I very much enjoy recording the encounters my group had over the years. If someone else enjoys them, all the better. I would equally like to read yours, too. Share your stories here if you’d like! Plagiarize all my stuff if it is useful! With your permission, perhaps I shall do the same to yours!
My group has had a lot of forays into the planes and done some really weird non-canon stuff. I will keep it on topic and succinct in here.
After the events of the Prism Pentad and the overthrow of Borys and Rajaat, the party fledgling avangion had ascended to the throne of Tyr. Immediately, the rival Sorcerer-Kings began to plot against him. Raam and Draj formed an unholy and unprecedented alliance such was the scale of the threat (Re and Tec were not slain in our campaign in the final confrontation with Rajaat). Their combined forces were so numerous, they formed a wave of death that swept across the north Tablelands. The King and Queen besieged Urik on the way down to Tyr. There was thunder and lightning amidst the blackened sky above the city but no rain as three immortal monarchs battled one another to the death amongst the clouds. Despite the superior armaments and razor discipline, the Sons of the Lion could not prevail against the swarms of invaders and were thrown from the field, cut off from their city walls and trapped in a narrow valley amidst the Smoking Crown. The battle in the stars and on the valley floor raged for weeks.
So numerous was the force against Urik, a substantial wing thereof could still be sent south against Tyr and yet confidently maintain the siege. The wing was lead by two of Re’s three most prominent sons, a hideous wasp-abomination sired by a foul Chasme of the Abyss and Megacles, son of a dark titan of Acheron, plane of eternal war. The avangion knew well of the terrible advance against him and marshalled all of his allies and forces. Remnant slaves of Tithian and even Kalak yet persisted in his ranks, however, and plotted his demise. They set their weight against him and heeded the whisperings of Raamese spies. They convinced the avangion to split his forces. Suspicious, the avangion did not give in to all their demands and only left his elite force of Templar Centurions in the rear to protect the city. He elected to march on Urik and relieve the siege. He would march through the advancing wing and keep the enemy from his doorstep, meeting them afar and minimizing the damage to his city. Little did he know…
The wasp-beast of Re appeared suddenly, alone, north of the city though near enough to affect civilians and began slaughtering the innocent and ravaging the countryside while the forces of Tyr were mustering. The party set out against the creature and sent the army, under capable NPC leaders, east along the road and away from the beast. The party eventually found the wasp from his trail of destruction and immediately attacked. The second of the sons, Megacles, had used his brother as bait against his enemy. He looked on, hidden, and with glee as his brother was destroyed by the champions of Tyr. Megacles emerged from hiding and waded in against the weakened party. He split the avangion from throat to groin with his unstoppable war scythe, slaying his body and imprisoning his soul in his black obsidian shield to toy with for eternity. The party could not withstand the titan and retreated with the son of Re in hot pursuit. As night fell, exhausted, the remnants of the party collapsed in the wastes and made camp, keeping trembling watch against their howling enemy. He did not come that night, though, he would be busied elsewhere.
That night, the flower of Tyr, her Templar Centurions, had mustered in a camp together on the sandy floor of the vacant arena. Clouds had swept in with the coming dark and concealed the moons and stars. Unusual, but the men were unconcerned and occupied primarily with the logistics of withstanding siege and implementation of martial law. It began to rain. Men raised their palms and faces in praise and thanks. It was a moment’s relief that starkly and instantly turned to mortification when men saw 'twas not water, but blood that fell from the heavens! Men cried out as heaps of bloody viscera slammed into tables and tents shattering them, or knocked men staggering. Some centurions thought quickly and kicked and stabbed at the quivering masses, unveiling a ghastly fetus-like form writhing and coalescing within. Orders were bellowed and men formed up the square as the hellish precipitation fell all around. The ghastly event had occurred early enough in the night that few men were asleep and the remainder were fully mobilized and prepared for war. Men looked on in shock as the bleeding heaps shook and moved, heaving upright into the vague outlines of men. The heaps manifested eyes, mouths, limbs, and gasped to life. The centurions grit their teeth and sneered, they held tight behind shield wall and lowered their spears. Blood clots on the abominations sloughed away revealing ready bone weapons and armored fighting men. These abominations were fully prepared Raamese legionnaires, crowding the arena floor and stands numbering in the thousands. The opposed soldiers regarded one another in a mystified stupor for several seconds. Then with a shout, the Raamese threw themselves at the Tyrians, their force an incoherent mob that swarmed the Tyrian formation, but very hard pressed to score a kill.
