I missed the April A-Z Blog Challenge this year, so I'm doing my own...in June. This year, I will be posting one post per day discussing my AD&D campaign, for the curious. Since 2020, this is the ONLY campaign I run. Enjoy!
K is for Kartha...the Desert of Kartha.
"Kartha? I don't see
that on my Google Earth!" Yeah, no...you won't.
Desert of Kartha is the name I've given to
my ongoing project of re-writing TSR's original
Desert of Desolation series (adventure modules I3, I4, and I5).
Heavily inspired/influenced by the old Marvel Micronauts comics (specifically issues #23-25 and #34-35), I was originally going to call it the "Desert of Karza" (for
Baron Karza) but in the end decided to file down the serial numbers somewhat.
As others have discussed, the scale of the Desert of Desolation is pretty small considering its descriptions of being a 'vast wasteland.' However, even a small desert can be tough to cross if you're dealing with the pre-industrial, semi-medieval technology level that is most D&D campaigns. So, I found I didn't need something the size of Saudi Arabia (let alone the Sahara)...I could get by with something quite a bit smaller.
That smaller area? Southern Idaho.
Famous (infamous)
Death Valley is roughly the size of Connecticut. Google tells me you can fit 17 Connecticuts into Idaho. From Boise (the last patch of "civilization" in northern Idaho) to Pocatello and the Bannock mountain communities, the distance is more than 200 miles on foot...that's a LOT of desert to traverse, even if you have
dromedaries.
But look...I'm pretty busy today, so I'm going to let the good 'ol ChatGPT summarize my notes for you:
Southern Idaho is a land transformed — not the semi-arid farmland of irrigation-fed memory, but a harsh, sunbaked expanse known as the Desert of Kartha. Once a broad volcanic plain carved by the ancient path of the Snake River, it is now a desolate region of cracked lava flats, alkali basins, and slow-drifting dunes. The river itself still exists in places, but it is a skeletal thing — mostly a chain of brackish pools and salt-scarred channels that only rage to life with spring melt from the mountains. Kartha stretches from the ragged basalt shelves east of Boise all the way to the Bannock Range near Pocatello, and from the Owyhee Plateau in the south to the sage-laced edges of the Camas Prairie in the north.
The land is deceptive in its uniformity. On first glance it is flat, shimmering, dead — but travel far and long enough, and the bones of the land show through. Shattered lava fields east of Mountain Home give way to knife-edged canyons around Bliss and Hagerman, where occasional springs burst from canyon walls and feed narrow green ribbons. Farther east, near the ancient flows of the Craters of the Moon, the land buckles and yawns open, pocked with collapsed tubes and deep chimneys that some say lead to caverns filled with poisonous air and stranger things. Near Shoshone, long-sunken aquifers provide a rare permanence of water, and so the town endures — a hub of trade, refuge, and tense diplomacy in the desert heart.
Here in Kartha, the Badawi roam. They are not a single people, but dozens of kin-groups and clans that trace their lineages through oral tradition, inscribed bone tokens, and remembered migrations. They travel in long, low-slung caravans — dromedaries and wiry horses carrying trade goods, tools, water barrels, and kin. The Badawi know where the old wellheads still bubble beneath wind-carved rock. They know which springs have turned to salt and which grow bitter in the summer. They carry obsidian from the old lava beds, sulfur and saltpeter from fumaroles near Carey, silver traded out of the hills near Arco, and strange dark glass scavenged from ancient ruins buried beneath the dunes.
Kartha is not empty. It hums with movement: raiding bands, pilgrims, seasonal migrations, and armed caravans flying clan pennants. Routes are marked by cairns and sun-bleached glyphs. Oasis towns like Richfield, Arco, and Minidoka have become intermittent waystations — part rest stop, part trap. Some Badawi settle for a time in places where the water flows regularly, but they are mocked by their cousins as Hadir-in-disguise, soft-footed and forgetful of the old ways. The greatest insult one Badawi can offer another is to call them “Houseborn.”
Boise, at the western edge of the Kartha, is a frontier city in the mold of
Sanctuary — a crumbling Hadir holdout city full of outlanders, deserters, exiles, and opportunists. Stone walls rise from mud and basalt, remnants of an imperial fort that once claimed to guard the desert road. Today, Boise functions more as a free city than a provincial capital — ruled more by the strength of local guilds, caravan companies, and warbands than by any imperial satrap. Agents of the
Inland Empire still operate there, but their presence is limited to sealed quarters in the inner district and occasional bureaucratic embassies. Beyond the walls, Badawi come and go, hawking salt, sulfur, and rare desert spices in the market squares.
East of Shoshone, the land rises gradually toward the Bannock Range and the Hadir communities near Pocatello. These mountain settlements have their own character — sturdier, more industrious, more reliant on trade and mineral extraction. Mines in the Portneuf and Bannock highlands supply copper, tin, and iron to imperial forges, while Arco and Blackfoot act as trade nexuses. Caravans from Shoshone arrive weather-beaten and weary, sometimes escorted, sometimes harassed by their own kin-turned-bandits. These caravan routes are lifelines, and also constant battlegrounds of shifting alliances, marriage pacts, and blood feuds.
