Ancient Krynn I - Bakali Summoning Jars

D&D 3e (3.0/3.5) Rules

by John Grubber

The following information is an excerpt from my journals, compiled during my time amongst the Bakali of Nordmaar, supplemented with library research completed after the fieldwork ended. If the legends told by the Bakali shaman are true, these artifacts are most dangerous, and work should be done to find them, or at very least, discover their fate.
—Iago Tomasi, Scribe of Gilean Library of Kalaman—Brookgreen, 367AC

Second Day of Yurthgreen, 366 AC

It has been three days since my guide left me at the Jukana Fork. I have continued up the Devida River in my canoe alone, but I still feel eyes upon me as I travel. These past two nights, I have been able to find safe shelters, but I am in the midst of a narrow canyon now, and night is falling. The current has carried me, making the paddling easy, and giving me much time to view the verdant jungle around me. It is beautiful, there are trees here that rival the vallenwoods of Solace in size. I have never seen so many shades of green, but even that is broken up by bright plumage of jungle birds or the petals of exotic flowers. If it weren't so hot and humid, I might mistake this for the paradise of Zhan that the priests of Zivilyn speak of.

Fourth Day of Yurthgreen, 366 AC

I have made my camp on a narrow sandbar, it appears that the river does not reach it, so I should stay dry, if it doesn't rain.

Fifth Day of Yurthgreen, 366 ac

When I completed my morning devotions, I set about striking camp, only to find my canoe gone, and my equipment scattered. The sand could not hide the footprints though—large, and three toed—a large troglodyte, or, if my guide was right, one of the Bakali native to this region. Nothing appears to be missing, except the canoe. This is an exciting development, but it also leaves me stranded in the middle of a fast-flowing river.

Sixth Day of Yurthgreen, 366 ac

I have been on the sandbar for over a day now. Last night torches appeared on both sides of the river, accompanied by a hissing chatter—I can only assume my search for a Bakali tribe to study is nearing an end, and the real work will soon begin.

Ninth Day of Yurthgreen, 366 ac

It has been three days since I was able to enter anything in my journal—it has only just been returned to me.

I was awoken three nights ago in the middle of the night by the sound of dripping water and a sharp pain in my side. I rolled over to find a group of the lizard men, weapons drawn, surrounding me. The weapons were crude, made of wood and stone, but I do not doubt their effectiveness. The two Bakali in front of me leaned in close, and I reeled under the foul smell. They sniffed at me once or twice, before jumping back, covering their noses and calling something to their compatriots.

The sound that followed in response was a strange hissing chuff—perhaps they were laughing, I later learned they were—and that I smelled as bad to them as they did to me. As I reached under my robe to pull out my holy symbol, one of the pair dropped with amazing speed and seized my hand in an iron-grip, slowly drawing it out as the other pressed a spear against my throat. As my hand was pulled out of my robe, the creatures' slitted eyes fixed on what was in my grasp. I had initially wanted the symbol to explain why I was there, in hopes they would recognize what a book is and its purpose, but I confess that at that moment, I was praying for protection against whatever they had planned for me. The creature released my hand, only to bark-hiss out to the group again, in what had the cadence of a command or sentence of some kind.

The assembled group of torch bearing lizardmen (I later learned the group was actually comprised of males and females) parted and a strange figure approached us. Though I could tell this one was a Bakali, he was draped in skins, feathers, jangles and other talismans, and in one hand he carried a staff—topped with what appeared to be a very human skull. This person hopped towards us, barely leaning on the staff, hissing softly as it approached. It crouched down in front of me, shooing off the other pair, and pressing its face close to mine while his clawed hand gently took hold of my amulet. I was somewhat scared—given that medal-lions of faith can injure those of impure intent—that if this person were to be injured, I would certainly be killed.

My medallion saw true though, and this being of obvious power, intelligence and peaceful intent was unharmed. The smell of this one was even worse—it was a combination of lizardman, plants and other odours—like a walking herba-lists shop. He reached under one of the skins covering his chest, and drew out a talisman of his own—a shard of pottery on a rawhide neck loop. In the dark I could not make out what the image carved upon it was. He held it closer, but in the shifting light I still couldn't see. He pressed it into my hand, and I was amazed at its weight—it was easily thrice that of my medallion. The shard trembled in my hand—it was teeming with magi-cal emana-tions, it was then that I was certain he was a holy man as well—no one but a represen-tative of the gods could wield such power.

