Lair of the Weaver: Esgalwen

[Eclecticon]

Even in the barely-there light of a Mirkwood sunset, the entrance to Tylquin's lair seems to shimmer, its edges ghost-like.  As the Fellowship comes near, they see that the surrounding stones are covered in the most delicate, intricate webs they have ever seen, spun with the same black spider-thread that they followed to find this place, yet barely so near akin to them as gossamer is to rope.  Within the threshold, the webs converge and spread in macabre traceries and beautifully grotesque frets that call to mind nothing so much as the tapestries that hang in the Elvenking's hall beneath the hills, if ever the elves tried their hand at something so dreary and cheerless. 

Cautiously, the companions follow the russet light of Radagast, who leads them along a rough natural passage that bends gradually to the right.  Taking heed of the Wizard's caution and care, they go slowly, minding each overhang and outcropping lest some trick of the Weaver lie in wait for them.  Greatest is Tylquin among the sorcerors of the spiders, however, and subtle beyond the ken of Men her works.  Esgalwen barely feels the thread that brushes across her face... 

... And she is elsewhere, in the thinner woods that mark the borderland between Mirkwood and the Long Marsh, where once she delighted to find useful herbs and to watch the creatures of water and wood.  Alone is she, sore and weary, for long has been her flight and hard her way.  Something dark pursues her still, she knows, and when she slows to look back (she dares not stop) she can see the hint of it moving between the trees.  Sparing what little breath she can, she curses the names of her false friends, each of whom has fled and deserted her.  But now, her breath spent in cursing, she falters and stumbles, hitting the cold ground harder than she has since her childhood days. 

When she opens her eyes, a pair of familiar boots stands before them, sturdy and well-heeled in the Gondorian fashion.  Ranger's boots, she realises.  Raising her gaze, she beholds the drawn sword and the armour, still bearing the device of the White Tree, and beyond them a face all in shadow.  "Where were you?" says the figure in a voice familiar yet distant.  "When I called for your aid, where were you?"

[tomcat]

Esgalwen slowly stood, all the while brushing her hair from her face... but the strands that laced her fingers were not the auburn color she knew, but black and thin.

Why have you taken so long?

The woman looked back to the figure before her, the face still hidden, and she squinted in the weak light trying to place who this was.

Her mind puzzled - Father? Grandfather? It was a Gondorian for sure. Then sadness filled her. Regret and guilt swelled within her heart, Éothor? Was it her captain? The Ranger who had led them north out of Ithilien that she had heard whispers of his captivity and she had yet to do anything.

Esgalwen felt herself shrink with shame and guilt. Her idleness once more overwhelming her and causing her to root in place - to do nothing. Afraid to decide.

The vision changed before her eyes again, though the face remained in shadow, I called for you. She heard Orophin's voice. She heard the King of Dale. She heard the Steward of Gondor. She heard Bandy.

Esgalwen cried out, "I was there! I served! I did not want to see you lost!" She pleaded to each voice that seemed to damn her. The Ranger felt herself fall to her knees, "I failed you... and myself."

[tomcat]

I am going to roll a Wisdom roll for Esgalwen to see if she can confront the mirage and find a way out of it. If there are any negative modifiers, add them in, Paul.
TN 18 wisdom

1d12 : 12, total 12
Rolled 5d6 : 4, 1, 5, 4, 2, total 16

[tomcat]

It is a success but not great in any other way. Still, I am assuming she has boosted herself and now will have more confidence. I am going to roll an Awe roll to see if this confidence adds any strength to her voice.
TN ?? awe 3d

1d12 : 2, total 2
Rolled 3d6 : 1, 3, 4, total 8

[tomcat]

Looking at her hands trembling, Esgalwen remembered her grandfather and her father, and the blood that they had passed onto her - the blood of Númenor.

She looked up at the shadowed face and confidence began to quell the struggle within her, "I was there. I dove into those waters to save you, but I too was beset by the shades that killed you."

Esgalwen stood once more, but her voice still sounded thin to her own ears. The strength she had mustered did not carry into her words. "I served you and defended your realm, as I defended mine own. But duty has called me in all directions - duty to you, duty to home, and duty to love! I cannot serve all masters and not give up myself."

The shadowed face only replied, I called to you.

"AND I WAS THERE?! I gave up my home to serve. I gave up my lands to serve." Esgalwen felt the aches and scars on her person and thought of Arbogast and his wife, and their children. "I may have given up everything!"

She was sobbing now. The torment was real.

I may have given up everything! Her own words filled her mind and it seemed to snap her back to reality. Where was she? In a cave... a hole. A hole most foul.

She looked once more to her hands and looked at the thin black strands that were not her hair. Dark strands. Dark lies.

[tomcat]

Reading back through your guidelines, Paul, I think I messed things up with my rolls. I only meant to make a Wisdom roll to free her from her own self-insecurities. And by so doing, I rolled a which you said gives her an opportunity to make a Wisdom to break free... 

So bottom line, you translate what I have thus far and tell me how the rolls thus far fall - or ignore them if you want. I did not mean to screw up the tests.

[Eclecticon]

I'm in a generous mood, so let's assume that you rolled that on an Insight roll.  I'll even give you an AP for it, given how hard you worked to make the roll. 

[tomcat]

The shadowed face revealed nothing now but a leering grin, Oh, poor Esgalwen, daughter of Eradan, affluent and tended. You wear the garb of a warrior to prove your thin-blooded legacy still means something. But to who? You are no noble in these lands, just another lost soul wandering the lonely paths of Mirkwood. You feign strength but in your heart you are weak. You are lost among folk that are not your own.

The voice continued to tear at her will - words cleaving her weaknesses and insecurities. The shadow now a permanent part of her being from the corruption around her.

Esgalwen continued to sob even as she stared at the black strands. Her companions were gone. Only a gloomy light revealed the root and soil around her and the figure before her.

The Ranger rubbed her hands and the strands away. She shook her head to clear the sneering giggles that reverberated within the tunnel. "I am Esgalwen, daughter of Eradan." She repeated the shade's words and light kindled within her heart. "I am Esgalwen, daughter of Eradan. Daughter of Gondor. Heir to the strength and pride of lost Númenor." Each time the words came to her lips, strength grew. "I am Esgalwen. I am not lost. I am home among those I call friends and family."

The figure's words and laughter now stopped. The Dúnadan was now standing. "You try to break me with things you believe make me weak, but they are the very things that keep me strong. You shall not keep me from my task."

Esgalwen moved forward to leave the haunt behind her and to find her friends. Each step was made with care, so as to not wake that which slept within this tunnel... or at least to keep her from its thoughts.

[tomcat]

Stealth check roll made by you, Paul, along with the spent .