This post details the continuing adventures of a D&D Dark Sun game that I’m running. Part one can be found here: https://red-ones-go-faster.com/2025/10/01/somber-sands-session-one/

The four adventurers, now somewhat bound together by shared suffering and a desire to right the wrongs of a tribe of oasis-poisoning elves, trekked back into the desert sands. They were: Corin, a Human Bard who kept a thoughtful watch on his waterskins; Finnja, a Human Ranger whose foraging found nothing but root-remnants from cacti recently torn up; Marquis, a Human Preserver Wizard who tried eating some of the flora for hydration but found just bitter taste; and Thrak-Chul, a Thri-Kreen Cleric who watched the ravages of the sun on the softskin trio traveling with him.

They retraced their path for a few days across shifting sand dunes and barren flats to the poisoned oasis. It was easy to pick up the elven water party’s tracks, and followed those for a few days due east. Eventually they reached a set of gullies that grew into canyons, and found themselves at dusk peeking down at a strange rock hillock with various cave entrances and a big open hoop. There was evidence of mass encampment of elves at the base of the structure, including enough fire pits for an army and a large field of vegetation.

The village elder of Kled had said that the elves had a large war party, and but that they raided often and the adventurers might be able to creep in while they were away. It seemed like just such a time when they arrived, so using the cover of night they creeped their way down the switchbacks of the canyon.

By dawn they had reached the canyon floor, and stood at the far end of what was clearly campsite. They dashed across the open expanse to check out the garden, which had food growing, but unfortunately no plants that held much water–and none of the strange purple plant that the elves used to poison the well. With the army gone and the field inspected, the group dashed again across open ground to the mouth of a cave that led up and into the wind-carved rock.

The first cave rose up a curving spiral carved staircase. Reaching the top, the adventurers found curving tunnels of the rock at higher elevation formed the fortress of the elves, with the yellow in the map being all spots that were open to the air around the sides of the wind-carved rock–just a 100′ plunge awaiting those who stepped off… or were pushed off.

As Corin led the way into the first hall, arrows clattered around him–shot by two elf guards at the far end of a small rock bridge. The adventurers raced to get into close proximity, forcing the guards to drop their bows and fight with wooden short swords. Finnja struck at one of them with her glaive, only to have the haft of the weapon shatter on impact. The adventurers cautiously pressed their advance along the defensive ledge, and managed to finally kill the two guards. Amidst checking their bodies for loot, Marquis started to investigate the tied down canvas flap that formed a door into the next section of the cave. Meanwhile Thrak-Chul decided to help himself to a bit of elf flesh, seared by conjured sacred flame. Corin and Finnja both noticed, but before the eating of sentient life could be discussed Marquis’ exploration of the next room drove them onward.

It was a barracks of sorts, where some of the bedrolls of the elves were frighteningly close to the open void of the cliffside. The adventurers ransacked the room, taking a bucket, some bedrolls, and a bone tinderbox. Marquis found a piece of scrimshaw done on an eggshell, where the elf “artist” had made a mocking inscription about the poisoned oasis. He smashed it immediately. Another tied-down canvas flap formed the door into the next section of the rock structure.

It opened up to a mostly open-air portion, where the adventurers could see the massive circular opening rising above them. Three different thin lines of rock led to three different holes back into the rock on the far side. A group of elves, alerted by the sounds of the earlier fighting, sprung their ambush. Arrows clattered against the walls and two elves armed with wooden morningstars rushed at the adventurers. The clash of arms was a stalemate dancing along the open cliffs at first, until the broad chitinous form of Thrak-Chul managed to push one of the elves off into the chasm. Finnja managed to grab one of their morningstars to replace her glaive, and finished off the last of the elf defenders. The group retired to the barracks for a moment to heal their arrow wounds and plan next steps.

The party, feeling like the larger elf army could return at any point, fractured a bit as Marquis went one direction while Corin decided to take a different spiral stairs down. Finnja followed Marquis while Thrak-Chul followed Corin.

