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Spider, spider!

Tags: Broddur,  Yerig,  Spider,  Elrohir,  Elladan,  Oskar,  Logoz

Short Summary: The Dwarves and their Elven escorts entertain an unwelcome denizen of Mirkwood. Dwarves drop like flies; Elrohir flexes those muscles whilst his brother looks on
Date (real-life): 2011-01-20
Scene Location: Mirkwood: Old Forest Road
Date (in-game): December 3051
Time of Day: Night
Weather: Rain
Old Forest Road

The old, rutted road continues its sinuous path through the wood. The nighttime winter air is cold around you. In the dark, you can discern little else.

Rains falls steadily through the gap in the trees and runs down in rivulets into pools in the ruts. The water streams down slowly and seeps into the ground.

Real time is: Thu Jan 20 14:30:22 2011
Game time is: Nighttime <00:31:06> on Monday, Day 27 of December (Winter) 3051

Mirkwood. Ever the bane of Dwarven lives, and this trip has been no exception. First it was snow - thick, steady snow that blinded the vision and made the onward road impassable. Little to do but wait it out.

Now that snow has turned to rain, and the winter wonderland has been replaced by a morass of slush and mud. After spending half the afternoon trying to get the wagons moving, the Dwarves have given up on the attempt. Their wagons stand gathered in a haphazard and uneven circle, and at its centre someone is muttering and cursing as they fail to get a decent fire going. Occasional flares of sparks bear testament to their efforts. At the perimeter sentries stand, peering into the darkness.

Amongst the guards tonight is Broddur. He has long since given up peering suspiciously at every rustle and drip and just stands miserably, the hood of his cloak pulled well up over his head and a fold of the same garment pulled over the head of his miner's pick.

    The steady rain has driven many of the dwarves under cloak, if not under the very wagons. Yerig strikes a similar pose, his wild-haired countenance cowled, and leans his weaght upon his battle-axe, which is comically almost as tall as he. It would be the second night of unease amongst the troupe since first witnessing the Uruk that followed their trail -just- out of reach. Never had it been so difficult to heed the orders 'Hold rank' as it was when those varmint peered out and taunted them from the treeline.
    "By m'beard," says Yerig to the dwarf beside him and those nearby, one of them being Broddur. "Ah ain't too fond o'night watch."

Broddur grunts in response to Yerig's comment. "What Dwarf in their right mind is? Mahal's beard! If we hadn't spent so long in that wretched Elven valley, we'd have got through this cursed forest before winter was upon us. Elves! Likely they're watching us right now, laughing as they look down from on high in the trees." He shakes his unweaponed fist at the woods; clearly Broddur is not too fond of Elves, present or absent.

    The Firebeard khazad that is Yerig snorts, echoing the word 'Elves' like it were an expletive. He shared Borddur's sentiments. He, however, was still torn to every snap and sound that couldn't be readily identified as rain. One such sound, like brush rustling, had him snap his head at the darkness. "Wha'zat?" he said in a low tone, eyes narrowing to no avail in the lightless forest before shouting over his shoulder to the inside of the wagon-circle. "Hurray up wi'that fire, cousins!"

Noise travels further than one might think within the forest, and as the echoes of Yerig's cries bounce from trunk to trunk along the side of the road, something in the dark undergrowth stirs. Gentle rustles that would not rise above the patter of the rain nevertheless take places, and there is the creak of bark somwehre along the treeline as some unseen bulk moves within it.

"What's what?" mutters Broddur irritably. "Probably one of those miserable-looking squirrels. I'll tell you, if I get my hands on it it'll be one ex-squirrel. Dirty, thieving little creatures." He does not look behind him, but glowers at the rustling underbrush and half-heartedly waves his pick at it. "That or some other Elven pet." No, he can't get away from the topic of Elves.

    Grumbles ensue from around the intended fire circle, and the dwarves continue to fumble with their firestones. "Eht's all wet!" excuses one of them; over the din of their shouts, the movements of the yet unseen entity in the wood are indiscernable. Yerig harumphs, turning his eye back towards the darkened treeline -at least, he thought that's where it was- and goes on squinting away at the shadows, mumbling a bit of incomprehensible wordstuffs to himself.

