OOC - Author's Notes:
The storyline comprises multiple parts that took place as live in-game sessions, with Part III and Part IV found below. Part I and Part II preceding these, can be found as linked. The live RP story has four parts in total. Check out the chronicle itself for links to related IC submissions, covering further depth and the resolution of certain strands: Muck and Mystery in the Marsh
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NOTE: Given the recap style, there are likely spoilers in many places.
Part III: Recap
Image Credit: Denis Loebner
Short Outline of Major Story Beats:
- The group escapes the Brood-Mother after solving her riddle, she departs, but the remaining spiders attack out of instinct.
- Aevil, the Elf, arrives dramatically, cutting through the skittering spiders and aiding the group’s escape.
- Flent is wounded, requiring immediate attention, prompting Wittkun and Vratni to drag him to safety and both Tivlyn and Aevil to tend to him.
- Safe for the moment, Vratni realises he has the silver trinket from the Brood-mother’s den, and it’s a locket which contains a dying poacher's message.
- The party decides to follow the clues, leading them to a poacher’s camp deeper in the marsh.
- The camp is wrecked, pillaged, with clear signs of a violent battle, the poachers are dead.
- Goblins remain, scavenging the remains. A tense fight erupts.
- After the battle a dying goblin taunts the group, revealing that surviving poachers were dragged to the ruined fort in the heart of the marsh—for HER.
- The party discover the poaching camp captain’s notes, confirming the fort’s existence, and that the poachers knew it held a great evil… likely the Brood-Mother. However, it is also noted that ancient Arthedain and Arnorien relics may be found therein.
Characters Involved:
- Vratni – The relic-seeker, discovering the secret of the locket, revealing its hidden message, and leading the charge toward the poacher’s camp.
- Tivlyn Locksley – Fierce and fast, caring for Flent, charging into battle against goblins, and showing empathy for the poacher’s final words to his mama in the note.
- Wittkun – Tactical and stubborn, first to attack the goblins, helping Flent, and keeping morale up despite exhaustion.
- Flent (Boots) – Though wounded, refuses to back down, fighting through his pain, and committing to the expedition despite his wounds.
- Aevil Avaniel – The Elf warrior, arriving just in time to slay the spiders, offering healing expertise, and proving indispensable in combat.
- Goblins – Not just scavengers, dealbreakers, but kidnappers, taking the last of the poachers to the ruined fort deep in the marsh.
- The Brood-Mother – No longer present, but her influence lingers, as the fort where she dwells becomes the group’s next target.
Summary of the Plot:
I. The Brood-Mother’s Den
The group stands within the web-laced ruins, surrounded by the Brood-Mother and her hungry spiderlings. Flent lies crumpled, battered but breathing, after being thrown down by the monstrous matriarch. With tension thick in the air, Vratni delivers the answer to her riddle, “the wind”, forcing the ancient horror to recoil, acknowledging defeat.
Though the Brood-Mother withdraws, she leaves her brood behind, skittering shadows, moving not by command, but by hunger. A battle erupts as dozens of venomous spiders surge from the cracks and shadows, forcing the group to fight their way out.
Aevil Avaniel, an Elven warrior, arrives in the nick of time; blades gleaming, cutting down the first wave of spiders in a blur of steel. The party rallies, striking back, Tivlyn, Wittkun, and Aevil dispatching the horde with skill and desperation as they move to withdraw.
II. The Escape
As spiders retreat into the depths, the party gathers itself, bruised but victorious. Flent is wounded, his ribs aching from the Brood-Mother’s crushing grip and the brutal fall. Aevil and Tivlyn, veterans of such battles, offer healing, tending to Flent’s wounds with an elven concoction and something close to a mother’s care.
After trudging through the marsh, the party finally reaches dry ground, or what passes for it. Flent slumps against an old tree, still recovering from his wounds. Tivlyn and Wittkun tend to him, while Aevil confirms he needs rest and a true healer in Bree.
III. Clues in the Locket
Meanwhile, Vratni remembers that he’s got the silver trinket from earlier… and that it is in fact a locket. The etched markings suggest it has a story to tell, its surface worn, scratched, as if someone or something had fought to open it.
