Land of Darkness RPG

[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.

[Sarin Mithrilanger]

Zuromor had attacked the spider and shown the dwarves he stood WITH them and not agaisnt them. More importantly he had saved them. And now as the creature writhed in pain they all ran for safety. All but the dwarf. He who had given his life for his people...his friends. Zuromor cried as he ran. He had not known anyone so brave. The had ran only a short distance when Zuromor stopped and saw a small form crying on his knees. "Go! All of you....find a way out. She will not find you for as long as I can handle." The dwarf looked up at him and understood.

He understood that Zuromor was not sacrificing himself. He knew he might and probably would perish but he would give them time. Time to escape or formulate a plan. He went back to the others and Zuromor stood firm, his sword out at his side. "Come foul mistress! You shall not feed tonight, but my blade shall!" Zuromor ran directly at the huge mass in front of him.

She was still reeling from the previous engagement and Zuromor's words pierced her and brought forth newfound anger. Zuromor swiped at her wounded leg and passed beneath her great hulk. He ran to the far wall and slashed the damaged joint of one of her back legs. His blade cut through what barely held her leg together and She fell for one moment as she tried to regain her balance. Zuromor took this opprutunity and jumped up on her back, jamming his sword into her eyes and laid his body flat against her back and held his blade. He wrapped his legs on her as well as he could and hoped he could buy them some time.

[Himaran]

Dwali watched as Zuromor headed back towards the spider, sword in hand. He seemed as if one marching fearless toward death; not his death, but that of an enemy. And I will take part in its death. For Bror... and Dorim! The dwarf wiped his eyes and, ignoring the protests of Grash, readied his axe and followed the man. It would be his last part in this dreadful tale, most likely; but he was prepared to face that doom. Dwali's entire life had been a cascading waterfall of hatred and loss. At last, he could relieve himself of all the anger... and put it to good use. "Go on," he shouted to the others. "Get Bror out of here. He, if any of us, deserves to see the light on the other side of the mountains." With that, he gritted his teeth and ran.

The sight which soon met his bloodshot eyes was, for lack of a serious description, comical. Zuromor sat perched atop the great spider, as she reared and pranced around the cavern like a bucking steed. The man would, at regular intervals, stab or slash at the beast with his sword; which merely increased the speed of her already frantic movement. A look of surprise mingled with gratitude shown in the man's eyes when Dwali entered his view, and the dwarf wasted no time before calling out to him. "Khazad Ai Menu! For Dorim!" Mixing Khazad with the common tongue, he entered the fray; slashing at the virtually shreaded legs which appeared before him.

The dwarf's axe whirled in a frenzy, as if an intelligent creature. It struck at every moving thing, were it stomach, foor or leg. Dwali then made an agressive decision and dove underneath the arachnid, only to find a stinger hovering above him. It crashed to the ground seconds after he rolled, only to rise and fall again. The dwarf tumbled around in a sporatic patern, swinging at anything which presented itself while evading the possibility of being skewered. But then Dwali's moderate fortunes turned for the worse, as the hefty axe was knocked out of his hand.

Without thinking, the dwarf dove forward, accidentally grabbing one of Shelob's remaining legs. It would have been a surprisingly smart move, had he gripped tighter. Much to his dismay, Dwali found himself thrown across the room... only to crash on a small plateau. He stood slowly, seeing mostly exploding lights and darkness. But as his vision cleared, the dwarf could make out the form of the spider across the room; still reeling from Zuromor's constant assault. Stuck some thirty feet above the stone floor, he could only watch helplessly as the drama unfolded below...

[Sarin Mithrilanger]

As Zuromor battled the furious bucking giant, he caught sight of the dwarf. He held on for dear life and before long the dwarf could be seen soaring through the air. The Great Spider seemed to scream with delight as she ran as fast as she could after her rattled prey. She clambered up the side of the cave and rested what was left of her eyes on the tasty morsel. I have to do something!

Zuromor grabbed his blade and jumped on her head. The startled spider sreamed and reared up, trying to fling the man off her back. Zuromor slipped and began to fall. He slung his arm back and it loged in one of her remaining eyes. As she screamed in agony Zuromor was looking directly at her underbelly. There he saw a spot that oozed. He stared at it a moment and he saw no other alternative. Especially if he wanted to save his.....friend? The thought bewildered him but now was not the time.

He pulled out his blade and ran beneath her as she climbed up to get in position over the dwarf. Zuromor leaped through the air and jammed his blade up into the oozing wound. The spider reared up once again and Zuromor saw yet another oppritunity. He hacked on her back legs and she began to lose her balance. His friend looked around for any way to help and found a huge rock and hurled it at her chest. The beast fell backwards and laid on her back.

