OOC – Author’s Note:
Time has been moving pretty fast of late, and I’ve not had much chance to write more narratively about each live RP session conducted for “Where Webs Whisper” — and there have been a great many!
So in order to help convey the essence of where the story has been going as of late, I’ve put together some higher level summaries instead – found below (quicklink to jump down):
- Session 11 - 'The Song Beneath the Stones'
- Session 12 - 'The Battle of the Last Chamber'
- Session 13 - 'Songs, Spiders and Sacrifices'
- Session 14 - 'The Pilgrim's Tower'
Additionally: This piece was shaped with a little help from AI. It provided help on things like the structuring, some names, shortening some verbose language/ideas as I'd written them, and it gave me the odd turn of phrase here and there. The heart and shape of the story are my own, but I realise it is important to be transparent about my use of AI assistance in the final piece.
The following session summaries follow from Session 6 - “You were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off” ……
Session 11 –
The fellowship descends into the shattered depths beneath the market square, following green pulses of magical energy that they note travel to places unknown below Ost Guruth. The air grows colder here, the tunnels are slick with moss and webbing, and the hum of the coursing magic builds into a throbbing beat felt in their chests; something is very wrong down here. They are led by Anduval, the old man from before. Though blind, he guides them by memory – led by tales from his forebears of the old trading tunnels from days past that were later sealed by elven warding when dangers sprang forth. Now those wards are unravelling, the magic running backwards through its own web, but for what purpose…
Somewhere in the tunnels, Feay awakens alone, having been blasted deeper by the explosion. She scavenges glowing mushrooms, naming them with halfling whimsy as she wanders unknowingly through connected chambers, experimenting as she goes.
The main group presses on uneasily. The tunnels feel unwelcome. Cobwebs thicken. Benjenn senses the presence of something unseen. Anduval explains that the elves once bound the brood of Harloeg deep beneath the Lone-lands, and they surmise that the Company’s accidental ‘opening’ of the Well, one such place of entry… has now caused a reversion in the flow of warding power. The seals are failing in sequence across Ost Guruth. Could they similarly lead to explosions?
With difficulty, they reach the first great rune-column. Its surface is alive with green light, but the melody underlying its pulse is twisted, discordant. Meltharian experiments, but Tivlyn is the one who realises that the tune is familiar but backwards, a cradle song from old Arnor. When she hums it correctly, the light weakens… and together with Mel they sing until the rune’s magic finally fades. The chamber steadies, its danger under this section of Ost Guruth now ended.
They push deeper. A second chamber opens around a roaring chasm and waterfall, with only a broken stone bridge and thick webs remaining to cross. One by one, they attempt the passage. Rothlung barely keeps his footing. Benjenn almost makes it across but nearly falls before Rothlung hurls him a shield to cling to and hauls him back. Wittkun loses balance and falls into the depths. Tivlyn follows him, choosing to curl and trust the water rather than scramble to regain her own grip. Anduval also slips, but Meltharian drives her spear into the rock, giving him purchase, and gets him back across safely.
The survivors steady themselves and confront the second rune-column. The thunder of the waterfall nearly drowns out Mel’s song, so Rothlung and Benjenn raise their voices with her, forcing the melody through sheer determination. The pulse falters, cracks begin to form along the pillar… then freeze. The rune dies. Two down, and Anduval believes there may be just one left. There is no time to search for their washed away companions.
They eventually reach the final chamber, a vast hall whose ceiling rises into shadow. The last column hums with dangerous strength here – seemingly near to releasing its drawn energy, upwards into Ost Guruth. Mel recognises the melody this time and begins the slow, sorrowful song. As the others join her, the runes dim once more… until a massive shadow drops from the ceiling. A broodmother descends through the webs to stop them.
Rothlung’s senses prevail and he manages to shout a warning and squares himself for battle. Benjenn shifts into a towering bear and roars defiance. Mel’s voice falters as the creature lowers itself toward them.
The session ends on the precipice of battle, the final rune column almost at full charge, and the broodmother poised to strike.