Vratni carefully examines the locket, tracing its markings, before finding a hidden clasp. With a faint click, the locket opens, revealing a folded scrap of parchment. A kidnapped poacher’s message. The words confirm that the poachers were indeed working with the Goblins to deliver meat… but it seems their deal took a turn… and the Goblins attacked the poachers, capturing at least this one…. ‘the hunter who became the hunted’…. The message apparently written in haste before the poacher was presumably killed and dragged to the Brood-Mother’s den.
Though faint, the party can just about make out a further clue scrawled on the parchment… a direction, a warning, leading toward something deeper in the marshes, the poacher’s camp. The group chooses to follow the clue, their own hunt far from over.
IV. The Poacher’s Camp
The party travels south into the deeper marsh, eventually finding the poacher’s camp, only, it’s been ransacked. The tents are shredded, crates splintered, and blood stains the ground. Clearly, a fight had taken place, but who survived, and who didn’t?
Then, movement, small figures lurking in the wreckage. Goblins. Scavengers or executioners? Wittkun fires first, striking one in the jaw, sending the camp into chaos. Tivlyn charges, Aevil cuts them down, and Flent fights through his injuries. Vratni sensibly hangs back (for a change); afterall he’s lost his ‘weapons’ and most of his gear in the marshes already.
After the dust settles, one goblin remains, rasping, wounded, but grinning. He mocks the party, “Too late. Your poacher friends that lived were taken. To the great fort. For Her.”
Vratni searches the camp, finding a damp, smudged ledger, confirming the poachers feared the fort, knowing it belonged to Her—the Brood-Mother. But the notes reveal more than just dread, they mention treasures, relics from Arthedain and Arnorien kingdoms, hidden deep within the ruins.
Now, the choice is clear, the party must venture toward the fort, facing whatever remains within, whether it be poachers, treasures, or horrors waiting in the mist.
To be continued...
Outcomes & Conclusion:
- Flent survives, though injured, and refuses to turn back.
- The Brood-Mother withdrew, her riddle answered… but her presence looms still…
- Aevil officially joins the group, proving a vital warrior in a time of need.
- Vratni unlocks the locket, revealing a fateful warning and a clue from a doomed poacher.
- The goblins are defeated, but some flee into the marsh, leaving a lingering threat.
- The party faces its next trial, venturing to the fort, uncovering its secrets, and confronting whatever dark forces remain within.
The story remains at a cliffhanger, the ruins call, danger lingers, and history waits to be unearthed.
The bloodied parchment found within the locket:
I should’ve never trusted them. We thought we had them under control… a band of goblins willing to trade, willing to barter, eager for meat! We had the kills. The deal was clear. But then the boss asked for more in return. Said the game was better than what we agreed, said the price wasn’t right. Said we deserved double. Said there was interference from the permitted hunters from Bree.
That was all it took. The goblins’ grins faded, their yellowed eyes darkening, their whispers shifting. A different tongue now, one that wasn’t for us. Then the blades came.
Erwin fell first, didn’t even see it coming. Kal lasted longer, but a man isn’t meant to scream that long. They took Rook alive. He begged, he promised them gold, but gold wasn’t what they wanted. Gold isn’t what’s waiting in the fort.
They talked about it, as they looted our camp, as they broke bones, as they dragged bodies through the mud. Not just offerings. Not just food for Her brood. They murmured about something deeper, something dark within the marsh, something long buried, but restless.
They talked about relics, old ones, the kind that belonged to kings long dead, to a world that should’ve faded but hasn’t. And they talked about how the whispers have started again. How something stirs beneath the stone…
I don’t know what they meant, but I know where they’re taking me next: Woodsedge. The ruins in the north of the marsh. The place where men vanish, and only bones return.
If anyone finds this…. don’t follow. Let the dead stay dead. And whatever you do….
DON’T GO TO THE FORT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE MARSHES!
To Ma—
I always thought I could talk my way out of trouble. Thought I could twist words, make a deal, walk away richer, sharper, cleverer than the next fool. But I wasn’t clever. I wasn’t sharper. I was just the next fool in line.
You warned me. You always warned me. Told me Comb was enough, that home was warm, that adventure was for men who didn’t know what they were running from.
I was always running. And now, I can’t run anymore.
I won’t make it home, Ma.
