With Thorgrim shrugging his overly wide shoulders, Ingold draws his Dwarven short sword and dives into the narrow tunnel, wriggling towards the sounds of battle.
Cereidh continues her mute struggles.
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"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!" Thorgrim screams in impotent rage. At last a great cap to his greatest battle is taking place WITH Cereidh in it and he is stuck on the other side of the tunnel, cut off for want of the size of a hobbit.
Prudence states that if the Took could barely get into whatever secret sepulcher he described, 'tis but folly to attempt it himself. But then he hears Doderic call out in surprise and concern and all caution flies away.
"That tears it! I'll go myself if I have to cleave this whole mountain in twain!"
Balefully he turns and prepares to dive into the tunnel...only to see Ingold's great buttocks wagging at him.
"Um, do you need a push or....?"
In the retelling of the tale around future campfires, it is always a point of disagreement as to how much 'help' Thorgrim provided to Ingold in dislodging the scholar from the confines of the tunnel. Thorgrim stands firm in that he provided a simple, calm and helpful push at just the right moment. Ingold contends the Beorning slammed into his backside like a wild, panicked, stampeding ox. A blow that left the scholar unable to sit comfortably for a week.
Regardless of how he actually got unstuck, Ingold finally shoots through the narrow opening and crawls forward to find Doderic standing stiff as board a few feet from what can only be Cereidh wrapped in thick, sticky webbing. A monstrous, grotesque spider easily the size of a cavalry horse stands over and next to his companions. The foul beast of shadow is busy supping from the elf's neck and jabbing a poison filled sting into the frozen hobbit.
Ingold slices at the webbing holding Cereidh with his fine Dwarven short sword, then moves into the room while drawing its twin, slashing with the second blade at the poisoned stinger jabbing at the hobbit.
Doderic grunts, but can't shake off the large quantity of venom.
Common Doderic. You can do this. Just Argghh! He winces as the spike is thrashed about.
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"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!" Thorgrim enters The Berserker Rage and like a shot from a canon comes raging out of the tunnel. Not one to be held back by any mere tonnes of stonnes, the debris that constitutes the narrow opening is expelled like chaff in the wind as the great form of the Beorning comes bursting out, sending eaons-old pebbles and dirt flying across the room.
Taking in the scene at a glance--Cereidh held in thrall by webbing thick as cording-rope, and Doderic standing as if carved from stone while being done to death by the spider-thing's deadly stinger--his momentum continues forward.
The great sword Noctocide leaps into his hand, appearing as if by magic and he is drawn to the foul beast as a dropped stone might long for the ground. The momentum that carried him from the tunnel now carries him again to battle.
= 20
Yea thought the great size of the thing precludes him from bringing the great sword's huge mass to best advantage, Noctocide knows when death dealing is needed and does its level best to even the fight.
Doderic and Cereidh continue to fall under the influence of the spider's wicked predations. Poison burns within the hobbit's veins as the elf feels the ghastly fangs of the creature draining her life's blood. Still blinded by the webbing, Cereidh hears Thorgrim's desperate raging roar and feels the weakening of the webs as Ingold works to cut them away.
Scrapped and scuffed from squeezing through the passage, Thorgrim emerges full of fury. His initial assault takes the creature still feeding upon the elf. Noctocide slams into the big, bulbous abdomen of the spider releasing a flood of foul, yellow ochre ooze.
The spider squeals in pain and sudden fright. "Aiiieee! Wicked Men stealing my repast." It says, scrambling back and away up the wall dripping foul inner fluids down into the chamber.
Spider HP: 36/150
Webbing: 9/15
Pausing his sawing at the webbing to avoid injuring the elven archer further, Ingold says, ”Keep up the pressure, Thorgrim! I will tend to our companions!” as he pulls out a wad of Shadowthorn and quickly applies it to Doderic’s poisoned wound. He then stands between the spider and his weakened companions, waving his sword menacingly, though the effect is somewhat lessened by his uncomfortable shifting due to a sore posterior.
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"An excellent idea, Ingold!" Thorgrim answers, shaking his sword at the fleeing spider. "Aye, I'll steal your repast and MORE! Come and face me, coward! Bah, it's just as I've always said."