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry's post

The great, disgusting bulk of her body swayed back and forth as she attempted to dislodge Zuromor while warding off the feeble blows of the other attackers, who swarmed like mosquitoes. Her every move flung vile, reeking fluid from the wounds and cuts of her body, particularly from her belly. Grash had not succeeded in gutting her, but he had opened the wound wider and now not only her dark blood flowed but the putrid remains of her last, undigested dinner spewed forth. For once her stench was welcomed, for in the dark of the huge cavern, with the torches flung to the wide walls, it was the surest way of knowing where she was.

It had been Darash who had led the roaring attackers against her remaining legs, swords lifted high over their heads to ward off her swings at them, and daggers or other short swords at their waist, ready to plunge a second blow should they be lucky enough to win a first blow. With the floor now slippery with thick ooze, footing was difficult. Several times Darash stumbled as she attempted to hack at a leg or slash and each stumble nearly cost her her life, as Shelob's legs struck out, even knocking her to the ground once, the claw barely missing her head.

Stunned, Darash lay there, trying to determine which way to roll to avoid the roiling mass of spiny form which rocked around, the eyes glittering as Shelob focussed on each attacker seemingly in turn and simultaneously at the same time. Lyshkia was still afoot, slicing at the joint of one leg; she succeeded in severing at least tendons, for the leg suddenly became a flopping, useless drag upon the creature's movements. Darash rolled over finally, her senses returning. She motioned to Lyskia and the two of them coordinated an attack on two of the remaining legs, from opposite directions to confuse the beast. Taking a cue from Zuromor, Darash jumped on the leg and held fast, ignoring the pain of the spiny hairs which tore at her skin. She jabbed over and over again at the joint until she too severed tendon from muscle and that leg became a second dead weight. She hacked at the claw as a safeguard as Shelob's screams roared in her ears and she was spun around and flung off to the side. Breathless and panting she slunk against the wall to regain what air she could in her lungs and consider a new assault. She looked over at the dwarves and then at Grash and Aldor, on the opposite side of the monster and far away from her. What was the hyena planning? she wondered.

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Novnarwen's post - Rhând

He turned his attention to the battle. The Spider had in fact been much larger than he had first expected, but he admired her greatness. In his childhood, he had heard of Shelob's mother, Ungoliant. What a great creature it had been. Her disgraceful offspring, Shelob, was, in Rhând’s opinion, almost greater. Of course, this was only because he stood nearly face to face to Shelob, meanwhile he had only heard of her mother, Ungoliant.

Feeling both excited, and nervous, he grabbed his sword. Drawing it out of the sheath, he nodded at Grash, who still knelt by the petty dwarves, saying:" I'm ready, if she comes." A feeling of satisfaction made him giggle with delight. If this didn't make, at least, Grash certain of Rhând's devotion to the prisoners escape, what would? A man with bad intentions would not sacrifice himself in this way. However, knowing that Shelob was indeed busy with her other preys, some of the other prisoners, Rhând felt quite safe where he stood pretending to be brave. The dim light didn't allow him to get a proper look of what was going on. He heard cries of pain and of despair, but also eager cries which came from prisoners who were up for a good fight with the spider. Focusing, his gaze wandering around and at the same time listening eagerly to the battle, he finally spotted one of the women: Darash.

The woman was mainly trying to get to Shelob's legs. Rhând hoped she failed. For a minute or so, he even pictured Darash lying at the ground screaming with pain and horror when Shelob ended her life. One threat would be eliminated by this, he figured, and everything would again be simple, or at least simpler than how things were now. He didn't care much of what his Master would say now. If the women knew and were suspicious towards his behaviour, what else was there to do than kill them? It would only be easier for him if Shelob took care of Darash. His only remaining problem would be this Lyshkia, but he supposed it would be quite entertaining to end her life. Yes, Shelob could be very useful if only she could wipe Darash out of the game. Giggling, still following the battle, he crossed his fingers and hoped that his wish would come true.

Come on... Come on now... Almost, almost.. Shaking and trembling with excitement, feeling the tension in his body increase, he watched the woman stumble. For every step she took, she grew nearer and nearer death. How exciting, he thought to himself thrilled by how the situation seemed to develop. "Now! Come on!" he whispered seeing Darash being thrown to the ground. The climax had been reached; it was only for Shelob to end it. A few seconds passed, Darash lay on the ground and Shelob approached. Rhând waited impatiently for Darash to draw her last breath.

"Darn you Lyshkia!" His body seemed to explode. Seconds before his wish had been granted to him, this other fool of a woman had appeared. She was now fighting valiantly against the gigantic spider. Soon, Darash got to her feet as well, and together the two women aimed for the spider's legs. He cursed his bad luck. So near . . he thought being unsatisfied. He sighed.

