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Shaken, dejected, vexed and wrathful, the companions leave the spiders' hall and, by unspoken agreement, forge forth into the trees until the barest flicker of the wyrdlights that light that place can be seen.  All about them now is Mirkwood, lightless as the depths of a mine, or the bottom of the sea.

"We should move swiftly, lest they follow us," Esgalwen ventures.  Her heart is sore for the failure of the adventure, but no purpose will it serve for them to perish here, far from the lands of Men. 

Grimbeorn barks a single, bitter laugh. "They'll not do that.  We've done them a great service, like master minstrels come to sing for a ring-giver's court.  They'll be too busy bickering to think of us for some time." 

"Well then," Radagast says, taking the flask of Mirkwood cordial from his belt and freeing the stopper, "I suggest you divide what remains of my mixture.  We've a long way before us to get home, and weary feet to tread it!"   

Gratefully, they do so, for though only a few drops each remain, still this is enough to sooth joints aching with too many hard miles and too little sleep.  Esgalwen, ever on guard in this place of horrors, keeps a careful watch about them. 


:ooc: The last drops of Radagast's Mirkwood cordial let everyone recover 1-2 points of Fatigue:

Arbogast


Esgalwen


Grimbeorn


Hathcyn


Also, Esgalwen gets to make an Alertness roll (TN 19).  No reason - she just hasn't had a lot to do lately. 

:ooc: I will get a game post up tonight, Paul.

Yet even with all her Ranger's skill, the arrival of the great spider comes as a shock.  Though the size of a small house, Tauler moves through this, the kingdom of his kind, in complete silence and the first indication she has of his presence is the reflection of Wyrdlight from his unblinking eyes. 

"ARMS!" she cries, and there is a frantic scrabble to lay hands on weapons and shields, and to take firm footing upon the root-filled earth.  But rather than spring upon the Fellowship to bite and crush, Tauler stands still, his mouth-parts working to produce an approximation of the Westron tongue. 

"Peeeeeeeaaaaaaaaacccccceeeeeee." 

"What do you want of us, spider?" challenges Arbogast, not for a moment lowering axe or shield. 

"Yoooouuuuu aaaaaaaare ssssssssstroooooooong.  Yoooouuuu wiiiilllll helllllp meeeee kiiiiiiillllll mmmmmmy ssssssssiiiiiiiiissssssssssterrrrrrr."

 :ooc: Ah hell no!

Grimbeorn instantly conflicted by the presence of this particular spider and its request for parlay.  All he knows is he still shouldn't speak.

Hathcyn held the spear in his hand, the spirit of the predator within told him that if the Spider wished to strike it would have done so already.
Once again, the ignorance of the spider may have been the source of Hathcyn's courage. He hd not faced it once before.

"I recognize that had you wished to attack us you'd have done so."

The spear was by his side but not lowered.

"We do not need the death of your sister to accomplish our goal, only the release of our treasure. You have also shared little in the way of useful information to accomplish either of or goals. But do not mistake me great hunter of Mirkwood. I recognize your great strength and pride of place among your kin, but what have we to do with your desires, and what are we to gain?"

The hair on the back of the warriors neck stood on end, his palms sweated in the mirk and damp of the wood. But here where he knew his lord could not speak lest his axe swing he found the courage of his voice. In truth, he never have done a braver deed in his life then in speaking plainly to such an awesome foe.

Tauler, utterly motionless but for the twitching of his mouth-parts, answers at once.  "Iiiiiiiii knooooooow wherrrrrre sheeeeeeee ssssssslummmmberrrrrrssssssss.  Iiiiiiiii willlllllll ssssshoooooooooow yoooouuuu hoooooow tooooooo finnnnnnnnd herrrrrrrr laaaaaaiiiiiiirrrrrrr.