Thorgrim, not having anything to swing at just now, takes a moment to look how the scholar is faring. Quite well, in point of fact. He knows his business and appears to be doing...things. Which is what he should be doing, in all fairness.
Turning back to the spider problem, Thorgrim sighs. He wants to go and start hacking at things, mayhap destroying the webbing would cause it some difficulty?
Well there we have it.
Uttering another wordless roar, he takes up Noctocide and starts hewing through the anchor webs that hold the webbing to the floor. Having broken his share of cobwebs, he knows they are usually under strain, needing to be taunt to catch prey. Hence, as one side is cut assunder, the whole of it shrinks for lack of strength.
Usually such work is sticky, but Noctocide is meant for more than this, and the silky webs must needs fall before it like wheat before the thresher.
"You can come and die quickly, or I will destroy your home and THEN you can die!" he yells in his wrecking work.
Finally free of the venom, Doderic runs back over and grabs his bow before turning and firing off a shot before trying to find a good spot to hide.
Cereidh finally pulls her arms free of the sticky webbing. With that bit of minimal freedom she spends the next several moments pulling chunks of the foul, cloying silk from her eyes legs. By the time the elf is finished, she's still got bits and chunks of the stuff stuck in her hair, and up and down her body, but she's free to move and put her mighty bow to use once again.
Ingold's poultice and a herbal infusion work their healing wonders on Doderic. Although his muscles are still stiff and somewhat lethargic, the hobbit can move once again. Grabbing his bow, his grip is a bit shaky still and the arrow clatters off the domed ceiling above, missing the spider.
With Ingold standing guard over the recovering elf and hobbit, Thorgrim hacks and slashes his way through several feet of thick webbing. After only a few seconds, the big warrior is almost as covered in pieces of the stuff as Cereidh and Noctocide looks more like the fluffy spun candies on a stick beloved by children during the midsummer festivals rather than a deadly steel blade.
Above the slashing blade of Thorgrim, the spider sets to spinning more webbing. It scuttles back and forth across the darkest section of the dome, weaving a thick, sticky barrier between itself and the heroes below.
Cereidh shakes on her slender legs like a colt with fury and frustrated adrenaline, but she has been wielding a bow for longer any Man has lived, and she puts all of her into her shoulder as she draws her bow.
"Eat Light, you bloated shame to this entire miserable place!"
Thanks to the help of the antitoxins Doderic manages to shake off the remaining venom in his blood. He sees the creature trying to barrier them off and fires off a shot.
Before moving to try and break line of sight once again.
Concerned about his elven friend’s health given her state when he entered the room, Ingold reaches over and applies a quick poultice to her injury where the spider had been siphoning off her life’s blood.
He remains in front of the archers with a single sword in hand.
Ingold's healing energy reinvigorates Cereidh and within moments the fierce song of Bregghar echoes within the chamber. Two long shafts pierce the weak veil of webbing and puncture the spider's already weakened abdomen. Doderic adds the higher pitched timber of his bow to the elven song sending his own feathered shaft in retribution for his wounds and poisoned flesh.
"Noooo!" Squeals the beast in its eerie, unsettling voice. "Wicked things. Vile beast. Nasty invaders!" It rails and flails in futility while Thorgrim waits below. A stalwart guardian of steel in case the grotesque monster of darkness decides to make one last ditch attempt to escape into the tunnel.
Patience is rewarded as suddenly the spider bolts across the dome and races down the wall. It's eight long legs clacking and tapping with wild abandon upon the stones. Quickly spinning out a thick line it drops the last dozen feet to the ground just in front of the opening.
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Cereidh is not shy of stealing valor from Thorgrim in her ire.
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Thorgrim wanted to give the beast a stern talking to about who it was in those sickeningly human-shaped cocoons over yonder, but instead all that came out was "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!" as he charged headlong at the beast.
He had been balancing on the balls of his feet, and as soon as the beast's plan came to light, with the force of loosed crossbow bolt he shot forward, ready to put an end to this silky hunter's living nightmare upon this world.
