Sunday, February 24, 2013
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Monday, February 18, 2013
First session. Gith problems and drinking urine.
02/18/2013
Cast of Characters
Aziza Din – 18 year old Human
Fighter, Preserver, Psychometabolic
Cyrus – 26 year old Human Water
Cleric/Psychoporter
Kaza – 30 year old Human Earth
Cleric/Psychokinetic
Renault (Ren) – 16 year old Mul
Psychometabolic
Roan – 20 year old Human Air
Cleric/Telepath
Yaotl – 25 year old Human Fire
Cleric/Psychokinetic
The group began by discussing how the
party got together. He is a short version, until they write up the
full length version. Knowing my players, that may never happen.
They decided that Yaotl, who is
originally from Draj, was causing trouble in Balic. A small group of
templars were casing him. Cyrus, who is a native of Balic, saw him
and sneaked him out of the city.
They traveled together up the Legion
Road, and then the Trade Road, until the came to South Ledopolus.
Here, they thought it wise to cross on a silt skimmer to North
Ledopolus to throw off any pursuit. In North Ledopolus, they came
upon Kaza, who is a native of that village. Their cunning plan to hop
over to North Ledopolus wasn't as cunning as they thought and
discovered Balican templars waiting for them. With Kaza's help, they
were able to escape into the Salt Flats.
Meanwhile, Aziza, who is a native of a
wandering tribe, is a slave in the fields around Nibenay. Roan, who
is a native of Nibenay, sees her being abused by a taskmaster. Roan
slays the task master and flees with Aziza into the Salt Flats. The
groups run into each other just north of the Mekillot Mountains. They
decide to travel together, as they are both on the run. The head
east.
A few nights later, Cyrus falls asleep
during his nightly watch and the group is jumped by gith. They are
captured and hauled toward the Black Spine Mountains, were they are
to become dinner, or possibly sold into slavery.
Pirro and his son, Ren, attack the
small group of gith and free the others. Pirro feels it is quite
auspicious to have a cleric of each type and invites them back to his
reclusive home in the Black Spine Mountain range. There, he begins
teaching them the way.
The story begins one year later.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Dark Sun Coloring Page Heavy Crodlu
Here's a free coloring page for your kids, or you, to color. It is a Heavy Crodlu.
If your kids color this, e-mail it to me at Aeskalis@gmail.com and I'll post it on this site.
Friday, February 8, 2013
Aziza Din. Original Artwork.
Here's the NPC for the group, Aziza Din. Drawn with pencil, while I was at work.
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Character History
This history was for a past character. A Half-Elf Gladiator. I hope you enjoy it. The characters name was stolen from a Science Fiction Television series that I enjoy. I'm terrible with names, so please just go with it.
I wasn't born a slave, at least that's what I'm told. I never knew my father or mother, all I remember from my childhood were cruel taskmasters and trainers. I grew up in the slave pens of Gulg. I was first owned by Renmar Creedy, a minor noble. Renmar hated gladiators, but kept them on orders from the Oba. I was fed and watered as little as possible. My training was subpar compared to other Gladiators and it was obvious, so obvious, in fact that I was soon transferred to a templar, Korik Sutler. To say Korik was cruel is an understatement. He delighted in seeing others in pain and often ordered his slaves whipped with bramble branches for even minor infractions. However, Korik was also known for training the best Gladiators in Gulg.
My trainers were hard on me. They would have me punch pumice stone until my hands bled. They took delight in having me attack them and then quickly overcoming me. They would punch or kick me to the ground. The trainer I remember most was Nigol, not because he was the kindest, or the most cruel, but because he taught me what fighting in the arena was really about, survival. "Defeat means death." Was a favorite phrase he would use. Nigol was never gentle and showed no mercy. I did not like him, but his lessons were the most valuable for my survival in the arenas. One day he did not return.
I was first sent to the arena as a young man, not yet old enough to sire children. My first opponent was a man who had been caught stealing water from his master. We were both given daggers. He was told that if he killed me, he would go free. His attacks were clumsy and awkward. I easy dodged them. I had never killed another man before and I was reluctant to start. He kept attacking and I kept dodging. The crowd began booing and hissing. The man surprised me with a slash across my forearm. As I saw the blood run down my arm I remembered what Nigol had told me. Defeat means death. I had two choices, kill or die. He swung again and I grabbed his dagger arm. I pulled him toward me and buried my dagger into his chest. I heard him cough as blood dripped from his open mouth.
"Defeat means death." I whispered to him as he dropped to the arena floor.
The crowd cheered.
Killing became easier the more I did it. I killed a dozen criminals in the arena. My master did not deem me ready to fight another gladiator. I could kill criminals, but I was awful against a trained fighter. During practice, I was constantly defeated by the other gladiators. There were whispers of sending me to the arena to die, if I did not improve. That is when I decided that I needed to escape.