As his words flow forth, the enormous spider begins to sway upon his great legs, slowly at first but gradually faster as his excitement builds.  "Iiiiiiiii knooooooow thhhhhe pllllaaaaaaacccccccce aaasss Iiiiiiiii knooooooow aaaallllllll thhhhhe fffffforrrrrrressssssssst.  Buuuuuuut herrrrrrr ssssssorrrrcccccerrrrriiiiiieeeeeeeeesssssss prrrrooooooteeeeect herrrrrr aaaannnnnnd Iiiiiiiii cannnnnooooot ennnnterrrrrr.  Breeeeeaaaaaak herrrrr warrrrrdsssss, orrrrr draaaaaw herrrrr oooouuuut, aaannnnnnd Iiiiiiiii willll ssssssssslllllllaaaaaaaaaaaay herrrrr!" 

The patience and calm of Mirkwood's greatest hunter reclaiming him, he stills once more, then ever so slowly leans his body backward until he nearly vanishes from view in the shadows.  "Herrrrr treeeaaassssssssuuurrrrresssss yoooouuuu maaaaay keeeeeeep.  Iiiiiiiii haaaaaave nooooo innnnnterrrrressssst iiiiin themmmmm.  Ooooonnnnnnly thhhhhe taaaaassssste offff herrrrr lllliiiiiiiiiffffffffe, aaaannnnnnd thiiiissssss wooooouuuuuld beeeeee aaaa vvvviiiiiictorrrrryyyy beeeyyyonnnnnnd priiiiiccccccce." 

 :ooc: Yep, this is gonna be good.

A lengthy and uncomfortable silence follows Tauler's words, as each one waits for another to be the one to reply.  In the end, it is Arbogast who speaks first.  "Very well, spider.  We accept your bargain."  His tone is not that of the bold adventurer, treating with dark things after impressing them with force of arms, but instead that of a man who knows that he is giving himself over to the furtherance of another's designs, and knows as well that ill fortune will follow from his choice.  Still, neither does his gaze waver or his axe lower as he finishes "Now show us the way."

"Goooooood.  Follllllllooooooooow."  Without looking to see whether they do, he retreats, almost vanishing completely before Radagast can begin his mumbling spell and the russet light begins to grow about him once again.  With hurried steps, they follow the great spider over root and through narrow gaps between the trunks, going perhaps a half-mile before their monstrous guide abruptly stops and, reaching forth with a cruelly-barbed forelimb, separates one particular strand of web from those near it. 

At once dark and gleaming, like silver left to tarnish in some places and kept bright in others, the thread winds through the lower boughs until it vanishes from the light.  The companions share glances, but none speak, for what is there to say?  What other choice have they been granted? 

"Follllllllooooooooow," Tauler rasps again.  "Whhhhhennnnnn herrrrrrrrr ssssssorrrrrrccccerrrrrrriesssssssss doooo nooooooot prrrrrroooooooteeeect herrrrr, Iiiiiiiii wiiiiilllllllllll beeeeeee waaaiiiitiiiinnnnnng." 

Then he is gone, disappearing like a mountain's shadow into the deeper darkness of Mirkwood, and Arbogast begins tracing the path of the dark thread between the trees. 


:ooc: Right – there's enough miles between where you are and Tylquin's lair that we're going to do this as a miniature journey.  In view of the fact that your progress is going to depend on how well you can follow the path of the dark thread, though, the roll for events will depend on Arbogast's Explore roll (TN 16):

:ooc: Is it just me, or are we rolling a lot of :g:-s this time around?  I've been waiting to spring a good Revelation episode on you all, and it's just not happening! 

In any case, that result is good enough to bring you to Tylquin's lair without any further incident (or Fatigue gain, natch).  Further story to follow.

Though the way is at least as hard as it was coming to the Parliament of Spiders, Arbogast drives the companions forward.  Strange is his manner, and quite unlike his typical calm patience, for he is listless as he ventures beyond Radagast's light each time an obstacle is reached that prevents their following the dark thread, and heedless of the dangers that might await him.  Yet he cannot rest when the company halts, his gaze ever returning to the deranged tangle of spider threads in the trees above, his eye picking out that which shows the way to their goal. 

