Author’s Note: This piece was shaped with a little help from AI. It provided assistance on things like the structuring, some names, shortening some verbose language/ideas as I'd written, and gave me the odd turn of phrase here and there. The heart and shape of the story are my own (as adapted from live-play with others naturally), but I realise it is important to be transparent about my use of AI support in producing it ultimately. I hope you enjoy it.
Session 6 - 'A Stranger's Whisper'
Featuring: Vratni, Flent, Tivlyn, Wittkun, Feay, Meltharian, Cirvalad, Davus, Erthera, Tayschren
Location: Ost Guruth, Lone-lands
Vratni had always prided himself on knowing a good deal when he saw one. But the moment the company left Ost Guruth, stepping past its weathered gates into the wilds beyond, he had a feeling the day would demand something more than negotiation.
The Eglain had been hard people, reluctant in their aid despite the company’s efforts. Even after coin had changed hands to ensure Tivlyn and Wittkun received proper care, Vratni knew their wariness had not vanished. It never did in places like this. The road ahead was no kinder. He was pleased that Feay had managed to concoct some herbal remedies that eased Tivlyn’s discomfort considerably. The halfling was proving to be of some value beyond the many wild stories she simply told.
The party walked on, boots pressing into dirt and gravel, the weight of their supplies settling on tired shoulders as the Eglain had advised that the terrain was too rough for horses and ponies; that the road was no longer a safe route. The elves among them kept their eyes sharp, scanning the wilds for signs of trouble. Flent moved with quiet intent, his thoughts unreadable. Tivlyn kept her pain masked behind stubborn endurance, while Wittkun, despite his wound, seemed as ready for danger as ever. Davus and Erthera were quiet but followed in step.
And then, they met the stranger.
A hooded figure, draped in the muted tones of the Eglain, stepping forward with the practiced ease of someone who had something to offer, yet something to hide.
His words were smooth, laced with an intrigue that Vratni recognized immediately; the kind of talk meant to lure, to tempt. He spoke of ‘Amon Ros’, of forgotten ruins and treasures whispered in shadow, a place that called to those who sought profit and purpose.
Vratni, for one, listened intently, his arms folded, measuring the man not just by his words, but by what he did not say.
He knew this type.
And yet, something the stranger’s offer was far more than idle words spun in passing, it was a lure, carefully crafted, designed to tempt those who sought fortune as much as those who sought glory.
Amon Ros, he claimed, was more than just a ruin swallowed by webs, it was a place of forgotten power, its depths hiding hoards untouched, its secrets whispered only in the darkest circles of lore.
For those seeking wealth, it was a promise of gold unclaimed, artifacts buried beneath layers of time and silence. Treasures that the Eglain feared to seek, that others lacked the courage or strength to take for themselves.
For those seeking purpose, it was a call to battle against a long-unchecked blight… spiders that did not merely infest the ruins, but guarded something deeper, something lost to time. If they were vanquished, if their nests were burned, it would mean the clearing of an ancient danger, an act worthy of warriors of renown.
And yet, the true weight of the offer lay beyond the simple promise of riches or victory. The stranger spoke not just of Amon Ros, but of forces shifting, of opportunities lost to those who refused to act. He framed the choice as one that would shape not just their own fates, but the fate of those around them.
To refuse was to leave something hidden, something powerful, untouched.
To accept?
To accept was to step into the unknown, where both fortune and doom waited beneath the silk-draped stones. But at least they’d know what faced them, for a change…
That was the choice placed before them.
And for those willing to wager their lives?
It was an offer difficult to ignore.
The debate began.
Some were sceptical…. Tivlyn voiced her doubts plainly, unwilling to be swayed by the promise of treasure, despite her own self swaying under the effects of a healing mushroom. Others weighed the risk against potential gain. Others distrusted the Stranger, calling them dark and foreboding… and while the mention of treasures didn’t seem to hold much sway for most in the party, the mention of the spiders did. After all, wasn’t that their mission, to root out and find these spider nests or clues towards their ultimate destination in the Misty Mountains?
… And Vratni?
Vratni had always been a dwarf drawn to what lay beneath the surface…. not just the depths of dwarven halls or mines, not merely the gleam of gold, but the very secrets that are so often woven into the foundations of things. Secrets were a powerful thing to acquire. They could be used for one’s gain, often as easily as coin, sometimes easier.
The stranger’s words didn’t just promise wealth… they hinted at something buried, something long forgotten yet not lost to time completely. Something the Eglain would benefit from, something they all could…
And that was what intrigued him most.
Amon Ros wasn’t just a ruin infested with spiders… it was a place people whispered about, a place ignored by those who might have claimed it long ago. That alone told him that fear had kept men away where ambition should have driven them forward.
The way the stranger spoke, the careful layering of mystery alongside temptation, it wasn’t just a pitch for adventurers seeking coin. It was a calculated offer, one placed before a company just capable enough to be lured in, but not knowledgeable enough to know what they were stepping into.
And that, in Vratni’s experience, meant something worth knowing.
So, while some listened with scepticism, while others weighed the risk against their purpose, Vratni weighed something else entirely.
What was it that lay beneath the silk-wrapped ruins?