During a trip to Raam, I saw my opportunity. As we were being led out of our wagons and into the arena pens, I grabbed a guard's spear and ran him through. I ran, I ran as fast as I could through the streets of Raam. I did not know my way and was slowed down by dead ends and confusing twists. The templars caught me and I was dragged back to the slave pens. My master was furious. If he had lost the Oba's property, he would be punished. My master decided that I should be made an example of. The worst pain I ever felt was when the first hot stick entered my eyes, blinding me. I was to fight the next day for the crowd's comedic delights.
The following day, I was lead out to the arena. I was given a small agafari shield and a bone short sword. When I entered the arena, the laughter of the crowd filled my ears. Sorrow consumed me. This was the day I was going to die. When the other gladiator entered the arena, I heard the announcer proclaim that the match was a night and day match, meaning my opponent was not blind. As my opponent moved forward, I swung wildly, my instinct to survive outweighing my sorrow. Easily countered, I received a shallow cut along my shield arm. The crowd cheered at the sight of blood running down my arm. I was to die slowly for the crowds amusement.
A sloppy second swing toward where I thought my opponent was brought gouts of laughter from the crowd and a shallow cut along my upper back. I swung back around, only to receive a cut along my shield arm again, deeper than before. I dropped my shield. I swung again, striking nothing, but air. My opponent didn't bother striking me again, he was going to let blood loss defeat me. I tried to listen for him, but the crowd's laughter and cheers were too loud to ignore. I swung wildly to no avail.
After an eternity, I dropped to my knees, the blood loss becoming too great. The crowd cheered.
"Kill him! Kill him!" They chanted and laughed.
I could not hear my opponent approach over the cries of the crowd. I felt the wind shift and sand was kicked up from the ground. A strange scent caught my attention. Sweat and blood. The blood was mine, but not the sweat. I turned and thrust my sword toward the smell. I felt my sword pierce flesh and I threw my weight into the thrust, crashing down on top of my opponent. The crowd fell silent, too stunned to continue their blood thirsty chant. My opponent coughed and I could smell his blood.
Finally he whispered, "Defeat means death."
As he body fell limp, the crowd erupted into cheers.
As the years passed, I developed my other senses to compensate for the loss of my eyes. I fought other day and night matches. I won and I survived. One day, the Oba decided to sell me to a Noble in Balic. So, I was herded into a wagon and set out for the city-state. A few days into the journey, I smelled a familiar, but strange scent. It was the smell of death.
"Death." I whispered.
"Death." A little louder.
"What did you say slave?" One of my handlers barked at me.
"I smell death on the wind." I told him. "Don't follow this path."
"Oh, shut it." He laughed.
The smell came closer and I felt panic in my chest.
"It's unnatural, turn around!" I shouted.
"Shut up, or I'll beat you!" He shouted back.
"Death is on the wind, a beating is better than death, turn around!"
"This is the only road to Balic."
The smell came closer, I knew it was right around the corner. I could hear its groans.
"We're all dead." I told him calmly.
"Sir, there's a man on the road." The wagon driver called out.
"Clear the way, this is a caravan from the Forest Goddess of Gulg!" My handler demanded.
I moved to the furthest point in my cage, away from the stench.
"By the Dragon, look how fat that blighter is!" The caravan driver called out.
I heard some of the guards move toward it and demand. "We said move!"
"I'm so hungry." It moaned.
The guards took out their weapons. They moved to attack. The sound of bones being crushed and the screams of the guards was terrible.
"My hand!" A guard screamed, "It bit off my hand!"
The driver panicked and attempted to turn the wagon around. I heard the thing shamble up and attack the kanks. Biting through the insects chitin and chewing the insides. The cart tipped over and came crashing down. The other guards began doing battle with the thing. More crunching, more screams. I kicked at the roof of the wagon with all my strength and felt it give. I pried my way out. I felt a spear at my feet and picked it up, ready to fight for my life.
"Run." The voice in my head was male and ghost-like.
"So hungry." The thing moaned as it began devouring the screaming guards. I heard every bone crunch and smelled the blood pouring into the road.
"Run."
I heard the thing beginning to shuffle towards me and I ran.
History of Martok
I wasn't born a slave, at least that's what I'm told. I never knew my father or mother, all I remember from my childhood were cruel taskmasters and trainers. I grew up in the slave pens of Gulg. I was first owned by Renmar Creedy, a minor noble. Renmar hated gladiators, but kept them on orders from the Oba. I was fed and watered as little as possible. My training was subpar compared to other Gladiators and it was obvious, so obvious, in fact that I was soon transferred to a templar, Korik Sutler. To say Korik was cruel is an understatement. He delighted in seeing others in pain and often ordered his slaves whipped with bramble branches for even minor infractions. However, Korik was also known for training the best Gladiators in Gulg.
