Land of Darkness RPG

[Amanaduial the archer]

Her mouth and nose still covered with cloth and her eyes narrowed against the smoke, Raeis supposed she probably looked like one of the Haradrim, and felt a bitter smile twist her mouth. How strange - a Southron with fair skin and pointed ears! And the Light, if any still remains within me...

She caught the man on her left, Zurumor, looking at her and turned her head to return his gaze with her good right eye, eyebrows raised questioningly. He looked away immediately, looking down at the ground then up at the ceiling, as if anything was more interesting than the elf. Underneath the dark cloth covering her mouth, Raeis felt her mouth twist into that bitter smile again. Was she really so hideous that he couldn't look at her? She would have anything other than pity. Yet something of her face certainly seemed to fascinate him - a freakshow then, like a stunted pigmy, dancing for bronze coins and the amusement of others in some sleazy tavern...

The thought made her angry and she walked faster, moving out of step with the man as she looked away from him, brushing her short, scruffily cropped hair behind one ear, covering the side of her face with her hand. But as she did so, her foot stubbed against a crack in the ground - a deep welt in the dirt, an irregularity that made her stumble. Instantly, the man was at her side again, catching her arm as she staggered and steadying her. She looked up sharply at him, her eyes fierce as she glared at him...but in his green eyes, she saw nothing of pity or arrogance - only kindness and...was that fear? No, not fear, but something close - as if a wild animal caught in a sudden light, or a small child amazed by the twinkling of a jewel or bauble...Awe?

Awe...in the back of her mind, a nasty voice laughed as soon as Raeis thought of the word. Awe? You imagine he looks at you in awe, ugly elf? Awe, awe, awe...like the cawing of the carrion crows. Ugly elf, awe leads to awful - far more appropriate...

Raeis stood up straight, twitching her head slightly as if to discreetly dislodge the voices, knock them off-balance. Zurumor still had hold of her arm, and she stayed completely still, watching his hand until he noticed and removed it slowly. "Apologies, Lady - I...I was...w-watch your step," he finished awkwardly, looking away again. Raeis continued to regard him steadily, her eyes raising to his face, but this time he didn't look away.

"Thank you." Her voice was soft, and still harsh from abuse and disuse, but from the man's look of surprise, it was as if the Valar themselves had come down and spoken to him. Do Men even know of the Valar? Raeis found herself idly wondering and made a note that maybe she would ask this man, Zurumor.

Feeling eyes on her, she glanced to the side and saw Morgoroth. He looked away instantly, so quickly that Raeis was not sure she had not imagined his gaze, but at the same time she knew she was right. The male elf was a strange, silent being - quite like herself, she supposed. But was she as intimidating? - all the Men avoided the male elf, casting fearful glances at him...and at Raeis, she now realised. Was she really intimidating. I hope so, came the venemous reply of her tortured mind and she smiled as they turned into a massive cavern. But even as she did so, she heard a screech - a terrible sound of pain and shock, a noise that seemed to rip through the eardrums like the air itself was tearing. The others looked around, back the way they had come, for the tunnel made sound seem to come from no direction at all and all directions at once, but Raeis didn't follow them, staring forward the way they were going into the cavern that lay in front of them, a space so vast that it seemed to the eyes of those who had spent years within a few square feet, that the whole of Minas Tirith could fit inside it. The wind of the sudden movement of something vast ahead ruffled her hair, whipping it around her face and the others turned also, stepping back a few steps unsurely, hands on their blades, moving into a small group in the centre Zurumor glanced at Raeis as if she would know what was happening - although she knew that he knew as well as she did what had stirred.

"She has found us," she whispered simply, her eyes not moving.

As if in recognition, a creeping, screeking noise, like the laughing of a nightmare sounded surreptitiously from above...and the whole ceiling seemed to dislodge itself and scuttle towards them. Raeis seemed paralysed, unable to move...until the huge shape dropped from above as if it would land on them.

Released from her coma, the female elf screamed, yelling almost incoherently at the others to run. Grabbing hold of one of Zurumor's hands, she did exactly that, sprinting without thought back the way they had come as the nightmare beast landed - anything to get away from those myriad evil eyes and that terrible skreeking laughter, like the sound of every nightmare she had ever had...

[CaptainofDespair]

Whispers, whispers in the dark. A multitude of voices had sprung up in the shadowy pass of the Tunnel. Yet, only one heard the voices, the Dark Elf. As he made his light, graceful steps through the corridor, following the torchlight of Grash, he could feel the air brimming with these voices, the thoughts and words of the long dead, who now stood an unseen, ghostly guard within Shelob’s domain. They hailed from a time that had long passed, yet they spoke of the present, and of Her. The Elf stopped his procession, and he listened intently, hoping for some signal, even a dire omen, of what was to come. But the voices had stopped their whispering within the shadows, and blended into a horrid, piercing scream, one of pain, and of death. It was known then, that she was now near, and that Death’s Hand had come to claim its victims.

