Land of Darkness RPG

[Bêthberry]

Darash snorted the foul air out of her nostrils as the blinding cloud was lifted, to show the malevolent creatures dangling in front of them. Then she watched as everyone seemed to disperse, the dwarf to run madly into the midst of the beasts, to be pulled away by one of the elves. Lyshka at her side swung a blade into a creature and its black blook spewed forth. Raeis was shaking Jordo, trying to get him to move.

"Anansi si-lay-na, si-lay-na-bom," Darash spoke aloud, in defiance of the trickster god she knew from her people's tales. She looked quickly around and then called out, "Ray--iss, Lysskah, Grrash, come, see, heylph." Then, without waiting for them to reply, she acted, hoping they would understand what she was doing.

With one hand, she grabbed Grash's arm, pulling his torch closer to her. Then she opened one of the dried gourds she had taken from the orcs, showing a yellowish clumps of soft rock.

"Surverah, surverah," she said, and held her nose while pointing to the dangling creatures who were gaining on them.

Then Darash pointed to her sword and knife and to the torch and to the rocks, while pulling the cloth orc tunic she wore underneath the leather jerkin. She began to rip it into pieces, then wrapped one about her face, covering her nose and mouth. She gave strips to Lyshka, and Grash, two to Raeis.

"Fashtah, fashtah," she insisted, taking the second one from Raeis and tying it around Jordo's mouth. Lyshka began to understand what Darash wanted, and began tearing more cloths for face masks and handing them out.

Once Darash had her mask in place, she stuck a lump of the soft yellow surverah on the sword Raeis had given her. She held the rock close to Grash's torch and suddenly the rock flared, emitting a terrible stench. Then Darash walked forth into the creatures, swinging the flaming sword in their faces, twirling the smoke around them. As she did so, the creatures began to spasm, twitching, and then slowly they rocked back and forth on their strands, hanging dead. As Darsh moved forward, she held one hand over her face, turned away from the flaming sword, to warn the others that the smoke could poison them also.

Lysha and Raeis, their faces covered, understood what to do. They grabbed more of the yellow sulverah from Darash's gourd, impaled it on their weapons, and flamed them next to Grash's torch. Slowly they, too, moved out among the clicking, deadly creatures.

[Sarin Mithrilanger]

Zuromor had stared at Raeis as she charged the enemy and still did so as she repelled them with the toxic gas. She was indeed an amazing woman. As he watched her he again felt his heart grow light and he began to daze away into strange thoughts. Soon he found himself helping them slay the other spiders. He positioned himself next to Raeis and stared at her every chance he recieved. SHe must have seen him for she shot him a confused glance and said, "What is it!"
"Oh it's nothing......I just ...uh thought I saw one behind you that's all...*ahem*. Excuse me." Zuromor walked away all together embarrased and cursed himself for being so stupid.

Zuromor kept himself busy by searching for more spiders so that he could think of things to say to Raeis. He didn't know why he wanted to but he did so all the same. As he walked about he heard a familiar clacking sound. He looked up and for a blink second he could have sworn he saw something very large moving about. But as it was so dark and no one was being heavily attacked anymore he though nothing of it. After all that supposed monster probably wouldn't want to fight us now....right?

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

I hate spiders, I hate spiders, I hate spiders…Jeren repeated the words to himself, his dark eyes wide as the horrendous creatures crawled towards the group. The fear in his heart was written upon his face, but none would voice it, least of all Jeren himself. Everyone was afraid. Jeren did not fear much in the world, and perhaps it was not even fear that the Southron felt for the creeping, spindly-legged things. Perhaps Jeren just found immense disgust in them, driving him to irrational distaste. They are smaller than I, they are smaller…they are probably more afraid of me than I am of them.

Looking at the numerous, vicious creatures advancing on the former prisoners, Jeren began to doubt his previous sentiments. The Southron tried not to show his distaste and disgust for the spindly creatures, and became ever thankful for the dim lighting in the tunnel. He did not want anyone to know his weaknesses.