Corin found himself in a gloomy small cavern, which looked to be a combination of stable for their Kanks and a drops–a pit of sludgy offal-laden water lay off the far side of the small room. The room contained one Kank, which startled by Corin’s appearance started to attack. Thrak-Chul rushed into the room and tried to wrestle the beast off the cliff into the drops. However the creature was a beast of burden, and strongly resisted the push–forcing Corin to leverage his bardic magic to strike at the weak beast brain of the insectoid to try and subdue it. The pair eventually managed to slay it, and pushed its corpse down into the sewage water below.

Meanwhile, Marquis and Finnja pushed their way through a room that served as a kitchen then down a spiral stair into a small room that smelled with the cloying scent of smoke–even tho it was open to air high above. Standing around some sort of shrine were three elves, garbed somewhat differently than the others. Two wore only long dark robes with slight red needlework, while the other sported a scale breastplate above similar robes and wore an ornate headband that marked him as some sort of cleric. Immediately both sides jumped into action, Marquis unloading a damaging cantrip on one of the acolytes while the cleric cast some sort of Levitation spell and walked upward into the air. Suddenly, all combat was cut short as one of the acolytes cast some sort of spell–like a Fog Cloud incantation, but instead of moist, dense fog it was choking, cloying smoke. Unable to see anything further and fight effectively, Marquis and Finnja retreated back up the stairs. When they realized none of the elves had followed them, they went and tried the third door. Knowing that the alarm had now truly been raised and there were un-accounted-for elves in the complex, they figured they would rush to try and find some way to stop the elves and their insidious poisoning of the oasis.

And find the source they did. Finnja and Marquis climbed down the stairs and found themselves inside of the largest room in the complex. On the far side a large standing planter of purple plants dominated the room–the source of the poisonous roots. There was also a throne, where the chieftain of the elves was seated. And just when they arrived so did another: the elf cleric, still levitating, walked in from the open-air side of the room shouting the alarm to the chief. The Finnja and Marquis had a moment to strike first, so they did. Marquis launched a spell, while Finnja tried to fire an arrow only to have her bow snap as the weak scrub wood of the Dark Sun world does not make for good bows.

The chieftain rose from his throne, hauling up a great obsidian maul and leaping forward into the face of Marquis swinging the deadly weight. Meanwhile the cleric cast a spiritual weapon, which took the form of a ghostly swinging flail that also battered Marquis. The duo pushed into the room to face them, but the combined attacks of the the chieftain and cleric were landing home distressingly often.

In a moment of desperation, Marquis remembered a piece of forbidden lore. He had not yet mastered the path of casting it in harmony with the plant life of the world, but he knew enough to be able to cast it dangerously. The chieftan swung his massive hammer at Marquis, a blow that would have crushed his chest against the back wall, and he cast a Shield spell tapping into the power of defiling. The Shield worked and deflected the blow, tho all around were stunned for a moment with the draining energy. More important, all of the purple-leaved poisonous plants withered to ash as the surface of the rock fortress was defiled. Marquis thought to himself just how easy it was… such a simple action for such power. Why shouldn’t he use it? What did keep him from keeping things in balance so carefully at the cost of his own wizarding power?

Corin and Thrak-Chul had returned to the branching paths after their encounter with the Kank, to see a single robed elven acolyte creeping toward the far stairwell. They struck at range, killing him instantly–his body tumbling off the narrow path into the ravine below. Presuming that’s where the fight must be they moved that way, when they felt a brief but overwhelming feeling of destruction and despoilment (not knowing it was the wave of side-effect from Marquis’ choice to embrace despoiler powers). As they rushed closer, another wave hit them (Marquis, down below, had cast another spell–further spreading the area of despoilment). As they were running along the open bridges, they spied a patch of vegetation down in the ravine below, and watched it crumble into dust with this wave.

Things were looking dire for Finnja and Marquis until Corin and Thrak-Chul rushed into the room to aid them. Thak-Chul began using the healing power of the villagers’ magic spear to keep his allies in the fight, while Corin struck with Bardic magic-empowered insult and weapon alike. The cleric was downed first, and the impact of the hit caused his now-dead-but-still-levitating body to go slowly tumbling end-over-end down into the ravine below. The chieftain lashed out with a psychic assault as well as his obsidian maul, his brain prying into Corin’s mind to try and find some sort of advantage over him. Turning up a deep-seated fear of not having connection to others, the psychic attack was of little use now that he was facing four foes. A critical hit from Marquis with a Shocking Grasp finally finished off the chieftain, and the adventurers could finally take a moment to breath.