The spider lands near enough to Ingold that the Dunedain lashes out with his blade opening another deep cut in the spider's body. Quickly reversing direction Thorgrim charges the beast. His first wild flurry misses as rage throws off his aim for a moment. His riposte is much more accurate and lands just moments before two more feathered shafts hit with ferocious power. The blows slams the spider partway into the tunnel. The big body slumps to the dirt blocking most of the tunnel while foul smelling fluids ooze from the carcass to fill the air with a nauseating stench.
"Ugh," Cereidh says, with feeling, before bending to tug at one of the legs, thankful for her leather gloves. "Spiteful and unpleasant even in death. Well, it's spread that particular curse. I could stand to slay something else right now."
Doderic lets out a small sigh. One less foul creature in the world, in exchange for one more nightmare for him. Overall, a good trade. Until He tries to sleep peacefully.
He shakes himself out of his thoughts and moves over to the item that caught his attention earlier and begins cutting away the webbing to reveal it.
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Thorgrim stands and breaths for a moment, letting the hot blood run out of him as is his habit when he enters the full heart of battle. As the red-rim leaves his vision, he nods in agreement with Cereidh. "It's almost like some monsters want to spite the living, even after they are no longer in position to eat them.
Mind you, a thought occurs to me...we have those orc to despose of, but, having gained this place, we might could spend some moments examining it in earnest, and even take a measure of rest, before we join the main fight.
Thusly, I might could leave the corpse there for the nonce, thus ensuring our security for the moment, and only remove it when we are ready to seek battle.
So too, I should like to cut those cocoons down and get a look at the victims. Call it historical curiosity if you like."
Taking pause to digest all the little things that one might do in this secret room, he bends down and begins collecting the fallen 'stars' that have made their way to the ground.
With the goal of making an exquisite drinking cup, he realizes he must needs have coin in good store for the task.
Cereidh sits with her back to the pedestal in the center of the room and tugs at the strands in her hair with frustration. Despite the gory wound at her shoulder, Ingold's healing has done her good, and she appears to still be whole.
"Far be it for me to go charging off without you," she says, but seems relieved at the proposal. "I shall simply sit here and catch my breath."
After tending to the wounds of his companions and making sure they are properly cleaned and bandaged, Ingold aids in looking around the room and investigating the contents of the cocoons, laying any remains to rest in a respectful manner.
healing
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Thorgrim begins to sift through the dirt and rubble every few minutes plucking a gemstone and dropping it into a small pouch. He finds quite the selection of topaz, citrine, aquamarine, and garnets. Every once in a while his efforts are rewarded even further as he discovers a small sapphire, ruby, or in one instance a round cut diamond that sparkles brilliantly in the lantern light.
Leaving the Beorning to his gem hunting, Doderic carefully starts to work his way through the thick layers of webbing blocking off the one alcove. Soon enough he is joined by Ingold, who helps the hobbit lower and set aside some of the cocoons.
There are a half dozen bodies that are still somewhat recognizable to some extent. All are quite dead and little more than dry, desiccated skin and bones only kept together by the webbing. In fact, a cloud of corpse dust fills much of the cavern when the first corpse the two attempt to remove simply falls apart when the webbing is cut. The bones of the man tumbling to the dirt floor with little warning. Stepping back and letting the air finally settle, the remaining removals go with less mishap.
Among the corpses they find two dwarves, another man, an a pair of orcs. Clearing the thick cocoon from one of the dwarves reveals an ornate helm of silver, steel, and turquoise inlay. Spirals and interwoven knotwork eagles decorate the finely crafted bit of ancient armor.
While Ingold cares for the dead, Doderic delves further into the alcove, finally reaching the marble plinth. A thin gleam of something metallic glitters from atop the stand buried in thick spiders web. A thick layer of bone covers the floor. Remnants of the spiders many other victims lured here seeking wealth or lost wonders.
Weary of traps or other dangers beyond the now deceased spider, the hobbit carefully saws his way through the thick strands. The work is hard, sticky, and foul as the webs leave him just as coated as Cereidh. His efforts do result in a rather grim success.
Pulling the last layer of silk away reveals the long dead head of a Dunedain. A woman judging from general size and shape. The gruesome treasure is placed mockingly upon the pedestal within a wide golden bowl. The bowl itself is clearly of ancient design and craftsmanship. Decorated with woven knots and depicting kings and seers gazing into the heavens and the bright star of Earendil. Numenorean writing is engraved around the upper rim of the bowl.