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Session 12 –
‘The Battle of the Last Chamber’
The broodmother descends from the ceiling and is colossal, fast, and deadly. She is a tremendous physical threat, born of the deep marshes. Her weight shakes the stone, her fangs drip with venom, and her eight eyes burn with hunger. Behind her, the unstable rune-column pulses faster with every moment it charges up, threatening to destroy Ost Guruth from beneath.
Rothlung moves first, dragging sparks from his spear across the stone to draw her attention away from Meltharian and Anduval as they attempt to calm the runes with song. Benjenn rises in his bear-shape with a roar that fills the chamber, and together they meet her in the first brutal clash. Rothlung pins one of her legs with a perfectly timed brace with his spear, and Benjenn tears into her exposed underside, but she is powerful enough to wrench free and hurl both of them across the floor, crushing ribs and rattling armour.
Mel and Anduval try to hold their melody against the chaos, but each time Mel glances back to the battle, the pulse of the runes flares brighter. She cannot let her companions face such a monster unaided, and the strain breaks her focus repeatedly. She eventually abandons Anduval to the melody and runs to aid her companions with the beast.
This action seems to herald a change, for from high above, the first of several fire-shrooms streak down and detonate upon the broodmother’s back. Chitin splits apart as heat floods the chamber.
Feay has reappeared, plunging down from the shadows, cushioning her fall with a foam-mushroom before leaping into the fray. Her fiery counter-attack continues, explosions lighting the cavern as burning silk rains from the ceiling like embers. The broodmother shrieks, thrashing as green ichor spills across the stone. Wounded, ablaze, and buckling under the onslaught, she reaches her most vulnerable point.
But the fires have consequences.
The blasts and spreading flames heat the chamber past breaking point. Old webs ignite like oil, and the ancient stone walls begin to vent steam as the heat reaches forgotten reservoirs stored behind them. The cold water within starts to boil. A groan travels through the stone. Then another. A sharp crack splits the wall. The floor itself heaves. Jets of water erupt from the ground and sides from the pressure.
From one such explosive leak, two shapes are flung skyward… it is Tivlyn and Wittkun, not drowned at all, but soaked-through and battered. They are expelled from the ruptured reservoir they had been washed into from the stream earlier.
Wittkun lands like an anvil and rises with axe in hand already entering the fray. Tivlyn crashes down coughing up half a river, dazed and shaking, not yet able to help. Feay, moving fast, tosses expanding pillow-shrooms beneath them both to break their fall.
The battle explodes into renewed chaos. More blasts from Feay. Benjenn tearing at exposed plates. Wittkun hacking with fury. Rothlung fighting with near-mad resolve.
Victory seems within their reach, as they dismember and hack away at the broodmother from all sides.
And yet, though burned, split apart, and reduced in limbs and fangs, the broodmother refuses to die as the rune-column pulses violently.
Green strands of energy that were feeding the charging up of magic instead unfurl across the room and coil around the broodmother’s ruined body. Her wounds knit. Plates reform. Severed limbs regrow. Her abdomen swells with new, unnatural vigour. She rises again, impossibly restored. She is stealing the magic meant for the rune and hoarding it; even fully regenerated, she refuses to release the power. She grows stronger, greedier, and more monstrous with every heartbeat. The rune-column’s danger to Ost Guruth is diverted, yes, but in its place is an empowered creature of malice.
The fellowship attacks with everything they have, but she heals faster than any can harm her. They realise they are trapped in a deadlier dilemma than before. How can they kill something that endlessly replenishes its strength?
Then the temperature shifts.
It is subtle at first, unnoticed in the chaos. A new presence steps into the chamber. A hooded figure in dark robes emerges from the mist, drawn by the weakening glow of the rune. A plan not progressing as desired. The same green magic erupts from his fingertips; obedient and hungry. He circles behind the column, unseen by most.
Looking back towards Anduval in regret for leaving him, Mel spots the Stranger… and charges back, but she is far too late. She throws her spear, but his power turns it to dust in the air and rebounds to shatter her arm for the insolence.