And more importantly…. who else wanted it enough to send men to die for it?
That was a question worth answering.
Even if it meant stepping straight into the jaws of something far older than gold.
The decision had been made; westward (not eastward), into the ruins at Amon Ros. Whatever hoard or horror waited there, the company would face it together.
'Session 7 - 'The Webbed Ruins'
Featuring: Vratni, Flent, Tivlyn, Wittkun, Feay, Meltharian, Cirvalad, Davus, Erthera, Tayschren
Location: From Ost Guruth to Amon Ros, Lone-lands
The decision to part with their steeds had been made in Ost Guruth, not out of preference, but out of necessity.
The Eglain had warned them; the eastern road was in poor condition, treacherous beyond what travelers might expect. Loose stone, shifting terrain, the kind of hazards that could cripple a rider and their mount alike. If the company was to press eastward, it would have to be on foot.
So, choices were made.
Cirv and Mel, trusting their mounts in ways only elves could, released them to run free, their bonds ensuring they would return when called. Others sold their horses, with Vratni ensuring they received a fair exchange, the kind where the company walked away with weight in their coin pouches, not regret in their hearts.
And yet, fate had already twisted the course.
Instead of pressing eastward, the company turned west, stepping into the unknown. Only once the steeds and equipment were fully settled would Cirvalad, Davus, and Erthera in turn follow the larger party.
---
The journey westward from Ost Guruth had begun under a veil of uncertainty, but as the company reached the outskirts of Amon Ros, uncertainty gave way to something heavier, a feeling that settled deep, pressing against the ribs, whispering caution even where reason did not.
Vratni was no stranger to ruins, nor to danger at this stage... places abandoned always had a reason for being left behind he thought to himself. It wasn’t the promise of gold alone that intrigued him, it was the absence of those who should have claimed it long ago.
Why had Amon Ros been left to rot? Why had its secrets remained buried, unclaimed, untouched?
The answer began to form as they approached.
The ruins loomed, draped in a suffocating blanket of webs, stretching from crumbling stone to jagged cliffs, thick as ropes, silvered strands catching the dim light like steel. These were a barrier, woven with intent, as if the very ruin had been cocooned to keep something inside.
The company hesitated. Not out of fear, but calculation. The hooded stranger’s words still lingered; fortune, forgotten power, danger wrapped in silk and shadow.
Vratni tightened his grip on his axe. Tay, ever the sharp-eyed elf, scanned the perimeter, bow drawn. Wittkun leaned heavier on his weapon, his wound still fresh but his resolve unwavering. Mel adjusted the straps on her shield, preparing for what came next. Tivlyn, wounds or not, slicked her blade with fire-oil borrowed from Tay, her own eyes already alight with readiness.
Feay moved first.
Mushrooms, her strange, volatile craft, were tossed against the webs, fiery explosions rippling through the air, flame licking hungrily at the strands. Tay followed immediately, his movements sharp, practiced; arrows slicked in fire-oil loosed into the tangle, striking true, their flames spreading in bright flashes.
At first, it seemed to work.
Threads snapped, curling inward, some crumbling to ash as the heat devoured them.
But soon, the resistance became undeniable.
What should have burned refused to fall, the webs merely shimmering with fire instead of crumbling beneath it. Their natural weakness, the vulnerability of silk to flame, was meaningless here, this was not ordinary webbing, but something woven with an unnatural resilience, something that did not yield to destruction.
Vratni tightened his grip on his axe, watching as the fire flickered against the strands, illuminating the ruins in an eerie glow, but never truly consuming them.
The company’s path forward remained choked, defiant.
Then, as though responding to their intrusion, the air shifted.
A sound.
Faint, but unmistakable.
A rustling above.
Flent was the first to spot them, as the party turned their gaze…. to the cocoons.
Suspended high, grotesque ornaments woven into the webs, hanging in eerie silence. They had been lifeless, unmoving.
Until now.
They were moving.
Shifting. Stirring.
Not just the silk. The figures within.
Vratni felt the hairs on his arms rise.
The air hung heavy with tension, still thick with the scent of burning silk and the quiet dread of what lay ahead.
The cocoons twitched, their trapped forms stirring weakly, muffled noises barely escaping their woven prisons. The party could see their already half-melted forms…. No, it was too late for them. Whatever lay within, whatever fragile remnants of life had once existed, had long been beyond rescue. All they could consider was to put them out of their misery.
Flent stepped forward, his expression unreadable, his gaze shifting away from the lost souls above. It was not hesitation, only grim resolve. There was no time for mourning, not now. Not here. They were in danger.
Then he saw it.
A glow.
Distant, faint, but unmistakable… a light pulsing softly beneath the arch of a bridgeway, veiled in the thick darkness that clung to the ruins. It flickered, shifting like embers caught in an unseen breeze.
Vratni followed his gaze, narrowing his eyes against the gloom. Not fire. Not torchlight. Something else.
Something waiting.
The party held their breath, the weight of what came next settling upon them.
Whatever lay ahead was not just spiders, not just ruin.
Amon Ros was hiding something.
And now, they were walking straight into its grasp.
[see the continuation in the chronicle: "Where Webs Whisper"]