The horrid spidery child, last of Ungoliant, hid in the craggy ceiling of the Tunnel, peering down upon her victims. They moved slowly, through heavy gloom that she had carefully woven through her many centuries of inflicting a painless pain, and a nameless fear. Yet, she was not whole this day, for she was injured, and her eyes were flooded now and then with memorial pain, one in which she had lost her prey, and had been wounded in her hunt. Her bloated body slowly contracted, and expanded, squirming to fit the ceiling from which she hung. And now, she was prepared to strike, to finish the game that these intruders had started. She would be their end, and the songs of their lives, and the torment that she would inflict upon them, would remain with her forever, an intangible, yet amusing companion. And she would paint a gruesome motif of their blood upon the walls that adorned her inner chamber, a bitter reminder of what can happen to those who stumble upon her world.

As the company moved through the shadow-veiled pass, they were unaware she was silently waiting. And now, she sprung her trap, and she leapt down from the ceiling, and her game was now fearful. They noticed her not initially, but when they gazed upon her, they fled. Now began the last leg of the amusing game she had bred in her darkest, most inner sanctum of her mind. She would let them flee again, but this time, there would be no escape, and no weapons strong enough to wound her, as had been done by that tiniest of prey.

The Elf had been aware of her presence for sometime, as the voices had gathered about him, screaming and hissing their dreadful, sinister omen. And unlike the others, he was prepared. He had readied himself for her coming, and had begun weaving a plot of his own. And as the others fled around him, he strode quietly amid the chaos and disruption that had overtaken the rest of his company. He no longer feared death, but welcomed it, for he was dishonored, and now sought to regain what was lost to him. And so he calmly waited for Her to come to him, and then he would spring a trap of his own upon Her. It would be one so wicked and vile, that even She would not lay claw or jaw upon him. But still, he needed time to implement this plan, for his calculating nature required time for such a grand scheme. And so he withdrew, as the others were, but unlike them, he sought not the safety of company, but a distraction, one that would keep him alive until the time was right.

[Sarin Mithrilanger]

Raeis was amazing to Zuromor. So hard and cold yet brave, fiery, and enthralling. As they all walked along Zuromor kept thinking of the feeling of her skin. Even after all she had been through, she was still beautiful. But further on they all heard a gut-wretching scream. Raeis openly stated the obvious. She was upon them. Zuromor looked at her for assurance, but only saw what he had already known. He drew his blades and waited. But as the great mass looked upon them Raeis screamed and dragged Zuromor off with her. If the situation were different he would be extatic. He would defend her at all costs!

Onward they ran and it seemed an eternity, but twas in vain. They ran straight into a massive web. Raeis struggled to free herself as did Zuromor. It seemed as though their end was near. Looking deep into her eyes and courage, love, and strength flowed through him. The thought of such a fair creature being killed at the foul thing's feet......no he could not allow it. He pulled and twisted with all his new-found might and he suddenly fell hard to the ground. He leapt to his feet and together Raeis was freed. They both spun around and all that could be seen was Grash's light.....and a multitude of eyes twinkling as diamonds in the rough, directly in front of them.

[Amanaduial the archer]

There was no way out: the way they had come was blocked, and now Raeis realised it was not mere coincidence. The webs that blocked their way down the tunnel glistened delicately, the strands thick and generous, oozing gently and slowly like thick honey, tantalising to the elf's hungry mind and beautiful to her good eye - diamonds and jewels of every colour seemed to glisten in the dim light from where they had entered the tunnel, the light twisting and refracting inside the web prettily. So beautiful they were almost ugly.

As she stared at the webs, holding out a hand towards them tentatively but not touching them, a shiver ran through her as she realised how calculated it had been.

The spider is no mere animal or insect... She has intelligence on her side.
Aye, so do we.
We? What, a scattered group who are at daggers with each other already. They would not stop at killing each other - how do you think they can rally to kill the spider?
We can form allegiance.
An allegiance?! An allegiance, ugly elf, is that what you say? And when have dwarves and elves ever come together succesfully? And as for the men...

Raeis shook her head violently to dislodge the voice that she fought with inside her fractured mind. Once it had been her companion, her friend even - some company to stop her from going insane, a prescence that had arrived suddenly one day after weeks of loneliness near death, uncaring. It had saved her, and she had cultivated it's prescence. But now...she scowled, annoyed. It had become irritable and nasty in the past few days, especially since the escape. It didn't like having her free to talk to others - it was jealous. But why should she reassure it? She had others now, she didn't need some snappy voice in her mind, telling her what to do, insulting her...

Others, ugly elf? The voice was always there, lurking at the edge of her thoughts. Others to talk to, is that what you think? Others like the man beside you, you mean? You see how he sneaks looks at you. He thinks you awful, remember, ugly elf? You thought so yourself. Think he can replace me, abandon me for him?! He is just a Man.

Raeis scowled fiercely and shook her head again a few more times, turning around, refusing to answer the voice. It had a way of making utterly impregnable arguements - why, she even remembered thinking he had thought her awful. No, wait, that wasn't what she had thought...the elf strained her mind to recall it exactly, but failed.