I released the amulet, and he rose up, looming to an intimidating seven feet tall, and bellowed out to the group, before grasping the front of my robe and hauling me to my feet. I was terrified, but really had no options, surrounded as I was. I started towards my equipment, but was seized by another of the lizardmen, one of the initial pair, and pushed in another direction. As I looked back, I saw two of the Bakali crouch and gently begin to put things into my pack. I strained to see further, but the crowd closed behind me, and opened in front of me at the waters edge, to reveal a large pontooned raft at least twenty feet long, complete with a straw-roofed center section. The Bakali that had grabbed me urged me aboard while the other of the original two bellowed out to the group, making had gestures as well— perhaps Bakali language has both verbal and somatic components. At once the group disintegrated, and the lizard-folk darted into the water, racing off in various directions. Six stayed behind, boarded the raft and took hold of large poles, which they used to guide the boat further up the river.

Twenty-third Day of Yurthgreen, 366 ac

It has been two weeks that I have been among the Bakali. My main contact with the tribe is through the shaman. From my observations, he is revered or honored by much of the tribe, and they defer to him in their actions, even the chief, but in general they avoid him. It seems almost like they fear him. This is understandable—similar behaviors have been noted among many hunting and gathering folk. They treat me similarly, though sometimes small children will summon up the courage to peek into my tent, or sneak up and touch me before scampering away with their fellows.

The diet has taken some getting used to—I am not a lover of insects—but has proven surprisingly diverse. Much of the time in the early day is spent gathering berries, nuts, tubers and other plants, while at small groups leave the village at dusk and return in the morning with a few small animals and mud-lined woven baskets full of insects.

I have been making much effort to the basics of the Bakali language, starting with proper nouns, as near as I can decipher. The shaman, who has moved into my tent this day, may be called kerr-iss, or that may be his title, as I am addressed as kerr-itt by the tribesfolk. Presumably the word means "student" or some term or relation to the shamans name-title. I was awoken last night by kerr-iss, who pressed his medallion into my hand before taking my wrist and pulling me out of the tent. The moon was full, so I could see easily the jungle paths ahead as we raced along. I still stumbled and fell several times, but the Bakali's steps did not falter once—they must have tremendous eyesight in the dark.

He lead me onwards for nearly an hour before we entered a large grassy clearing with a small mound of earth in the center. It was about six feet tall, and we cut a path through the tall grass for it. Standing on it, he held his medallion above his head and began to chant. A soft wind began to blow, swirling through the grass, and the image on the shard began to glow—outlining the dragonfly image in a fiery orange color. The chanting continued and the wind grew, and soon a buzzing sound began to fill my ears. Few at first, but growing every second, dragonflies began to circle us, until a deafening cloud whirled around us. The chanting ceased and kerr-iss pressed the shard into my hand. I brought it close to my face to examine it, and instantly the dragonflies dropped low in the air, hovering just above the grass. Kerr-iss took my hand, raised it high, and with a jerk, emphasized I should keep it raised.

Again, the swarm of dragonflies flew up to the height of my hand and began a slow wheeling turn, all the way out to the edge of the clearing, like an enormous wheel, with me at its center. Kerr-iss pulled a shell horn from his belt, pressed it to his toothy maw and blew. I could barely hear the high-pitched tone, but its effect in the clearing was amazing. All around us, in places where I had walked not minutes before, Bakali stood with wove nets and baskets. Slowly, methodically, the party of about ten walked in pairs, scooping net-full of bugs from the swarm and emptying them into the baskets. This continued for several minutes, long enough to make my arm sore, though in my fascination, I didn't care. So enthralled was I that I barely noticed when kerr-iss took my wrist and began to chant again. Slowly, he lowered my hand and the chanting grew softer. The swarm began to dissipate, and soon was gone. I hadn't even noticed the basket and net bearers leave either. Exhilarated but also exhausted, I followed the shaman back to our tent.