Anduval who is pressed against the column and humming the failing melody, never senses the Stranger approach. A black, curved blade slides cleanly between the old man’s ribs. He releases a single sharp breath. The Stranger leans close, whispers something unheard, twists the blade, and lets Anduval fall against the stone. His blood runs down the carved grooves. The stone drinks it greedily, flaring bright for the first time, as the magic that would have fuelled it is still being hoarded by the ravenous Broodmother.
The fellowship freezes. The broodmother looms above them, reborn on stolen magic. And the true evil behind the triggering of the rune-columns has finally shown his hand… the Stranger, calm and deliberate, standing over the fallen body of Anduval, their guide.
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Session 13 –
‘Songs, Spiders and Sacrifices’
The broodmother stirs in her renewed and even now empowered glow. Already restored, her carapace now pulses of green fire. Her silhouette swells with stolen power. She rises, now far beyond what she was when the fight began. The broodmother laughs a deep shuddering sound that reverberates through the chamber, “Did you think to slay me? The elves’ twisted runemagic feeds me now.” She slams one limb into the ground, fissuring the stone. The blow alone would have killed any one of them had it landed clean.
Meanwhile, Meltharian and Tivlyn rush to Anduval’s collapsed form, despite the threat posed by the Stranger’s presence. Mel’s face goes white at the sight of how much blood he has already lost. Together, they attempt to drag him away from the pillar, knowing full well that his blood only empowers the rune further.
As if by the mercy of the Valar, a familiar hooded figure appears atop the stairs. The elf known as Daewen had reached the chamber by one of the upper passages, drawn by the noise and the growing green light, not to mention the activity in devastation already caused in Ost Guruth. She stepped into view at the top of the old stone stairs, took in the chaos below, and her eyes widened in shock as she recognised a few of those below, “Elenen nin Eärenen! What is happening here?”
Tivlyn spotted her at once and cried out, “Daewen!? Daewen help!”
Daewen rushed to Anduval’s side, but every flicker of healing she attempted was pulled from her hands and swallowed by the glowing rune column. No matter how she tried, the column drained her strength before it could reach him. Realising she could not halt his fading life, Daewen could only remain beside him as the rune continued to drink in his final breaths.
All the while, the battle rages on...
Benjenn, still in bear-form, charges the broodmother with roaring fury. His claws carve another great gash through her flank… yet it heals even as he tears it open. Wittkun smashes into her with a hammer swing, chitin flying, but she pivots with horrifying speed and drives a limb into him, sending him spinning across the stone. Rothlung, battered and bleeding, plants his spear and charges again. The spear flashes green as it pierces deep under her plate, drawing a hiss of true pain.
The retaliation is immediate. She slams herself into him with overwhelming force. Benjenn is also crushed beneath her bulk. Wittkun is struck and flung once again. And as he tries to pull her leg away from Benjenn, the limb splits open like rotten bark, bursting an entire brood of spiderlings onto him. They swarm over his beard, face, and arms, biting as they cling.
Mel tries to sing again, but her voice cracks. Anduval’s life is fading. The rune is flaring. The broodmother is unstoppable.
And the Stranger watches it all, amused.
He turns to Tivlyn and Mel drawing Anduval away, “It recognises him. The runes remember the blood of those they were meant to protect.”
Anduval tries to speak, blood spluttering from his lips. He only manages a broken, pained sentence: “It… was not meant for this…”
The Stranger continues. “Yes, it was meant to bind and protect Ost Guruth… but now it will destroy it. All I needed was for you fools to break it open. And you did. Without me lifting a finger.”
The rune’s glow falters as Anduval’s blood upon it is used up. The power within the Broodmother surges brighter than ever, and the Stranger’s tone finally shifts as if realising the situation only then… that the run had only been sustained temporarily be the blood and that the flows of magic were being siphoned away… “Gluttonous thing… you steal what is not yours.”
He curls his hand, and green sparks jump between his fingers.
The magic feeding the broodmother reverses.
Green tendrils rip out of her body and snap back toward the column, stripping her regeneration away. The broodmother reels, suddenly vulnerable.
“Thief!” she shrieks toward the Stranger. “Thief of my brood’s fire!”
But he ignores her.
