Featuring rants unworthy of due consideration. Spell checked, but not proofed.

This is just an obligatory monthly update post. And, while I do have all kinds of things to post about, I lack the energy to post about them, since it would require a fair amount of cognitive energy, therefore I will just allude to said events. However, I do actually have something for you to read.

Since I’ve started running the new season of D&D Encounters I’ve been digging into Dark Sun, and it is resurrecting my interest in the setting. Inspired my new found interest, and the paltry setup for encounters I decided to write my own introduction that I read to the PCs, so here it is, enjoy:

Fury of the Wastewalker: Introduction

You find yourself packed within one of the many compartments of a fortified mobile fortress strapped securely upon the back of a hulking behemoth known as a mekillot. Not much time has passed since you left the small, but sturdy merchant village of Altaruk.

Sharing your quarters are two worn travelers, Daclamitus and Valuna who wear ragged clothing, and keep quietly to themselves. However, you notice a light in their eyes that is inconsistent with their outward appearance.

A spoiled tribal chieftain’s daughter Felorn is from Gulg, she has a nose ring, hair decorated with feathers, and clothing depicting large trees (nature DC 20 to recognize they don’t look right). She is interested in hearing tales of adventure.

Milo, the short, and stout merchant eyes everyone suspiciously while rubbing a coin between thumb and fore finger. He has brought three slaves along with him, and treats them savagely which he is well within his rights to do.

Although different paths have brought you together, your goal is the same: trek across the sun scorched tablelands to the city-state of Tyr.

One night, Jarvix notices a subtle shower of meteors among the stars in the ebony sky. The caravan overseer (Sedran), a practical man, thought nothing of the dire omen. But, Jarvix made sure you were all aware.

During the night you are woken by a high pitched birdlike call, although it has an unsettling ethereal nature. You do not have much time to listen because you hear orders being barked by the caravan guards. Through the narrow slit in the side of your compartment you can make out the makings of an all enveloping sand stormed headed your way. Everyone is thrown hard against the back wall as the mekillot shifts forward hard as the pilot attempts to evade the storm. The loud groaning sounds of the shifting fortress are barely audible above the howling wind.

A distant herd of inix sprint just ahead of the storm only to be overtaken. As the storm engulfs them, you notice that it is as if their very flesh is being ripped away to the point where only bone fragments are left by the time the wall of sand overtakes them.

A caravan guard bellows, “OBSIDIAN RAIN!” and then all hell breaks loose.

The wagon fortress begins to rock back and forth violently as the mekillot begins to grow nervous. The guards continue to bark orders, and the atmosphere within the wagon reaches a fevered pitch. You can hear the wails of women clutching their children crushed by shifting cargo, and a gibbering madness consuming the crew.

Everyone is rolled within the compartment as the mekillot rears up. The straps snap sending the wagon careening into the storm. Chunks of obsidian begin exploding through the hull destroying everything in their wake. A spear of obsidian narrowly misses Barcan, but cleaves through Felorn spilling gore across Phye.

The sky is blacked out by an enormous shard that collides with the wagon, shattering it utterly. The force of the explosions hurls everyone out into the early dawn air. You witness the wagon torn apart, and lifeless bodies swirling in the storm.

Your final sight before being consumed by the storm is the enormous mekillot bellow lying dead, its body pierced by millions of obsidian shards, which in itself may not have killed it, but it was pinned to the ground by the thirty foot shard that destroyed the wagon fortress.

The sands brush coarsely against your skin as intermittent shards tear away at your flesh.

Finally, you succumb to the pain.

Some time later you awake to the dull howling wind. In the distance you can see another obsidian storm gathering strength. A tent ahead suggests that there were other survivors from the caravan, but upon further inspection you find the corpses of Milo and his slaves torn asunder, the contents of the tent hastily thrown about.

As you begin to rummage through the contents for supplies you see small bipedal reptiles leap from the surrounding silt. They are light on their feet and keen to pick through the remaining cargo. A quick scan of the area reveals them lurking on all sides.

The best path away from the storm lies directly through your foes.