Several spiders made their way towards Jeren, who began to kick at the things without any other rational thought. He just wanted them off of his feet and away from his legs! He saw pieces of cloth being passed about, and Jeren's brows furrowed in befuddled confusion. He tore a bit of his own fraying tunic off and used it like the others had...as a mask of some sort. Jeren looked over someone's shoulder into the torchlight to see if he could tell what the woman Darash would do. He could not quite tell who stood before him, not from his or her back.

Still, Jeren was not blind to the spider creeping ever towards the person's calves. It was a hairy one, and Jeren's stomach squirmed to see it creeping quickly along the tunnel floor towards the person in front of him. The Southron wanted to bolt, but there was nowhere to go. Drawing his sword, Jeren began to hack skittishly at the spider that crawled towards the leg of the other former prisoner. Jeren's heart jumped when he saw the black blood seeping out and the eight legs twitching placidly.

Jeren looked up from the dead creature just in time to see Darash shove her sword, tipped in some yellow rock, into Grash's torch flame.

[Novnarwen]

Rhând

He didn't understand what was happening. From the little crack in the tunnel wall, where he had stood seconds ago, being very near to ending the male elf's miserable life, he hadn't paid attention to what some of the other members of the company were doing. As the creatures had found him in the crack, he realised he would have to run for it, but then something odd had happened. Without hesitating, he had run, but stopped as soon as he was halfway towards the women and Grash. The creatures had suddenly stopped in mid air, twitching. Rhând coughed as a cloud of smoke passed him, and he came to realise that the others had covered their mouths. Being paralyzed with shock, he stood calmly watching what was happening.

"Cover," the prisoner said pointing at his cloth which covered his nose and mouth, "with cloth!" Grash continued. When hearing those words, the Southron finally managed to tear himself away from the twitching creatures going towards the four of them. He was handed a cloth, which he bound hurriedly to his face. He turned around, and paced back and forth, leaving the four; the three women and Grash, alone. Greatly confused about how the situation had developed - from almost dying in the crack, to being able to walk amongst the creatures as if they were harmless - Rhând looked questioningly at Grash. But, as expected, the man didn't return his gaze.

Seeing the women, he noticed something. What were they doing? Not being able to see too clearly, due to the clouds of smoke, he only spotted the women taking something in their hands. He took a step closer, being immensely curious about their doings. Perhaps it had something to do with the creatures’ odd behaviour and the cloths each of the prisoners wore. He frowned, feeling a bit annoyed by the cloth itching. Yes, they were certainly doing something. It had to be them, who had caused the creatures to drop dead and the smoke to appear. Yes, the women were polluting the air! Ha! Brilliant! With a smirk, no one could see, he saw them touching something. The colour of yellow became clear through the dim light from Grash's torch, and Rhând realised that he wasn't as far from the women as he had thought. If they were polluting the air with this yellow looking thing, these women were smarter than he had first expected. However, he could use this. This yellow surverah, as he heard them call it, was deadly; at least to the creatures. Surely, it was quite dangerous for them as well. Why else wear these silly masks?

It might not too dangerous for them now, but it will when I get my hands on it. Satisfied by the discovery of a new weapon, he approached them.

One thing bothered him about his sudden approach. It would seem suspicious of him to mix, purposely, with the women since they had this newly discovered weapon. Instead, he looked at them and smiled, pointed at himself and down the tunnel. With another grin, he stalked off in the other direction. If I find a way out of here, I may gain some friendships. If I find nothing, I might be able to cause panics, and then I will make my move. He grabbed his sword again, drawing it slowly out of the sheath. Silently, he walked on. It was darker now, as he didn't have a torch to light up the way. He held his left hand high, placing it on the wall, feeling his way forwards.

He felt a draught. It felt like a wind compared to completely still air in the tunnel. "A way out," Rhând, muttered to himself, still quiet and careful.