The weather in Kartha is brutal. Dust storms howl across the flats in spring, burying way-markers and drying out skin in hours. In summer, the ground can burn the soles of a careless traveler’s boots; in winter, ice crusts the sand before dawn. Despite this, the Badawi thrive. They wear garments of tightly-woven wool and desert silk, raise hardy goats and long-haired sheep, and practice forms of knowledge the Hadir dismiss as superstition but which have ensured their survival for generations — wind reading, star navigation, ritual water-scouting, and herbcraft drawn from dry cliffs and ancient wadis.
The Kartha is not just a desert. It is a boundary — not only between Boise and Pocatello, Hadir and Badawi, or the Empire and its wilderness — but between survival and oblivion. Those who live here learn quickly: everything in Kartha moves, even if you can’t see it. The land itself forgets the names of the weak. Only the strong, the clever, or the silent endure. And sometimes, not even they are enough.
Got all that? The distance from Boise to Shoshone (the latter of which replaces the Oasis of the White Palm in my setting) is roughly 120 miles, some 6-8 days travel by dromedary caravan. The route departs from Boise, skirting the barren Boise Foothills, passes through Kuna Butte and across the Snake River (at a seasonal ford or ruined bridge near Swan Falls), then traverses the high desert plains around Grand Vie, where travelers will find minimal shade and sparse scrub before making camp near the Bruneau Sand Dunes, where a reliable aquifer supports a semi-permanent watering point. From there you cross the Brueau Plateau and descend into the flatlands east of Richfield, where dust storms and basalt ridges challenge navigation, before entering Shoshone from the northeast, approaching across the Big Wood River, where it runs shallow but steady.
From Shoshone to Pocatello (the Eastern Trail) the distance is only 105 miles, but travel time can take 6-9 days depending on elevation and snowfall...early winter snows may close high passes. Caravans depart Shoshone heading northeast to Carey, ascending gently through the Carey Valley, skirting the edge of the Pioneer Mountains to the north and plains to the south. A midway stop near the Craters of the Moon (where deep wells and cave springs make for a vital Badawi gathering site) before continuing east to Arco, a fortified Hadir outpost and caravan staging point. From Arco, caravans travel south over the Lost River desert flats and wind through Atomic City (now ruins, but sometimes used for shelter) before approaching Pocatello via the northern fringe of the Arbon Valley and into the mouth of the Portneuf Range.
Caravans typically consist of 30-50 dromedaries led by Badawi guides. Banditry is common between Bruneau and Richfield, where cliffs and gullies (especially the Wendell Cliffs) allow ambushes.
That's probably as much (or, rather, more) information than you need, but I'll mention a few more fantasy tidbits to whet your appetite (possibly) for my (some day) forthcoming adventure trilogy:
The Centauri
Where the lave fields roll into the high sagebrush seppe near Gooding, Jerome, and the Camas Prairie, there you will find the Centauri: feral, half-mad creatures that view the bipedal races as blights upon the land. Twice as large as a human, their equine bodies are thick with muscle, while their human torsos are adorned with bone talismans, thorn armor, and painted war runes. To the Badawi, the Centauri are an ancient enemy, responsible for countless raids and deaths...but also objects of grim respect. Some tribes leave offerings at border cairns to ward them off. Entire caravan routes detour for weeks to avoid Centauri ranges, especially in spring and autumn when they become migratory and aggressive. Among the Hadir of Boise and Pocatello, sightings of Centauri are often met with terror, but also dark fascination.
The Duergar
Deep below the basalt and ash fields near Craters of the Moon, Minidoka, and Massacre Rocks, the Duergar delve in silence. Twisted, grim, and secretive, these grey dwarves are remnants of an ancient civilization broken by way...or possibly by Kartha himself. Pallid and mutated, their eyes glowing with fey luminescence and theit minds touched with deep-earth madness, they are rarely seen on the surface. Some Badawi have forged careful trading relationships with them, often through intermediaries known as "Ash-Speakers," exchanging surface goods...firewood, leather, alcohol, rare herbs...for gemstones and refined ore. More often, Duergar are blamed for vanishing travelers, collapsed wells, and cursed artifacts. The Hadir mineworkers in the Bannock ranges speak of strange voices and empty tools left polished and rearranged overnight...signs the grey dwarves have passed unseen.
The Shoshone Bird-Riders
The giant desert birds, known as minqar alfas, are a fearsome and awe-inspiring part of life in and around Shoshone. Standing eight feet tall at the shoulder, these sharp-beaed, talon-footed creatures are fiercely intelligent, aggressively territorial, and able to run tirelessly across sand and basalt for days. Though they exist in the wild near the lava plains west of Craters of the Moon, it is only the Badawi of Shoshone that have mastered their training, forging deep bonds with hatchlings and raising them into lethal mounts. The warriors who ride them sever as scouts, caravan guards, and the elite defenders of the oasis.
Shoshone is a jewel set amid desolation. Fed by artesian springs and positioned at the nexus of several old lava tubes, it boasts shaded palm-like trees, stone-built cisterns, and clay-walled homes that cling to its cratered edge. It is the lifeblood of Kartha's trade routes. Every caravan from Boise to Pocatello stops there to rest and barter. Its market hums with dialects from across the desert; Hadir traders from Bannock peddling ore, Badawi selling hides and gems, and even the occasional veiled emissary from the Duergar depths. And overseeing it all, the Shoshone bird-riders patrol in formation, their mounts shrieking as they scan for bandits, Centauri, or worse.
[I will leave off discussion of the Desert Sage, Coo An-Nah, "The Immense One" for another time]