"Well, that's what you've got tinder for," Broddur retorts toward the fire - or rather, not-fire - on hearing the shouts. "By Mahal, when /I/ was a young Dwarf there was none of this grousing. I've a good mind-" Whatever else he was about to say is cut off by Yerig's mutterings. "Eh? What's that?" he demands. "Need to take a leak?"

    Yerig's head lifts and turns to Broddur with an expression of 'Howd'ja know?' and his beard sways with his nod. "Yea, keep m'post," he said, muttering something afterwards that sounded like 'ifitruttinmattersinthisrain'. He wasn't so daft as to enter the brushline without his axe, and he carried it high upon his shoulder as he strode maybe five feet into the undergrowth, where he began fumbling with his belt.

High above them another creak of bark sounds -- merely the wind bending the trees to its will, perhaps? Whatever the case the shadows of the forest are dark and deep; and eyes not made for the night may have toruble piercing them. A shadow moves behind them, climbing higher among the darkling boughs.

    After long last, the fire erupts. It would appear that, in their frustration, one of the group struggling with their firestones had drenched the wet tinder pile with some torch fuel. The distant grumblings of one hooded, red-bearded dwarf can be heard, and after refastening his belt, he saunters towards the camp just as the flames spread their ambiance around the camp scene. A shadow of unknown origin now presents itself, passing over just where the dwarf had relieved himself, although he was none the wiser to it. Yerig waddles back towards his post.

Broddur grunts and nods at Yerig's words. Alone now, he stands peering out into the rain-battered darkness, pulling his cloak tighter about him. When a particularly large raindrop hits him on the nose he mutters something monosyllabic to express his general dissatisfaction with the world.

At the sound of creaking from the trees, he frowns and calls out to Yerig, "Mind yourself, some of those branches don't sound too healthy. Last thing we need's half the forest down on us." He peers suspiciously at the nearest tree, and edges away into a space slightly more open - and slightly further from camp - just in case.

The tiny, flickering flame at the camp's heart casts only a dim glow on the forest beyond, and it is an unsettling one. Every branch, every leaf seems to move.

[+LIGHT:#16974] Broddur lights wet wood.

But closer to the shadow revealed by the blaze, alas, and Broddur may well come to rue his choice. It is then that a peal of thunder echoes far above the rainswept forest, and a hiss rises up from the trees in answer to it. From the leaves emerges a bank of gleaming eyes; hairy, horrible flesh stretching away from their gaze to suggest a great mass behind the foliage. The boughs creak once more as though straining with a great weight, and were the dwarves to look they might spot the shifting of greenery as huge, spindly legs push it apart and move.

At the sudden burst of flame another figure appears at the edge of camp, a tall slender figure clad in grey and silver. "What are we roasting?" Elrohir asks pleasantly of Broddur.

    Yerig turns to face the wood he had since come out of, a little further behind and closer to the fire circle than his kin Broddur. The lurching from above catches his eye, and dropping his axe into a more ready grip, he raises his voice above the musings and chatter of the camp.
    "Be at th'ready, cousins! Eyes in the trees!"

"Unwanted Elves," Broddur mutters ungraciously under his breath. It's probably intended only for himself, but one with sharp ears would catch the words easily enough. "Evening, Master," he adds a little louder, not sparing the attention to find out /which/ grey-clad figure might be addressing him.

At the thunderclap he starts violently, and does indeed look up. "Must be a stor-" The words die in his throat as the faint gleam of the fire is reflected in many bulbous orbs, rather like crimson lanterns. "That's never lightening," he murmurs uneasily, and even as he frees his pick-hand from his cloak he calls, "Ware! Goblins." Eyes, after all, must belong to something, and he knows that orcs have been following them."

COMBAT - Wielded: War Hammer

Eyes, and a good deal more, though the Dwarves will likely have no love for what else emerges then from the undergrowth. A hairy, bulbous mass rears into view against the dismal rain and the meager firelight, and sharp claws snap within an ugly, malformed set of jaws as the creature hisses once more.