The templar centurions remained confident, the Raamese could not break the shield wall, though some did fall to the swarm. As with all things on Athas, hope is for fools. There was not time enough to turn the tide against the Raamese when the center of the Tyrian square formation was rocked by an explosion. Men flew high and ahead, over the shield wall. Standing in the crater formed therein was the all-devouring titan Megacles. The insatiable enemy fell upon the Tyrians, hurling them aside as grains of sand. Rear ranks turned to face the titan. Their magnificent steel weapons could not even open wounds and their shafts shivered against him. Megacles even cast aside his scythe and shield, too heavy for any mortal to wield, in favor of ripping men apart with his bare hands and teeth. On man and armor alike, he feasted. Valiantly, the centurions stood against the impossible foe, and focused on killing the legions of Raam, who bled as normal men and were not as well trained or armed and they paid dearly for their invasion. Had it not been for Megacles, it is unlikely the mortals from Raam would have overcome the Templar Centurions. All 1,100 Templar Centurions fell that night but not one while in retreat, eleven centuries annihilated. Only the 11 standard bearers, the youngest and most ambitious of the ranks, escaped, their path out of the arena bought by the lives of their compatriots. The names of the Houses of each century would live on. Red from head to toe, Megacles went first to reward his spies and set the counter-revolution in motion.
The bulk of the Tyrian force was a few days march away and had camped within staked wall and ditch with their backs to the Canyon of Guthay. They had heard nothing from their nascent king or other leadership. They faced the approaching Raamese wing from the north and their own logistical center was now occupied against them. The terror had just begun…
In our merry band there was a half-elf gladiator. She had the typical half-elf background of not belonging anywhere. In her first combat in the Arena she fought and killed a thri-kreen that had red scarifications all over its body.
Once we hit the road they were surrounded by a tribe of thri-kreens. They hunted them for days until they were exhausted. They finally approached for the kill. Then the PCs saw that all the thri-kreen had the same red scars as the thri-kreen the gladiator had killed in the Arena. They belonged to the same tribe.
Probably the players were prepared to fight to the bitter end, but one by one the thri-kreen started talking.
“Krituk was my hunting-brother. My githka broke once and he lent me his.”
“Krituk was my hunting-brother. His words were true. His silence was also true.”
“Krituk was my hunting-brother. He taught me how to throw a chatkcha.”
The half-elf tried to say something.
“I’m sorry… It was a fair fight…”
The oldest thri-kreen made his voice heard.
“The Red Scar tribe is weaker now. This is not good.”
The players probably thought that that would be the moment when they would be torn to pieces… but the old thri-kreen spoke on. He pointed at the gladiator and said that she would join the tribe!
Seeing that the only alternative was a quick and brutal death, she accepted. She was “hunted” in a rite of passage and given the red scars with obsidian blades. She almost died but she became the first and, as far as I know, the only thri-kreen by adoption.
Her name in the tribe was “larva” since her thri-kreen family was saddened because she obviously never developed the shells that all her brothers and sisters had. “Larva” found in the Red Scars the family she had never had as a half-elf slave.
I took records of every game I run since 2016… But in Spanish because I’m from Argentina. If you read my group’s adventures and are interested in something in particular I can tell you what I did as DM. Hope you could (read and) enjoy my games.
We played one year with the same PCs and for Asticlian Gambit they decided to try different things (in order to save their original characters for Dragon Crown).
First party has one had a Druid, an Earth Cleric and a member of the alliance (she is psionicist) and Conan. Yes, Conan. And lastly a halfling rogue who was in the Urik army. They were slaves en Freedom!, Looked for allies and fought a war in Road to Urik and helped the Avangion in Arcane Shadows. Also they had to deal with lots of funny things I added, like fighting with aarakocras while trying to not fall from a flying ray or dealing with the obsidian man near Urik.