"Lady?" The little, scared voice from her left provoked a glare from her destroyed eye and she saw the fragmented view of the man again. He is watching me again! Again! Has he no shame that he shows his pity and disdain so obviously! The thought upset her, although she wasn't sure why - she didn't want all this company so suddenly, all these people confusing her and turning her voice against her...

"Raeis, what about the....the Spider?" he asked, coming around to her front so that she could see him more clearly through her good eye. She looked at him in confusion for a moment, trying to work out what he was saying, before her good eye widened as she remembered. The spider...of course...she turned around quickly as a scream rent the air and she realised that she and Zurumor were alone at the end of the tunnel: the others were all in danger back there. A sudden flash reel of their faces ran through her mind and appealed to something more humane inside her, a part of her that she thought had iced over, and the tenderness that lay beneath the ice had died within her years ago when the world had turned it's back on her. But it was still there, still alive, and although she had not been with them long, the elf realised she knew these people too well - maybe they weren't much, this ragged group of weakened creatures from the depths of Mordor from every corner of Middle Earth, but they were all she had. The elf's jaw suddenly clenched fiercely in determination. They were all she had, and this time, no one would take what she had from her.

Turning to Zurumor, she withdrew her sword from where she had jammed it in the ragged piece of cloth that sufficed as a belt and gave him an unsure, fierce smile. The man seemed relieved she had returned from the vagueness that had held her and drew his own long knife - the knife she had given him. Nodding to him, she turned back down the tunnel and began to run back to hell.

As they came to the entrance of the cave, the elf dropped suddenly to a crouch against the wall, and behind her Zurumor did the same, so that they were merely a bulge in the wall, two ragged, lump-like shapes in the pitch black - boulders, for all means and purposes. As their smell would hopefully be masked by the others, it was as good a disguise as any in this place. But they were not the only ones doing it: on the other side of the tunnel, Raeis saw another two shapes crouched, noticing them only by the fact that one was shuddering, shaking silently in fear. But the other was utterly still and Raeis realised that it had noticed her as soon as she had it - their eyes met, and Raeis realised that it was the copper skinned woman, Darash. The woman was not like any Raeis had ever seen before, even in her captivity, but she instantly commanded respect: every inch a warrior, despite the injuries she bore, especially on her arms. Somehow they only served to make her more magnificent. What Raeis did not realise was that her view of Darash was probably similar to what the other Men had felt when they had seen her and Morgoroth: an awe and wonder at the unknown. But unlike the Men, Raeis felt no fear towards this Woman.

In a smooth movement, the woman unsheathed her sword with barely a sound, her black eyes still locked with Raeis's gold flecked blue ones. Raeis raised her sword as the woman did the same, and touched the point lightly to her forehead. The woman did the same, and Raeis felt something intangible formed between them.

"Are you ready?" she whispered to Zurumor. The man nodded, and as he did so, Raeis felt him take a deep breath, feeling the air whisper along her sparsely clad back, so close was he. She paused for a second, enjoying the moment of closeness to another being, feeling that finally she was not alone.

But you will be if the spider gets them, ugly elf, the sulky voice in her mind reminded her and she jolted back to the present.

"After three...." Holding up three fingers so that Darash would hopefully be able to see them, she held the woman's gaze again and tucked them down one after another. One...two...three!

Throwing herself to her feet and into a run, Zurumor, Darash and Lyshka doing the same at the exact same instant, Raeis gave a fierce yell and threw herself at the spider's side. As she got close, it turned it's huge head and Raeis saw the glitter of the multitude of beautiful eyes, shining with fierce ugliness and, without a thought, stabbed her sword with all her might towards those eyes...

[CaptainofDespair]

Only a dark mind as the Elf had could contrive such a malicious, and calculatingly sinister plan as he had. Wandering aside the slick, inescapable walls of the passage, he went unnoticed, as he had hoped. To an eye untrained in the ways of the Elves, one would have thought he was brooding over how to die, but this was not so. Deep within the cold crags of his mind, the Immortal conceived the final strands of his plan. But he was not alone to his thoughts, for those that were now dead spoke to him. They whispered faults of the past, those they had committed in their defense, and those they had seen fail. Yet, mere words were not enough for he who is ageless, and the ghosts that now haunted his mind began to project visions, visions of death, into his eyes. He saw not the omens of a death soon to come, but that of a most magnificent way of escape. The Elf smiled, his face contorted to a wry, evil smile. He snickered in the darkness, and he secretly laughed at his plan, as it began to unfold in his mind.

Soon, he began to murmur his dark, insidious plans to himself, but they were not so audible that any who stumbled upon him would here his near silent words that fell from his lips as if a spring had arisen upon his lips. “She will meet her end by her own devices,” the Elf muttered as he strolled along the walls which now appeared as if they had some ancient gloss painted upon them. But now, there came a reply to his rambling. “Yes, she shall, and we will be the guide.” Morgoroth was confounded, for now those that had spoken to him from their graves within the Tunnel, now responded to his plan. “She is intelligent, but she has one weakness she cannot hide, her Pride,” The voices began to hiss as they muttered this to the Elf. “Her pride will be her fall, it will,” muttered one voice. And soon another spoke up, uttering its dire words in a cold, raspy voice. “Aye, it will, and we will watch, and laugh at her faults and failures. And soon, she shall join us, and no longer be the Mistress of the Tunnel.” Upon these words, the voices began to laugh in unison, a dark, cold laugh, one weathered by time, and amplified by death.