Eighth Day of Fleurgreen, 366 ac

Kerr-iss took me to his hut today. The chief met us at the door of my tent, along with several warriors, who provided an escort across the village. We stopped once, where the assembled group bowed towards a stone stelae, a round pillar carved like twisted cord, topped with an egg-shape. I followed suit, and while at first they seemed surprised, they soon continued on. They left us at the door of the tent, and the shaman and I went inside. He gestured toward a finely woven grass mat of many colors, where I sat while he retrieved what looked like animal bone tubes, hanging in a cluster on a wall. He untied the bundle, and it was revealed to be a set of tubes bound together side by side, an inch across, each with carving upon it. Each was set on a spindle, so that it could be rotated, while the spindles were all bound to each other.

Looking around the room I noticed that there were more bundles—hundreds of them. The ones I held were quite white, but there were others that were amber and even brown with age. The other bundles had red leather bound around them, while this one did not. It was then that I noticed the dangling cords at the end of the last spindle, and the smooth tubes on the floor. A small stand held another and several small tools. Clearly marked on the tube was the symbol of Gilean, a rendering of my tent and what appeared to be an image of a man—me, if I guessed correctly. Kerr-iss was not just the tribes' shaman, he was its record keeper!

I don't know how long the records extended, but if the bundle in front of me was for Kerr-iss' lifetime, there was potentially thousands of years of tribal history recorded here. While I stared at the bundles as pondered the implications of their contents, kerr-iss walked around the hut, looking lower and lower towards the floor. At last he seized a bundle and lifted it from its hook, placing it before me. He held out the shard around his neck, and then pointed at the bundle again, before he unrolled it on the mat in front of me. Carving leapt out at me, dark against the yellowed bone. He pointed at an image of a jar, a carving that rivalled those of the Ergothian scrimshaw artists in detail level. The jar carving had a grid on it, each with a smaller image within it. One leapt out at me immediately: a dragonfly. Other images followed, ants, scorpions, spiders and other insects. Another jar image followed, with serpents, frogs, lizards and other small reptiles. Another jar followed that one, with what appears to be clouds and lightning upon it. In all, I counted seven jars. I spent long hours poring over the bone-scrolls, as I came to call them. This could greatly add to my research.

Summary: The Summoning Shards

Over the remaining months I spent with the tribe, I was able to learn more of their language, and they some of mine. Biology was a hindrance though, for both of us, as we lacked the features to make some sounds properly. In my field notes I have compiled an extensive pictograph and glossary, perhaps for future release.

If the pictographs on the bone-scrolls and the legends of the Bakali are true, the jars were made ages ago, even before the birth of the starborn races, the ogres, elves and humans. The most powerful Bakali shaman-mystics created them to help control weather, insects and other natural forces—to allow the Bakali civilization to grow and flourish in the early days of Krynn.

Presumably they worked, and became quite important icons to the people, artifacts of peace, at least for a time. According to the scrolls, all that changed. One of the jars had been used carelessly, and had become a tool of war. With it, one city marched on others, using the power of the jar to summon storms and swarms to attack and batter them into submission. The other cities had no choice but to respond by misusing their own jars to defend themselves. The great gift that the jars represented was perverted and used for war.

Then one day, the end of the world came to the Bakali civilization. Snows began to fall, and the ice came from the south—the jars were powerful, but not powerful enough to stop the ice. The Bakali began to flee north, away from the cities and towards the equator, while the greatest warriors and mystics gathered on a mountaintop. There were once seven jars, but only four remained by then—two were destroyed, and another was lost on the seas. The jars were placed in a circle (this may be related to the presence of the five interlinked circles in Bakali iconography), and a great chant was begun, to summon a storm of great power to melt the ice and sweep away the snow forever. To do this though, the jars would have to be broken, and their full might released.

Though they were initially reluctant, eventually all present agreed, and the ritual began. As it neared it height, the skies clouded over, and a great opening formed, above the mountaintop. Mists and ice began to swirl, and coalesced into the form of a majestic-hooded serpent—the goddess Chislev as she is known to the Bakali. A second pillar formed, of fire and smoke, and became an image of Sirrion. The chanting was halted, and the circle broken while the gods told their children that they rite would fail, but that they must not give in to despair. Instead, the gods commanded them, they must break the jars, and give a shard to the shaman or greatest warrior of each tribe, and to pass it down through the years, until one day they would receive a sign, and a way to reunite the pieces and rebuild their ruined cities. One can only presume they obeyed, and the shard I saw around Kerr-iss' neck is but one of many.

