring the party’s safe return.

One of the twins reached into a worn sack and produced strange, glistening fruit, handing one to each member of the party.

"Fruits of invisibility," he explained. "A gift from the Alliance at Mahlanda’s request."

The twins described their power—a single bite would grant a fleeting invisibility, lasting anywhere from half an hour to an hour, while consuming the entire fruit at once would provide a full day of unseen passage. But the magic was fragile. One attack, and the veil would shatter.

"Save them until you reach the palace," Rondal warned.

"Perhaps a nibble before the abandoned wing would be wise," Randol added with a sly grin.

Then, in eerie unison, the twins spoke: "You have three hours to reach the council chamber. Follow the dotted squares. Stay out of sight."

They stepped aside, revealing the heavy stone slab embedded in the floor. The guards moved into position, two of them straining as they heaved it open, revealing a yawning pit of darkness. A rope ladder dangled into the abyss below.

Rondal turned to them, his expression serious. "When you return, rap on the stone five times. The guards will open it."

Randol nodded. "Good luck. And may the Great One watch over you."

With no further words, the party descended. The dark swallowed them whole, and above, the slab slammed shut with a final, resounding thud.

Chapter 11: The Disused Sewer

The oppressive darkness and thick silence of the disused sewer weighed heavily on them. The stale air felt as though it hadn't moved in ages. Their torches barely cut through the inky blackness, leaving only a small, fragile circle of light around them. Even the expected sounds of scuttling vermin were absent. It was as though every living thing had abandoned this forsaken place.

They trudged across the hard-baked mud of the sewer floor, remnants of a time when this place had served its grim purpose. The silence was stifling, broken only by the echo of their footsteps, when something caught their eye.

By the mouth of a side tunnel, a still form huddled against the wall. As they approached, their torches illuminated the lifeless body of a templar. His yellow cloak, once proud and bright, was stained dark with his own blood. His face, frozen in an expression of utter fear, told a story without words. The deep, jagged slashes across his body spoke of an attacker with claws of terrifying sharpness.

Their attention turned toward the darkness beyond, where the light revealed a gruesome sight. Piled high in the middle of the tunnel, lifeless bodies lay in grotesque disarray—two more templars in yellow and three city guards among them. Their faces, twisted in terror, told of a savage, unrelenting slaughter. Some of the bodies had been half-consumed, a haunting reminder of the horrors that had unfolded here.

Before they could process the scene, a sound broke the silence—an awful screech, like sharp blades dragging across a sandstone wall. The sound sent a chill up their spines, and they instinctively moved closer together, knowing that something was waiting for them up ahead.

Chapter 12: What is This Nightmare?

The area ahead, where two side tunnels converged with the main one, had been transformed into a den of nightmares. Piles of bones, some human, others from dwarves, half-giants, and even animals, were heaped carelessly in the stone crossroad. The air was thick with the stench of death, rotting flesh, and something far darker, more alien. As they entered, an unsettling sensation washed over them—something was watching, unseen and malevolent. Suddenly, horrifying visions flooded their minds, overwhelming them with fear.

Before they could recover, a nightmare creature rushed from the shadows, its twisted form more monstrous than words could describe. Safi reacted first, summoning his sacred flame, but the creature's soul-stealing gaze struck him, draining some of his life force. In response, it conjured a shroud of darkness around itself, engulfing the space in terror.

Zahraan seized the moment, grabbing Shiv and Shank, and using his Step of the Wind to carry them into the blackened veil, only to be met with savage slashes and bites. With a grunt of effort, he pulled Shiv to the far edge of the darkness, trying to escape the creature's clutches. Meanwhile, Shank flew into a blind rage, but, unable to see the creature in the shadow, he charged down the side tunnels in a desperate search—yet found nothing.

Karnos focused his psionic energy, casting Third Eye on Fazanna, hoping she could see the hidden creature. But even with this insight, Fazanna couldn’t spot their foe. Undeterred, she used her Burst of Speed, darting through the side tunnels to find it, but came up empty.

Safi, determined to protect his companions, activated his holy halo, repositioning himself to get a better view. In that instant, the creature dropped the darkness, reappearing to unleash its soul-stealing gaze once more on Safi. The creature then turned its attention to Zahraan, clawing and biting him in a frenzy.

Fueled by fury, Shank invoked his Fury of the Arena ability and charged forward, landing three powerful strikes with his great axe. Meanwhile, Anvar rushed to Zahraan’s side, using his Vitality Boost to heal him before engaging the creature with his own Fury of the Arena—but his grapple attempt failed.

Fazanna wasn’t far behind, activating her Green Flame Blade and landing two devastating hits on the creature. Shiv, relentless in his assault, unleashed his Fury of the Arena ability, scoring a critical hit and following it with a mental crush from his mighty maul. He then swung again, striking twice more, and with a surge of action, he brought his maul down three more times, delivering fatal blows that brought the creature to its knees, ending its monstrous rampage.

Chapter 13: Abandoned Cellar Level

The secret door from the disused sewer creaked open, revealing what had once been the sorcerer-king's grand wine cellar. This vast storage area, which must have once held countless bottles, casks, and barrels, had long since fallen into neglect. The once-proud racks that lined the walls were shattered and tossed haphazardly atop piles of discarded treasures, now little more than forgotten refuse.

As Fazanna flew ahead to investigate, her sharp eyes scanning the debris, she was suddenly pelted with stones. Zahraan, quick to act, grabbed Shank and dashed forward, revealing a small group of hejkin who, with wild eyes and sharp claws, lunged at Shank—but their attacks missed their mark.

Without hesitation, Shank waded into the fray, his fury unbound. In moments, the four hejkin were slain, their bodies crumpling beneath his powerful strikes.

After the battle, the group searched the cellar and found a small litter of hejkin. Without wasting time, the brothers Shiv and Shank eagerly tore into the creatures, quickly making a meal of their spoils amidst the ruined cellar.

Chapter 14: Abandoned Wing Level

Following Elentha's careful instructions, the PCs soon found themselves standing before another dotted square on the fourth landing of the staircase. With bated breath, they stepped through the hidden door, crossing into the abandoned wing of the palace.

Before entering, they each took a small bite of the invisibility fruit, the magic cloaking them from sight. Their hearts raced as they moved silently into the dark, desolate halls, the silence thick around them. But then, the tension shattered as they heard footsteps, growing nearer, followed by a voice that sent chills through their bones.

"I smell someone... those who were at the gates!"

The PCs spun toward the sound, eyes wide in shock, only to see a troupe of Hamanu's elite halfling warriors striding confidently toward them, their eyes sharp and dangerous. The air was thick with the threat of discovery.

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