The Elf was now content that the voices he heard were in fact those of the victims of Shelob, and not his own. He began to pace to and fro now, seeking the most perfect of spots of which to initiate his plan. His was distracted now, and he heard not of that around him, save for the vehement hisses and thrashings of Her. He heard her cries in the dark, and he gloated over what was soon to come. He knew the others would attempt to harm her, but success would be minimal, for she would not withdraw for long from any strings they brought to her. Even an the song of the arrow striking an eye would not suffice. And if she retained any weaknesses, she would protect them to her end. Nor did they have weapons strong enough to pierce her hide. She was an unstoppable behemoth, and would crush her enemies one way or another. Or that is what Shelob herself thought. The Elf knew better. For every creature, no matter how strong, has at least one weakness, and for some, it is more deadly than others.

All his plans were now in motion, and for the moment, they coincided with Her plans. He would let her force him to where she wanted them, and he would bait her into falling into his trap, and then, the fate of the Great Spider would be sealed. But he would need bait, and he thought of the perfect tantalizing treat for the spider. But he quickly struck back to his original course, and began to hunt for items he would need. The Elf began to collect the devices of his enemy, the broken strands of webbing that dangled from the ceiling. The webs glittered in the darkness, and seemed to sing, as chimes do in the wind. He took in this song, and it comforted him slightly, for they would soon sing a more beautiful song, The Hymn of Death. After he successfully pulled each of the strands he needed from their secluded position in the rafters of the high ceiling, he began a curious endeavor. He proceeded to weave the strands together, forming crude ropes of the immensely strong and durable web. In only a few brief moments, he had woven several of this web ropes, and soon put himself to the task of fusing them with the shaft of his bolts. But he did not expend all of this material on his feathered shafts. He saved a few for himself, as a precautionary measure, and he stored them out of sight, under neath his cloak, hooking them to his belt in tightly wound loops.

With his primitive, yet effective contraptions in place, and readied for use, he sat himself down upon a large rock, and waited for her coming. Those who were ahead of him, were either fighting Shelob for their lives, in a twisted and demented version of roulette, or they were already dead, and she was preparing them for the trip home, binding them in her webs for transport to a safe feasting area. In either case, she would soon be coming his way. Those behind him had come upon an immense, and seemingly unbreakable web. They were trapped as well, like rats in a maze, with only one way out, through Her. She would get them soon enough, as if it were a mere routine for her. And then there was the Elf, alone in his hide along the wall of the corridor. In the middle of it all he was, between a route blocked by an ensnaring invention of the company’s defeat, and the horrid beast herself. The eyes of Morgoroth soon began to dart between either ways of passage, and he smiled again, for he now knew exactly where Shelob would be most vulnerable. As so he left himself to his thoughts, and he began to converse with the voices, and they laughed together, for Shelob would not escape this plan wholly intact, and the mere thought of it gave them a dark amusement.

[Kransha]

Bror stood as silent and bewildered witness to a very sudden, and most unwelcome arrival as the mighty spider fell onto her newly found prey, seeking any living being out. Before the dwarves pressed on, at Bror’s signal with a ready and uplifted hand, the first deal was dealt, by the elf called Raeis as she plunged a primitive sword, pillaged from the tower, into the suddenly turned brunt of the spider’s head, her blade targeting and delving into her many glinting eyes. A vague but otherwise horrendous shriek burnt up the air and the legs of Shelob, all up and at the ready, swerved and fell on the elf and her companion, that man called Zurumor who had so earlier attempted to elicit Bror’s companionship, but received only the dwarf’s concealed bitterness in return. The legs fell swiftly, two right forelegs swiping mercilessly at Shelob’s assailants. The elf was knocked adeptly aside as she stabbed the beast, her sword cutting at one leg, but glancing off the plated musculature of the limb as if it were nothing. The elf ricocheted off towards the wall and remained there, possibly unconscious or merely recovering from the wounds received. The man, Zurumor, though, was not so lucky. As he drove his long knife through the crystalline eyes, he was heaved down beneath the spider who swept herself up over his fallen form, to crush or berate him unto his death.

The dwarf now in command had no wish, none at all, to save a man, elf, or otherwise under any circumstance, better to let old Shelob have her prey and use the given opportunity. But, the warrior’s soul beating against his chest forced him on, for now was the best chance to attack the spider, when she was thus distracted. And, deep within, behind that soul, the words he’d said to Zurumor remained. Was there any companionship, and bond between the two, as requested and beseeched? He supposed he would soon see. At the drop of a hand, and a lack of the stealth he had desired, Bror jumped and ran, galloping towards the spider with his comrades close behind. Onward they poured, the three of them all coming from different directions, but even the withered illusion of organization had vanished now as they headed towards the mistress of the dank tunnels. Bror was first, as his legs carried him more quickly then the other two, with more fervent fire and reverberating spring in his step. Soon enough, as Shelob prepared more blows against the man, Bror was able to whisk himself lithely beneath her, prepared for battle. In retrospect, it may not have been the best idea to abandon tactics altogether, considering what happened next.