My trainers were hard on me. They would have me punch pumice stone until my hands bled. They took delight in having me attack them and then quickly overcoming me. They would punch or kick me to the ground. The trainer I remember most was Nigol, not because he was the kindest, or the most cruel, but because he taught me what fighting in the arena was really about, survival. "Defeat means death." Was a favorite phrase he would use. Nigol was never gentle and showed no mercy. I did not like him, but his lessons were the most valuable for my survival in the arenas. One day he did not return.
I was first sent to the arena as a young man, not yet old enough to sire children. My first opponent was a man who had been caught stealing water from his master. We were both given daggers. He was told that if he killed me, he would go free. His attacks were clumsy and awkward. I easy dodged them. I had never killed another man before and I was reluctant to start. He kept attacking and I kept dodging. The crowd began booing and hissing. The man surprised me with a slash across my forearm. As I saw the blood run down my arm I remembered what Nigol had told me. Defeat means death. I had two choices, kill or die. He swung again and I grabbed his dagger arm. I pulled him toward me and buried my dagger into his chest. I heard him cough as blood dripped from his open mouth.
"Defeat means death." I whispered to him as he dropped to the arena floor.
The crowd cheered.
Killing became easier the more I did it. I killed a dozen criminals in the arena. My master did not deem me ready to fight another gladiator. I could kill criminals, but I was awful against a trained fighter. During practice, I was constantly defeated by the other gladiators. There were whispers of sending me to the arena to die, if I did not improve. That is when I decided that I needed to escape.
During a trip to Raam, I saw my opportunity. As we were being led out of our wagons and into the arena pens, I grabbed a guard's spear and ran him through. I ran, I ran as fast as I could through the streets of Raam. I did not know my way and was slowed down by dead ends and confusing twists. The templars caught me and I was dragged back to the slave pens. My master was furious. If he had lost the Oba's property, he would be punished. My master decided that I should be made an example of. The worst pain I ever felt was when the first hot stick entered my eyes, blinding me. I was to fight the next day for the crowd's comedic delights.
The following day, I was lead out to the arena. I was given a small agafari shield and a bone short sword. When I entered the arena, the laughter of the crowd filled my ears. Sorrow consumed me. This was the day I was going to die. When the other gladiator entered the arena, I heard the announcer proclaim that the match was a night and day match, meaning my opponent was not blind. As my opponent moved forward, I swung wildly, my instinct to survive outweighing my sorrow. Easily countered, I received a shallow cut along my shield arm. The crowd cheered at the sight of blood running down my arm. I was to die slowly for the crowds amusement.
A sloppy second swing toward where I thought my opponent was brought gouts of laughter from the crowd and a shallow cut along my upper back. I swung back around, only to receive a cut along my shield arm again, deeper than before. I dropped my shield. I swung again, striking nothing, but air. My opponent didn't bother striking me again, he was going to let blood loss defeat me. I tried to listen for him, but the crowd's laughter and cheers were too loud to ignore. I swung wildly to no avail.
After an eternity, I dropped to my knees, the blood loss becoming too great. The crowd cheered.
"Kill him! Kill him!" They chanted and laughed.
I could not hear my opponent approach over the cries of the crowd. I felt the wind shift and sand was kicked up from the ground. A strange scent caught my attention. Sweat and blood. The blood was mine, but not the sweat. I turned and thrust my sword toward the smell. I felt my sword pierce flesh and I threw my weight into the thrust, crashing down on top of my opponent. The crowd fell silent, too stunned to continue their blood thirsty chant. My opponent coughed and I could smell his blood.
Finally he whispered, "Defeat means death."
As he body fell limp, the crowd erupted into cheers.
As the years passed, I developed my other senses to compensate for the loss of my eyes. I fought other day and night matches. I won and I survived. One day, the Oba decided to sell me to a Noble in Balic. So, I was herded into a wagon and set out for the city-state. A few days into the journey, I smelled a familiar, but strange scent. It was the smell of death.
"Death." I whispered.
"Death." A little louder.
"What did you say slave?" One of my handlers barked at me.
"I smell death on the wind." I told him. "Don't follow this path."
"Oh, shut it." He laughed.
The smell came closer and I felt panic in my chest.
"It's unnatural, turn around!" I shouted.
"Shut up, or I'll beat you!" He shouted back.
"Death is on the wind, a beating is better than death, turn around!"
"This is the only road to Balic."
The smell came closer, I knew it was right around the corner. I could hear its groans.
"We're all dead." I told him calmly.
"Sir, there's a man on the road." The wagon driver called out.
"Clear the way, this is a caravan from the Forest Goddess of Gulg!" My handler demanded.
I moved to the furthest point in my cage, away from the stench.
