Part I Pawn of Pawns

Chapter One

It was yesterday  evening that you arrived in the walled village of Kled yet the events which have transpired make the elapsement of a single day seem like an eternity.  You sauntered through the invitingly open gates with surprising ease, for no guards stood vigil atop the stone walls.  Amidst the mud-brick buildings within not a single creature stirred, which seemed odd, for citizens most frequently came out at dusk their work for the day finished and the temperature finally tolerable.  Upon inquiring at a similarly vacated inn called the "Squeaking Windmill" about the general inactivity of the town the amiable elven innkeep informed you that the uhrnomus or chieftain, Baarex, had just died that morning in a freak accident with the town windmill and the whole village was thus in mourning.  In an attempt to lighten the town's spirits the innkeep decided to have every room and meal completely free for that day, but he met with little success.  Nevertheless he kept his word and allowed you to stay the night without cost and stabled your mount with good care.  

It did not seem possible that things could get much worse for the quaint town of Kled until the next day.  Your awakening was most unpleasant.  Something hit the inn with such force that it lifted your bed and hurled it across your tiny room, with you still in it.  Its wooden frame was shattered from the force of the impact but you were not seriously injured, quite dazed, but not broken.  Shoving the remains of the mattress and frame off your crumpled body you fled the inn choking and futily waving your hands at the dust.  In the street you noticed the citizens in an uproar, fleeing their homes in the hundreds and pouring into the streets like a river of terror.  Slavers had descended upon the town and were herding the citizens into bondage like cattle.  Many came on crodlu, quickly overcoming the poor people of Kled with superior speed and viciously maiming them to a point where it was impossible for them to flee.  Many more came on foot stalking and hunting like predators for those who had momentarily escaped the trampling wrath of the riders.  Not men, not women, not children were safe from the hideous horde of pillagers and raiders who had descended upon the town.


The above art can be found in the Second Edition Dark Sun Rules Book

Deciding that upwards of 500 citizens of Kled couldn't possibly be wrong, you elected to join them and run for your life. You charged toward the stable, battling your way through the teeming throng of fleeing peasants.  Humanoids slammed into from every imaginable angle nearly battering you to the ground.  You forged your way forward however, one heavy step at a time through the incoming river of terrified people.  Red hot comets followed by billowing clouds of putrid brown smoke streaked overhead exploding in different areas of town.  You prayed silently that your trusty mount had not been dashed to pieces by the tumbling meteors.  Your prayers were answered when you finally waded from from the rushing tumult of chaotic screaming citizens and ducked into the stable and saw your crodlu standing rather nervous at the sights and sounds that exploded outside.  You mounted up and charged outside knowing full well the crowds would part for a bellowing 600 pound lizard.  

You seemed nearly home free fleeing the invaders and easily navigated the crowds which split and flowed around you from your high vantage point until a mul raider, howling like an air elemental, pitched himself off a nearby rooftop and slammed into you, sending you and your mount tumbling down onto the ground.  The crowds split around you, your mount and your newfound foe like an island in the stream and not one individual stopped to help.   The raider rolled some five feet from where you fell and instantly regained his footing.  The tattooed and nearly naked barbarian seemed completely oblivious to the pain and assailed you like a madman, drawing forth a thick wooden club.  You pulled yourself from beneath your powerful mount who was struggling greatly to stand and prepared to meet your attacker on foot.  You swept out your shining scimitar and charged your enemy who smiled gleefully through a mouth full of broken teeth to meet your challenge.  The two of you met in combat on your tiny island of free ground admist the teeming throng.

His skill in combat was good, but yours was far greater and had it not been for his cowardly treachery you would have easily defeated him.  He was strong but clumsy and you danced around him like halflings around a bonfire.  He lunged with all his hefty weight almost immediately roaring like some manner of rabid beast.  You dodged his blundering charge easily and slashed him deeply just above his breechcloth belt upon his vulnerable back as he stumbled past.  He grunted as he fell onto his stomach in the sand.  You hefted high your steel blade to finish him off and would have killed him but he whipped around as you neared him and hurled a handful of sand into your face.  The oldest bloody trick that you know of and the weakling succeeded.  The stinging earth caught you directly in the face and obliterated your vision.  Though your first instinct was to rub your vulnerable eyes you would not be caught off guard so easily and stood against the raging pain blinking as rapidly as your body would allow.  You swung viciously once as you could hear him charge toward you but your enemy was at least capable enough to elude your blind blow and you sliced only the dusty air.  His shoulders struck you directly in the chest and drove all the wind from your lungs.  Your feet kicked out from under you and the barbarian knocked you supine easily.  His heavy club came down upon your forehead again and again and again.