Bror, shooting upward, practically leapt at the opportunity to strike as Shelob, shifting dangerously on her multiple legs and exposing a softer-looking underbelly. Unfortunately, the underbelly was encrusted by some unseen armor of the spider’s, shielding her might bulk, and Bror’s crude mace, bashing against the stony material, merely glanced and rolled off, causing Bror to stumble into the gravelly earth beneath Shelob. The spider nimbly spun above him, her great legs sliding across the ground of her tunnel and the foremost one colliding swiftly with Bror as he fell. The force of the thin but powerful limb impacting his form sent the armored dwarf careening backward madly. He landed, skidding across a stream of jagged crags until he halted on his back, panting and taking quick notice of the deep dent in the metal plate on his breast. The wind was forced furiously from him by the monster’s maddened blow, and Bror had to grope for air as he threw himself again onto his feet. He tried weakly to continue his passionate rush, but was halted by lack of breath and the lances of pain driven into him. His dully colored eyes turned upward to see Dorim make the next attack, and suddenly widened in horror.

Zurumor was free now of the spider’s grasp, rolled inadvertently to safety. But, the spider had her diminished eyes on new morsels, or victims, as it were, for as Dorim and Dwali came at her, she bore down on them immediately. Dwali was able to evade, though his shoulders and back were battered extremely and he was forced to retreat before his attack, defending himself from the many legs, but Dorim ran headfirst past the legs, towards the beast’s head. Turning from Dwali, Bror, and all distraction, she fell on him immediately, her legs striking each exposed side and her fang-filled jaws tearing open, many spiked tips of her limbs and thin protruding daggers from her head ripped into him, splitting his armor asunder and pushing him down, grievously injured. Inflamed by the sight, Bror was forward in a second, his mace discarded and his hands raised up as if to seek the spider’s blood with his fists. He ran and reached for his comrade as the spider picked the wounded husk up with her many legs to bear him off into the depth of her cave as a meal.

The dwarf, his tension released as a great weight but renewed as well, latched his grappling fingers onto Dorim’s armor as Shelob’s tendril-like legs seemed to envelope him. As the spider slid herself carefully back, Bror tugged forward on Dorim’s limp form, pulling with all his might, digits hooked around the various crevices of his kinsman’s armor. The spider, though, must’ve desired the injured dwarf for a belated meal, and fought to keep hold, her legs not in use stabbing rabidly at Bror as he attempted to wrestle Dorim from her grip. He could not release him, no matter how hard he tried, and could not eternally shrug off the assaults of Shelob as her legs slashed at him deftly while he struggled against her might. He did not care, though, if the spider slew him now, for if he fell it would be yet remembered by those who left the tunnel. If he would leave this dark passage, it would only be with his comrade, living or dead. Otherwise, he was prepared and steeled against the lethal venom that now ran, coursing hungrily through his veins and devouring the last inkling of his strength. Bror continued exerting all his Dwarven prowess, but the spider had nearly won.

Suddenly, piercing Bror’s concentration, a gleaming shaft of light surged past his head, leaving a residual whistle in his ear, and thudded noiselessly into the cesspool of glittering orbs embedded in Shelob’s head, her eyes. It was a blade, rimmed by a veiled aura that stabbed the darkness and the shroud carried by the spider. She emitted a hissing shriek from within, which jarred Bror’s thoughts. She reared back, seeming more annoyed than pained, but her provoked fury distracted her concentration as well, causing the hold of her segmented legs to loosen. Bror, who’d been welling up all his unused brawn for the purpose at hand, fell back with Dorim onto the hard stone, many jutting rocks spearing the mail on his back painfully. He ignored the new discomfort and rolled over as the spider, crying out in her wrath, crashed down onto the earth where he’d been. Hefting Dorim to his shoulder, Bror hurled himself aside and spun, gently pushing Dorim’s nearly bereft body to safety. His uninjured hand dipped down, his fist clenching over the rotten-wood hilt of one of his confiscated orcish axes. His arm surged forward and the axe soared forward over the small distance between he and the raging monster while she moved, leaping angrily across her lair. As her head turned to search for her elusive prey, the blade struck her with ease, near the mark the sword had found. At the same moment, as whatever luck lived on for the dwarves in this shadowy cavern would have it, Dwali, who’d been equally occupied by Shelob’s great legs, was able to loose his own blade into the beast, a smaller, more delicate ax in his grasp finding the same clump of sparkling eyes. As soon as this was done, Dwali, struck several times by the aimlessly flailing legs of Shelob, fell back and staggered to the tunnel’s wall, avoiding Shelob’s fiery wroth.

