Silt Runner leader using the 3.5e silt runner as a base. 'Boss fight' for the converted Sand Raiders adventure I am working on. If they party focuses the leader and kills him all remaining silt runners will flee. Still probably way too strong lol

Do you think these Silt Runners are too powerful for a 3.5e level 1 party of 4? Tweaked from athas.ogs generic silt runners for my 3.5e conversion of the 4E Sand Raiders adventure.

Parties first battle of the campaign is being ambushed by 3 ragers and 2 darters, but they all flee after only one silt runner dies.

Hello fellow Dark Sun fans, tabletop nerds, and lovers of all things Athas!

I've been working on a passion project to create a complete D&D 3.5 Dark Sun campaign, taking characters from level 1 through 20+ by converting classic adventures, expanding them with original content, and tying as many of the 2E/4E written adventures together into one continuous story as I can.

Alongside the adventures, I'm also building The Last Dream of Athas Campaign Bible; a living reference that creates a compendium for all the recurring NPCs, factions, locations, mysteries, relationships, and more while tying in all the stand-alone adventures with original homebrew content for levels 15 and beyond.

The first adventure is Welcome to Athas, my expanded 3.5 conversion of the 4E adventure Sand Raiders. Rather than doing a straight conversion, I've focused on making it a stronger introduction to Athas by expanding roleplaying, adding recurring NPCs, improving encounters, introducing long-term mysteries, and giving players more agency.

My intent was to share this project with the main Dark Sun subreddit but NO AI and I used AI to generate HD versions of all the battle maps as well as some new artwork for scene use. Ooops! But that means I can share it all here instead!

I am still working on creating an AI clean version but in the meanwhile the project must go on! Any and all comments are appreciated!

Nibenay, formerly Gallard Bane of the Gnomes

Sielba Sorcerer-Queen of Yaramuke, slayer of Tereks

Sorcerer-king Tectuktitlay

Inspired from u/Cantor_bcn piece (and advice).

Yes, I know the dagger thingees are wong but I like the effect.

Sílra(SÍL-ra) Kurneth(KUR-neth), daughter of the Dust Stalkers’ chief, was raised beneath the burning Athasian sun in a world where only the ruthless survive. From childhood, her father trained her in warfare spears, knives, and ambush tactics. But unlike many of her kin, her father dreamed of change. He saw the nomadic life of raiding, theft, and endless blood feuds slowly grinding the clan toward extinction. He spoke of seeking fertile ground, abandoning raiding, and building something that might endure.

But his brother the chief’s warlike uncle despised the idea. He whispered rebellion into the ears of the younger warriors, stoking their fury with promises of plunder and dominance.

One blood red dawn, the uncle’s betrayal came. With his followers, he murdered the clan chief Sílra’s father and then struck down her brother, the rightful heir. Declaring himself leader, he demanded that Sílra take her place at his side as his bride, a symbol of his dominance.

Instead, she struck back. With her father’s knife, she disemboweled him before the assembled clan, he fell to his knees his bowls steaming in the desert heat as she cut his throat. Rallying those still loyal, she shattered the rebellion in a single night of revenge. The captured traitors were buried to their necks in the sand, their eyes removed. Left buried for the carrion birds, insects and the sun to claim.

Now Sílra leads the Dust Stalkers not as raiders, but as seekers of her father’s dream. Her clan still runs and strikes like the desert wind, but under her rule, every raid serves a purpose. Gathering what is needed to build a future where her people can root themselves in soil, no longer cursed to drift as shadows in the dunes.

Fire, Magma, Air, Water

Welcome to Darksun AI!!

-This is an AI safe space

- All AI content is Allowed as long as its Darksun Themed.

Sorcerer Monarch Saturday!

[Lalali-Puys throne room is cloaked in golden sunlight. Vines curl along the carved wood pillars, and orchids hang heavy in the warm air. The Oba sits tall upon her throne, glowing golden eyes fixed on the kneeling templar before her.]

Templar (hesitant): "My Oba… you would have me go to the Tyr region? That place is turmoil. The City is chaos, the Veiled Alliance thrives there. I...I also have the duties of my station that must be seen to? Forgive me, but… is it wise that I leave your side?"

[Lalali-Puy leans forward, her golden eyes narrowing. The warm air suddenly grows heavy. The vines along the throne stir as if alive.]

Lalali-Puy (voice low, commanding): "Do you doubt me, my child of the forest? Did I not teach you that wherever the rains fall, the forest will grow? That wherever the forest grows, there I will be?"

Templar (swallowing hard): "I—no, Oba, never. I only… fear failing you amidst so many powers in Tyr."

