First Transformation

While in the City of Lankhmar, one of the party members wanted to see about getting a tattoo of a giant spider on his back.  He traveled throughout the city and after much searching, found himself outside the temple of the Spider God.  The player was fairly new to the game and when the priest gave the character a potion and told to drink it, which he did. This potion changed the character into a werespider although he did not know this at the time.  What follows is his first transformation and the events that followed throughout the rest of the night...

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A steady drizzle has been falling for hours. This far north and this close to the sea, the rain is bitterly cold, soaking through clothes and driving the chill deep into the skin with numbing determination. The group has dropped anchor off of a small island and gone ashore to for the night to set up camp. Drax managed to find and kill a lamb that had somehow gotten stranded on the island at some point in the past and Raven, Gochira and Frostfrizzle killed and butchered a seal earlier and the iron smell of blood hangs thick in the air despite the breeze blowing in off of the sea. Cedron and Romulus are grilling venison and seal meat while everyone else raises tents, scours the area for additional firewood and tends to other minor tasks. 

Desmond watches the proceedings with barely concealed agitation. His skin has been itching all day and he’s been fighting the urge to snap at his companions since waking at first light. He can feel himself growing more restless and while everyone is busy, he takes the opportunity to drift away from the rest of the group and wanders off into the woods, heading toward the center of the small island. The chatter of his companions and the barking of seals fade into the distance as the camp falls away behind him. Tank pads along silently, the wolf’s pink tongue lolls out one side of his lupine mouth. Desmond orders the wolf to “stay” and continues on alone. 

Finally, the clouds begin to move apart. The full moon rises into the sky and he can feel the hot blood coursing through his veins. The ranger’s breath comes in rapid gasps, fogging in the cool evening air and he can feel his heart pounding in his chest, beating at the inside of his ribcage with the force of a hammer. Despite the cold, Desmond breaks out in a sweat. He begins tearing at his clothes, shedding his cloak and chain shirt. He kicks off his boots and drops his trousers, not able to get out of them quickly enough. Suddenly, his legs buckle and he falls, facedown, onto the soft forest floor. Dirt and moss grind against the side of his face, getting in his eyes. He can hear his finger bones stretch and break as his hands begin to elongate, pulling at his skin until it splits open, revealing a dark, hard shell beneath the flesh. There is an audible crack as his elbows snap and bend in the opposite direction. His wrists snap next, with new bone growing from both ends of the fractures. Through eyes streaming with tears, the ranger watches hair sprouts all over the back of his arms, thick, coarse and black. Tank rushes to his master’s aid, the low, rumbling growl in his chest dies away, replaced with a confused whine. The wolf backs away slowly, head down and tail between his legs. 

Desmond rolls onto his back, snatching at the tattered skin hanging from his wrist, ripping it away with his other hand. He feels his flesh begin to bubble. His spine buckles under the strain and his legs go limp, dangling uselessly behind him. Searing pain tears through his hips as four black, sharp points burst through the skin and begin to stretch out from his body. Desmond staggers to his feet and tries to call for help but his jaw splits in half at the chin. The halves swing outward as if on hinges and long, yellowed fangs begin to emerge. He rises into the air; the jagged nubs sticking out of his hips have become long, spindly legs and lift him some eight feet from the ground. 

Desmond’s own legs stretch as well, snapping several times as the bones shift to form six-jointed limbs that aid in supporting his now massive body. The noise around him is deafening, the rustle of leaves in the wind, the creaking of tree branches, the nervous twitter of the wildlife that bears witness to his transformation. Light floods into Desmond’s vision as the skin stretched across his skull splits open to reveal six additional eyes in a cluster around where his forehead used to be. Everything appears before him in black, white and shades of gray. He can feel vibrations beneath his feet and the rustle of air currents against his fur as creatures flee from him. His body stretches and contorts, growing ever longer and expanding across his back until a massive, bulbous abdomen has replaced his lower human-half. Animalistic hunger begins to replace the pain, a thirst that only blood and ichors will satisfy. With only the barest remains of his mind left to him, the Desmond-Spider turns and stalks off into the forest in search of food.

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The Desmond-Spider climbs into one of the nearby stunted trees. His long legs instinctively, purposefully, distribute his weight among the many branches. He raises his fanged maw to the wind and waits, perfectly motionless as he takes in his surroundings. His eight eyes sweep the area, taking in the movement of every branch, every leaf, every tiny insect and rodent moving in the underbrush. After several minutes, the sound of the seals on the beach is carried to him on the wind. The spider begins to creep silently toward the beach. Deep in the recesses of his predator’s mind, Desmond feels a surge of panic rise inside of him. “My companions are on the beach! No! Go the other way!” he yells, silently, inside of his mind, urging the spider to head inland. The predator pays no attention to Desmond’s pleas and continues on its path, drawn by the sound of the lowing seals on the gravel-strewn beach.

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The Spider moves cautiously through the upper branches of the trees as it circles toward the beach. The thick hairs covering its body quiver in the air currents and the sensitive tips of the monster’s feet sense vibrations through the braches and earth, guiding it toward the warm blood and juices of its prey. The Desmond-Spider stops suddenly, sensing the movement of multiple creatures on the ground below. Remaining motionless high above the trail, its body obscured by the rain and darkness, the Spider watches a large group of armed men pass below its hiding place. Once the group has passed out of sight, the Spider climbs down from the tree and begins moving along the ground. Keeping low and moving in the flickering shadows cast by a campfire, the Desmond-Spider skirts the edge of the camp and continues down to the beach. Eventually, the huddled masses of the sleeping seals come into view and the Spider slows. It reaches back between its rearmost legs with one long and agile forelimb and grasps a long silken thread from one of its spinnerets. The Spider passes the sticky line forward and coiling it into long loops. 