I won’t sit by the fire no more and let you fuss over my bruises, I won’t hear you tell me that I need to eat more, sleep more, live more in a place that doesn’t want to swallow me whole. I wanted to bring back something grand. Something worth the trouble. I wanted you to be proud. To put my hunting skills to some use…
….But all I’ve brought is regret….
I love you. I love you more than I ever said.
Forgive me for being too late to say it properly.
Don’t wait for me at the door.
Don’t look for me.
I won’t be coming home.
—Andy
Part IV: Recap (Final)
Image Credit: Denis Loebner
Short Outline of Major Story Beats:
- Aftermath of the Battle at the Poachers’ Camp – The group surveys the carnage of their fight with the goblins. Two poachers lie dead, their failed dealings with goblins apparent.
- The Journey to the Ruins – The party presses deeper into the marsh, wary of the Midgewater Fort’s reputation and its ties to forgotten kingdoms.
- The Enchantment of the Brood-Mother – Upon entering the ruin, an ancient spell overtakes them, exploiting their deepest fears and regrets in personal visions.
- The Battle Against the Brood-Mother – As the illusions break, the monstrous entity is revealed, leading to a brutal fight against her and her spawn.
- Discovery of the Hidden Chamber – Having broken free from the enchantment, Vratni stumbles upon ancient carvings and the truth of the Brood’s connection to the ruins… and its future threat.
- The Aftermath & Future Decisions – As the fort falls silent, the party gathers clues, debating whether to bury the truth or follow it eastward to the Misty Mountains.
Characters Involved:
- Vratni – A sharp-tongued merchant with an eye for opportunity and an unfortunate talent for attracting trouble. Known for his quick thinking and relentless pursuit of profit, he always manages to find something worth taking… whether it’s gold, knowledge, or leverage.
- Flent – A practical and seasoned guide who knows the marsh better than most. Fiercely protective of his companions and not one to mince words, he is equally comfortable tracking through treacherous terrain or handling a blade when the moment demands it.
- Tivlyn – A strong-willed warrior with a past that lingers just beneath the surface. She faces danger head-on, swinging her axe with unwavering determination, but beneath the bravado is a survivor carrying old wounds and an unyielding sense of responsibility.
- Wittkun – A steadfast and methodical dwarf, wise beyond his years, with an unwavering grip on tradition and survival. He meets threats with measured strikes and careful movements, proving that resilience sometimes speaks louder than recklessness; though he practices a bit of both!
- Aevil – An elven warrior with a deep-seated vendetta against the creatures lurking in the shadows. Fierce and unrelenting, she carries the weight of old battles and an undeniable conviction that some threats must be stamped out before they spread beyond control.
Summary of the Plot:
I. The Poacher’s Camp
The marsh drank silence like a starving beast, swallowing the last echoes of battle beneath its thick, cloying mist. Blood pooled in the uneven ground, mixing with stagnant water, dark and curling between broken roots and shattered blades. The air clung thick and heavy as the party trudged forward, boots sinking into damp earth with every laboured step.
Blood still clung to their weapons, goblin corpses lay broken in the wreckage of the poachers’ camp, their twisted limbs sprawled amidst shattered crates and discarded weapons. The battle had been swift and brutal, leaving behind two lifeless poachers slumped against the supply cache, eyes vacant and unmoving. The dead did not speak, but their silence said enough.
The camp captain’s ledger, carefully pried from dead hands, painted a grim picture… of men dealing with goblins, entangled in bargains gone awry. But there was mention of something more, something deeper in the mire, something that made even goblins shrink in fear. Her.
It was not a name, but a presence, something so familiar to the marsh’s darkest whispers that none dared say it aloud. And if the dying goblin had spoken true, then those who had failed in their dealings with her were not merely dead. They were waiting, or worse, being kept there for her.
There was no choice but to press forward.
II. Through the Mire
Their march through the thick fog was slow, each footfall threatening to drag them into the swamp itself. Wittkun made a joke about treasure buried deep, but Flent’s sharp gaze lingered uneasily on the ruins ahead. The old fortress loomed in the mist, skeletal and hollow, its jagged pillars rising like broken teeth from the swamp. It is possible the Arthedain had built it, an offshoot of old Arnor, raised before the world had forgotten the kings who ruled the North.