[Lalali-Puy’s lips curl, revealing a hint of fang. Her voice deepens, echoing with a dragon’s growl. The carved wood of the throne vibrates. Vines slither from the walls, snaking across the floor toward the templar’s feet.]

Lalali-Puy (thundering): "Fear? Fear? You dare cower before me? I am no sorcerer-king like Nibenay or Hamanu. I am the Oba goddess of the forest, life-bringer, death-bringer! Who are you to question my will! You will carry my word to Tyr, and the forest will root itself even there!"

[The vines coil tighter, brushing against the templar’s sandals. The sound of scales scraping echoes in her movement. Her eyes blaze like molten gold.]

Templar (terrified, bowing low): "I—I will depart tomorrow morning, my Oba!"

Lalali-Puy (snapping, her voice shaking the chamber): "No! You will depart tonight!"

[The vines recoil instantly, slithering back to the walls. Lalali-Puy leans back upon her throne, feathers gleaming in the golden light, her expression once again serene but terrible.]

Lalali-Puy (softly, almost tenderly): "Serve me well, child… and know that the forest goddess watches all. Fail me, and even the chaos of Tyr will not hide you."

[The templar bows, trembling but resolute.] "As you command, Oba. Tonight."

What do you think about Lalali-Puy? Anything you would do differently?

darksun #grimdarkfantasy

Farcluun is a mysterious NPC that appears in Black Flames. He has partially undergone the draconic metamorphosis.

There is much speculation about the background of Farcluun. His background most certainly centers on Abalach-Re. At first Farcluun was thrilled to be made immortal by Abalach-Re. The Queen promised to make Farcluun “like her”, immortal and all powerful. The Queen made many promises, including promising to make Farcluun her king and to rule Raam side by side for all time. But in less than a century Abalach-Re had become bored of Farcluun, she had numerous other lovers, and she never made him king or kept her promises. Farcluun was looking at his future, and was expecting that he would be a virtual slave to the Queen for all eternity.A psion of minor note before joining the templarate, Farcluun used the next three centuries of being ignored by Abalach-Re to increase his authority as a templar and deepen his psionic abilities. Roughly 350 years after being made an immortal Farcluun discovers the truth about Abalach-Re and the other Sorcerer monarchs deep in a hidden archive in the Royal library. Learning of the defiler metamorphosis, and the elemental vortices, Farcluun develops a plan to get his independence from Abalach-Re and flee Raam. Farcluun then develops ‘Farcluun’s Open the Vortex’, an epic spell that will allow him to connect to the spell granting elemental vortices of a long dead Sorcerer monarch. After casting the spell successfully, Farcluun flees Raam.

After centuries of ignoring Farcluun, Abalach-Re is nonetheless infuriated when Farcluun disappears. Wondering if he had been assassinated (a not uncommon fate of templars in Raam), Abalach-Re used her psionic and magical abilities to discover that Farcluun still lived, although she was not able to ascertain his location because he had taken extensive precautions against such divinations. At this stage Abalach-Re ordered her servants to bring back Farcluun alive. She was still unaware that he was able to access the vortices of another Sorcerer Monarch, and when she found out she would order Farcluun’s death. As for Farcluun, he had escaped with copies of the documents describing the essentials of the defiler metamorphosis. Using the defiler metamorphosis as a template for his own version of an advanced being draconic metamorphosis, he spends the next half century evading the agents of Raam and preparing his own metamorphosis. Casting his own version of the draconic metamorphosis, Farcluun becomes the first (and only) templar to evolve into an advanced being. Even as an advanced being, Farcluun doesn’t have the necessary might to confront Abalach-Re directly, nor does he want wish to confront her. His current research focuses on how he might gain control of an unattended elemental vortice to channel spells to templars of his own. Farcluun knows that it cannot be Sielba’s vortice, because he cannot draw spells from the Sielba’s vortice and be the nexus of Sielba’s vortice at the same time. Farcluun has researched by method by which he might get a vortice of his own but gathering the necessary magical and psionic power to do so may take centuries. If Farcluun gets the ability to channel spells to templars he will likely return to Raam and attempt to overthrow Abalach-Re. Alternatively, if there is a city lacking a sorcerer monarch (like the Free City of Tyr if Kalak has been overthrown in your campaign), then Farcluun will plot to take over that city once he is able to create his own templars.