Desmond flexes his jaws, squeezing some poison onto the thread to add to the line’s weight. He begins to swing the end of the line back and forth slowly, building momentum for a throw. He scans the seal rookery and selects a pup near the fringe of the colony and whips his weighted line toward his chosen prey. The strand hits with a solid “thwack”. The pup reacts instantly, crying out in alarm and tries to roll away but only succeeds in further wrapping itself in the sticky fibers. The cries alert the other seals, all of whom begin barking and scatter in a thunderous flopping mass toward the sea. Desmond hauls on his line, taking in slack and scuttling forward to close the distance. The Desmond-Spider tackles the seal pup and drives its fangs deep into the struggling infant. The pup yelps in agony as corrosive poison gushes deep into its twin wounds. Desmond rolls the seal over and over, cocooning it to prevent escape and slings it onto his back. He races south, away from the beach and back into the trees.

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The Spider heads back into the woods. The cocooned seal slung over its back has finally ceased struggling and now lies still. Only a faint heartbeat tells the Spider that the pup still lives. Once beneath the sheltering boles of the forest, the Spider climbs up into the trees. It moves effortlessly through the leafy canopy, its long legs carrying it from treetop to treetop. A light appears ahead, shining through the woods. The Spider slows, picking its way along more carefully and it begins to make out sounds. The Spider’s brow furrows. Desmond screams inside of the Spider’s mind, telling it turn and go the other way, that his allies are too powerful to battle and that the Spider will get them both killed if it attacks them. Desmond recognizes Raven’s voice “The trail ends here. I see no footprints or drag marks to show that Desmond was dragged away so unless he was stripping down so he could fly away, we’ve missed something here or along the trail. Spread out and search.” 

The Spider has no understanding of language though and continues to creep forward. Suddenly, it notices something small moving at the edge of the clearing. Something no larger than the baby seal that would probably be suitable for the next time the Spider is hungry. The Spider creeps around, circling the group and positions itself on the far side of a thick tree. Its eight eyes look down at the ground, watching, waiting for an opportunity to strike. Desmond watches through the Spider’s eyes. He sees the ice gnome Frostfrizzle circling at the edge of the group, checking the ground for clues. The gnome steps silently over fallen leaves and branches, around the trunks of trees and ferns, carefully bending aside fronds to see of any signs have been obscured by the foliage. The Spider moves its legs more slowly now and reaches back with one leg to take up the silken strand from its spinnerets. 

The Spider prepares its web for throwing and once the gnome is out of direct sight of the group, it hurls the silken strand. The line hits the gnome squarely in the face, knocking him back a step and covering almost his entire head. The Spider hauls back on the line, jerking Frostfrizzle off of his feet. The gnome flails and squirms but is far too light to resist. Within moments, the gnome is being held in human arms and rolled over again and again, bound quickly and tightly for transport.

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The Spider moves away from the clearing. The bundle containing Frostfrizzle squirms and wiggles as the Spider carries him away. Suddenly, there is a feeling of something damp and slippery running down his back, followed by a quiet thump. The Spider turns to see its prey, free of its cocoon and coated in a foul-smelling substance. The little blue-skinned creature pulls a blade from his sheath.

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Frostfrizzle circles to the left, holding his blade ready to strike. The Spider takes a step forward to reclaim its prey but Frosty swings his machete. The Spider jerks its leg back and the blade cuts through nothing but air. Desmond begins “yelling” at the monster, ordering the Spider to leave his companion alone, insisting that the seal already trapped in the cocoon on its back will be more than enough for now. The commando senses the monster’s head pivot slightly to one side, as if it is listening to something whispering in its ear. Frostfrizzle lunges again but the Spider rears up on its hindmost legs and points its spinnerets at the gnome and releases a torrent of fibrous white webbing. The spray hits Frosty in the chest and drives him backwards. The gnome stumbles and falls against the trunk of a tree and is once more held fast. The spider takes a step forward, looming over him and crouches, staring into Frostfrizzle’s blue eyes with its unblinking yellow orbs. Fangs gnash menacingly in front on the gnome’s face before the monster turns and stalks off into the woods.

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Desmond sees Frostfrizzle wriggle free of the second web and hears the gnome cry out “It’s getting away! After it!” The Spider breaks into a run. The creature’s long legs allow it to step over most the obstacles on the ground. The forest passes by in a blur as the rain slows to a stop and the clouds begin to move on. The sky overhead begins turns from black to a silver-gray hue as the Spider moves up into the trees once more. The monster pauses, releasing thick sheets of webbing that are nearly invisible in the half-dark, blocking the trail of any who may be after it and continues on into the night. Desmond has no idea how many miles have passed. He can feel a strange stirring deep in his chest as the world begins turning toward the sun, a feeling almost like regret that this powerful new body will revert to his comparatively puny human form. The Spider stops and pulls the cocooned seal from its back. The beast sinks its fangs into its trapped prey and begins to drink. Hot blood and other bodily fluids burst from the twin wounds and the spider drinks, swallowing the ichors. A sense of warmth and power accompanies the feeding. After several minutes, the Spider’s thirst is sated and it drops the desiccated seal carcass on the forest floor. 

The monster then climb up into a tree and begins to spin a web, wrapping itself in dry silken cords, drawing them tightly around itself as it hangs upside down from a thick branch. Once the cocoon is finished, the Spider allows itself to rest, drifting off to sleep just as the sky begins brightening to pink and the night comes to an end.