Cereidh startles and looks behind herself. "The sleeping Princess, perhaps?"
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"Well I'm not kissing her," Thorgrim states, assuming it completely normal that that would be the first thing he'd think of. Seeing as how it seems most nights that if the bard doesn't sing some rejoinder about a sleeping princess revived at the kiss of some lucky-come-lately prince he didn't get paid, the leap was not so great.
He contents himself quite well going about and picking up the mostly semi-precious stones. Running about in his mind are all the battles he'd fought, against monsters, men, the land or the weather, just to earn a tenth-part of even the least of these stones. If the Thorgrim of even a handful of years ago could see the Thorgrim of now, he'd whomp him silly if he left a single fallen star behind, knowing that he can earn a month's laborman's wages simply by pending down and reaping it from the dust and web-covered ground.
The idea of returning here and remaking it in a palace had many upsides, not the least that he could be a king without having to deal with people, or even holding land that anyone else would be jealous of, since something so long lain fallow could hardly have many callers. That it might take a part of the place's wealth to re-make the place had a kind of poetry to it.
Only when all the he could bend, or reach up to, and take was taken then does he wander back and see what sort of macabre finds had been taken amongst the webs.
Looking up from his self-imposed duty of laying the spider’s victims to rest, Ingold asks, ”Have you found a stone of far-seeing?” before moving over to survey the scene.
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Ingold gives the grisly scene a closer inspection. The scholar judges the bowl and important find, but for several long minutes ponders the dunedain remains resting within the ancient item. Gently, cautiously, and with precise care he removes more and more of the webbing that still hides much of the disembodied head.
When he uncovers the eyes, he steps back gasping surprise as an orb of white and blue stares back at him with unblinking judgement. But after a moment he realizes the eye to be, not an unliving horror, but a thing of masterfully crafted glass and paint. The false eye drops out of its now loose socket to clatter within the dust filled bowl.
A few wispy strands of blackened hair are still wrapped within a thin net of woven gold marking the wearer as quite wealthy if not royalty of some kind. Removing more webs, reveals a third item of interest. A choker still clinging to the woman's upper neck. Made of mithril, the interweaving, knotwork design is certainy Arnorian. Hanging from the mithril chain is a seven pointed mithril star with a cut diamond center stone. Ingold immediately recognizes the symbol as that of the ancient Conclave of Seers that once advised the northern kings.
Less substantiated rumors among some scholarly works believe that much of Nirena's occult acumen was gained in the far south through unknown magics and relics. Others say she grew mad over time and that only her royal brother prevented her from being removed from power. Still others believe she was a victim of political backstabbing and maneuvering that sidelined her at an important point just before Angmar's final invasion. After the long passage of time, none know the actual truth, except that she was one of so many who died during the fall of Fornost to the Witch King and his minions.
Carefully pulling out the important items, Ingold describes them in detail as he does so, gasping when he sees the choker. ”This could be—it must be—Princess Nirena Turmen. Daughter or King Argeleb and sister to Arvedui, last king of Arthedain. She was reputed to be a powerful seeress, though some said her power was derived from magical items procured during her adventures to the far south. The bowl, eye, and hair net are also of great interest, but this choker is the item most likely to be imbued with eldritch power,” he relates carefully.
Holding up the necklace, Ingold looks at it once more, trying to sense if there is any taint of the shadow’s corruption about it.
”I am sorely tempted to don this necklace, that I might improve my own perceptiveness and foresight, yet it is dangerous to do so without corroboration of its nature. What say you all—should I do this?” asks Ingold, obviously torn by the promise of increased capability versus the risk of an unknown item.
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"Oh absolutely. Dying in your bed, many years from now, do you really want to look back and think, 'O! What adventures or other treasures long forgotten might I hath known if only I had heart enough to don that necklace! Why did I let timid caution stay my hand when a bold heart would have opened my eyes to the treasures of the Ancients!"
Thorgrim said all this as he eyed the spires and the walls, wondering how he might climb what to try and pray a bit of that Mitchell he keeps seeing.
Surely he could get enough to ensure his gold-layered cup. And if he got enough for a suit of armor? All the better.