For each step, he felt the draught getting stronger and stronger. Soon, a dim light could be seen in what seemed like an end to the tunnel. He ran quickly, but stopped instantly as he discovered a cobweb. He lifted valiantly his sword, and with great effort, he hit it with great power. "Oh!" The Southron let out a sigh, as he fell to the cold ground. "The spider .. It is really true." Feeling quite miserable, he got hurriedly to his feet. He had to find the others, let them know about this, and cause panic.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The foul and acrid smoke of his flaming brand made Grash choke and splutter, but doggedly he followed Darash about the tunnel, attempting to drive off the last of the creatures. All about them lay the lifeless forms of the monsters, some crushed by stone and sword, some twitching out the last of their vermin existence amongst the ooze of their fallen mates. A stench beyond bearing came from the corpses mingling with the reek of the company’s torches to the point where they were near choking despite the rags that they wore about their mouths. Gasping for words, Grash took hold of Darash’s hand. “Come, come,” he said. “Monsters gone, must go, go now.” The woman wheeled upon him, pulling her hand from his grasp. She looked upon him with such hauteur that had Grash been anything more than a slave he might have taken offence. But as used as he was to a life of submission, he could only bow his head before her and avert his eyes.

One of the Dwarves stood forward. He was bloodied and covered with grime and dirt from his labours, but there was a fire in his eye that Grash had not seen before. He recognized the Dwarf as the maniacal one that had charged the beasts as though he cared nothing for his life. Brór spoke thickly through the smoke. “Which way do we go?” he demanded. “Back the way we came to the monster and her trap, or onward into the depths of these tunnels and we know not where?”

It was the Elf woman who spoke next. “We cannot go far, or quickly. There are some who are wounded.” She pointed to where the Man Jordo, more a boy really, lay with his back against the wall of the tunnel. Grash was surprised to hear her speak in such a tone of assurance. He looked at her to ask if the boy could be carried, but she dropped her gaze away from his eyes, seeming to falter before him even as she seemed ready to grow in strength. Both Morgoroth and Zuromor stepped forward in support of the Elf maiden, but it was Zuromor who spoke first. “The Lady is right,” he said. “We must not task the weaker members of the party.” Morgoroth almost looked surprised to have been cut off by the Man, but with his impassive and distant Elvish air it was hard to tell what was going on within the depths of those ageless eyes.

A silence fell upon the company as they looked about from one to the other. Some few looked to Grash, but they were far from the majority. “I believe that the decision has been made for us,” a voice said from the shadows. They turned and saw Aldor emerging from the darkness of the tunnel lying in the direction from which they had fled. “I have scouted up a bit and found another web blocking our escape that way.”

“Can it be cut?” demanded the fierce Dwarf, Dwali.

“I think not.”

“No,” Morgoroth’s voice came into the darkness, “not by any weapons that we here possess. The malice of she who wove them is greater than steel and iron.”

“Then there’s only one way to go,” concluded Aldor, who then looked at Grash and said “We will follow.”

Grash was a bit surprised by this, but as the others seemed to accept once more his leadership he saw no need to counter Aldor’s assumption. Seizing his fast dwindling torch in one hand he turned and trudged down the tunnel. Behind him, Morgoroth lifted the boy Jordo in his arms, while Dwali and Dorim between them supported Brór who seemed to have become a bit unsteady on his feet.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Her rage at the failure of her spawn to bring down the meat was boundless, and she hissed and spat to herself the most venomous curses she knew. Scuttling through the dark fissures and cracks, her great limbs creaking and her mighty body folding and squishing to conform to every jagged edge of rock, she moved through the eternal night of her realm to where she would spring her final trap. She had not thought that the entire company would fall in the tunnel, but she had thought that at least a few of them would be overcome or weakened, making her assault less risky. Be that as it may, she would come upon them as they were, for she needed meat.

A stab of white pain lanced up through her abdomen as the open wound on her underside caught the wall, and she let out a screech of surprised agony, so unused was she still to the sensation of pain. Hatred of all that lived and breathed flooded her mind so completely that everything else was gone. She would crush the meat with sting and fang and then feast upon their living flesh. Great gobs of spittle fell from her mouth and stained the rock beneath her.

She came to the small crack in the roof of the mighty cavern and squeezed her great bulk through it. Below her, the prey entered from the tunnel. She watched as they tried to take in the expanse of the cavern, but their pitiful eyes could not pierce her darkness sufficiently to see. They felt about the walls, finding her webs blocking every tunnel and crevice, denying all means of escape. She felt their fear rise to a fever pitch as they sensed her presence, and like small, terrified animals they grouped together in the middle of the room, seeking shelter and comfort in the face of their horror.