Looking around the room they found a single further door, which opened up to a tiny ledge exposed to the elements. A cage door was build there, with a bound Thri-Kreen stuck in the enclosure, a Druid named Klith-Cha. The adventurers freed him, and pulled him up–learning that he was the guardian of the oasis. The elves were enjoying torturing him with the very notion that they were poisoning his sacred charge.

After looting the chieftain’s room (a small stash of ceramic pieces and bits) they intended to make a hasty exit from the elven complex, confident that the threat to the oasis was over. The poisonous root was a rare plant, and was not native to the area, so their destruction would make it difficult to repeat the same poisoning trick. They did take one more look at the room with the shrine, mostly to see what happened to the un-accounted for elven acolyte–who remained nowhere to be found. Thak-Chul found the shrine somewhat confusing. It looked like a shrine to the element of fire, his chosen patron. But it was covered in soot and smoke rather than burned clean with the destructive heat of fire. Something was amiss that he couldn’t place about it, so he decided to at least cleanse it to try and appease the power of fire. The others seemed shocked when suddenly he dumped out a gallon of water to do the cleansing–seeing the precious water dirtied, flow into the rock cracks, and evaporate while their thirst was so strong.

With an army of potentially 100 elves potentially about to return, the adventurers then escaped and climbed up out of the canyon. As they traveled there was some discussion of the strange waves of defiling energy that all felt–Marquis lied and said that it was the magic of the elf cleric that did such harm. Most seemed to buy that argument, but Thrak-Chul knew that Marquis was most likely lying. The hike back to the oasis was dry but uneventful. The party split ways with Klith-Cha, who promised to heal the oasis waters over time. However he promised to return to find them when he was done (DM’s note: Mike chose to swap Klith-Cha into being one of his character tree characters as noted below). The quartet then journeyed south to the town of Kled once more to inform them of what happened. The town elder saw the obsidian maul, now carried by Finnja, as a sign that the elves had been at very least decapitated in some of their leadership. As a thanks, he allowed Thrak-Chul to retain the magic bone spear with its healing properties.

The adventurers found themselves standing with water in their waterskins, the marks of the slave-henna faded from their faces, and weapons in hand. They decided to travel on together, but the question was: to where, and to what ends? Finnja turned her mind toward the beasts of the wilds she might tame. Corin thought of where they might head, leaning toward suggesting they head toward the city-state that was his home: Nibenay. Thrak-Chul’s thoughts were plagued by the strange altar–something was amiss, that even after the cleansing bothered him. Was there something about the way the two gems almost glowed, or about the smoke carvings behind them? And Marquis–convinced his lie had fooled them all–marveled at the power that defiler magic would bring.

This page details the beginnings of my “Somber Sands” Dark Sun campaign, and is designed to be a player aid for memory between sessions. This first session included character creation, and an adventure drawing on some elements of the “A Little Knowledge…” adventure in the base 2e Dark Sun box set.

Character creation yielded these four character tree groupings, and from them emerged Finnja the Human Beast Master Ranger, Thrak-Chul the Thri-Kreen Fire Cleric, Marquis the Human Diviner Wizard (Preserver), and Corin the Human Valor Bard.

Here are the initial backgrounds of the starting focus characters.

Feet of Clay: Finnja

You had realized it was all a lie when the Cleric was nowhere to be found, but the coffers were all emptied. You grew up in the relative safety of Fort Harbeth, where you were free to practice your skills as a druid. Then the Cleric came to the Fort. Most were skeptical, but a few of the youth—you included–started going to his weekly talks. In just two months you were living at a so-called “shrine” at the base of the Mellikot Mountains, nearly starving but somehow confident in the Cleric’s abilities. You sold almost everything and gave it to his fledgling mission. The others stopped attending, but you kept the faith. Even when the food ran out, and then the water. You kept the faith. But then he was gone, and with your money. All that remained was the odd idol set at the top of the altar. In a rage you smashed it. Inside was just a mass of oozing silt. Near dead with starvation and dehydration you stumbled out into the desert intending to let sun and sand take you. Like a sign, a large merchant caravan was rumbling past in the distance. You raced to them across the sands, and last you remember was one of their rough outrunners smirking as you passed out just as you reached the caravan.

