The Oppressive Sands

Welcome to your Adventure Log!
A blog for your campaign

Every campaign gets an Adventure Log, a blog for your adventures!

While the wiki is great for organizing your campaign world, it’s not the best way to chronicle your adventures. For that purpose, you need a blog!

The Adventure Log will allow you to chronologically order the happenings of your campaign. It serves as the record of what has passed. After each gaming session, come to the Adventure Log and write up what happened. In time, it will grow into a great story!

Best of all, each Adventure Log post is also a wiki page! You can link back and forth with your wiki, characters, and so forth as you wish.

One final tip: Before you jump in and try to write up the entire history for your campaign, take a deep breath. Rather than spending days writing and getting exhausted, I would suggest writing a quick “Story So Far” with only a summary. Then, get back to gaming! Grow your Adventure Log over time, rather than all at once.

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The Oppressive Sands

The party arrived in Balic on the fourth day of the “Reclamation Carnival,” the holiday celebrating Sorcerer-King Andropinis’ victorious arrival into the city over 2,000 years ago, rescuing it from the savagery and taint of the outside world. Merchant houses opened wide the doors of their homes, the Arena was at the height of it’s season with days of bloody sport, and the whole area seems rife with festivities uncharacteristic of the harsh desert planet.

The heroes were not among the revelers however. They were in jail alongside numerous other newly imprisoned slaves of Balic.

The days of fighting in the Arena had taken a heavy toll on the city’s slave reserves, and they had been brought to the bowels of the coliseum to take part in the final day of gladiatorial combat. The dark cells were stiflingly hot, filled with rotted hay strewn about and stagnant air. A single beam of light entered the prison from a slim, barred window at the top of the cell that faced into the arena.”

In the cage at the end of a long line of cells were five mismatched occupants, each interred for different reasons:

*The wiry, wild-eye Tiefling was donated to the city by his master after a Templar approached him to excise a slave tax from the noble. The Tiefling, Phyrrus, had left the good graces of his master after lashing out, and ruining a palette of fine silks during the trip into the city.

*Two younger females, a Half-Elf named Ka’si and her adopted Human sister Ka’lya were huddled together in one corner after being caught stealing in the marketplace.

*A young Thri-Kreen warrior hunched awaiting his turn in the arena. The sole survivor of his birth clutch, Bo’bika entered Balic in search of strong new companions. He found that the strongest fighters could be found in the arena, and a Templar was all too happy to escort him to his current lodging.

*The final member stood out. Sharos, an Eladrin, seemed least comfortable confined in the confined cell away from the open sky. None of the other prisoners had ever seen a being of his kind, but none paid him too much attention, as they had their own problems to deal with.

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The Arena

Cage after cage of slaves were emptied into the arena throughout the day leaving only two remaining. After a time, several burly Half-Giant guards arrived to usher the last remaining slaves to the final fight of the celebration.

The prisoners were pushed into a room with piles of clothes and armor where they were forced to into conflict just to get the armor that would defend them.

The heavy wooden doors on the far side of the room swung open with a low groan, and the dark sweaty heat of the basement gave way to the dry scorching heat of the arena. They squinted as they were sent into the full light of day and a crescendo of jeers assaulted the slaves from the walls above.

A rotund dwarven announcers called out from the safety of his arena box in a booming voice “In those early days before our lord Andropinis, the savages that inhabited our lands were weak, and lived in constant fear of the terrible creatures of the desert!” as he gestured to the far end of the arena where a group of officiators were delivering massive cages to the stadium floor. Strewn about the arena floor are the weapons used by the fighters who came before them, and they took no time to scavenge for the tools to defend themselves.

As they grabbed up the last of their weaponry the officials released the door latches and ran to the safety of the inner coliseum, as the cage doors swung wide and the beasts bound from their prisons, and leveled their hungry gazes at across the arena.”

The reptiles cut a bloody swath through the unprepared gladiators, and several fell, but ultimately the fight belonged to the humanoids.

As the dust settled and cheers died down, there was a momentary respite as a handful of Half-Giant slaves threw the freshly slain into gutters at the edge of the stadium. The survivors were ushered back, and the ground rumbled as several curious devices were wheeled into the arena and locked in place.

The announcer roses and raised his arms to the crowd once more. “It was in that time that our Benevolent lord Andropinis first sent emissaries out into the land offering peace and safety under his rule, but the desert heathens lashed out, and fought against the Sorcerer King’s grace in their fear and ignorance”

On the far side of the arena a number of heavily armed gladiators entered the arena adorned in tabards emblazoned with the symbol of Balic. They raised their arms to the crowd to uproarious cheers, and the ramshackle slaves got the sinking suspicion that they were not the heroes of this story.

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Blood and Sand

Dru’ul allowed himself a moment to revel in the ear piercing cheers of the crowd. Waving his hands, and pounding his chest in a salute to those who would honor him with their ululations. He was not the swiftest Mul in the gladiator pens, but he had what it took to survive.

His colleagues were still soaking in the applause as he turned his attention to the arena. Each fight was a different beast, and each one needed it’s own individual approach.

He watched as the Tornado Spires whirled into action. Each appeared to be a wooden training dummy, with stakes jutting from the center pole. These totems however were instilled with a primal air spirit which whirled madly. Anyone caught within reach of the totem’s arms would be met with a sound beating, and a short flight.

“I thought they were going to leave us the best for last” Ghard complained. The Dray was cocksure, but capable.

For his part, Dru’ul agreed with his reptilian friend’s assessment. Their opponents were nothing special to look at. Scrappy desert warriors perhaps, but hardly arena-honed fighters. The Kreen seemed to be the most promising of the lot. Perhaps he’d even get a good workout.

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