Roaring and screaming, a most repulsive sound, she backed up, one leg shifting to bat at the axes and bolt buried in her eyes. She had doubtless lost some, but could still see. Luckily, though, the wound infuriated enough to blind her from the actions of those around. Under the cover of her madness, Bror leapt down, wrapping his arm around his fallen comrade, and pulled himself and his companion to some safety in the shadows. She could probably see him still, but the niche he wormed his way into was small enough for her to dismiss his presence there…at least temporarily.

Now, in the shade of more damp outcroppings that were spread out overhead, Bror could see to Dorim and the source of his rescue. He looked warily upward, great care in his gaze, to see Zurumor breathing hard, knelt on the rocks far from the wailing spider, his hand and arm still raised. It had been his knife that pierced the eye so suddenly, his light borne around it. Bror’s mind knew not what to tell him, what thought to process, what feeling to report. He had saved a man, and been save in return, his friend had fallen, as had he, the spider was in retreat but yet on the move. He did not have time for these thoughts, though, for he truly had to look to his brother in arms, who was barely breathing now, blood coursing from his lips just as it was over Bror’s, both Dwarves ravaged. The dwarf beneath him was dying, injured in places to numerous to count and pained beyond reason. Try as he might, no knowledge in Bror’s mind was adequate to repair Dorim. All he could do was look emotionlessly at the other Dwarf.

The venom of the small and great spider was erupting inside him and he could do nothing about it. Dorim would not survive much longer, but both Dwarves were braced for death. But, Bror was determined to get out, or at least to a point where he could be sure Dorim would be taken from this place. If he was to die, he would die here and remain, but all else would at least see day’s light with unseeing eyes. Slowly he dragged his feet and Dorim away from the raging spider, towards the only human he could see with his blurred vision: Zurumor. But, there was still nothing in hi to drive him on, save the blasts of poisoned pain. His eyesight decayed, his flesh aflame, his head and heart pounding but feebly, he fell to his knees near the man and, with Dorim at his side, slumped onto the earth.

[CaptainofDespair]

Screams shattered the placid peace of that had enveloped the realm of the Elf. Horrid shrieking, and the clashes of a brutal, primitively fought battle for survival raged in the shadowy depths of the Tunnel. The acutely tuned ears of Morgoroth sensed them, as a spider senses a disturbance in a web. His mind shot forward, like a missile in flight, and he strained to see with his mind, what his eyes could not. He cocked his head to one side, his hair flowing down over his left ear, and he listened again. The cries had all but stopped, and it was eerily silent, much as the sea is before a great storm. His mind suddenly grew calm, and he nearly went limp, which would have been a painful fall from his perch atop his rock, but in the dark, it would only emanate a resounding thud. His breathing relaxed, and began a strange short of meditation, tuning himself to the Tunnel, with all its secret, almost mystical properties. And as quickly as it had started, it was finished, and his dull eyes flashed open, flickering in the shadows. He rose up from his rocky throne, and hopped down to the damp floor below. His eyes scanned around him for signs of danger, but he perceived none. His eyes darted from one end of the Tunnel to the other. Which way would he traverse, to his rear, to those who were trapped? Or should he march forward, to where his helpless and weakened comrades fought their dying battle? Without hesitating, he turned to himself around, and began his journey to where the dwarves now did battle wit the abomination that is Shelob.

The cavern was quite dark, even to his now well tuned eyes, but he continued to proceed, until at last, after a few short moments of regaining himself, he turned a sloping curve in the cavern wall, and came upon Her. But she did not notice him, for she now participated in a losing battle for the dwarves. Though they outnumbered her, it seemed as it was she who outnumbered them. She had already flung Raeis and the man Zurumor aside, as if they were but a rag-doll a child plays with in their youth. The dwarves were now all that remained of the combatants, and they were losing, horribly. One had already been taken down by the Mistress, and another fought to save him from her ever famished mouth and bottomless pit of a stomach. The Elf continued his silent watch from the shadows, as the struggle continued. Finally, the contest was broken, as blade struck the Great Spider, and she reeled back in pain, just long enough for the dwarf Bror to drag his companion to safety. The Great Spider retreated, but not for long, she waited a few moments, and thus returned to seek revenge, for she hungered evermore. But the pleasant, yet dark and calculating voice of the Elf rang out into the air. “Where do you think you’re going Milady. You and I have business to attend to first, before you get your meal.”

