. Along Came a Spider .
. "Shhh," a middle-aged halfling signaled to his family cowering behind him. They lie bundled beneath the roots and grass and vines of the forest trees, purposely entangled for the safety nature seemed to be able to provide at the moment. Wiping away the sweat from his greying brow, Tidbit addressed his chattering squirrel. Along with a young, halfling boy clutched to his mother whose clothing was tattered and torn violently, the group seemed terrified. Mudge, a boy about eleven or twelve years old, sobbed quietly. The tears in his eyes fell with little more than whimpers escaping his lips. Pipsqueak, a flying squirrel nearly three times her natural age, barked and squealed, stealing the attention of the halfling away from his watch duties.
. Only an inkling of light shone through the brush to allow Tidbit's eyes to adjust. He peered into the terrified face of his animal companion to understand her motions and antics, and to drive a sense of urgency into her. "Animals never understand until you beat information into them the hard way," he thought, silencing himself in the casting of a simple spell. He rose his hand forward just a bit, tracing symbols before him in the air with his index finger pointed outright, while all others lie tucked tightly into his palm. The spell, though, simple did seem to take a bit more effort than usual, but worked without error.
. Gidget, the elderly woman responsible for the boy whimpering beneath her, never understood the importance of her husband's animal friend, but never really understood the importance of her husband, either. She tried desperately to watch his movements and understand his intentions, but every action Tidbit performed was foreign to his wife of thirty years. She'd later learn to love Pipsqueak as Tidbit always has. As her eyes turned to her husband and his diminutive friend, she heard nothing of his words, but only the sounds of two squirrels quarreling back and forth. Tidbit, at some point, learned to speak with (and sound just like) squirrels. Her eyes widened in amazement and awe.
. After only moments, Pipsqueak, a flying squirrel much older than most in the area, ran to her friend's chest, seemingly hugging him with great sadness. Watching the two interact, Gidget almost felt as though she saw Pipsqueak's emotions fade from those of a curious or angry squirrel to that of a concerned friend who knew it would never again match eyes with its soul mate. The Tallfellow understood her husband's body language to mean she'd also not see him long after this day.
. Tidbit grabbed his son, signaling for him to climb onto his back as he had done so many times as a very young boy playing "monkeys" in the forest of Cormanthor. Pinching just a slight amount of earth from beneath his knees so firmly pressed against the ground, Tidbit pushed himself once more to cast another spell in silence. Just then, Pipsqueak darted from Tidbit's arms, knowing what she had to do. The sound of nearby slaves and soldiers no longer frightened her, as she was on the hunt for a new world of strength.
. With one final motion of his hands, Tidbit ended his spell which concealed him and his family. His motions matched his squirrel companions with greater speed than usual. Gidget, wrapped in pearls that looked as though they'd been plucked from neck in a hustled ambush, was in complete agreement; she knew just what was happening. Her wrinkled face smiled, and welled with soft tears. She pulled her disarrayed hair back into its dull band, readying herself to creep low to the ground. She silently made her way south toward the Abbey of the Just Hammer. Oddly, the same direction of Pipsqueak.
. Into his mouth, Tidbit dropped a bit of some strange liquid and a fine body with eight, frightfully writhing legs, recently plucked from a very carefully organized satchel at his waist. A crunch followed with the tiny sound of the screams of the creature who was nowhere near as deadly as it soon would be. Tidbit held onto Mudge, instructing him to hug tightly, so as not to fall. Still just as quickly as when he cast his spell, the two began swiftly ascending the great oaks of Myth Drannor.
. "RUN GIDGEET!" he shouted to the east. His heart began to pound as he watched the dark skin and light hair of the armies below. If his wife were seen, the entire village would surely perish. "RUUUN, MY LOOOVE!" He knew the attention would be set on him for at least just a moment, and he was right. Though arrows were knocked, they had difficulty finding the abnormally lithe halfling who was quickly making his way to the treetops of Cormanthor. "WE CANNOT... LET... THEM... DOOOWN!" His words were long and drug out, purposely making the footmen aware of his position.
. An arrow passed by the halfling's shoulder, piercing the bark of the great oak, and forcing itself firmly into its hide. These soldiers were no ordinary marksmen, and their bows were especially astute for their wielders' strengths. A second arrow flew by the two boys' heads, but only barely, scratching at the surface of Mudge's skin, bouncing off the tree, and falling to Earth in an acrobatic display. It's fine tip landed head down, stuck to the dirts and grasses beneath the trees.
. With only the third attempt of a dozen or so, Tidbit felt a sharp pressure against his back, but only at the small above his waist. He was not hit, but shortly after, his load certainly was lightened. Drooling, hungry mouths below wait open in anticipation of their falling meal. Mudge's eyes still open, welled as he stared back to his father, his arms and legs flying as his back faced the quickly approaching ground. "RUUUN GIDGEEEEEEET!" Tidbit let out one last time.
. Finally, with an arrow through his left hand, the hand he used so often to cast his spells, Tidbit truly was hit. He saw blood fleeing his body through a very tight, open wound left from the shape of the arrow's head. It trickled down his arm, but didn't slow him. Only seconds had passed since he cast his spell, and already the Ghostwise descendant was nearly 120 feet off the ground. "How?" he questioned himself. "How?" Another shot, just then interrupted his final thoughts.
. "Run, Gidget. Be safe and well, my beauty. Be true, Pipsqueak, and aide her eternally." He hadn't the strength to speak as his back pressed firmly against the ground with only a bit of rope between the grass and his own body. The fall did not end the life of the wise druid, though other tortures were sure to follow. His captors' eyes were light, bright, and did not seem natural as he'd come to know and understand nature. They were purely evil. "Be safe," he gasped. The eyes of Tidbit's son still wide open, limbs apart from his torso, the boy did not survive the fall. Hounds of sorts were tearing into the tiny creature's flesh, savagely ravaging the taste of a fresh kill yet old enough to walk alone. All Tidbit could do for Mudge was weep in pain and sorrow.
. Meanwhile, with Gidget, Pipsqueak flew high to the clouds, only slowing down enough for the abnormally quick halfling on the ground floor to follow. Whatever spell Tidbit cast, seemed to also carry-on to the squirrel while they were still together, increasing her speed just enough to keep her a few clicks ahead of the Tallfellow.
. Hearing the shouts of her husband in the near distance, Gidget wanted to turn about. She wanted so terribly to run to the rescue of her family, but knew if she did, she'd doom her entire village to his same fate. She'd not know of the goings on, but she was certain of the details. Soon, though, Gidget and her new escort would be too far away to hear the real cries. Pipsqueak's speed slowed after an hour... or two... their exhaustion the only thing bringing the two to a near halt.
. Gidget's eyes watered harder, longer and deeper. Her heart pounded heavily, not from her breath, but from pain. A woman who loses her husband is known as a widow, but a mother who loses her child has no word, because the thought is just too unbearable to name. From her mouth spewed bile, green and yellow, flooded with the morning's water before the ransacking of her solitary, forest hut. Gidget coughed violently, letting out cries and sobs with hysterically frantic pains of sorrow. Her love, her family, her life was gone.
. Pipsqueak cuddled into the halfling's arms, consoling her loss, and sharing in her pain. The two lay there together for hours, resting and crying, knowing nearly certain they would never see neither Tidbit nor Mudge again. The sun fell, the moon rose, and the cycle continued. Pipsqueak fetched small berries and juicy, water-filled bits of fauna for herself and her new companion who'd not yet moved in two days. The squirrel, though sad, knew she couldn't give up, and knew Gidget was the only person to relay her message when and if they'd ever find someone to rescue their small village from the onslaught of the Underdark at Myth Drannor. With Gidget paralyzed from heartbreak, Pipsqueak would have to find someone to continue the journey to Tasseldale where the soldiers of Tyr would certainly send aide.
. Too few people wandered the forest of Cormanthor since the elves were all but pushed to the east at Evermeet. Would anyone be near the Vale of Lost Voices to hear the diminutive squirrel's cries? If there were such a person or party, Pipsqueak was determined not to lose the closest person to her closest friend. She'd find someone, even if it meant traveling to Tasseldale herself.
. Only an inkling of light shone through the brush to allow Tidbit's eyes to adjust. He peered into the terrified face of his animal companion to understand her motions and antics, and to drive a sense of urgency into her. "Animals never understand until you beat information into them the hard way," he thought, silencing himself in the casting of a simple spell. He rose his hand forward just a bit, tracing symbols before him in the air with his index finger pointed outright, while all others lie tucked tightly into his palm. The spell, though, simple did seem to take a bit more effort than usual, but worked without error.
. Gidget, the elderly woman responsible for the boy whimpering beneath her, never understood the importance of her husband's animal friend, but never really understood the importance of her husband, either. She tried desperately to watch his movements and understand his intentions, but every action Tidbit performed was foreign to his wife of thirty years. She'd later learn to love Pipsqueak as Tidbit always has. As her eyes turned to her husband and his diminutive friend, she heard nothing of his words, but only the sounds of two squirrels quarreling back and forth. Tidbit, at some point, learned to speak with (and sound just like) squirrels. Her eyes widened in amazement and awe.
. After only moments, Pipsqueak, a flying squirrel much older than most in the area, ran to her friend's chest, seemingly hugging him with great sadness. Watching the two interact, Gidget almost felt as though she saw Pipsqueak's emotions fade from those of a curious or angry squirrel to that of a concerned friend who knew it would never again match eyes with its soul mate. The Tallfellow understood her husband's body language to mean she'd also not see him long after this day.
. Tidbit grabbed his son, signaling for him to climb onto his back as he had done so many times as a very young boy playing "monkeys" in the forest of Cormanthor. Pinching just a slight amount of earth from beneath his knees so firmly pressed against the ground, Tidbit pushed himself once more to cast another spell in silence. Just then, Pipsqueak darted from Tidbit's arms, knowing what she had to do. The sound of nearby slaves and soldiers no longer frightened her, as she was on the hunt for a new world of strength.
. With one final motion of his hands, Tidbit ended his spell which concealed him and his family. His motions matched his squirrel companions with greater speed than usual. Gidget, wrapped in pearls that looked as though they'd been plucked from neck in a hustled ambush, was in complete agreement; she knew just what was happening. Her wrinkled face smiled, and welled with soft tears. She pulled her disarrayed hair back into its dull band, readying herself to creep low to the ground. She silently made her way south toward the Abbey of the Just Hammer. Oddly, the same direction of Pipsqueak.
. Into his mouth, Tidbit dropped a bit of some strange liquid and a fine body with eight, frightfully writhing legs, recently plucked from a very carefully organized satchel at his waist. A crunch followed with the tiny sound of the screams of the creature who was nowhere near as deadly as it soon would be. Tidbit held onto Mudge, instructing him to hug tightly, so as not to fall. Still just as quickly as when he cast his spell, the two began swiftly ascending the great oaks of Myth Drannor.
. "RUN GIDGEET!" he shouted to the east. His heart began to pound as he watched the dark skin and light hair of the armies below. If his wife were seen, the entire village would surely perish. "RUUUN, MY LOOOVE!" He knew the attention would be set on him for at least just a moment, and he was right. Though arrows were knocked, they had difficulty finding the abnormally lithe halfling who was quickly making his way to the treetops of Cormanthor. "WE CANNOT... LET... THEM... DOOOWN!" His words were long and drug out, purposely making the footmen aware of his position.
. An arrow passed by the halfling's shoulder, piercing the bark of the great oak, and forcing itself firmly into its hide. These soldiers were no ordinary marksmen, and their bows were especially astute for their wielders' strengths. A second arrow flew by the two boys' heads, but only barely, scratching at the surface of Mudge's skin, bouncing off the tree, and falling to Earth in an acrobatic display. It's fine tip landed head down, stuck to the dirts and grasses beneath the trees.
. With only the third attempt of a dozen or so, Tidbit felt a sharp pressure against his back, but only at the small above his waist. He was not hit, but shortly after, his load certainly was lightened. Drooling, hungry mouths below wait open in anticipation of their falling meal. Mudge's eyes still open, welled as he stared back to his father, his arms and legs flying as his back faced the quickly approaching ground. "RUUUN GIDGEEEEEEET!" Tidbit let out one last time.
. Finally, with an arrow through his left hand, the hand he used so often to cast his spells, Tidbit truly was hit. He saw blood fleeing his body through a very tight, open wound left from the shape of the arrow's head. It trickled down his arm, but didn't slow him. Only seconds had passed since he cast his spell, and already the Ghostwise descendant was nearly 120 feet off the ground. "How?" he questioned himself. "How?" Another shot, just then interrupted his final thoughts.
. "Run, Gidget. Be safe and well, my beauty. Be true, Pipsqueak, and aide her eternally." He hadn't the strength to speak as his back pressed firmly against the ground with only a bit of rope between the grass and his own body. The fall did not end the life of the wise druid, though other tortures were sure to follow. His captors' eyes were light, bright, and did not seem natural as he'd come to know and understand nature. They were purely evil. "Be safe," he gasped. The eyes of Tidbit's son still wide open, limbs apart from his torso, the boy did not survive the fall. Hounds of sorts were tearing into the tiny creature's flesh, savagely ravaging the taste of a fresh kill yet old enough to walk alone. All Tidbit could do for Mudge was weep in pain and sorrow.
. Meanwhile, with Gidget, Pipsqueak flew high to the clouds, only slowing down enough for the abnormally quick halfling on the ground floor to follow. Whatever spell Tidbit cast, seemed to also carry-on to the squirrel while they were still together, increasing her speed just enough to keep her a few clicks ahead of the Tallfellow.
. Hearing the shouts of her husband in the near distance, Gidget wanted to turn about. She wanted so terribly to run to the rescue of her family, but knew if she did, she'd doom her entire village to his same fate. She'd not know of the goings on, but she was certain of the details. Soon, though, Gidget and her new escort would be too far away to hear the real cries. Pipsqueak's speed slowed after an hour... or two... their exhaustion the only thing bringing the two to a near halt.
. Gidget's eyes watered harder, longer and deeper. Her heart pounded heavily, not from her breath, but from pain. A woman who loses her husband is known as a widow, but a mother who loses her child has no word, because the thought is just too unbearable to name. From her mouth spewed bile, green and yellow, flooded with the morning's water before the ransacking of her solitary, forest hut. Gidget coughed violently, letting out cries and sobs with hysterically frantic pains of sorrow. Her love, her family, her life was gone.
. Pipsqueak cuddled into the halfling's arms, consoling her loss, and sharing in her pain. The two lay there together for hours, resting and crying, knowing nearly certain they would never see neither Tidbit nor Mudge again. The sun fell, the moon rose, and the cycle continued. Pipsqueak fetched small berries and juicy, water-filled bits of fauna for herself and her new companion who'd not yet moved in two days. The squirrel, though sad, knew she couldn't give up, and knew Gidget was the only person to relay her message when and if they'd ever find someone to rescue their small village from the onslaught of the Underdark at Myth Drannor. With Gidget paralyzed from heartbreak, Pipsqueak would have to find someone to continue the journey to Tasseldale where the soldiers of Tyr would certainly send aide.
. Too few people wandered the forest of Cormanthor since the elves were all but pushed to the east at Evermeet. Would anyone be near the Vale of Lost Voices to hear the diminutive squirrel's cries? If there were such a person or party, Pipsqueak was determined not to lose the closest person to her closest friend. She'd find someone, even if it meant traveling to Tasseldale herself.
. / Introduction / . / Table of Contents / . / Conditions and Guidelines / . / Things To Remember / . / Players and Characters / . / Oops List / . / Reserved / .