No orc is this, but older and fouler things that orcs may be found in the darker places of the world. Long has this menace lurked and watched the roadside, stirred into boldness perhaps by the shadow that so recently dominated the forest. Now a hideous spider, swollen to monstrous size comes to hassle the Dwarven party, much as their fathers may have told them happened once before along this road.

It skitters down from the trees, the powerful legs well used to scaling the bark, and as it lands upon the ground it rushes forward with startling speed; the pincer-like jaws snapping for a taste of the Khazad's flesh.

Giant Spider attacks Broddur with its fearsome claws!
...and it hits! Ouch!

ARB: You've been injured for ** hp's by Giant Spider's attack...
...you have ** left. Please RP this injury accordingly.

Swift eyes find this new monstrosity, one silver pair to meet many fire-lit ones, unmoved but tensed to spring in readiness. Elrohir bows low as if in greeting, picking up a flame-drenched branch from the dinner fire, and in his hand is already drawn a cold-burning brand.

"You," says the peredhel, even as the great spider finds a taste in Broddur's flesh, "were not invited." He swings torch, then sword, at one of the creature's legs.

Elrohir attacks Giant Spider with his Longsword and moderately wounds it!

Yerig's rallying shout hardly rose into the air when the behemothian arachnid descended upon his sentry partner. "In Durin's name!" roared the dwarf, raising his great axe above his head. Without fear or hesitancy, he rushes forth in honorable khazad fashion, stout legs propelling him on albeit in a short choppy way. He didn't make it in proximity of the abomination before his swift companion Elrohir had, and instead attacks it beside him. One wide arc of the dual-bladed weapon seeks to hack off another appendage of the giant spider, and if following through and before making contact with the terra firma, it would circle about to prepare for taking another bite at it.

Orcs Broddur is expecting, a scattered and uncoordinated mass of individuals against whom might and steadfastness and a sturdy pick will usually prevail. When the leafy boughs above him part to reveal the monstrous spider, shock freezes the old miner in place. Only for a few heartbeats, but it is enough. The spider-creature's snapping pincers find purchase on his outstretched weapon-arm, the pick swung too low, too late ...

The pain rouses him. Yelling incoherently, Broddur takes advantage of the distraction caused by that irritating Elf to yank his arm free. It is bleeding profusely, and hangs oddly, but not for nothing are the Dwarves known as 'sons of stone'. He still clutches the pick in his gnarled hand.

A moment's respite as Yerig too attacks the beast, and then Broddur transfers the pick to his other hand and swings wildly toward one of the great clusters of eyes. "Lets see if we can roast something worth the roasting," he growls at the spider, his spirit undaunted.

You attack Giant Spider with your War Hammer...
Your attack against Giant Spider lightly wounds it!

If Broddur's surprise is kindled by the emergence of the spider, a wretched screech rending the air might suggest that the resistance is equally unexpected in the spider's alien mind. As Elrohir and the Dwarves all charge it, a reconsideration seems to take place behind those multi-faceted eyes. The bulbous mass shidders as frst the Elf's and then the noble Khazad's weapons strike true, but it is to the son of Elrond that the bulk turns in wrath.

The jaws snap and body trembles, and the front leg of the horrible beast scythes out, seeking it seems to tear Elrohir's legs from under him.

Giant Spider attacks Elrohir with its fearsome claws!
Giant Spider lightly wounds him!

The attack sweeps the peredhel off his feet, but he is not so unprepared as to slip in the muddy swamp of a road. Elrohir lands, outstretched as a tangled acrobat, on one foot and one hand; the burning torch is thrust at the Spider's eyes, towering but near.

Elrohir attacks Giant Spider with his Longsword and moderately wounds it!

The fray escalating about him and his heavy axe having cleaved through its target appendage, Yerig brings it in a circle overhead once more. Thus far, he's been fortunate to be unnoticed or at least unaddressed for the time being, and in so being he feels obligated to remain fast in his offensive. Bringing his axe down in a far from graceful swipe, this time seeking a new limb to dismember.