Morgoroth had not anticipated having to put his plan into action so soon, but he calculated it would be wise, and that it must be done to deliver the dwarves from harm, for even a few moments. And so, as the nasty Spider rose up, and prepared to strike down her remaining opponents, an arrow silently sped its way towards her, and struck her in the shimmering pools of her myriad of eyes. She again felt pain, and shrieked a most ungodly noise, one that chilled the blood and broke even the stoutest of hearts. But Morgoroth knew what had to be done, and he smiled in a cruel delight over what he was putting into motion. The voices he had listened to these past few hours, were now cackling wildly, and hissing at the Elf to bring the beast down, and send Her to Them. And so he drew forth the first of his many, specially adapted bolts, and prepared to release it into Shelob. He drew back the first, and the bowstring cracked, and he let fly the missile, with its thin white trailer tagging behind. His refined accuracy, even in the darkness, was near perfect, and the arrows drove itself into Shelob’s unprotected skin, between the knee joint in the rear most left leg. The Spider hissed, and she released fumes of hot air and gas into the air, hoping to stifle her Ageless enemy. Obviously she had not yet realized what exactly had been done to her, for her rear leg now had a string of glistening, white web attached to it. The Elf laughed at her plight, for his scheme was now in motion. He soon released his bolts thrice more, and the spider was struck each time, and now had four strands of her own web, and the four shafts of arrows embedded in her four rear legs. And the Elf had prepared to bring for the next stage of his operation. He stepped out from his shadowy corner, into a more properly lit arena, where the monstrosity of Shelob could best view him. She stood, a silent behemoth of death and destruction, staring at the darkened form of her attacker. But she made not a motion to attack, but rather studied him quickly, looking for a sign of weakness of what appeared to be a wholly new version of foe. And now came the time for his plan to unfold yet again. The Elf lifted up his hand, and revealed within it were for stands of glittering web, Shelob’s web. He smiled at his enemy, and drew his arms up, and the Great Spider looked at him in bewilderment. He summoned forth all the strength he had, and gathering it from every little crevice of his body, and pulled back on the steel-strong rope. Now Shelob understood his plan, but she could not stop it. Her rear legs were pulled forward, underneath of her, and she toppled like a tower which has a weak base. She fell onto her own legs, the ropes already having torn one completely from the socket, a clawless limb. The remaining three were either crushed under her massive girth, or twisted into malformed shape. The muscular armor could be heard cracking and splinter asunder. And the great beast shrieked, and writhed in pain. She rolled forth, flailing her remnant legs wildly about in the air. Now she lay upon her back, her body broken, but she was not yet defeated. With one leg now missing, and three others momentarily out of commission, she would need recovery time. The Elf laughed again at her plight, and he taunted her, but he had not time for such wayward acts. He made his way quickly to the others, and he stooped over them checking them for signs of life. The first he came upon Zurumor and Raeis, who had now begun to regain consciousness. With both on their feet, they took up the task of retrieving Bror, Dwali, and Dorim. Morgoroth looked upon each, and then spoke. “We cannot tarry, though she is wounded now, greater than ever, she can still hunt us. Come, follow me.” Zurumor and Raeis nodded in acceptance of this, and Bror, still dazed began to trudge along. Morgoroth used his remaining energy to heave Dorim’s limp body over his shoulder and carry him. Dwali was able to handle himself quite well still, and refused any aid from the Elf.

With the hideous, ever shrieking form of Shelob to their rear, the group set out to find the others, who had undoubtedly heard the sounds of the battle, and the renewed shrieking of the Spider. They slowly began to meander their way into the depths of the cavern, hoping to find their comrades in arms. None of them could think however, of what was to befall them, when a now brutally enraged Shelob would come back to finish the job, for the horrid cries of pain drowned out all.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Grash and Aldor scrambled about the edges of the cavern, desperate to find a way out, but every passage, every crack, had been sealed over with the stinging webs of their terrible foe. In the darkness behind they could hear the muted sounds of combat, mixed into a monstrous kind of harmony with the rough sliding of the beast’s body over the stones and the creak of her giant limbs. Grash whirled at the cry of agony and tried to pierce the eternal night of the realm, but all he could make out in the scattered lights of their now discarded torches were shadowy forms scurrying about beneath the ominous bulk of the monster. Grash saw one of the smaller shapes fall and the creature dove for it, but then a flurry of activity seemed to catch her up and Grash stared in amazement as the Elf stepped forward, brandishing his bow. It was madness! He would be crushed by the beast and there was no hope for him.

“Come on!” Aldor hissed in his ear. “Let us find a way out! We can come back and tell the others!” Grash nodded dumbly, but at the back of his mind he thought of the females Darash and Lyshka. They should find them first. He turned to the Man to explain when the cavern was filled with a sound of primordial agony and hatred. They whirled about, reaching with terrified hands to cover their ears in vain attempts to block out the piercing shriek. They stared in disbelieving awe as Shelob staggered back from the Elf, one of her legs now dangling from her body by no more than a strip of her plated shell. How he had accomplished it, they could not tell, but before they could put any more thought into it, they saw prostrate upon the floor of the cavern two forms – two forms that the beast was once again advancing, clearly intending to make of them her easy prey.

Grash stared in horror as she loomed over the Dwarves and in a flash it dawned upon him that it was he who was responsible for their deaths. He had freed them and brought them here, to serve as bait so that he could escape. If he had not led them, they might have been able to find some other path, and while he had no hope that they would have escaped Mordor, at least their deaths would have been of their own choosing and not his. He felt shame, then, but without being able to explain it. Instead, he raced toward them, little thinking what he could do to aid them, but determined to try.

Orcs used others in the way that he had tried to used these Dwarves. And if nothing else, Grash was determined to prove that he was no orc.