"By the Dragon, look how fat that blighter is!" The caravan driver called out.
I heard some of the guards move toward it and demand. "We said move!"
"I'm so hungry." It moaned.
The guards took out their weapons. They moved to attack. The sound of bones being crushed and the screams of the guards was terrible.
"My hand!" A guard screamed, "It bit off my hand!"
The driver panicked and attempted to turn the wagon around. I heard the thing shamble up and attack the kanks. Biting through the insects chitin and chewing the insides. The cart tipped over and came crashing down. The other guards began doing battle with the thing. More crunching, more screams. I kicked at the roof of the wagon with all my strength and felt it give. I pried my way out. I felt a spear at my feet and picked it up, ready to fight for my life.
"Run." The voice in my head was male and ghost-like.
"So hungry." The thing moaned as it began devouring the screaming guards. I heard every bone crunch and smelled the blood pouring into the road.
"Run."
I heard the thing beginning to shuffle towards me and I ran.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Characters
Just wanted to post a quick update. Sunday was spent drawing up characters, except for one of our players deciding he'd rather watch some football game. Anyway, two of the players had never played AD&D and one has never played a D&D game at all. So, much of the time was spent explaining the basic rules and game setting.
In the end, four of my five players decided to play Human Cleric/Psionicists and one is playing a single class Psionicist. The NPC of the group in a Human Preserver/Fighter/Psionicist. Details below.
1. Player: Tyson. Character: Human male, Fire Cleric, Psychokinetic.
2. Player: Mike. Character: Human male, Earth Cleric, Psychokinetic.
3. Player: Clyde. Character: Human male, Water Cleric, Clairsentient.
4. Player: Bumper. Character: Human male, Air Cleric, Psychoporter.
5. Player: Justin. Character: Mul male, Psyhometabolist.
6. Player: NPC. Character: Human female, Fighter, Preserver, Psychometabolist.
After the players decided to play the four Elemental Clerics, Tyson said if they had a "Heart" Cleric, they could summon "Captain Athas".
In the end, four of my five players decided to play Human Cleric/Psionicists and one is playing a single class Psionicist. The NPC of the group in a Human Preserver/Fighter/Psionicist. Details below.
1. Player: Tyson. Character: Human male, Fire Cleric, Psychokinetic.
2. Player: Mike. Character: Human male, Earth Cleric, Psychokinetic.
3. Player: Clyde. Character: Human male, Water Cleric, Clairsentient.
4. Player: Bumper. Character: Human male, Air Cleric, Psychoporter.
5. Player: Justin. Character: Mul male, Psyhometabolist.
6. Player: NPC. Character: Human female, Fighter, Preserver, Psychometabolist.
After the players decided to play the four Elemental Clerics, Tyson said if they had a "Heart" Cleric, they could summon "Captain Athas".
Pictured below: Captain Athas
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Original Artwork
Today's the day, I'm excited to get characters ready, but I doubt we'll get much play time. In the meantime, I'm posting a drawing I did a few years ago of a khopesh. It's free hand drawing with pencil.
I like the way the khopesh looks, the sleek and deadly design. That's a sexy weapon right there.
Friday, February 1, 2013
Elemental Clerics and Race
Elemental Clerics are one of the unique aspects of Dark Sun that I absolutely love. If playing an AD&D Dark Sun game, I highly recommend getting the elemental cleric book, "Earth, Air, Fire, and Water." The book is great, it includes a few cleric kits, paraelemental cleric options, and a detailed description of the elemental clerics and their mindset. Also, it includes a few extra spells.
There is one thing, however, that I am not thrilled with. The "PC by Element and Race Table". I feel the table is not well balanced. Dwarfs, who are normally allowed only 12th level cleric, can be 20th level Earth clerics. While that may make sense in a setting where Dwarfs live underground, I feel it doesn't make as much sense in Dark Sun.
My feeling on the matter is that certain races cannot channel elemental magic as well as others, it's just part of who they are. However, they are in tune with some certain elements that allow them to channel the elemental magic easier, thus allowing more levels.
That is why I drew up my own "PC by Element and Race Table". I feel this table is more balanced than the previous version. The table lists the race, followed by the element, followed by the maximum allowed level.
Aarakocra: Earth 14, Air 18, Fire 16, Water 16
Dwarf: Earth 14, Air 10, Fire 12, Water 12
Elf: Earth 11, Air 17, Fire 17, Water 14
Half-Elf: Earth 14, Air 17, Fire 17, Water 16
Half-Giant: Earth 13, Air 10, Fire 14, Water 11
Halfling: Earth 12, Air 12, Fire 10, Water 14
Mul: Earth 12, Air 8, Fire 10, Water 10
Thri-kreen: Earth 13, Air 13, Fire 10, Water 12
What are your feelings? Am I just being too critical?