Freed of her unnatural protection, she turns in desperation towards her attackers. Her next lunge crackles with fury against Benjenn, but now she is weakening. He sinks his massive teeth into her neck, tearing through hardened chitin. Ichor floods into his mouth. She screeches, body convulsing.
Wittkun rises out of the swarm of spiderlings like a creature born of rage. He crushes the young with his fists, tears them from his beard with his hands and even munches on them in his mouth while he charges her abdomen. He buries his axe up to the haft with his next blow.
The broodmother cries out a desperate, furious, betrayal-stricken sound.
“Master! Help me! I have served! I have fed your fire!”
The Stranger does not look up.
“You were the fire’s vessel. Nothing more. The flame has burned through you.”
Her limbs buckle. Her eyes flicker.
Yet she has one strike left.
She lunges, her last act, and her fangs punch through Rothlung’s armour, burying themselves deep. She releases all of her venom into him and it floods his blood in an instant.
She collapses atop him.
And dies.
…
With the broodmother dead and the rune swollen with stolen power, the Stranger finally stepped back from the column, satisfied. The chamber shook, dust raining from the ceiling as cracks widened across the stone. He cast one last glance at the fellowship scrambling around Anduval’s fallen form, a faint curl of amusement at the corner of his mouth.
“You think you will save him?" His tone is almost kind.
“You cannot even save yourselves… or Ost Guruth. Your time is up.”
Green sparks coiled around his fingers. Then, without a ripple of displaced wind or sound, his form unravelled into smoke and shadow. In an instant he was gone, leaving only the echo of his words and the unstable column flaring brighter in his wake.
Benjenn tears Roth free from beneath the corpse and drags him to Daewen. The man’s body spasms, veins turning pale green as venom spreads. Kneeling over Rothlung, she summons her healing power, only to discover, in horror, that the rune column drains her strength exactly as it drained Anduval’s.
Still, she works. Blue-white light engulfs Rothlung’s dying form. Magic clashes with venom inside him. His skin blisters. His back arches. Then…. stillness.
Frost spreads over Rothlung’s skin. His colour drains. His flesh turns to grey marble threaded with faint green lines. He is not dead… Daewen can feel that much… but he is no longer alive in any mortal sense.
…
Time was passing quickly again, and cracks raced up the surface of the rune column revealing light trapped within the stone. Each pulse shook dust loose from the ceiling. It was about to erupt and destroy the settlement.
Benjenn’s bear-form rumbled a warning growl. It was time to leave. They’d done all they could. Wittkun staggered to his feet, swaying but unbroken. Tivlyn shielded Anduval’s body with her own but Mel felt the tune still lingering in her ears, begging to be completed. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Mel acted.
She stepped forward, pressing her palm to the trembling stone… heedless of the heat, of the risk, of the Stranger’s poisonous words. The column responded, if only barely, to her voice as she forced herself to resume the melody. Tivlyn joined her a moment later, having closed Anduval’s eyes and laying him down. Even Benjenn offered a heavy, growling hum to steady the rhythm.
But the column was too laden with volatile power, and the song alone was not enough now to stop it, but it could still slow it. Their voices held it back only while they sung. The moment one faltered, the pulse surged again.
Daewen recognised the truth first. “Go,” she warned, voice shaking. “Get clear. If it bursts… it will take you all with it. Warn Ost Guruth. Save as many as you can”.
Benjenn and Wittkun made ready to move, Ben taking up Rothlung in his maw, but Tivlyn and Meltharian seemed fixed. They were not going to go, they were going to try to the last.
No one moved. Benjenn nor Wittkun seemed happy to leave anyone behind.
And then a single stirring broke the stalemate.
Anduval was not dead yet. He moved, barely, dragging his failing body toward the base of the column. Blood smeared beneath his hand, but he did not stop. No one noticed him at first; the noise, the shaking, the light swallowing the room made him a ghost among shadows.
But when he pressed his palm to the stone beside theirs, they all looked on surprised.
"Go… go now… all of you," he says, his voice carrying above the din. "I am finished. But let me finish this in your stead." He begins to sing.
When Benjenn realised Anduval had broken the deadlock, he made the decision for all of them. With a sudden lunge in his bear-form, he barreled into the group clustered around the stone, knocking Mel, Tivlyn and Dae clear of the column and breaking their song.
