The wind picked up again near dawn, a powerful yet steady easterly that filled the silt skimmer’s wyrmsilk sail easily, and the crimson sun had barely cleared the horizon at our backs when we reached the edge of the first Nibenese noble holding. The eastern sky was a lurid green, as often happens around dawn when there have been dust-storms in the distant Sea of Silt. Gazing out in that direction, I could just make out – with my soul’s eye if not my mortal senses – the distant spike of power that was the Pristine Tower.
"Enamdis was already past us, kneeling in the soft, dark moss beside Mei’s sprawled form."
New Eye on Dark Sun article by Rodney Thompson is up today:
The long lost crown of Daskinor, mad sorcerer-king of Eldaarich, was a simple circlet made of a rare silvery metal, and imbued with a healthy dose the sorcerer-king’s psionic power, not to mention all of his paranoia. Now the Crown of Whispers has found its way back into the world, and it seeks to return to brow of its former master.
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"Bayl went ahead of us, the soft lavender glow of the chunk of quartz I’d enchanted spilling out from between the fingers of his upraised left hand. His feet made almost no sound as they compressed the soft, rich loam. His broad back slid to one side, then the other, casting long, monstrous shadows as he ducked and danced around branches strung with rope-like vines and bearded moss."
Enamdis turned out to be right. As evening drew in, the walls of Nibenay were still just a thin, dark line on the western horizon. The Crescent Forest grew closer to the road here, a looming presence off the starboard bow, filled with the mournful calls of the birds and beasts that dwelt within its sheltering gloom.
"Dragon’s balls, you two, put your backs into it! We’re not going to reach Nibenay by nightfall at this rate.” Enamdis thumped the skimmer’s wheel in disgust and frustration.
As I re-entered the receiving chamber, I glanced across the table to where Abhivada sat, talking quietly with Neren. She gave no sign that she was even aware of me. Neren too pretended not to have seen me enter, though he was a far less accomplished actor. I tried not to smile at his well-intentioned but totally unnecessary attempts to avoid drawing Abhivada’s attention to me.
After a few terse questions to Neren concerning his cargo and passengers, Abhivada glanced up towards the walls of the fort and I felt a brief psionic pulse as she signalled for the gates to be opened to us. Neren and Enamdis climbed aboard, and the silt skimmer juddered back into motion as Bayl and Chanya bent their backs to the capstan.
A new Dragon article by Rodney Thomson:
Balic is a city-state of splendor and tyranny, where the sorcerer-king’s need for control clashes with his appreciation for beauty. Nowhere else is this contrast more typified than in the Ivory Dungeon, a secret prison where Andropinis keeps those who are too dangerous to be held in normal prisons, and who are too valuable to kill.
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In places where defiling's magic hasn't yet reached Athas offers a verdant bounty to those who use her magic to power arcane spells. Included in this article are two arcane theme terrain powers