A whisper of unease passed through the group. Something watched them. Flent could feel it, the air humming with unseen energy, pressing against his skin like static before a storm. The ruins stood unnaturally still, as though the marsh itself were holding its breath.
Only one entrance lay ahead. It was tangled in thick webs, glistening strands wound tightly against the broken stone. Spiders flickered in the shadows, legs clicking softly against ancient brickwork, their presence a promise rather than a warning.
Still, they went forward.
Wittkun, seeing no reason for patience nor secrecy, took a breath, squared his stance, and announced their presence with the force of a war cry.
"COME OUT, FOR WE ARE MANY AND AT ARMS!"
The words echoed, shattering the stagnant quiet, rolling through the ruin like thunder.
… but this was met with silence….
III. The Enchantment Takes Hold
They stepped across the threshold, the mist curling against their bodies like gauze, thick and clinging. It was not merely fog, it was something else, something alive. Their senses dimmed, thoughts slowed, their surroundings blurred. Colours shimmered strangely against their skin; blue against Aevil, red for Wittkun and Vratni, sticky gold clinging to Flent’s arms and sickly purple for Tivlyn. The mist pulsed faintly, almost breathing, and through it all, the whisper came again.
Soft. Alluring. Inviting.
It slipped into their minds, curling between thoughts, twisting memories. No matter how steady their grip on reality, it pulled at them, warping the edges of what was real and what was regret.
Their minds fractured, one by one.
IV. Illusions and Escape
Aevil – The Fires of Nan Dungortheb
She had seen this place before. She had stood among the webs, watched her kin fall, felt the grip of Ungoliant’s children wrap around their throats.
The lullaby curled through her mind, pulling at old wounds, at buried memories of Gondolin, of flight, of loss. Her hands tightened on Ungrist, her sword of old.
She let the fury rise. Speaking in Sindarin, she exclaimed " Remove this enchantment, or by Elbereth my vengeance will be delivered upon you tenfold!"
Her voice was steel, cutting through the illusion with fire. The Brood-Mother recoiled, her laughter curling into a hiss, the spell breaking apart around her. And just like that, the nightmare shattered.
Aevil charged forward, blade flashing, ready for the fight she had sworn to finish.
Flent – The Ghost of a Loyal Companion
Flent froze as the shape emerged through the mist… a familiar silhouette, small but sturdy, tail wagging, waiting. He knew that stance, knew that eager spark in its gaze. His breath hitched, something raw and painful tightening in his throat.
"Come here, boy," he whispered, extending his hand, moving slow, careful. The dog padded forward, eyes full of warmth, and then, just as his fingers brushed its fur, it dissolved into mist; vanishing like smoke before his very eyes.
Gone.
The weight of loss settled over him, deep and aching. He stood there, watching the emptiness, heart hammering against his ribs. Something inside him snapped.
Rage, grief, something unspoken, he reached down, grabbed a rock, and hurled it toward one of a number of pulsing cocoons. The apparent source of the illusions, the impact sent mist billowing outward, his own illusion wavering, breaking apart at the seams. And suddenly, Flent wasn’t standing alone in the memory anymore. He was in the ruin. And the fight had begun.
Tivlyn – The Accusing Dead
A small boy stood before her, his mouth full of soil. Dastyn was his name… but how?
And behind him, her father, broken, bleeding, voice guttural and sharp, speaking words that should never have left his lips. "You were supposed to protect them." "You failed." "Your mother killed herself because of you." The words struck deep, twisting in her chest, sharp as any blade.
No.
She clenched her jaw, staring hard at the boy, the specter wearing her father’s face. Dastyn was gone. She had carried his body from the marsh, prepared it for burial. Her father had never spoken those words, not once, not ever.
This was not them.
Her grip tightened on her axe, knuckles white, breath short but controlled. She stepped forward, raising the weapon. And she swung.
The spectres vanished, their voices torn from the mist. Her illusion fractured, shattered beneath the weight of her rage. And suddenly, the ruin was real again, and the brood was waiting.
Wittkun – The Oath & the Dead
Dark shadows pressed in, fire flickering against stone, the walls alive with movement. Figures crawled toward him, thin-limbed, adorned in scraps of ancient armour. Hands clawed through the darkness, reaching for him. The voices came next.
