Aranea Village was on the border between the Kingdom of Lavera and the Anvar Empire. It was located outside the massive monster infested forest that stretched both countries, known as the Webwood.
While it was originally a frontier village of Lavera, its population greatly grew from the two hundred souls that founded it to the estimated five hundred and thirty souls that were recorded prior to the calamities afflicting our land. The reason for the population boom, and the expansion of the village to a town, was because of the pact made between the underground Dokkalfar city of Morvahil and Ashalan, the capital of Lavera.
The Dokkalfar, or Dark Elves in Common Tongues, would trade the riches of the earth along with granting many of their prized and carefully bred monstrous giant spiders to lurk in the Webwood. Since only members of their noble houses, and even then only certain members, were entrusted with the knowledge of breeding, entire branches of the noble families were sent to the surface to serve as leaders and representatives for their end of the pact. This is considered exile in all but name because of the curse afflicting the Dokkalfar (and their fair-skinned relatives, the Ljosalfar), but they keep their oaths in their own ways.
Lavera Kingdom would bestow upon the Dokkalfar of Morvahil precious material from the surface like crops, wood, plants and animals.
Aranea Village was renamed with the arrival of the noble Dokkalfar, and while tensions can be pulled taut at times between the native human population and the dark elves, the village and the neighboring border city of Soteria were at peace.
While male Dokkalfar tended to the spiders in the Webwood, traveled the roads to trade goods, or were tools in the eyes of their female counterparts, the fairer members of their kind tended to managing Soteria and Aranea, encouraging trade and diplomacy, and oversaw the usage of the beloved Spidersilk in artisan goods ranging from clothing to alchemical material.
Humans in Aranea follow similar behavior of their elven neighbors. The men labored abroad, in battle, or in the fields, and the women managed the craftsmanship, the politics between the different lordlings fighting for scraps as our country fails, and the household tasks along with the occasional mercantile task.
Women of either species are viewed as naturally possessing more worth and their survival and well-being were put ahead of the men. This was understandable given the beliefs and culture of the Dokkalfar.
I have visited Aranea a handful of times, but there is nothing as awe-inspiring in the Kingdom of Lavera then seeing the tamed monsters of the Webwood act like they were little more than overgrown hounds.
~ Report on Aranea: The Webwood’s Heart by Magdi the [Skald]
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Helgi greeted the dawn, as was customary for her and the other human [Weavers] of the village. The elegant Dokkalfar seamstresses enjoyed the privilege of an extra hour's slumber, and it was futile to dispute their entitlement.
Securing her long, wheat-colored hair with a scrap of cloth, Helgi freshened up at a basin that a village man had placed nearby. The ambient symphony of yawning and groaning surrounded her, and she had to shield her face to suppress her own burgeoning weariness.
Being chosen to learn the art of Spidersilk weaving was an esteemed privilege. Such an honor was bestowed upon only a handful of village women each decade. Having just reached the appropriate age a few weeks prior, she was timely for the most recent 'selection.' For an orphan like Helgi, the prospect of mastering the craft that brought wealth to the village was among the finest opportunities available.
Yet, as she transitioned from the human seamstresses' barracks to the grand abode of the village's leader, a disconcerting aura lingered. An unsettling odor assailed her nostrils, germinating seeds of dread within her.
Whispers of heated words reached her ears, promptly followed by a harrowing scream that sent shivers down her spine. The surrounding [Weavers] teetered on the brink of chaos, with one retreating into a chamber, bolting the door, forsaking the rest to fend for themselves.
Never in her sixteen years had Helgi witnessed such turmoil in Aranea. This village was a haven of tranquility, where the imposing presence of the Dokkalfar maintained order.
Yet, the ensuing cacophony of horrified cries and the clang of combat tore apart any semblance of normalcy Helgi tried to cling to. Panic spread like wildfire. As she sprinted toward the grand hall, where [Lady Aranea] typically awaited her attendants, her lengthy skirt nearly tripped her up.