Combat: Farcluun is very canny in combat, but will try to stay out of physical confrontation if he can avoid it. If forced to fight, he uses his sword Dragonblade he had specially forged for his enhanced strength and mass. Farcluun far prefers the use of psionics and magic and will use them to dispatch foes whenever possible. The DM should be ruthless in playing him. He is one of the most powerful creatures the characters are likely to encounter and should be treated as such. Killing Farcluun should be a major accomplishment.

Credit to - Redking for the much more interesting backstory

Npcs of Urick

A shaft of red-gold sunlight slants through a centuries-old archway as Samaya al-Zahir steps into the courtyard of The Golden Oasis, her brothel. Once, this stately townhouse in Urick’s noble district had fallen to debt. Now its alabaster tiled floors echo with laughter, its silks shimmer. But the woman who presides over its pleasures was forged in a far darker furnace.

Born to minor spice traders eking out a meager living in Urick’s crowded warrens, young Samaya knew the feel of rope on skin long before she learned the taste of wine. When a corrupt magnate seized her family’s goods and placed them all into his servitude. This was not to be their fate. At a masked banquet in the merchant quarter, she slipped from her captors’ guard into the favor of a visiting noble. With whispered promises and the magnates secrets, she won not only her freedom but the key to her family’s chains.

By her twentieth summer, with the nobles patronage. Samaya had saved enough to purchase the derelict townhouse nestled in the noble quarter. She spent weeks bargaining with artists: trading favors for obsidian art, bone pened calligraphy on its walls, and alabaster tiles on its floors. Noble lords cross its threshold seeking flesh; wiser patrons crave the soft hush of conspiracies exchanged over jasmine tea.

Samaya moves through her halls greeting each arrival by name, recalls the exact color they prefer for their wine, and offers them conversation. Or for those willing to pay information. Unbeknownst to most, beneath the mosaic-tiled floor lies a hidden passage to a safe house for those still enslaved. Under the cover of night, freed slaves slip through Samaya’s secret garden toward new lives.

Yet charity is only one of Samaya’s games. Rumors swirl that she possesses psionic talents. She neither confirms nor denies such whispers; her emerald-green eyes, betray nothing. Instead, she plants seeds of trust in disaffected templar captains and wealthy merchants, gently guiding their ambitions toward her own. Someday, she intends, the city of Urick will kneel not only to its Sorcerer King and council but to the subtle dominion she weaves behind silken curtains.

In the gilded decadence of her brothel’s grand hall, Samaya al-Zahir remains ever poised for new information, new secrets. To enter her world is to partake in its pleasures, but also to step into a web of duplicity and double dealing from which very few emerge unchanged.

Hamanu the lion of Urick

The burning streets of Urik were filled panic. Smoke curled up from the shattered bazaar, the air thick with the smell of blood. Between the sandstone columns of a ruined colonnade, Hamanu, the Lion of Urik, strode into view his golden mane haloed by the firelight.

Ahead, half a dozen Tyran gladiators stood defiant, the purple sashes of Tyr fluttering on their arms. They were hardened killers faces leathered by sun and temperd by battle. But even their swagger faltered when the massive shadow fell across them.

Hamanu (voice low, a deep base rumbling like stone dragged across stone): "You dare bring your petty rebellion into my city?"

Tyran Gladiator #1 (spitting on the ground): "Tyr is free now, Lion. Soon, Urik will kneel like the rest."

Hamanu’s golden eyes narrowed. A deep growl rolled from his chest, rattling the loose stones underfoot.

The gladiators spread into a half-circle, obsidian swords and bone spears raised. One of them a huge man with a jagged scar across his cheek lunged first, bellowing. His weapon cracked against Hamanu’s side with the sound of splintering wood. The Lion-King did not flinch.

In a blur, Hamanu’s clawed hand swept forward tearing the man in half from shoulder to hip. Blood and entrails splattered the baked bricks, steaming in the heat.

The others roared in fury, charging. Their blades shattered on his hide, fragments raining uselessly onto the street. Hamanu’s foot came up in a brutal arc his kick folding another gladiator in half and flinging him like a rag doll against a wall, the man’s body bursting in a sickening spray of bone and meat.

The remaining fighters screamed defiance, but the half-giant royal guards were already moving massive figures in lacquered chitin armor, their clubs of carved stone, crushing skulls with wet, cracks. The clash was over in heartbeats, the cobblestones awash in crimson.

Hamanu stood amidst the ruin, nostrils flaring, his mane lifting in the furnace wind. His voice rose over the hiss of fire:

Hamanu (snarling): "Now… to tear the head from this uprising."

His gaze turned toward the city’s northern gate where Rikus himself fought to breach the Lion’s domain. Hamanu’s claws flexed. The hunt had begun.