Session 91
Death Ball
Death Ball
The prisoners had been stripped of everything—their weapons, their armor, even the precious shard of crystal they had fought so hard to obtain. Rough hands had shoved them into a cold, spartan cell deep beneath the arena, its walls damp with the scent of sweat and stone. Each was given a bunk, little more than a slab of rock, and a meal of stale bread and water. From the other cells, jeers and laughter echoed through the corridors, the taunts of men who had long accepted their fates as entertainment for the masses.
Morning brought little comfort, save for the arrival of fruit and meat, carried in by silent, expressionless guards. They did their duty without cruelty, but neither did they speak, as if words would break the fragile illusion that the prisoners were anything more than doomed combatants.
Then came Yorik, a heavyset overseer with a laugh as loud as his step. He grinned at them through the bars, tossing each of them a suit of carru leather armor. "Today's the day!" he declared, his voice thick with amusement. "The grand games of Battle Day! You'll get your turn after a few matches—then it's the death ball match. Should be quite the show." Before departing, he summoned templars to heal whatever wounds they still bore. Hamanu wanted a good fight, after all, and a crippled warrior made for poor sport.
Above, the arena roared to life, the crowd surging with excitement at every new bout. Hours passed beneath the weight of their anticipation, and when Yorik returned, he was still grinning. "Good luck out there," he said, chuckling. "You'll need it against the Bloody Claw."
He then gestured toward a limited assortment of weapons—stone clubs, crossbows with iron-tipped quarrels, bone daggers, and obsidian-bladed battle axes. Each prisoner was permitted to choose two, their fates resting in whatever crude instruments of war remained. The time for waiting was over. Their battle was about to begin.
The roar of the crowd struck like a physical force as the prisoners stepped into the arena. The stadium was packed, the stands brimming with eager spectators, their cheers rolling across the sands in a deafening wave of excitement. Across the field, high above the masses, Hamanu himself sat in his royal box, his piercing gaze fixed upon them. Whether his interest was mere curiosity or something more, they could not tell.
The arena stretched before them—an immense oval of sun-bleached sand, hemmed in by a spiked wall. Two raised platforms loomed on opposite sides, each with a narrow stair leading up to a shadowy opening in the stone. Scattered across the field were strange, open pits, their depths hidden from view.
Then, the crowd erupted into a chant. Bloody Claw! Bloody Claw!
A squad of seasoned gladiators strode onto the field opposite them, basking in the adulation of their fans. The Bloody Claw spread out, bowing and posturing for the audience, their confidence palpable. When the fanfare sounded, their amusement turned to menace, and they locked eyes with the prisoners, the challenge clear.
Yorik appeared once more, his grin ever-present as he motioned them to their starting line. “Stand side by side,” he instructed, mirroring the formation of the Bloody Claw across the arena. “The game is simple. Get the death balls into the goal holes on the far side.”
In the center of the field, between the pits, lay five leather balls—each slightly larger than a man’s palm and studded with cruel obsidian spikes.
“The match ends when all five balls have been scored,” Yorik continued. “Only three rules: Start on your line, the balls begin in the center, and all hostilities stop when the last ball is placed. Aside from that? Anything goes.”
Melee, spells, psionics, crossbows—every weapon in their arsenal was permitted. The game was not just a test of skill, but of survival.
As Yorik stepped away, a final fanfare rang out. The crowd surged into a frenzy, screaming and stamping their feet. Then, with a single blast of the horn, the match began.
Welcome, fans, to the most brutal match of the Battle Day games! The action is fast, the stakes are high, and the blood is already flowing! Let’s get into it!
Rend, the monstrous half-giant of the Bloody Claw, came charging across the field like a silt storm in full fury! He seized one of the spiked death balls and thundered toward the goal, unstoppable in his sheer power! But wait—Shank darted to the left, grabbing a ball of his own, only to be met by one of the Bloody Claw’s fighter-blockers! A brutal axe slash! A shield bash! But Shank—oh, what balance—managed to stay on his feet, narrowly avoiding a deadly plunge into the pit!