He knew every single name.
They spoke them back to him, cold, accusing, weighted with centuries of loss. "I swore." "I buried you all at the gates of our forefathers." "Upon your bones, I made my vow." "And I will not break it."
His voice rang through the illusion, firm, unyielding. And suddenly, the stone did not crack, the walls did not fall, the figures did not reach him. Because they had never been real.
The mirage broke, the ruin returning, the air thick with the battle ahead.
Vratni – Tainted Gold
Vratni found himself on a familiar road, one lined with waiting hands, expectant gazes, and forgotten debts come calling. The traders, the rivals, the men who had been outwitted, they wanted repayment. And the road stretched too far to run. “Yer not getting a copper outta me!” he proclaimed… and stepped back…. and the ground gave way beneath him.
Falling. Tumbling into a mountain of gold coins, the kind that should have meant victory, the kind that should have been treasure…. but it moved, shifting and writhing beneath his weight.
It was infused with Snakes.
The figures above descended, hands grasping… Vratni gritted his teeth, fighting against the tightening coils of snakes and the sickeningly sweet clinking of gold coins. ‘Think. Damn it, think!’
And then…. a revelation.
They wanted the gold. They were fixated on the treasure, not on him. Fine.
"Take it then!" he snarled, hurling handfuls of coins upward, scattering wealth into their grasping fingers. But they didn’t see the snakes tangled in the gold.
As their hands closed around writhing coils, chaos erupted, their focus shattered.
Vratni twisted, clawing his way out of the mound, kicking against the shifting treasure, forcing his way free.
His illusion shattered, dissolving into mist, and suddenly, he realised he had been crawling. Away from the group. Alone in the ruin.
The illusions were broken. The ruin was real. And the battle had begun.
V. Battling the Brood
The ruin trembled as the Brood-Mother shed the last remnants of her illusions, her towering form solidifying into something altogether monstrous. She stood too tall, too many limbs, mockingly graceful, an Eldar’s silhouette twisted into nightmare, crowned in silk and shadows.
Her laughter was low and knowing, echoing from the webs around them, curling between the pulsing cocoons that lined the walls. The mist still clung to their skin, still whispered with its poison, but it no longer held them in its spell. They had torn through the deception, cut through the lies, and now there was only the truth of fang and blade.
Aevil charged first.
The weight of old battles burned through her muscles as Ungrist, her sword of old, flashed through the dim light, striking with the fury of Gondolin’s fall, with the bitter vengeance left to the last hunters of Ungoliant’s brood.
The Brood-Mother twisted to deflect, but the gleam of Ungrist meant something even she recognized, something even she feared. She scuttled back, but Aevil was relentless, pressing forward with every strike, forcing her monstrous adversary into retreat.
The broodlings surged forth, skittering from cracks and shadows, their hissing cries shrill against the humid air. Tivlyn roared, axe swinging into the nearest wave of them, cleaving through bristled hides with raw fury. Wittkun moved methodically, his mace coming down like judgment, cracking exoskeletons and splitting the smaller creatures like overripe fruit. Using the force of his own body at times as a weapon.
Flent and Tivlyn found themselves ensnared, thick webs curling around their legs as larger spiders struck, pushing them back-to-back. "Cut us loose!" Flent snarled, struggling against the bindings. Wittkun wasted no words, his axe flashed, slicing through the silk with a single clean stroke.
Freed, Flent lunged, dagger sinking deep into a spider’s side, twisting cruelly before ripping free. Tivlyn tore herself forward, grabbing at one of the creatures, wrenching its limbs apart with brute strength, hurling its twitching body aside.
Then, Aevil’s strike landed.
Ungrist severed one of the Brood-Mother’s legs, its black chitin splitting under elven steel. The shriek that followed was not merely pain; it was fury, it was rage, it was realization.
Her form shuddered, limbs trembling beneath the weight of the injury. She hissed, her voice still coiling with malice.
"My eggs!"
A dying breath, a desperate confession.
Flent saw them first, pulsing within the webbed cocoons, the faint shimmer of unhatched horrors, waiting in silence.
The Brood-Mother was not merely fighting for survival. She was fighting for legacy.
