In their place are terrors such as the id fiend, the baazrag, and the tembo. Wild creatures such as lions, bears, and wolves are almost nonexistent. The world has no cattle, swine, or horses instead, people tend flocks of erdlus, ride on kanks or crodlus, and draw wagons with inixes and mekillots. Many creatures that are familiar sights on milder worlds have long since died out or never existed on Athas. The desert planet has its own deadly ecology. Those who lay claim to clerical powers do so through worship of the elements: the sun, the sand, the storm, and the rarest of all, water. Shrines and crumbling temples lie amid ancient ruins, testimony to a time when unknown agents spoke to the people of Athas. Religious orders are dedicated to sorcerer-kings who claim godhood. No clerics, no paladins, and no prophets live here. The gods are silentĪthas is a world without deities. In all appearances, they are gods of this world. The sorcerer kings govern through priesthoods or bureaucracies of greedy, ambitious templars, who channel their power. Some are brutal oppressors, while others are subtle in their tyranny. Some claim to be gods, and some profess to serve gods. These mighty spellcasters have held their thrones for centuries no one alive remembers a time before the sorcerer-kings. Terrible defilers of immense power rule all the city-states. Only the most powerful spellcasters can use their arcane abilities without fear of reprisal. As a result, sorcerers, wizards, and other wielders of arcane magic are reviled and persecuted across Athas regardless of whether they preserve or defile. It is possible to cast spells with care, avoiding any more damage to the world, but defiling is easier and faster than preserving. Nearby plants wither to ash, crippling pain wracks animals and people, and the soil is permanently sterilized. To cast an arcane spell, a magic user siphons power from the living world. Reckless use of arcane magic during ancient wars reduced Athas to a wasteland. Steel bladesĪre nearly priceless many heroes never see such weapons during their lifetimes. Mail or plate armor exists only in the treasuries of the sorcerer-kings. Most weapons and armor are made of bone, stone, wood, and similar materials. Charity, compassion, kindness-these qualities exist, but they are rare and precious blooms. Every year, hundreds of slaves, perhaps thousands, are sent to their deaths in bloody arena spectacles. Slavery is widespread on Athas, and many unfortunates spend their lives in The cities are not much safer each choke in the grip Bloodthirsty raiders, greedy slavers, and hordes of merciless savages overrun the deserts and wastelands. Under the sands lie ancient ruins, testament to a time before the desert, and the city-states are a wonder in and of themselves.
There are no rivers or lakes and pockets of civilization are concentrated in isolated oases where water is more precious than life. Finally his system overheats, leaving him dead and alone in the sands.
His heart must work hard to circulate it. Before long, his blood is thick and gummy. His mouth becomes dry and bitter, his lips, tongue, and throat grow swollen. If he does not have enough water, he grows too weak to move. As the days drag on, he feels sick and feeble. A man cannot drink fast enough to replenish the fluids he loses. It climbs toward its zenith and the temperature rises relentlessly: 100 degrees by midmorning, 110 at noon, 130 - sometimes even 150 - by late afternoon. The world is a desertįrom the first moments of dawn until the last twinkling of dusk, the crimson sun shimmers in the olive-tinged sky like a fiery puddle of blood. Life hangs by a thread in this barren land, it is unforgiving to the weak, and now it is up to you to write your own story in blood and glory. This is Athas, the world of the DARK SUN campaign setting, a dying planet of savagery and desolation. This bleak wasteland isīeneath a crimson sun lie wastelands of majestic desolation and cities of cruel splendor, where sandal clad heroes battle ancient sorcery and terrible monsters. Silt, and selfish kings squander their subjects’ lives building Singing winds call travelers to slow suffocation in the Sea of Of the salt plains to plunder lonely caravans, mysterious
Land of blood and dust, where tribes of feral elves sweep out
Sand scour the foliage from the barren ground. The life from anything that crawls or flies, and storms of