And here comes Shiv, rushing up the middle! He snatches another ball—meanwhile, a Bloody Claw defiler vanishes into thin air! Where is he going to strike next?!
Safi steps in with a bold move, summoning a herd of cows to cut off the Bloody Claw’s advance—but oh no! The opposing defiler extends a hand, and just like that, the magic is sucked into a ring, the poor bovines vanishing into nothingness! The crowd gasps at the sheer audacity of the counter!
Fazanna isn’t waiting around—dimension door! She teleports to snatch the ball teetering near the pit, but trouble comes fast! A Bloody Claw fighter-blocker rushes in and—BAM!—a crushing shield bash sends her sprawling! Karnos, unfazed, taps into his psionic power, heightening his defenses, while another fighter-blocker charges in with an axe and—oh, the brutality! Fazanna is knocked clean into the pit of scorpions! And she’s stung! The crowd loves it!
Anvar makes his move, closing in on Rend, but here comes a halfling defender! Two crossbow bolts fly—one finds its mark, sinking into Shank! Another scorpion in the pit strikes at Fazanna—oh, the agony!
Zahraan focuses his psionic power, fortifying himself before dashing toward the center. Meanwhile, another halfling lets a bolt fly at Shank—but it misses! Shank, undeterred, lets out a mighty roar, raging with fury as he barrels toward the goal! But—oh, what a play! A nimble halfling defender intercepts and trips him up at the last second!
Fazanna, struggling in the pit, narrowly dodges another scorpion sting—but what’s this? Another dimension door! She reappears right next to the goal—she’s about to score! But the Bloody Claw aren’t done yet! A halfling defender crashes into Shank, smacking him with a club before dragging him into a grapple! Shiv sees the opening—he surges forward, goal in sight, three players now poised to score!
And then it happens! One of the Bloody Claw defilers unleashes a devastating cone of cold! The very air freezes—and listen to that eerie mooooo! The blast, infused with the stolen magic of Safi’s summons, engulfs Shiv and Fazanna! And there she goes! Fazanna is frozen solid! Her lifeless body collapses to the ground, the ball she carried vanishing and reappearing in the center of the field! The crowd erupts!
Zahraan sees the opportunity—he makes a mad dash for the reappeared ball! But a fighter-blocker moves to cut him off—swing and a miss! The action is relentless! Safi, ever the strategist, conjures an ice storm near the newly returned ball, while an invisible defiler strikes from the shadows, unleashing cloudkill! Anvar, Safi, and Karnos are caught in the toxic fog—Anvar breaks free, but the danger still looms!
Then, in a dazzling display of psionic mastery, Karnos metamorphoses into a dreaded kirre! The crowd is on their feet! Meanwhile, a Bloody Claw fighter-defender grabs the ball Fazanna lost and makes a break for the goal!
And here comes Rend! The half-giant barrels forward, unstoppable! He closes the distance, raises the spiked ball high—and SCORES! The stadium erupts in wild applause! The Bloody Claw have drawn first blood in the most ruthless match of the season!
What a game, folks! What. A. Game!
Shiv storms forward, unstoppable.
The spiked ball is in his grasp, his eyes locked on the goal. The arena roars, but he hears only the pounding of his own heart. As he reaches the platform, he thrusts the ball forward—
CLANG!
The trap snaps shut, iron fangs lunging for his arm. But Shiv is faster. With a brutal yank, he wrenches free just in time, leaving the deadly jaws clamping down on empty air. The ball drops cleanly into the hole.
The score is tied! The crowd explodes in a frenzy of noise as Shiv steps back, shaking the dust from his hands. The match surges on.
The battle for the Death Ball rages on!
With Shank still grappled, the fighter-blocker brings the pain, axe and shield hammering down on him. The crowd erupts as Shank, bloodied but defiant, hurls the spiked ball toward Shiv— but it falls short, bouncing in the sand.
Before anyone can react, a halfling-defender snatches it up and bolts toward the goal!