Benjenn’s shove broke the melody, and for a heartbeat the column began to explode as they feared. But Anduval was still in contact with the stone, and that changed everything. Instead of the blast ripping upward at Ost Guruth, the old magic turned inward, folding the entire surge into him. The light consumes him. His form burns away to dust and flame, yet in that brilliance there is no scream, only calm... a stillness that feels like mercy to him.
Those who look, see or think they see, for just for an instant, a white figure above the collapsing stone, with great beams of light like wings unfurling like the breath of dawn. Then the glow fades, and Anduval is gone. The column is dark, the air cold. Where he lay, the surface is smooth and silvered, humming softly with the memory of a song that saved a settlement... but required a sacrifice.
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Session 14 –
The fellowship climbs out of the ruined tunnels into the shattered market square of Ost Guruth. Night air stings their lungs after the heat and smoke below. The well is gone, the square half-collapsed, ash settling in slow drifts. Captain Rolan and lieutenants of the Eglain Stanwic and Tortwill all wait at the blast’s edge, hollow-eyed from hours of fear. They stare as the fellowship emerges, battered, dust-choked, and barely standing.
Tivlyn is the first to speak, voice raw: “Anduval saved us. Saved Ost Guruth.”
The words break Rolan. Relief and grief strike him at once.
As the group gathers, the toll becomes clear. Meltharian’s arm is shattered, her voice doubled unnaturally perhaps from the singing. Tivlyn’s hands glow silver faintly, perhaps from the rune’s touch. Benjenn is exhausted but thinks he can distinctly catch the scent of the power which surged around them not long ago. Wittkun is reeling, the echo of stone grinding in his skull, though he feels more resilient than he has in a long time. Daewen arrives shaken, her life-leeched by her attempts to heal, and then there was Rothlung, who was hauled out unmoving, stone-fleshed, cold, but breathing faintly – a petrified statue though half alive.
Captain Rolan accepts the truth grimly: the threat beneath them is ended, but the one who caused it yet walks free in the marshes.
Talk turns immediately to Rothlung. Benjenn demands help; Tivlyn refuses to let him be abandoned; Daewen insists only Elrond Halfelven can break such a spell. Rolan offers all aid the Eglain can give and Strangsig, the healer of Ost Guruth, arrives and confirms it: Roth is alive, but held fast by a sorcery beyond mortal craft.
Stransig mentions a secret charm left by the Brown Pilgrim…. something meant for an hour of true need. The group follows her to Radagast’s leaning tower. Inside, weakness, exhaustion and trauma crash onto them as they climb the narrow twisting stairs. The tower hums with old enchantments. Wittkun hears a heartbeat in the walls. Benjenn smells strange magic. Tivlyn’s veins glow brighter the closer she moves toward hidden things.
Together they work to eventually find what they seek: a sealed box that unlocks only when Meltharian sings. The lid opens to reveal a twisted branch wrapped in silver-threaded bark.
Daewen takes it. She knows what must be done.
Kneeling over Rothlung, she places the charm on his chest. The magic answers… violently. It draws life not only from her, but from everyone in the tower. But the charm works.
Rothlung’s marble skin softens. The greenish veins dim. A flicker of movement stirs behind stone eyelids. He is not healed… but freed enough to survive the road to Imladris.
Then Daewen collapses, her strength spent almost to breaking. Strangsig confirms she still breathes. She needs time to recover.
As they all take pause, fragile but alive, their path becomes clear… Daewen must take Rothlung east to Elrond, once she regains strength. While the rest must ride toward Harloeg to pursue their stolen companion, Vratni, and hunt the Stranger who orchestrated it all.
There is great relief when Captain Rolan swears he will join them, and that they will have the backing of the Eglain to end this threat to the Lone-lands for good, or die trying.
The night ends in exhaustion, fear, and a hard-won sliver of hope. Ost Guruth is safe… for now. The party is splintered, wounded, but unbroken. Tomorrow, their road divides.
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The story continues in the chronicle: "Where Webs Whisper"...