[Oskar(#28429)] Another dwarf comes charging into the fray, bellow an ancient battle cry in the hidden language of the Khazad. Despite his apprentices' attempts at keeping him safely behind the lines; despite his limp and his single eye, Oskar is not to be coddled! He unlimbers his war hammer, and swings it over his shoulder, circling to find a place to strike.

Broddur grunts in satisfaction as his wildly swung pick hits something. He is slow to follow up on the move, however; as the spider jerks forward to attack the son of Elrond in his stead, the doughty Dwarven miner simply stands there, swaying. "Got- got to gut the b-blinking beast," he mumbles, slurring the words a little, and heaves his left arm up. The pick's arc is swung in slow motion, and misses the spider entirely - indeed, he's lucky not to strike the fast-moving Yerig.

Drips of red from the injured right stains the mud - yet surely this is veteran of many fights, untroubled by a little blood loss?

Whatever the case regarding Broddur, the blows raining in upon the swollen hide of the spider cause it to seethe out a fresh hiss of defiance, and the alien eyes blaze wildly as they seem to pass from one figure to the next. Cringing, backing away as the steel of Imladris and the axes of the Ered-Luin tear away fresh chunks in its flesh, the best turns then to Yerig; perhaps deeming him a softer target.

Out lashes the mighty foreleg of the monster, striking as best it can for the khazad's face.

Yerig bellows in pain as his most recent upswing is thwarted by a flailing foreleg. Sturck flush in the face, he staggers back, dropping his armament in his unbalanced state. Crimson ichor mingles with the red of his beard as a large wound opens up on his face, from brow to chin. Yerig stoops down, picking up his great axe with a growing rage, and with the trademark Khazad warcry, he charges straight for the colossal arachnid. Were he to advance beyond its appendages, mangled and hacked off where they were, he would rain down dwarven fury upon its body, with little regard for his own in the act.

Broddur recoils as Yerig beside him is struck. But what starts as a simple reflex ends as a slow topple. By the time he hits the ground the Dwarven miner is out cold, his body rigid and his features waxen. The fingers of his left hand are still closed tight about his miner's pick in a vice-like grip that neither Dwarf nor spider will loosen.

Whether he is trampled by the ebb and flow of battle remains to be seen.

And as the monstrous arachnid turns its rage upon the dwarf Yerig, so does Elrohir find an opening: swift and slender hands strike out, forsaking their grip on the torch for an attempted grasp upon the spider's own leg. Using his sword-point as a hold, the peredhel leaps, seeking to cling to the leg, and should he be thus successful, bound upon its hairy back.

Elrohir attacks Giant Spider with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.

[Oskar(#28429)] A howl of pain to his right... Oskar turns that way just in time to see Yerig be struck; and he shouts again, slashing out at a leg with his hammer.

Oskar attacks Giant Spider with his War Hammer, but he misses by a hair.

[Elladan(#27059)] Just now a slender shadow leaps forth out of the nightly undergrowth. "Aiya, Earendil!" The voice is clear but angry and what dim light is left in the camp flickers on a long elven blade as Elladan enters the fight. Only a few paces and he will be in reach of the eight-legged beast.

The creatures legs lash out all the more, scrabbling to retain balance whilst also seeking to drive away its assailants. But too bold it seems the beast has been; too brash to recognize its peril, and with a second of the Elvenfolk appearing a shudder trembles through its massive bulk.

Elrohir may have some success with his efforts, after all, for while the beast careens this way and that, evading much of the fury of its attackers, its attention seems now locked upon the khazad in front of it. Another leg beats at Yerig, hoping perhaps to knock him senseless, but it is Oskar whom the venemous jaws seek next.

Out they lunge, two poisonous talons seeking the flesh of a son of Durin.

Giant Spider attacks Oskar with its massive paws!
Giant Spider moderately wounds him!

[Oskar(#28429)] The thrashing of the legs whips Oskar's target right out from under his hammer. The dwarf roars again, rage turning his face red. But alas for the veteran - though he be doughty yet, the spider's talons come out of his blindspot, and he can't react quickly enough. He jerks himself away, but twin runnels of blood spring up on his thigh even as he attacks again, swinging his hammer with all his might at the giant beast.