You awaken to find yourself staring up into the blue sky your head swimming in such unbelievable agony that you wonder if it is still attached.  You slowly try to prop yourself up on one arm to survey your surroundings but your arms have been tied securly behind your back.  Mustering all the strength you can, you sit up and nearly collapse again from dizziness.  You squint hard and blink rapidly trying to drive the last of the stinging sands from your eyes and clear your vision entirely.  As your eyes focus again you find yourself surrounded by a scene of woe.  You have been tied and dragged into the town square where all the prisoners have apparently been rounded up.  It seems the whole of Kled is present, arranged in a thick ring of suffering bodies around the center of the village.  In the center of the ring of future slaves you see a huge stone cistern filled so utterly with water that one additional drop would cause it to spill over.  Next to the stone container lies a large mound of splintered and broken wood which you assume to be the remenants of the old windmill that allegedly killed the village chieftain.  All around the cistern and former windmill stand black robed Templars and heavily armored warriors who stand proud upon equally armored crodlus.  They haughty warriors and arrogant Templars talk and laugh with one another, utterly unconcerned about the suffering captives that surround them.  You recognize immediately the banners that the warriors carry, snapping in the breeze at the end of their vicious polearms.  They are from Tyr, in service of the foul Kalak, Tyrant of the Golden City.  Focusing more nearby you note that less decorated warriors, like the one that brought you down in the street, have been positioned at even intervals all the way around the crowd, watching the slaves warily and beating them viciously should they step out of line.  You note that less decorated Templars are patrolling the ring of citizens, inspecting each individual and ordering death to those to weak to make the journey to Tyr which looms in the future.  An extremely fat Templar with a pair of human guards dressed in leather breeches and vests are making their way toward you.  The Templar does not look like a pleasant individual and screams almost continually roaring and weeping men and women for their weakness and beating those who cannot stand.

You look down at yourself to find your body in good condition and you were not wounded during the time you were unconcious but all your equipment, even your prized spell book, save your shirt and breeches, was stripped from you.  A tough leather collar has been secured around your neck, however, and a thick rope runs through a loop attached to it.  Dozens of men women and children stand all around you but the rope has you securely fastened to a pod of only four other individuals, four feet of slack seperating each of you.  One of the individuals in your train attached by the neck sits directly to your left.  A dwarf of unremarkable size rests in a cross legged position.  His hands are also tied, a trait similar to everyone present.  His face is coated with dried and cracked blood so completely that it hides his features, yet you see no open wounds upon his body whatsoever.  He is dressed in a yellow robe, the chest stained darkly with dried blood.  He glances at your briefly through the corner of his eye and then proceeds to ignore you completely.  Beyond him sits a much more amiable human whose nose has obviously been broken, for it is swollen enough to cover his face.  He is dressed in what were once rich garments but look to have been ruined in a struggle.  His formerly immaculate white vest is stained with blood and dirt and his green cloth pants have been torn nearly to shreds.  Though it would cause him much pain due to his injured nose he smiles widely between two rows of perfect white teeth nonetheless though his eyes betray the distress in his heart.  In front of the human and at the end of the rope lies on its side a creature that you have only heard stories about: the Joz'hal of the wastes.  The lizardman is lying on its side in an utterly pitiful state.  Its claws have been clipped, its teeth torn out and its small hands so terribly mangled that they are nearly unrecognizable.  You marvel at the pain it must be suffering and why the Templars have elected to keep it alive.  It does not move at all save for the rising and falling of its stomach to indicate that it is still alive.  The human speaks to it, probably trying to comfort its suffering.  Directly to your right, at the opposite end of the rope sits a huge barrel-chested dwarf who looks powerful enough to crush your bones with his bare hands.  His body is badly bruised and cut in many places but he seems unconcerned.  He meets your gaze as you turn to him and you see that his dark eyes are extremely deep and possessing of uncommon wisdom.  He wears only breeches and speaks in a voice as deep as the Silt Sea, "It is good to see you rise, for the Templars will not kill one who can walk."  He pauses briefly as if scrutinizing you seriously, "It would be better if you and I did begin on good terms, two cooperating stand a much better chance at surviving than two on their own.  I am Grimbal, son of Glandir Ironblood.  I am the Acolyte of the Great Earth and a man of honor.  This is my home, Kled, and I am ashamed I could not have welcomed you under more pleasant circumstances."