DM ask list: Human culture, Fort Harbeth

Thri-Kreen: Thrak-Chul

Your hatch-egg was taken by Ptekwe, to a place called Fort Inix, in the foothills to the south of the Blackspine Mountains. Hatching there Ptekwe did their best to raise you in the ways of the tribe, a difficult task for a tribe of only two. Fort Inix was primarily Humans, many of whom owed allegiance to House Shom. Ptekwe was an adept poultice-maker, and he crafted a special scale-rot preventative that helped the House with their raising and sale of Inix, huge lizards that lent their name to the Fort. Unfortunately you never picked up the knack for making the poultice yourself. Tho you had many skills, the Fort’s dwindling water supply had Ptekwe worried that you could be cast out, or worse: killed. The last thing you remember was approaching a passing merchant caravan with a purse full of ceramic—nearly all of Ptekwe’s savings—hoping to get safe passage to the city of Nibenay.

DM ask list: Thri-Kreen culture, Fort Inix

Preserver: Marquis

You’ve been on the run since you could remember. Has it been sixteen or seventeen merchant caravans now? Some were good enough, where you could work for your berth and they didn’t mid if you used some magic to fight off desert tribes. Others it was clear that magic users would be killed on sight, so you had to be careful. Every time one would approach a city, it was time for you to move to the next. The cities, and their Sorcerer-Kings, were the reason for magic prohibitions. You could make money and power there, surely, but you need to be stronger, and have some allies to keep your magic hidden and survive. The last thing you remember was standing in the farmlands south of Urik, watching the next potential merchant caravan rumble your way.

DM ask list: Human culture, Merchant caravans, Arcane spellcasting (techniques and laws)

Wrong Place at the Wrong Time: Corin Fayeth

The City-State of Nibenay was a good place to grow up as the child of a sculptor. Your parents, and by extension you, were free-citizens. And there was always plenty of work for your mother. That meant a few more bits in your pocket when you journeyed out into the city for fun and seeking your own work. A few odd jobs passed, but it was the craft of being a bard that really drew your attention. Unfortunately, one night you were suddenly grabbed by two of the Wives, and a sword held to your throat. The last thing you remember was their conversation. “This one doesn’t look like the suspect,“ said one. The other replied “Eh, who cares? Sells all the same.”

DM ask list: Human culture, City-State of Nibenay

Adventure: In Search of Water

Finnja, Corin, Marquis, and Thrak-Chul all awoke at roughly the same time, their minds clouded with residual brain fog. They found themselves shackled inside of a rolling mellikot-driven merchant caravan, and their faces painted with henna to mark them as slaves. With them was chained a woman named Alma, who had been with them and helped them identify the drug used in their water rations to keep them in a trance. Attempting to escape they were thwarted by a brutal Mul jailer named Lorde (“with an -e”) and a talented psionicist with a long face and words that manipulate–now upset that they’re out of the drug for the last leg of the journey. The caravan will sell the PCs as slaves when they reach the City-State of Tyr.

The caravan is stopped the following day, and the PC’s take note of shouting. They use that to band together and yank the entire rigging of their shackles out of the walls–then use the bone rings that held them to saw through the bands of rope. They emerged onto the deck to a scene of chaos: a huge tribe of elves were menacing the caravan, and the caravan guards had returned fire in desperation.

The elves began using magic, which lit the caravan on fire. The PCs scrambled to find what they could before getting out. Corin rolled up a canvas hammock (thinking to throw it like a net in an emergency), while Marquis burst in on the psionicist–and immolated him (and subsequently the bedding he fell onto) with a spell. Thrak-Chul managed to find the kitchen, but in trying to roll the water barrel it shattered and spilled everywhere. He was at least able to get a good drink from it. Finally Finnja leveled her shoulders and broke down the door to the Caravan Captain’s office. Inside she found a map of the caravan’s progress, with a direction of an oasis and then further that same direction a town called Kled). She also found a small leather pouch that contained a single silverpiece–a veritable treasure!

The PCs and Alma dropped out of the now fully-ablaze caravan onto the sands, and found themselves surrounded by disdainful and indifferent elves. The elves offered no support nor care for them, and only when the other survivor–Lorde the jailor–was identified as a slaver did they take any action: filling Lorde with arrows. Not even a “good luck” and the elves dashed off into the desert.