Oskar attacks Giant Spider with his War Hammer and lightly wounds it!

Elrohir clings to the angry, flailing legs, bright mail shivering as he swings pendulum-like from the jointed appendage. Closer and closer he inches, til he is near to the glistening abdomen of the giant spider, gleaming sword ready at hand.

"Elenion ancalima," the peredhel finishes in the other's voice, lunging to strike at the bulk even as he hangs.

Elrohir attacks Giant Spider with his Longsword and badly wounds it!

Yerig's flailing maul deflects the brunt of the creature's blow from striking true, although it does prove successful in deterring the weight of his tirade. The barbed limb knocked him back, hitting his leatherbound chest, and not penetrating the thick hide. Descrying the mortal attempts of a hysterical creature, Yerig does not relent in his attack, but instead presses all the more, for the sake of his comrades is now in peril. Swinging broadly, but not too much so as to endanger his kin. The dwarf's thick shoulders flex and twist in an endeavor to cleave into the giant spider from its back whilst Elrohir and Oskar lead an assault from a more direct approach. Yerig is also conscious of the less-than conscious Broddur, and tries his damnedest to divert the melee from him.

Elladan has now come close enough to the left side of the creature to swing his sword against one of its remaining legs. The tall blade hisses through the air as the other son of Elrond charges his foe with a grim face.

Elladan attacks Giant Spider with his Longsword and moderately wounds it!

More screeches of pain echo up into the rainy night as the hammers and blades of the party carve and beat upon the spider's bulk, and at last Yerig's efforts pay dividends; one massive leg hewn away from his attacks. Oskar and Elladan have similar success, hacking away large chunks of foul hide, but the prize goes to Elrohir's sword instead.

Delving deep into the beast's flesh it might almost seem to burn and char what it rends, and the massive frame of the spider topples backwards. Racked with pain and anguish, no more attacks are made against the group, but lest Elrohir is careful, he may be squashed by the very bulk he has pierced.

Giant Spider attacks Elrohir with its fearsome claws!
Giant Spider attacks Elrohir, but Elrohir parries the attack with his Longsword!

The spider flops, Elrohir beneath it; at least it would seem so, with the bulk of the oozing abdomen pressing the peredhel into a nearby tree, with only the sharp section of steel, supported by both mailed arms, between him and an unpleasantly gory fate. Elrohir purses his lips, annoyed.

[Oskar(#28429)] Oskar is breathing heavily, strangely, for so short a battle. He is not in such bad shape yet! He pauses though, to wipe his forehead, and staggers a little as he lifts his hammer to swing at the spider.

Oskar attacks Giant Spider with his War Hammer, but he misses by a handspan.

Yerig receded from the heat of battle as he observes the last throes of the spider's life. And then, as it rears up and flops over, he was mighty glad he did. "By Durin!" spits the Firebeard as he watches the Elf's get restrained by the mass. He isn't sure if the beast is finished, and as such he approached cautiously, probing with a bit of a fatigued swing of his axe towards its underbelly; he desperately wanted this altercation to be over, as most assuredly they all did. "Yar!" Yerig shouts to the camp. "Git a log lever o'er 'ere!"

[Elladan(#27059)] Ere Elladan can cry out a warning for his brother, the fell beast begins to squeeze Elrohir. "Kill it first," he calls as he stabs at the spider's gross head.

Elladan attacks Giant Spider with his Longsword and moderately wounds it!

The counsel from Elladan is wise indeed, for even as Yerig gains fresh success by hacking deep into the beast's belly, it is not conquered yet, and it wriggles as best it can to regain its footing. The stab of Elladan's blade splatters an ruins more than one of the multitudinous eyes, and the others glare up at the Peredhel in wrath.

The thrashing legs turn their fury upon him, seeking to mar the fair features of Elrond's son even as he has done as much to the spider.

Giant Spider attacks Elladan with its fearsome claws!
Giant Spider attacks Elladan, but Elladan parries the attack with his Longsword!