Tivlyn hacked through one of the cocoons, snarling in disgust. The Brood-Mother twisted in agony, recoiling as though part of her had been torn away.
Aevil saw the opening.
She steeled herself, one breath, one movement, then lunged forward.
Her blade found the monster’s throat; cleaving, cutting, tearing.
The Brood-Mother collapsed, her massive form slumping onto the ruined stone floor with a final, guttural hiss.
The spiderlings broke, their swarm scattering into the depths, retreating to whatever darkness remained.
The ruin shuddered, the mist curling away, slowly unraveling as the weight of the enchantment lifted.
The Brood-Mother was dead.
But the ruin had one last secret left to reveal. And Vratni, distant from the thick of the battle, had already begun uncovering it.
VI. The Discovery & What Lies Beneath
Separated from the others, Vratni had stumbled into an ancient mural in the Brood-mother’s den; his fingers tracing its aged carvings, the likeness of a king, robed and solemn.
The death of the Brood-mother caused the Mural to shift, revealing a hidden passage. Which he tumbled forward and downward, landing hard against the slick stone floor of a hidden chamber.
Something waited there.
A circlet, slender, woven of gold, its surface near seamless, crowned with a ring of gems—crimson, deep green, clear as ice, and at the center, an opal black as night, drinking light rather than reflecting it. But more than that… the floor cracked open, revealing a bundle of scrolls, their parchment brittle but untouched by time. Elven texts… written in ink as bright as fire.
On regrouping, and having the benefit of Aevil to translate their ancient message… it seemed that the Brood was not truly dead.
Its remnants had been carried eastward, waiting, slumbering.
They had killed her, but her kind was not dead. They were sleeping.
And they had just found proof.
The ruin stood quiet now, its once-breathing walls settled into uneasy stillness. The air still clung with the scent of blood, decay, and the faint, dying echoes of the Brood-Mother’s final cry.
They didn’t say it, but they all felt it.
Something deeper now waited. Something beneath the Misty Mountains perhaps. And they were the ones who had found it. Did the responsibility of that knowledge now rest with them?
The marsh swallowed their footsteps as they departed, the ruin shrinking into the mist behind them.
They agreed that in three days’ time a decision would be made; meeting in the Forsaken Inn.
Whether to chase the shadows, or to bury them.
But none of them were the burying kind. Not anymore.
Outcomes & Conclusion:
- The Brood-Mother is slain – Her illusions shattered, her body broken beneath Aevil’s blade, and the group’s combined force… well most of ‘em…. and her swarm scattered into the depths… to wither and die without her. Yet, her dying words revealed a deeper truth, her brood would not truly be gone.
- The party uncovers ancient secrets – Vratni’s keen eyes and smell for treasure led to the discovery of the golden circlet and the scrolls which uncovered something far more significant than a ruined history. The Brood’s eggs still slumber, buried beneath the Misty Mountains, forgotten but not truly defeated.
- A decision looms – The group agrees to meet in three days at the Forsaken Inn, to determine their next steps. The truth now sits heavy upon them; do they pursue the threat further, or turn away?
- The marsh has changed them – Their illusions forced them to confront deep, personal fears. Their battle forced them to work together in the face of overwhelming odds. They are no longer merely explorers, hunters, or treasure-seekers. Now, they are witnesses to something far older, something waiting.
- The Brood still sleeps – The greatest threat remains unseen, curled beneath stone, waiting for the right moment to wake. If the party does not act, someone else will…. perhaps too late.
- Vratni found his treasure – He came looking for fortune, and he found it, a royal circlet woven with gems, the kind of artefact collectors would kill to possess. But treasure carries weight beyond coin, and whatever history clings to this piece, Vratni now carries it forward.
- Flent picked something up – Amidst the fallout of battle and discovery of ancient things, Flent pocketed a polished stone, its iridescent glow catching the dim light. Maybe it meant something. Maybe it was just instinct. Either way, he didn’t leave the ruin empty-handed, and he didn’t share this with the group…
And so concludes Muck and Mystery in the Marsh; a collaborative story by members of The Company of the East Road. Please check out the chronicle of the same name, here, which contains other related stories; adding further depth and resolution to some story threads encountered.
The adventure will continue!
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