The time had come. Her hunger was so great that it could no longer be denied. Dropping quickly from the roof of the cavern, she moved toward the meat, her many eyes glinting in the dark with her ancient hatred and lust…

[Bêthberry]

Darash was stunned by the man's response. A chilling memory of unwanted touch had frozen her arm when he had grabbed her hand in the near-dark mirk of the tunnel and she had reacted instinctively with disdain and repudiation and disgust. Yet he had then bowed his head before her and withdrew. She felt warmth pulse back into her arm, the mended join in her bone throbbing as her skin and muscles thawed, the frigid, insensate reaction dissipating bit by bit. Once again Grash had surprised her. His unexpected response was completely at odds with her experience of these northern jackals. Instead of beating or taunting her, he had shown her deference. Yet he was their leopard, striking out ahead of the vultures for fresh possibility of freedom. But she had little time to reflect more upon the matter, for others were coming forth, needing help. The pigmy man called Brór demanded movement while the elf woman cautioned the need for help.

Then Lyshkya gently prodded Darash's side and nodded back towards the gourd with the small lumps of suverah. Darash looked over in time to see the smooth Gondorian called Aldor put his hand into the gourd and withdraw some. Instantly, she was alerted to something odd, for they no longer had need for the smoking stones to repell the vermin and he did not light it. Instead, he pocketed it and moved off, towards the sticky, sweating walls of the cavern. Darash looked around to advise Grash, but he was off talking with another of the male prisoners. She looked back at Lyshkya and shrugged. They both decided to watch this man.. Then she blew out the smoking cinders at the end of her sword and rolled the suverah in the dirt, ensuring it was dead, before she replaced it in the gourd, which she packed away with her bags. She was hungry but the smoke in the air was stunting her desire to eat, so she did not touch the other bags she had picked up in the cellar. And she was sweating in the heat of the underground rock and the stiff leather of her orc jerkin was sticking to her body.

The she and Lyshkya had shouldered their swords and marched forward with Grash. Once in the large cavern, their footsteps bounced off the rock and thudded off the taunt webbing which hemmed them in. This time, they were a group, the slower ones catching up with the scouts. But the sweat of their previous fear had barely dried when a second wave of terror came creeping upon their minds. Then, suddenly, a huge dark stench broke away from the cavern's ceiling and landed near them, nauseating them. Many eyes glinted at them in the darkness

[Novnarwen]

“I have scouted up a bit and found another web blocking our escape that way.”

This statement didn't get the reactions Rhând had pended on. He had expected that some would panic, even go and check it for themselves. Now, they made ready to go the other way, apparently the only way, out of the tunnel.

He saw the women stepping away from the gourd. Were they leaving it behind? The others were ready to go. He on the other hand, was more eager to get his hands on some of that suverah. What an advantage he would have if he managed to get a hold of it? It was tempting. He would be able to knock all of them out; meanwhile he went to get help from the outside to bring them back to Him. He grinned under the cloth covering his mouth. Looking around for someone watching, thinking they were all too busy trudging down the tunnel, he waited for an oppertunity to make his move. With his eyes, he followed them closely. First went Morgoroth, who seemed to be bothered lifting the silly and incompetent boy, Jordo, meanwhile the dwarves went after. He saw them walking after the torch Grash bore. Hesitating for one second, thinking about what the consequences would be if anybody spotted him, he realised at last how important this would be for the rest of the journey.

Tip-toeing, ever looking over his shoulder to see if somebody had stopped and was looking at him now, he grabbed the cloth covering his mouth and ripped it. Satisfied with the result, he bound one of the parts on his face again covering his airways. Looking at the other part of the cloth, he grabbed some of the suverah from the gourd and laid it in the cloth. He turned around. The women! They looked his way. As they noticed Rhând looking at them, they turned quickly around and walked on. Had they seen him? He wondered nervously, taking the cloth with the sulverah and hiding it in his boot. Shaking with anxiety, he ran as fast as he could after the others. If the women had spotted him, he would have to take care of them. Women weren't useful to Him anyway.