Darash caught his eye, as he cursed for the second time. Was she expecting his aid, or had she seen him while he was waiting anxiously for Shelob to kill her?

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

A cry, a screeching howl unlike any sound Jeren had ever heard before, reverberated through the cavern. The pain of the beast twisted its way into Jeren's ears, then harshly hammered its way into his skull as if it meant to shatter the skulls of all who heard it. Upon seeing the great spider, Jeren had fled to the darkness, just out of sight while he watched the immediate reactions of the company. The affect of the large creature angered Jeren, and he wondered at his own fear. If I am to die, then I shall die, but it will be with courage. For if I die, I wish for it to be when I have tried my best and failed, not with half a heart and half my strength... Jeren thought this bitterly, drawing his rusted sword and straining through the dying notes of Shelob's cry.

Compelled to follow the Raeis, Zuromor, Darash, and Lyshka in their first charge on Shelob, Jeren only fell back and faltered when the spider let out a high-pitched squeal. We need to find a way out...there has to be some way...we cannot just let the spider have her way! The Southron thought madly, with panic about his features and impatience stringing on his last nerves.

Looking on as others fought the beast, Jeren felt a coward but thought like a hero. He wanted to advance, he wanted to stab the beast, he wanted to help...but his legs would not move him and his fear had paralyzed his limbs. Doubt coursed through his veins and distrust eminated off his skin, for while his mind had made a decision his body had chosen to ignore it. Why am I so afraid? Jeren wondered. He had led men into battle countless times, fought nameless enemies and guiseless fears. The Southron did not know what made this fear any different.

Because you know there is little hope...a side of Jeren answered that had not spoken before, the side that told him so often in the last day that there was no hope. No hope of escape, no hope of life, no hope of rescue...no hope. It seemed that no matter what the bravest of the company did, or the craziest of the company did, the great beast would not die and she would not give up until all of them were in her stomach. Every wound taken by the fighters, every death endured by the company had failed. The grand spider would not hearken to her own wounds, and death did not seem like a threat to her.

Another scream, and Jeren knew that hope had vanished and that faith had no place in the tunnel.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

She threw off her attackers, and screaming with rage and pain and the disbelief of her mortality, Shelob scuttled up the walls of the chamber beyond the stinging blows of her prey’s steel. Her wounds ran freely now, splattering the creatures that had dared defy her with their survival. Her beautiful eyes were almost all gone, but there were yet enough to see. Her crippled and useless limbs dragged behind her, catching upon the jagged rocks of the cavern and sending new waves of agony through her shattered body, adding more fuel to the fire of her vengeance. She reached the summit of the cave and whirled to face them, and as she did her rage was so great that it was as though she was young once more in the first years of the sun – before the coming of the Elves and terrible Men into her abodes in the mountains, before the young upstart Sauron had taken up the cause of his dark master. At the memory of that time a light was kindled in her eyes and they began to glow with a hideous green light, like the exhalation of decay from a rotting corpse, and the beings trapped in the cavern with her were frozen once more in the terror of their plight. For a time that defied reckoning they stood thus, frozen and staring upward at her greatness, unable to move, and unable to look away. Her mighty sides heaved with hunger, and she shifted her remaining limbs raising a clatter that echoed into the vast emptiness of her eternal night. The light of her eyes grew, and she seemed to swell into a shape vast and formless, and it was as though her agony and her horror were food to her will, repairing her hurts and filling her with a new strength. To now she had hunted for food, and had sought only to sting and still her prey – but now she cared not for sustenance. All she could see now were their shattered bones and savaged bodies. When she next moved it would not be for food, but for the utter obliteration of her foes. There were few in Middle-Earth in these days who could withstand her in her hunger…there were none who could resist her in her wrath.

The weapon that he held fell from Grash’s lifeless hand. His body and will were numb as he looked upon the monster. It was hopeless, all that they had done to her was as nothing. Dorim’s fall, Brór’s mighty and futile heroism, the mad courage of Zuromor, Dwali, Darash and all the rest…it would all pass into the darkness of her realm and never be remembered.

Then he heard a sound that was more terrible than any that had yet assailed his mind. A voice, ancient and worn, thin from disuse, but having lost none of its bitter sting for the ages spent in silence, slowly filled the cavern with its hateful pitch. “Silly stupid flies,” it said. “Why do you resist your doom? So much struggle and so much agony only to delay your destruction. Lay yourselves down before me, and I will dispatch you quickly. Prostrate yourselves and do your obeisance and I will put you into a sleep before I feast. If you do not,” and her voice rose in terror, so much that some among the party fell upon their knees or against the wall, gasping and choking as though her hate were thick dark waters in which they were drowning, “I will keep you alive as I feed. Long may I keep you so, and you can watch as I devour your entrails, and feast upon your very life’s blood. The last thing you see will be your heart as I throw it as a morsel for my spawn.” Focusing the poisonous malevolence of her will upon them all, she delivered the final terror. “And do not think that the torments of your body are the most that I shall do. They are the least! For as I destroy your limbs, I will feast upon your mind and your will. As the life drains from your frame, the light will fade from your self, until all that is left will be the hollow ghost that I will leave to howl out its agony in the cold and naked darkness until the unmaking of the world!”