Whizzing past a corridor window, a chilling sight arrested her attention: an unknown warrior in leather armor ruthlessly striking down a local. The fallen villager's final scream was silenced by the invader's lethal blade through his chest. Recognizing him as one of [Lady Aranea]'s attendants, Helgi's heart sank. Their dispassionate execution of even the most harmless villagers portended a grim fate for all.
Backing away discreetly, Helgi darted into the central kitchen. She hastily scanned for any makeshift weapon. Surrendering to such brutes wasn't an option. If flight was unattainable, she resolved to ensure her captors would derive no pleasure from her capture.
A fierce gleam transformed her eyes, making them resemble a frozen lake rather than their usual clear spring sky hue. But the tremors in her hands made holding the hefty cleaver difficult.
She wished for a lighter knife; using this unwieldy implement to end her life seemed improbable. Time pressed on. With a determined shake of her head, she approached the hallway door. After a brief pause, she opened it just enough to peek outside.
Like every corner of the wooden mansion, the main hall was a sight of elegance. Tapestries embroidered with the sigil of the [Great House] that had once backed Aranea fluttered, seemingly moved by an imperceptible draft. Grand feasting tables, typical of the Lavera Lords' estates, stretched across the room. Helgi recalled the [Lady] describing them during her induction into the household.
The aroma of freshly prepared food wafted through, indicative of the Dokkalfar's nocturnal potency and daytime vulnerability. Yet, beneath these inviting smells, the acrid tang of blood was unmistakable.
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Peering through the door's gap, Helgi's eyes landed on the fallen staff members of the [Lady]. They appeared to have formed a protective shield around a central figure. A sinking feeling gripped her as she discerned who it was.
Blood had turned white tresses to a grisly shade of red. The lifeblood of the figure splayed on the floor stained her lavender skin, her once-pristine form now marred. Even from a distance, Helgi knew–the [Lady] was no more.
Panic overwhelmed her. Mustered restraint stopped her from slamming the door; she closed it gently instead.
Lady Anaris is dead.
That harrowing realization echoed in her mind, a relentless loop, before the full weight of the situation bore down on her. Aranea was under siege with its leader fallen. The fragile accord between the Auvrahel clan, Morvahil, and Lavera teetered on the brink of collapse. The [Great House] would tolerate no threats or competition. They would raze everything and everyone to snuff out even the smallest insurrection.
A muffled male voice sounded from behind the door, her sole warning before it swung open. A man stood in the doorway, clad in mismatched, worn clothing and ill-fitting patched leather armor. The emblem of a bear with gouged-out eyes marked him as a member of the bandit gang led by the infamous twins, Beor and Raivo. He brandished a short sword.
Rumored to be named after Beor's blinding greed and Raivo's brute strength, the Blinded Bear gang was a force to be reckoned with. Even their cohorts held them in wary respect, banding together for mutual survival.
The man's icy gaze sized her up, seemingly weighing if she held more value alive or dead. Fear paralyzed Helgi.
The cleaver's handle weighed heavily in her grasp, the world narrowing to just her and the encroaching bandit.
He reached for her, advancing with menacing intent. In sheer desperation, Helgi mustered her strength, swinging the unwieldy cleaver at him. Its haphazard arc connected, and suddenly she was drenched in a cascade of blood. Trembling, she looked down to see the blade embedded in the man's neck, having sliced deep. She sidestepped his collapsing form, trying to process the reality of her lethal strike.
Though distant recognition that she had taken a life crept in, adrenaline and fear propelled her forward. She hastily snatched up the fallen bandit's short sword. Her thoughts were scattered, driven by a primal need to escape.
Within moments, she was rushing back towards the kitchen, aiming for the servant entrance. Memories of piercing spider shrieks, cruel laughter, the clatter of combat, and the acrid smell of burning flesh tormented her as she sprinted from the village center. Evading notice, she darted from shadow to shadow, desperate not to draw attention.
Her heart's frantic rhythm helped stave off the paralyzing dread. The village outskirts beckoned.