The monster had raised herself above the Dwarves, and was readying all her massive bulk to crush down upon them, when Grash reached their prostrate forms. The stench of the beast was overwhelming, choking him and bringing stinging tears to his eyes. He tried first to drag the Dwarves away, but there was no time, for she was about to strike. But then, as though by a stroke of unlooked for luck, Grash saw that she had been wounded in the belly. A small gash, no more than a hand’s width, had laid open her armoured underbelly, but from the steady trickle of ooze that came forth, he could tell that it was a deep wound. Before he had time even to think, Grash drew his sword and thrust it up at the wound. The steel easily passed through the gape into the tender flesh underneath, and twisting the sword about he sought to gut the monster. Again she screamed and threw herself away from her prey, landing on her remaining seven legs and preparing to spring. Grash stood his ground, knowing that hope was now lost.

A flurry of cries sounded and from the side of the cavern flew several forms, led by the copper-skinned might of the woman Darash. They attacked the monster’s legs, hacking at her with all their might. Who they were precisely he could not tell, and he did not have the time to watch any longer. Seizing Brór under the arms he dragged the Dwarf toward the side of the cavern, hoping to keep him from harm’s way there. Aldor appeared and bent to take Dorim but then he came to Grash’s aid. “No no!” Grash said, gasping at the weight of his burden. “Other Dwarf. Bring other Dwarf!”

Aldor shook his head. “He is dead,” he said quietly.

Rhând

Seeing the two dwarves lying on the cold ground, the young Haradrim swallowed. Grash had already headed over, and was now grabbing Brór by the arms and dragging him towards a safe corner in the cavern. Rhând went unwillingly, and fairly hesitant, to take the other. He took the dwarf's hands, eyes filled with disgust, immediately understanding that something was wrong. The petty little creature was covered in blood, and his pale face revealed his fate.

"You darned fool!" Frowning, Rhând looked at the dwarf shaking with anger. Again, it seemed like an impossible task to earn his freedom and again serve Him. Already, there was one man down. And realising that only one night hadn't passed since they had escaped, he sighed miserably. Was it possible to go on for days in this land without the whole lot of them getting killed? The thought of returning to Him with only two or three prisoners out of twelve in total, didn't sound very promising. On the other hand, would this dwarf really be missed? By the look of him, Rhând guessed that he was of no worth, but still it bothered him. "Breathe you disgraceful hound!" he muttered. It became clear to him, however, that he had more concerns. The dwarf was one thing, but he was dead and nothing could be done about it. Then another thing bothered him even more: the women. He would have to focus on them now. First priority, he thought. They knew he had taken suverah, and that he hadn't used it to overcome Shelob. Surely, they had to be suspicious when it came to his behaviour and especially why he didn't use it against the monster. He would have to take care of them as soon as they escaped the spider, before they told anyone else.

Rising from his position, he trudged over to Grash's side, eager to know what had become of Brór. "One more dead fool and my chances will be ruined," he said under his breath as he settled himself down with Grash.

"Bring other Dwarf!” Grash looked at Rhând, or Aldor as he knew him, and pointed at the other dwarf. Stupid twit, Rhând thought to himself, turning his attention to the body again.

With great effort he managed to press forwards that Dorim was dead. He tried to look into Grash's eyes, but it was hopelss.The whole thing, Rhând realised, was so ironic that he was just about to break into a great laughter. If it hadn't been for the cloth, which still was tied to his face, the other prisoner would have seen the gigantic smile of his.

[Himaran]

Rage. It was the only feeling enveloped Dwali's soul as the group moved away from the mammoth arachnid. Anger flowed through his pulsing veins, both at himself and the beast which had caused them so much fear and grief.

Dorim would die -- he was certain of that --and the young dwarf had not been able to stop it. I ran. Dorim attacked. Perhaps, if I had attacked as well, we would both be on two feet right now. It had all happened too fast. In his quick retreat, Dwali was unable to spot his companion's somewhat foolish charge. Adding to his distres was the intervention of the elves; it seemed as though Bror had made several aquaintinces during the battle. The half-even folk must have be-friended him, Dwali decided. Lovely. Now there will be three of them against me, and with Dorim gone... The dwarf tried not to contemplate the immediate future, but instead concentrate on putting one stout leg in front of the the other.

Turning to acess the situation, he found Aldor and Grash kneeling over the forms of the other two dwarves. Bror was unconcious, and Dorim was dead. The lifeless dwarf had saved Dwali's life earlier in the battle, and the horrible feeling of failing a companion entered his already tormented soul. And Bror, who had done so much for both of them, might be dead as well. No. It cannot end this way. "IT WILL NOT!" The others looked up from their work as the dwarf roared out to the enemy at the far end of the cavern. Grabbing Dorim's axe, he abruptly turned and headed back towards the place of the battle.

But then Grash was there, grasping him arm tightly. "No, Dwali. You can't just throw your life away -- Bror may yet survive. Now come, help us; he's in pretty bad shape." The dwarf wrenched away, and made as if to step forward. But then he stopped and dropped to his knees, weapon's clattering on the stone floor. It was as if the energy itself had drained out of him, and Dwali could only cry.