For Asticlian Gambit they created new characters since the story is not tied. There is a noble telepath, who looks like the evil guy in Aladdin (from the New DM guild complete psionic guide or something), an elf ranger, a half elf magma cleric and a defiler (who seems to be Lili from magic, I don’t know much about MtG)
I’d love to read about your games. I’ll send you a pm. 
Are you still playing? There is a section of Play by Post but it there are no games there… yet.
It is excellent you have created this journal. I always wanted to do the equivalent, but have failed to assign the time.
It’s not always easy. But it is fun to read it months later.
I keep a journal of my games also, here’s a link to one I started back in 2013. https://darksunadventures.blogspot.com/2013/02/first-session-gith-problems-and.html
That game ended and I recently started another
I hope some of you will get some ideas, or at least enjoy reading about my groups exploits.
Near the conclusion of the Dragon’s Crown mod, the PCs were assaulting the ivory tower of Dasaraches. Some 20+ members of the Order, disenfranchised by Pharises or in opposition to him, accompanied the PCs in hopes of wresting control of the Psionatrix. Poorly armed and bereft of any psionics, the members of the Order were considerably less powerful than the party though all higher level. The party took front rank and did all the heavy lifting in overcoming the Water Drake that blocked the final causeway into the fortress. After the way was cleared, the Order brought up the rear but their nightmare had just begun. The PCs crossed onto the island and the walls of the white fortress were visible. Atop the gate, flagrant in defiance, was a single lanky elf armed with a long bow, nearly so tall as he. He spied the frontal assault in broad daylight easily enough and as soon as they made within range at the double-quick as they were, let fly one shaft.
The PCs were terrified at such a blantant display of supremacy and charged full at the ivory wall and great stone gate aiming to close the gap as quickly as possible. The Order was naive as to what was about to occur, however, and their confidence soared as they perceived resistance would be limited.
The single shaft did not find its mark, however. None saw it land. It instead exploded amidst the crowd of bodies charging the wall. Flame, earth, and body parts were thrown in every direction. The bombardment did not end with one blast alone, the elf launched the cacophonous missiles as swiftly as he could knock them. The assault force was without cover and hemmed in by trees. The shots kept coming, blasting huge craters in the earth. Men’s eyes boiled and the dying littered the approach, screaming their last breaths. The bombardment did not cease and the psionicists began to waver, panicking as their compatriots flew to pieces before their very eyes.
“On, you dogs!” the party fighter screamed at the reeling psionicists, “It’s now or never!” but his voice was lost amidst the deafening roar. The PCs, protected by magicks and potent items fared far better and were shaken by the blasts, but kept up their pace and made it to the gate.
They had no method to breach! The archer above them peered down with glee and let loose the last of his devastating missiles. None of the defiant members of the Order reached the wall save one, the hardy dwarf Delmek who had made it his Focus to reunite the Order. His intense determination gave him the will to survive, but overwhelmed by the wailing of his maimed compatriots, many still aflame, the shock of the bombardment, his own grave injuries, and seeing the PCs fumble hopelessly at the gate with no means of resolution he broke and fled in shell shocked terror across the causeway and into the wastes. He, too, surely would have been slain save that the elf ran out of ammunition and busied himself with the PCs right on his doorstep.
Long after the fact, a disintegrate from the wizard finally ruptured the gate. The party went on to cleanse the fortress without the support of any members of the Order, slaughtering all who opposed them and unmaking the Psionatrix. The Order was that day made extinct save one, Delmek the Coward, who fled alone across the wastes and into Tyr months later a waif of his former self, his survival a miracle of lunacy and determination. He descended into madness at the thought of his inevitable fate having failed in his Focus. He was thought lost and long forgotten by the party, yet he returned one day much later…
Here’s the first session of my current game. https://darksunadventures.blogspot.com/2018/07/first-session-taste-of-freedom.html
We just finished the eighth, so I think it’s going well.