Muttered curses reached her ears, and with a heavy heart, she dared a glance back. It confirmed her worst fears; one of Lavera's forsaken was in pursuit—a wounded bandit.
Helgi gulped air, willing her tired legs to keep moving. Every breath was labored, her heart pounded fiercely, and her legs felt as though they might give out any moment. The imminent threat of collapse weighed on her, and she hoped, if that moment came, for a swift end.
The distance between herself and her pursuer had not changed. This was the difference between a trained and likely formerly blessed by the Divine Will warrior and a village girl.
As she gripped the short sword in her hand, Helgi steeled herself for the fight of her life.
The bandit held a blood-stained sword. In addition, his armor was covered in traces of splattered blood.
“It’s pointless to struggle.”
There was no compassion in those words. Instead, there was only mockery. Those words implied that running would only end in death anyway.
The fear and rage in Helgi’s heart boiled over, and she thought, How could he treat others like this?
The bandit brandished his sword at Helgi, halting her in her tracks. But before he could strike her down, she thrust the short sword toward his face.
A wet, squelching sound followed, making Helgi's stomach churn as she understood its source. She quickly withdrew the sword to find the bandit's eye impaled on its edge.
With a howl resembling a wounded beast, the bandit clutched his bleeding face, hatred burning in his remaining eye.
Suppressing her fear, Helgi turned to flee. But a searing pain suddenly erupted across her back.
"You damned wench," the bandit growled. "I intended to grant you a swift end."
His strikes were calculated, designed to wound her gradually rather than deliver a fatal blow. Under his relentless assault, Helgi crumpled, gazing worriedly up at her tormentor. A sense of numbness pervaded her, stemming either from her blood loss or the burgeoning despair.
As she fixed her eyes on the bloodstained longsword poised for the last strike, several truths crystallized in her mind.
Her life, albeit brief and unremarkable, was drawing to a close. The grim reality that a mere [Villager] with no combat skills couldn’t survive such a raid dawned upon her. In a twisted sense, it was merciful she hadn't been captured for ransom or forced into a crueler fate at the bandits' hands.
Her accelerating heartbeat emphasized the burning pain of her wounds and the encroaching dread.
Overwhelmed by the pain, a profound fear took root, and nausea welled up within her. Perhaps retching could dispel the sickness gnawing at her.
Terrified at the prospect of further harm, she closed her eyes. Immersed in this bleak void, she braced herself for the inevitable agony.
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For over a month, the Blinded Bear gang had shown no signs of activity. However, those stationed on the outer walls of Soteria spotted smoke near the location of Aranea village. Instead of a faint wisp barely discernible in the daylight, thick black plumes suggested an attack on the village.
Or perhaps it was merely their imagination.
“It looks like the village has been set ablaze,” one guard observed.
“So it seems,” agreed the other.
They exchanged a glance, the silence stretching between them. “Someone should investigate,” the first guard remarked.
“Yes, someone should,” echoed the other.
Yet, neither moved, bound by their duty to remain at their post, a command from their esteemed leader. A harrowing chittering reminiscent of tormented souls interrupted their deliberation. A massive black spider soared past them, its rider signaling it to release a magically enhanced webbing to aid their descent.
Surveying the damage to the stone wall, one guard sighed deeply. “At least Amalafein won’t be around to threaten us for his amusement,” his companion remarked, tracking the departing figure until he vanished from sight. He then turned back, “But with him gone, Soteria isn’t necessarily safer. There are crimes to solve and murderers to apprehend. This might not even be the [Huntsman]’s doing.”
“I wouldn’t put it past that dokkalfar to stir up trouble here.” The first guard responded, visibly troubled. “How did he even know about the attack?”
“We can never truly fathom the Dokkalfar's intentions. For your own peace of mind, it's best not to ponder too deeply on his motives,” the older guard advised, his voice firm. “I'll report this to the [Captain of the Guard] on duty. Maybe Soteria can send some aid to the beleaguered town.”
Though neither was optimistic, they both silently implored the enigmatic gods to shield them from the ire of the Dokkalfar [Great House], patrons to both Aranea and Soteria.