Across the arena, Karnos, now a towering kirre, charges a fighter-blocker. A sudden burst of psionic energy stuns her, leaving her wide open for his fangs to tear into her flesh. Without hesitation, he wheels around and fixes his keen gaze on an invisible defiler—one only he can see. Another psionic blast sends the defiler reeling into stunned silence.
A second fighter-blocker barrels into Karnos, her shield crashing into his feline frame and knocking him to the ground.
Meanwhile, Safi vanishes with a flicker of psionic energy, repositioning across the field. The halfling-defender still pummels Shank, club cracking into ribs and drawing blood.
Anvar shifts position, keeping an eye on the chaos, while another fighter-blocker presses the attack against the fallen kirre. The brutal assault forces Karnos back to his human form, leaving him momentarily vulnerable.
Zahraan teleports, then dashes toward the goal, closing in fast!
Suddenly, the air shimmers—the invisible defiler reappears at another ball, grabbing it before vanishing again.
Across the field, Shiv lunges at a halfling-defender, trying to grapple him, but the halfling slips away and rushes toward the goal!
Karnos snarls, his body twisting back into kirre form. With a surge of speed, he races to intercept, determined to cut off the score.
Anvar continues repositioning, his tactical mind working.
Rend looms near the opponent's goal, waiting for the perfect moment.
Then—Safi strikes. With a wave of his hand, the space around the missing ball shifts. The fighter-defender holding it is suddenly yanked high into the sky! Suspended in midair, she flails—before Safi drops the spell, sending the poor soul plummeting to her death.
The arena roars.
Meanwhile, Shank retaliates, axe flashing as he hacks into his captor. Then, he calls upon the power of the Mountain of the Iron Coffin— a cataclysmic eruption of fire and stone.
But from his throne, Hamanu merely scoffs. With a casual flick of his hand, the effect is dismissed. Shank snarls in frustration as his moment of devastation is wiped away.
Across the field, Karnos, with his truesight, locks onto the invisible defiler. A blur of fur and muscle, he rips into the mage, ending his life in an instant. The ball reappears in the center of the field.
Karnos dashes toward it, only to realize—he cannot grasp it in this form! With a growl, he pivots, lunging toward the halfling-defender instead. Another psionic blast erupts from him, stunning his target.
Then, Rend seizes the moment.
With terrifying speed, the half-giant snatches up the ball—
And scores!
His second goal of the match!
The crowd erupts in deafening applause, the chants of Bloody Claw! shaking the arena.
And just like that, the tides shift again!
Zahraan takes the ball and drives it home—SCORE!
But instead of cheers, the arena erupts into furious jeers! The Blood Claw faithful howl in anger, their voices thundering through the stands as they rain curses down upon the scoring psion.
Yet Zahraan ignores them. His focus is elsewhere.
With a deep breath, he calls upon the ancient power of the Tree. A shimmering, emerald light erupts around him, twisting like vines, surging toward the fallen Fazanna. The crowd falls into a stunned hush as the magic takes hold.
A heartbeat passes.
Then—her chest rises.
Fazanna gasps back to life!
The defilers on the field snarl in frustration as the impossible happens before their eyes. Their kill, undone.
The match is far from over!
AND THAT'S GAME! WHAT A FINISH!
The remaining defiler made his move, teleporting invisibly to the last ball—and just like that, it vanished with him!
But Fazanna was ready. She rose from the dead, defiance burning in her eyes, and unleashed a roaring fireball right where the ball had disappeared. A searing explosion ripped across the field, sending shockwaves through the crowd!
Meanwhile, Shank was still tangled up with a halfling defender, who swung wildly at him but landed nothing but air. Shiv, seeing the danger, broke into a full-speed sprint back toward the goal, desperate to cut off the final, game-winning score.
Shank’s other opponent, a brutal fighter-blocker, hacked and slammed into him. But Shank—seemingly lost in some deep, unknowable thought—took an eternity before finally deciding to strike back!
And strike he did.
Safi, thinking faster, conjured an ice storm where the defiler had vanished, trying to flush him out. Anvar repositioned, ever the tactician.