[Oskar(#28429)] The war hammer thuds into the ground, and Oskar stares at it blankly for a moment, before trying to lift it again. How has it gotten so heavy so quickly? He staggers backward with the momentum, almost tipping over, then stands, spraddle-legged and swaying, staring at the spider without seeing it.

The pinned peredhel, contact breaking for a moment as the spider thrashes in anger, gives a breathless laugh to Elladan's advice. He takes the sword in both hands, pointing it towards the ready-made wound and slowly seeking to drive it in again, drag it in and across like a lever.

Elrohir attacks Giant Spider with his Longsword, but he misses by a hair.

Yerig offers the writhing and thrashing arachnid a stalwart kick as his lifts high his axe once more. Blood has been smeared into his vision, and perhaps the kick had more to do with locating the target than it did injurying it. Aforementioned maul is sent earthwards with the utmost strength and rancor that this khazad can muster in an endeavor to bury it deep within the girthful abdomen of the giant. The scar and wide flesh wound that dresses his face, Yerig appears to be the best for the wear in this altercation. He doesn't as of yet notice the collapse of Oskar, as he is most preoccupied with finally subduing the cretin and freeing the peredhel trapped in its midst. "Yer flowerbrands ain't cuttin' it, lads!" bellows Yerig at Elrohir and his kin as he attempts to rend the spider into little bits.

[Elladan(#27059)] Dark ooze drips off the edge of Nallaklaure as Elladan swings the blade to parry the wildly flaying claws. "Get me a firebrand then," he calls out to the dwarves in the camp. Then he steps back a bit only to lunge out again at the monster in the next moment. The elven steel cuts upward towards the great mandibles.

Elladan attacks Giant Spider with his Longsword and severely wounds it!

[Oskar(#28429)] Oskar's final swing never happens. Instead, the old dwarf's eyes roll back in his head and he topples over, to spend the remainder of the fight peacefully sleeping.

Yerig and Elladan will have a valorous tale indeed to tell should they both survive this carnage, for it is their blades which send the beast into a further fit of pain and despair; a hissing, squealing sound erupting from its taloned jaws as it is wounded to the quick by their assault.

Doing what it can to right itself, all thought of battle seem now to have fled its brain, and heeding little the prone fogure of Elrohir it tramples beneath it, it makes as best it can for the forest.

Giant Spider attacks Elrohir with its razor-like teeth!
Giant Spider attacks Elrohir, but Elrohir parries the attack with his Longsword!

Elrohir, clothed in gleaming ice, rolls out of the anguished dance of the Spider's legs unharmed. No pursuit does he give for the fleeing creature; rather, he stoops stiffly to examine one of the Dwarves, two of which have curiously dropped off to sleep.

Yerig sustains another blow from the flailing arachnid, this one catching one of his arms. Naught but plain fabric is there to thwart the lashing, and it digs deep into the top of his forearm. He takes a few steps back in time for the spider to dash towards the forest, but not in time to send it off with another hack of his axe. Instead, he throws it into the air, shouting after it, "Ah 'ope yer babies eatchyer oozin' carcass!"
    And so it seemed the foray had come to pass. Yerig looks back upon the remnants of it, moving towards Broddur's fallen form. "By meh beard," he mutters, taking the fellow khazad from under his arm and tossing him over his shoulder. He ambles with this burden towards the camp, leaving behind the weapons for now, and calls out for a healer from the group. Damage control.

[Elladan(#27059)] "Fie!" Elladan curses as the spider retreats into the deep Mirkwood. Then he cast a questioning look at Elrohir and eventually at the dwarves. Only a single look is exchanged between the two brethren and Elladan looks. "Go and wash the slime off yourself, I will tend to the Naugrim," he says in the elven tonque. Said that, he sheathes his sword and hurries over to Oskar.

[Combat(#13388)] Elladan sheathes his fell sword, Nallaklaure.

"I very nearly managed to ride it," replies Elrohir, lending his brother an arch look. "Very well. I return." And he is gone.

Date added: 2011-01-21 04:38:43    Hits: 147
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