Knowing they were slave-marked, and finding little in the caravan search once the fires had burned themselves out (just a few wooden weapons), the PCs dared not go back to the City-State of Urik. Thus they followed the map they had. They trudged through day after day of open desert dunes punctuated by rocky outcroppings, feeling the effects of dehydration. Efforts to find water were not turning up much. Marquis managed to find a cactus that held some water, and he scarfed it down before others could notice. Unfortunately his luck changed as a following day he found a plant with a long root system, which he also promptly ate–and got him promptly sick.

They found a thornbush that lured prey by looking like there was a pool of water it rooted in, but was actually sap. A few cuts of the thicket revealed a victim of the plant, decomposing into the ground. He at least had most of a serving of water in his waterskin, which relieved Finnja’s thirst. However more days of trudging took their toll, and Corin and Alma were in bad shape by the time of reaching the oasis marked on the map. They saw the two mellikots that had escaped from the caravan, but one seemed to be lying dead at the pool’s edge. The rush of excitement of water gave way to observing that the water was definitely poisoned–by a root that is hyper-deadly to most, but not to elves and their water-bearing insectoid beasts.

Foraging around the plant life of the oasis the PCs managed to find enough water to save the life of one of the two who had yet to drink anything: Corin and Alma. Without discussion, this last hope was consumed by Corin. The PCs then eyed the mellikot that was sadly standing guard over it’s lost mate. It was clear the beast knew the water was bad, but it seemed reluctant to leave the dead one’s side. The PCs decided to slay the beast and perhaps Alma could drink the blood and get some water from that. Finnaj calmed the beast a bit, then struck with a crude wooden glaive that they had looted. The blade sank deep, and the beast roared in pain, but the tough beast was not put down that easily. The whole group started attacking the beast–torching it with flaming strikes, and a psionic attack from Corin that was done in the tone of the worst scolding of an animal possible. Finally Finnaj managed to cleave off the head and finish the job. Exhausted, the group stood panting as the beast bled out, only to realize that Alma was face down in the water. The people she had traveled with and trusted were suddenly so shockingly violent that she started to doubt everything, including their warnings about drinking the water. Much to her peril as she collapsed after a single sip. Exhausted and now mourning, the group camped for the night.

They were awoken the next morning by the sounds of laughter. A war party of elves–at least 20 strong–along with two kanks: insectoid creatures with globes of wax on their back that the elves use to transport water. They gleefully filled up the poisoned water, knowing it would not affect them. Again, the PCs were seen by the elves and mostly ignored beyond a few nasty comments about the Thri-Kreen, and some jokes about taking a drink. The PCs kept their cool, and the elves soon left headed eastward. The PCs instead started toward the south, seeking the village of Kled.

It was four days beyond the oasis, with even the Thri-Kreen feeling the effects of thirst, that the PCs were wandering through the relative shade of some rock outcroppings that ran alongside the dunes. They heard laughing again, but this time just a single voice. A young dwarf named Cleodis was watching them, and informed them that they were indeed close to Kled. He led them there, and they found a small, half-deserted Dwarven town. Cleodis’ grandmother saw the state of the PCs and immediately shared her water with them. Without a question asked. Finally hydrated and able to rest a moment, the PCs told the tale of their bondage, escape, and journey. The poisoned oasis was clearly a problem for the dwarves too. It was their water source, and it killed a number of their townsfolk before the cause was sorted out. The druid that tended the grove had also disappeared, and none could find him. Many Dwarfs left, but some stubbornly remained behind because of their rooted obligations in the town.

Upon an ask whether the PCs would help bring the elves to justice and restore the oasis, the PCs enthusiastically agreed. The town equipped them best they could–they had wooden shields and some wooden weapons available. And the town elder offered them the town relic to use in their pursit of the elves. It was a bone spear with ornate carvings, and able to strike foes down with the blade but also heal allies by pressing the haft of the spear to them. And the offer that the PCs would be allowed to keep the spear if they could manage to make the oasis potable once again. Vowing vengeance on the mocking elves, and strapped with waterskins from the town for their journey, the PCs headed out to face foes unknown.