As she was speaking they heard a terrible, familiar sound. From all the crevices and cracks in the walls, from out of all the passageways, there came wave upon wave of the smaller creatures that had beset them before Shelob’s attack. Thousands upon thousands of them poured into the cavern and clambered upon the walls until no rock was visible and the chamber was a living, pulsating mass of flesh and hair and fangs. “Now,” she said quietly, “who will kneel to me?”

There was a silence so complete that Grash fancied he could hear his own heart beating. There was no hope left, none at all. It had been for nothing: his escape, his attempt to find some way beyond the walls of the land of darkness. His dreams of freedom had been for nothing. But then someone moved beside him in the darkness. And then another. Slowly, the company stirred and moved about, and Grash knew that he was not alone: for the first time in his life, there were others there with him who shared his fate and his dreams, and who would not shy away and let him go singly into the night. He felt the others gain strength as they too realised this, and then, unbidden, he spoke, and it was as though some other will spoke through him. “No,” he croaked. “We not bow down to you, or any evil creature. We are free now, and if we die, we die free. Come!” he cried, and his voice gained in strength. “Come! Enough talk and threat. You come for us. You come! You come and see what strength we have! You come and we kill you!”

The cavern was filled with a terrible thin hissing that might have been laughter. “Foolish flies! You know not what you are doomed to! All the better. And may your spirits howl all the more miserably for your insolence.” The light in her eyes grew, and slowly her spawn began also to glow with the corpse-light. Gathering her legs under her, Shelob prepared to descend.

But she let out a sudden cry of dismay and surprise. The company looked and saw that she was trying vainly to bat one of her spawn away from the wound in her belly. Even as she struggled with that one, however, three more sprang upon her wounded legs, and then a dozen upon her shattered eyes. She spun about, sending streams of her blood about the chamber, but this only seemed to send the smaller creatures into a frenzy, for they swarmed toward her by the hundreds, and the thousands. In horror the company watched as they clamped onto her with their fangs, tearing into her flesh and ripping apart her armoured hide. Shelob’s shrieks filled the cavern, splitting the very stone and the company fell to their knees and sought to cover their ears with their hands. In vain she struggled against the swarm, for no matter how many she managed to crush of throw off of her, a hundred more would come upon her. The last of her legs was severed and with a cry she fell from the roof of the cavern and landed upon the stone with a sickening thud. The creatures covered her like boiling tar and as they did so, their glow increased until the entire cavern was filled with their hideous light. The company stood and watched in horrified fascination as she was devoured by her own brood. Piece by piece she was taken apart, and still she thrashed and screamed and struck out at her attackers.

It was Morgoroth who saved them from their trance. Seeing that the creatures would soon consume their dam and then turn their attention upon fresher meat, he cried out, “Come. We must flee this place!” He ran to the only passageway not filled with the beasts and began hacking at the strands of web with his blade. “Hurry! I cannot do this alone!”

As though they were waking from a terrible dream, the company rushed to his aid and began sawing and striking at the webs. It was hard work, for the webs were like steel, but their combined efforts were just enough to open one small rent in the wall of strands. One by one they clambered through. Dwali cried out, “We must not leave my kinsmen!” Following the Dwarf, Aldor, Darash and Grash returned for Dorim and Brór and bore them from the chamber.

They fled up the long passage, the sounds of Shelob’s torment fading into the distance. Finally, there came one last drawn out shriek that sent waves of darkness through their spirits, and then there was silence, and they heard nothing more.

On and on they ran, and ever their path went upward. The passage narrowed and lowered, until they could only go on hands and feet, and still it grew narrower, but still they pressed ahead, so desperate were they to leave the realm of the new departed monster. Eventually, they felt an air that moved and saw ahead a faint grey light. Renewed by the sight and feel, they rushed forward on their very bellies, until one by one they emerged from a narrow crack high upon a cliff face, and crowded onto a small ledge a few hundred feet above the bleak and featureless plains below. In the distance they could see the looming hulk of Mount Doom, and the fires of its fury lit the underside of the clouds that crowded in above their heads like a roof.

They had escaped Shelob’s Lair, but they had come back to the very margins of Mordor.