Finally, the thread comes to an end, anchored in a stand of young trees that cluster together at the edge of what could hardly be called a clearing, for even here the trees of Mirkwood grow high and close, but perhaps a thinning such that some of the weak light of a setting Autumn sun filters through the leaves.  Before them, yawning dark from a rubble-strewn rise near the top of a hill, is a hole from which cold and shadow seem to pour fourth like a liquid to drown hopes and smother any brightness in the souls of mortals. 

Here, at last, is the lair of the Weaver. 

:ooc: Here be space for reactions, reflections etc.  I should get a new thread started tomorrow.

Hathcyn looked at the opening and knew that they were soon to enter.

"Wizard, do you know the manner in which the River Daughter has been ensnared? Do we face the prospect of having to face her in this cave as well? A shame we did not bring the Halfling's gem....but I am sure it is serving a better purpose in the keeping of the Tarn."

:ooc: I am still outta town, guys. Paul if you could cover me until Saturday, I would appreciate it.

"Are we even sure the beast is within?  Not to mention how would we be able to defeat any sorceries about it such that the other is able to help?" grunted Grimbeorn.

"Spiders come when they have prey in the snare, I think we are the bait. Instead of our usual cunning and resourceful plans, what if we just blunder into this one, run out screaming and see what happens?"

Hathcyn looked at the others and shrugged his shoulders after he spoke.

"Be not hasty!" the Brown Wizard cautions.  "Tauler said that she slumbers, and I do not doubt that she slumbers here, in the place that she has made her lair for centuries unknown even to me, and wound about with dark spells for her protection and the confusion of her enemies with false seemings.  Trust nothing that you see within!" 

"All very well to say," comes Esgalwen's rejoinder, "but how then are we to find what we came here for?" 

"For years, I have studied her ways, seeking out and studying her webs in the deep and lone places of the forest, and this I have learned: no matter their form, her deceptions are a spider's, seeking to draw you ever deeper until you have trapped yourself beyond hope of escape.  But unlike most, you know that you are entering her snares, and therefore might escape them." 

He grins, half in hope, half in desperation.  "Escape the snare, and you may step beyond it, to her very dwelling-place.  There, the meaning of things will be plain.  The Weaver, like all her kind, will delight in the suffering of her prey, and I do not think that the river-maiden's likeness will be concealed." 

With that, he steps forward, his russet light pushing back the darkness of the cave ever so slightly.  Like a loyal hound, Arbogast follows wordless at his heels.

Grimbeorn grumbles at the cryptic words of the Wizard.  This is beyond his ken and he knows it.  Bowing to his mastery or maybe just his hope, he continues on all the more watchful but also staying attuned beyond just the environment that trick his eyes and senses.

Following his kinsman and lord, Hathcyn ducks his head and enters the cave wherein Tylquin makes her lair.  Esgalwen, for the moment alone outside the threshold, gives a last glance around, watching the indistinct boundary where the growth of trees thickens for any sign of Tauler's presence.  Has he kept his part of the bargain, she wonders, or have we been betrayed and sent to our deaths for his amusement?  Deep within, the gnawing, ever-present thought gnaws harder: would they suffer so if I didn't go with them?  Perhaps I ought to stay here... to keep a watch on the way they must retreat...

But she blinks it away and is once again the stern-faced daughter of Gondor.  Unsheathing Nimronyn, she follows, last but hardly least of the company, into the darkness. 


:ooc: Righto - some game admin: it'll surprise you not at all to learn that this place is blighted as all fuckety-fuck, so some Corruption rolls (TN 18) are called for:

Arbogast


Esgalwen


Grimbeorn


Hathcyn

:ooc: Esgalwen and Grimbeorn both gain two temporary Shadow points.  :csu: