Willow Creek Rescue
📜 Entry: “Amidst the Ashen Webs”
Location: Deep forest clearing, north of Willow Creek
Recorded: While encamped, post-rescue of the halfling child Byra
Even now, the scent of scorched silk lingers in the air, mingling with pine and ash. Around me, the others rest—tending wounds, patching scorched gear, or slumping into uneasy dreams. I cannot sleep. Not yet.
Earlier today, we set out from Onadbyr following a thread no more than rumor—a missing child named Byra. Telly, ever unpredictable, recalled a baker’s worry and a sibling’s fear. It was enough. We left at dawn with the intent to reach Willow Creek by nightfall. We did—but the night met us not with stillness, but snarls, webs, and burning sky.
At dusk, the forest thickened. High above, white webs shimmered in the failing light, cocooning the canopy like a second sky. We glimpsed movement—a small form bound in webbing, suspended. Byra. And something larger, hulking nearby, its body half-arachnid, half-sinister intention.
I whispered through the Weave, casting a Message toward the girl: “We are here to help. Are you injured?” Her reply, though strained, confirmed my fear—she was trapped, and the creature watching her was no mere spider. I moved quickly, mist-stepping through root and shadow, my steps muffled by Telly’s unpredictable magic—some side effect of his arcane surge rendered me invisible. Convenient. Unsettling.
Battle erupted throughout the nest. I saw flashes—lightning lances from Clyde, fire-wreathed fists from Ted, arrows from Slick that split air and shell alike. I myself took position beside the girl, slinging spells between branches. A Guiding Bolt struck the Ettercap, illuminating its vile form. Toll the Dead rang true once, then failed the next. I cast Healing Word where I could—Purrciful, noble and heroic, had charged ahead and paid the price in venom and blood.
The forest itself turned against us. Flying spiders descended. Phase spiders blinked in and out of this world like anxious thoughts. A Ruin Spider, vast and terrible, emerged from flames and focused on their source, Telly. Webs caught limbs. Fire caught webs. And magic—raw, unpredictable magic—spilled in every direction. Somewhere, a manticore burned without protest. Somewhere else… a unicorn appeared.
Yes—a unicorn. Silver of mane, horn aglow, speaking in Celestial no less. “Where am I? Why am I here?” it asked. I answered with honesty: “We were trying to save a child. And… Telly...”
Shimmermere, as she named herself, agreed to help us. She carried Byra’s unconscious form on her back with grace no mortal mount could mimic. We put out the fires, searched for meaning amidst the chaos, and set up camp—unwilling to travel by night, and perhaps unready to leave the place behind just yet.
I sit now beneath a blackened pine, writing these lines by dwindling lanternlight. The girl lives, we've done all we could. Shimmermere provides me with courage and hope that our party endures. But I am left wondering:
- What summons such creatures as the Ruin Spider or binds portals in thread?
- Why does Telly’s magic seem to rupture the fabric between planes—bringing light and beasts uncalled for?
- And why do I, a teacher of texts and quiet insight, feel so inexorably drawn to these dangers?
Perhaps this is what the ancients meant when naming the world a scroll—endless, tangled, and rarely legible before the ink dries.
May clarity walk with me.
— A.J.