Physically, the shards and jars are made of a tan or sand-colored clay, presumably sun-fired. If my estimates are correct, a complete jar is roughly three feet tall, with an egg-shaped body and a flared neck opening. Below the rim there is a band inscribed with as yet untranslated Bakali glyphs. In general then, the jars conform to ancient Bakali pottery standards. Where they differ is in the decoration. The pictographs are simple, which contrasts with other Bakali artwork, such as paintings and carvings which are often quite intricate, if simple in technique. They exist in a dual band slightly above the mid-point of the jar, and circle the vessel. At the base of the jar there are no feet to support it—presumably it is to be held by the seated user or placed in a stand of some sort.

The shards are powerful amulets, and they are probably the greatest relics a given tribe possesses. They are flawed though—they can summon what they depict, but they provide only limited control once the summoning has manifested. It seems that they can also only be used three or four times in a month, but this could vary in the hands of different wielders. Using a shard is a draining experience, as I can attest to. I witnessed its use, and aided in the ceremony, many more times during my fieldwork. The might of the Shaman seems to affect efficacy and frequency—the greater the summoners power, the more will he can exert and dominate what has been summoned.

When I held the shard, I sensed great power within it, but not power like that of a priest granted by the gods. It felt rawer and less focused, as though it was bound within the shard, barely contained and very unstable. I think greater study is needed. Kerr-iss has met others with shards during his lifetime—some have known their power, but many have not. Some, he guessed, cannot feel the power—he says they are Jarak-Sinn, the tainted. Others have fake shards, copies made for some reason, while others have shards that are worn smooth with age— their image, and hence their power, lost forever. The rims and bases of the jars are of great importance, but Kerr-iss did not know anything of their fate—he said that the signs will reveal all that is needed when the time comes. He seems content to wait.

Supplementary Notes

When I returned from the field after six months among the lizardmen, I had many tasks ahead of me, but the most pressing was to delve into the history of the Third Dragonwar and look for references to the completed summoning jar, or indeed any of the jar fragments.

My search was made more interesting by the newfound presence of accounts from that war. A stronghold of Galan Dracos, who led the forces of Takhisis, was recently uncovered and excavated in the mountains of Solamnia, though it remains unclear if it is the citadel from which he commanded or merely a bastion for his forces. Regardless, within the ruins was found a chest of scrolls and books, journals and letters of officers in the Dragonarmy and members of the dark priesthoods that aided the horde. It provided a valuable glimpse at the other side of that war, but more important to my purposes, it described the jar in great detail. I have summarized the journals of the priests, paraphrasing for clarity and rectifying archaic language they used. There are no surviving accounts from the Second Dragonwar, the war in which Takhisis and Hiddukel tricked many Bakali into serving them in great armies.

Summary: The Summoning Jar

The dark priest Savo, working with Galan Dracos, scoured Ansalon and the lands beyond in search of artifacts to aid them in the Dark Queens war. Their agents traveled in disguise, doing research under the noses of other priests and scholars, all the while attempting to gather secret weapons to turn the tide in their favor. We can only assume the jar was one of their discoveries.

Accounts from the Solamnic side speak often of storms and swarms lashing their forces, but until now it has widely been assumed it was the action of priests alone. If the legends of the summoning jars are true, this may not be the case. It is well known that the priests of Takhisis worked in groups to focus their power, and according to the letters of Audemar of Estwilde, one group was set aside specifically to use a magical jar that had been constructed, to control and focus the power it unleashed. Other accounts speak of the origins of the jar, how ogres were lead across the continent by several priests, slaughtering Bakali in village after village, all to find more of shards.

It was Dracos himself who led the reconstruction, he knew only a person of his might and will could complete the task. The journal also speaks of the rim shards of the jar—and how Dracos was obsessed with finding them, even above finding more inscribed pieces. He apparently knew that the rim was where the control would be found, that it was both the gate through which the power channelled, and the ring through which it could be controlled.

According to the notes of Savo, his agents found pieces to complete one, buried in the ruins of a Bakali city in the Plains of Dust. The ultimate fate of the jar is unknown, for the war continued for several years after Audemar's letter describing the its completion. There is no record of it being found after the surrender, so it may survive, to this day, hidden away in the catacombs of some temple—perhaps in Dracos' lost citadel itself.

(Ancient Krynn 1 - Bakali Summoning Jars originally published in Tobril Issue 1)

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