Then—the ball reappeared!
But not where expected—the defiler had flung it through the air, straight at Rend!
The massive half-giant caught it, poised to score the winning goal. The arena held its breath.
And then—Karnos struck!
Still in his form of the mighty kirre, the six-legged beast surged forward, unleashing a psionic blast! Rend froze mid-stride, his body locked in psychic agony! At the same moment, Karnos pounced on the invisible defiler, ripping into him with his fangs—AND DROPPING HIM DEAD! The ball was in play once more!
A halfling defender, desperate to stop Karnos, struck hard, aiming to break his transformation.
Shank, finally free from his previous fight, rose, his axe a blur as he cut down the fighter-blocker that had tormented him! She fell—gone from the game.
Fazanna, still not done with her tricks, cast dimension door, warping across the field to cut off any final play.
Safi, thinking fast, conjured a stampede—eight roaring goraks appeared to harass Rend!
Then, in a breathtaking play—Zahraan grabbed Shiv, pushing him forward with a psionic burst of speed!
Shiv launched himself between Rend and the last goal.
And when the half-giant lunged forward to break through—Shiv shoved him back!
The crowd erupted—an explosion of noise!
Rend tried again, swinging with claws and a mighty slam, but Shiv held firm, blocking him from the score!
Then—Karnos struck one last time, stunning Rend yet again!
And with that opening—the heroes snatched the final ball and charged forward!
SCORE!
THEY WIN!
The Blood Claw supporters erupted in fury, their jeers and howls shaking the very foundations of the stadium.
But above it all, on his golden throne, Hamanu watched.
And despite the uproar, despite the defiance, despite the heroes standing victorious—
A sly smile crept across the Lion of Urik’s face.
The victors were led from the bloodstained field, their bodies aching from countless blows, their wounds a testament to the brutal contest they had survived. Slaves in golden sashes awaited them in the shadowed halls of Destiny’s Kingdom, Hamanu’s palace, their eyes downcast as they silently attended to the warriors’ injuries.
Cool cloths wiped away blood and sweat, salves soothed deep bruises, and bandages were wrapped with practiced hands. Water, sweetened with rare fruits, was pressed to parched lips, and the sting of pain eased beneath the careful ministrations. Yet, even as they were tended to, they could feel the weight of watchful eyes upon them—half-giant guards stood at a distance, their massive hands resting upon the hafts of their great axes, ensuring that their guests remained just that.
When their wounds had been seen to, the group was led deeper into the heart of the palace, through gilded corridors and towering archways that spoke of a wealth unseen elsewhere in Athas. They emerged into a vast chamber where opulence reigned supreme—walls of polished basalt inlaid with veins of gold, massive pillars carved with the likeness of great lions, and a ceiling so high it disappeared into the gloom above.
A feast awaited them. Tables of dark-stained wood groaned under the weight of a bounty most Athasians could only dream of. There were great platters of roasted meat, exotic fruits bursting with sweet juices, spiced rice, and golden-crusted bread. Jugs of deep red wine and honeyed mead stood ready to be poured, their scent thick in the warm air.
Slaves moved like whispers among the guests, ever watchful, ever obedient, fulfilling every need before it was spoken. They filled goblets, brought fresh cloths to clean hands, and stood at silent attention, ready to serve at the slightest gesture. But beneath their deference was a carefully honed skill—one that ensured they saw all, heard all, and never missed a single flicker of expression.
As they ate and drank, a courtier approached—a slender man clad in flowing robes of amber silk, his every movement precise and deliberate. He regarded them with a faint smile before speaking, his voice smooth, almost rehearsed.
“You have pleased the Lion of Urik this day. Rejoice, for few are given such honor.” His gaze swept over them, lingering just long enough to remind them of their place. “Rest well. Enjoy the comforts granted to you. Tomorrow, Hamanu will receive you.”
With that, he turned and vanished into the folds of the palace, leaving them to their feast, their weariness, and the ever-present knowledge that no matter how fine the food, how rich the wine, they remained within the jaws of the lion.