Taking a second look you believe that with the proper rituals and some time under the light of the sun, at least some of the items may be cleansed of the taint.
Thorgrim gathers enough glittering treasure to decorate a full table setting of goblets, without removing any of the scattering of stones still embedded in the ceiling above. Ingold continues to study the objects discovered with the unfortunate princess while Doderic and Cereidh do their best to rest and recuperate from the ordeal with the spider.
Time passes.
The stench of the dead spider and swirling, slow to settle, dust generated from Thorgrim's digging through a thousand years of fine dirt and grit combine to make the air nearly unbearable within the small confines of the ancient chamber. Talandil starts to look particularly sickly as he coughs and coughs eventually expelling a glob of disgusting glop tinged with a bit of red. A bit alarmed by the severity of his fit, the old ranger suggests it may be time to move on.
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Thorgrim celebrates the last find--a gilted fraise well-caked with dirt but hopefully full of enough real gold to fill out his epic trophy--with a breif gorge of salted meat and tepid meade. At last feeling replete and well provisioned with both food and potable wealth, he rises, stretches, belches enthusiastically, and heaves to at the giant spider corpse.
He's handled enough dead things to know how to grip something to get the bulk of a thing away, rather than just ripping off limbs or good hand-holds to make moving the rest of the things harder. His leather-and-metal gloves are good proof against the more fouler of the ichors coming from the corpse, and as he pulls he takes the occasion to work not just the arms, but his back and legs too, getting a total body workout.
”Yes, Talandil, let us move on. Some of these items may be purged of the shadow taint if exposed to the cleansing power of the sun,” says Ingold as he regretfully puts them all away for now and starts wriggling out of wretched lair they have lingered in too long.
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While unenthused by the work, Cereidh throws her main strength behind helping Thorgrim.
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Something good came from it at least, more so than removing yet another threat from the shadow and so making the world just a small bit safer...
Doderic crawls out first, to make sure the way is clear and safe for the others to squeeze through. On his way out, he smiled and made a poor, if humorous, limerick.
our foul foe we faced twice
Yet our strength, it did Suffice
to best our dark foe
to the foul beasts own woe
and it all turned out, rather nice.
Once Thorgrim and Cereidh complete the filthy task of dragging the spider's slashed and oozing remains from the tunnel entrance, Doderic is the first to emerge from the narrow confines into the open chamber beyond. He is followed shortly by the rest of his companions where all breath deeply of the seemingly fresh and abundant air of the dank, musty air.
The smell of orc still drifts ominously from the eastern passage, but no other signs of the foul creatures is seen or heard.
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Thorgrim finds the way out a bit easier than the way in, having excavated a good chunk of the tunnel in his rage to enter into combat. Still, upon exiting he stands and stretches enormously, ensuring his limbs are fully in charge of their powers.
"Well, let's do this thing. The orcs arn't gonna cleave themselves, as much trouble as that might save us." Thorgrim draws Noctocide and makes ready.
"Doderic, you wanna scout ahead? Or shall I just take point and kick in the first door I see?"
Doderic will nod before quietly moving ahead of the group. Keeping eyes out for trouble.
Ingold stays near Thorgrim, his bow out and ready should orcs appear.
”Doderic, you are still injured. Allow me to bind your wound before you head off scouting orcs,” Ingold offers.
Following any last moment aide from Ingold, Doderic quietly leads the way down the eastern passage. Stones and debris from past cave ins make travel treacherous and even the sure footed and stealthy hobbit rattles the occasional loose stone. Lichens, roots, dirt and time have worn away whatever once decorated the corridor. Occasionally one can glimpse the smallest fragment of some fresco or mosaic still clinging to the walls.
The passage goes on for about fifty feet before opening into another chamber. This one not so grand as the previous. Rubble and debris is everywhere. Scattered among it all are bones and bits and pieces of rusted metal and rotted leather. Evidence of those final hours within the city and the slaughter wrought upon its people by the denizens of the Witch King.
Poking through the area, several of you spot bones, more recently deposited within the debris. These are from small animals for the most part, although one or two may have once been from Man, Dwarf or Elf.
Three exits leave the area, west from where you came. One to the north and one continues east.