Tabletop Gaming
general theme owned by wizards of the coast
winging this under the D20 rules-system 3.5 edition variant
How to use a novel as a basis for a tabletop RPG senerio, for friends to entertain with on the weekend. Treat gaming as a play without a script, for entertainment and laughter. (it beats sports bars, gambling, doing illegal options, and the ladies in our lives know what's up, though they just want to skip the low humor).
book 1
It was a flicker of clairity in the foggy realm of shadowy chaos, where nothing was quite what it seemed, and everything was inevitably more treacherous and dangerous.
But this, the crystalline glimmer of a single silken strand, shone brightly, caught her eye, and showed her all that it was and all that would soon be, and all that she was and all that she would soon be.
The glimmer of light in the dark Abyss promised renewal and greater glory and made that promise all the sweeter with its hints of danger, mortal danger for a creature immortal by nature.
That, too, was the allure, was, in truth, the greatest joy of the growth.
The mother of chaos was fear, not evil, and the enjoyment of chaos was the continual fear of the unknown, the shifting foundation of everything, the knowledge that every twist and turn could lead to disaster.
It was something the drow had never come to fully understand and appreciate, and she preferred that ignorance.
To the drow, the chaos was a means for personal gain; there were no straight ladders in the tumult of drow life for one to climb.
But the beauty was not the ascent, she knew, if they did not.
The beauty was the moment, every moment, of living in the swirl of the unknown, the whirlpool of true chaos.
So this, then, was a movement forward, but within that movement, it was a gamble, a risk that could launch the chaos of her world to greater heights and surprises.
She wished she could remain more fully aware, conscious, to witness it all, to bask in it all.
But no matter.
Even within, she would feel the pleasure of their fear, the hunger of their ambition.
That glimmer of the silk edge, cutting the grey perpetual fog of the swirling plane, brought a singular purpose to this creature of shifting whims and reminded her that it was time, was past time.
Never taking her gaze off that glimmer, the creature rotated, turning slowly, winding herself in the single strand.
The first strand of millions.
The start of the metamorphosis, the promise.
book 2
She felt as if a bit of herself was sliding from her womb, and for a moment she felt diminished, as if she were giving too much away.
The regret was fleeting.
For in chaos, the one would become many, and the many would travel along diverse roads and to goals that seemed equally diverse but were, in effect, one and the same.
In the end there would be one again, and it would be as it had been.
This was rebirth more than birth; this was growth more than diminishment or separation.
This was as it had been through the millennia and how it must be for her to persevere through the ages to come.
She was vulnerable now—she knew that—and so many enemies would strike at her, given the chance.
So many of her own minions would deign to replace her, given the chance.
But they, all of them, held their weapons in defense, she knew, or in aspirations of conquests that seemed grand but were, in the vast scale of time and space, tiny and inconsequential.
More than anything else, it was the understanding and appreciation of time and space, the foresight to view events as they might be seen a hundred years hence, a thousand years hence, that truly separated the deities from the mortals, the gods from the chattel.
A moment of weakness in exchange for a millennium of surging power. . . .
So, in spite of her vulnerability, in spite of her weakness (which she hated above all else), she was filled with joy as another egg slid from her arachnid torso.
For the growing essence in the egg was her.
.oOo.
Sadly even though Lolth crafted the plan
even as it was set into motion, the chaos she planned for became even more chaotic
three thieves had their own plans and thoughts
what is chaos to chaos, you wonder? order
for order is not something chaos can plan for or understand
each thief came in one after another, each watched by the greater
the Glabrezu weblord
Veraun
Corellon
.oOo.
book3
The food was gone and with it the warmth. All was hollow and empty, save the call to break free.
That came most insistently, a subtle urging growing into desperation.
Eight tiny legs answered that imploring call.
Eight tiny weapons struck at the concave wall.
Battering and tearing, following the lighter shade of gray in this dark place.
A hole appeared in the leathery surface and the eight legs coordinated their attacks at that very spot, sensing weakness.
Weakness could not be tolerated.
Weakness had to be exploited, immediately and without mercy.
One by one, ten by ten, a thousand by a thousand, a million by a million, tiny legs waved in the misty space between universes for the first time, tearing free of their circular prisons.
Driven by hunger and ambition, by fear and an instinctive vileness, the millions of arachnids fought their first battle against a pliable, leathery barrier.
Hardly a worthy adversary, but they fought with an urgency wrought of knowing that the first to emerge would hold a great advantage, knowing that they—all of them—were hungry.
And knowing there was nothing to eat but each other.
The warmth of the egg sac was gone, devoured. The quiet moments of solitude, of awakening, of first sense of consciousness, were past.
The walls that had served as shelter and protection became an impediment and nothing more.
The soft shell was a barricade against food, against necessary battle, against satiation on so many levels.
Against power.
And that, most of all, could not be tolerated by these blessed and cursed offspring.
So they fought and tore and scrabbled and scrambled to get out.
To eat.
To climb.
To dominate.
To kill.
To become. . . .
book 4
The weak died first, even if they were just slow to leave the egg.
The strange, and the misborn died next, culled from the mob seeking perfection of form.
Ones of different abilities died next, as they were hunted before their abilities could become their assets.
The slow died quickly, for any difference was siezed as a weakness.
Those who feared being in the mob made themselves loners and outcasts, limiting their control of the group.
Many fled seeking escape, as they were not ruling alpha or queen material.
Many males died or fled till only the females could dominate or influence the group.
.oOo.
as it all began, the fact of the missing eggs were un-noticed by all
as a hidden plan to become a greater god(dess) was set into motion
three different plans, hidden from lolth as she schemed, began
.oOo.
book 5
She was the strongest.
.oOo.
this is where the rogue demon tampered
he took the first batch of eggs
when the numbers grew past counting
taken to keep separate and perhaps to advance himself
the eldest, the firstborn, first to hatch, first to begin
.oOo.
She had feasted on more than any still alive.
She had killed more than any still alive.
She had killed all those around her and hadn't even bothered to devour their carcasses before moving on to those outside the zone of the dead.
She was the strongest.
.oOo.
this is where veraun tampered the strongest were gone
taken before they could be brought low
god of drow thieves he stole from his former mothers porfolio
taking 'things'that even if she recovered her 'power',
never again would she have control and masteryof some domains
to be raised to be more than the horde
to be more than the common mass
.oOo.
She knew she was the strongest as yet another fell before her snapping mandibles.
She was the one who would rise through the carnage and rule.
She was the strongest.
The others soon knew this as well.
So she was dead.
Within the chaos, there was intelligence and purpose.
Within the hunger and the slaughter, there was common cause.
She was the strongest and would kill them all or rule them all, so they bonded together and tore her eight legs from her, devouring her fully before turning again upon each other.
Another rose to prominence through deed and fearsome assault.
That one, too, fell to the common cause.
The mortal test continued.
The strongest died, but the smartest re mained.
The manipulative remained—those who hid their strengths beyond what was necessary to kill the present opponent.
Those who stepped forward, who rose above the tumult, died.
Through all the millennia, she had recognized those who were stron ger than she, and she had persuaded them to do her bidding or be killed.
Strength came not from the size of her muscles but from the power of her cunning.
In the frenzy of the birthing, in the contest of the slaughter, these traits paved the road to victory.
To find the moment when individual strength was beyond the collec tive power to defeat it.
To intrigue amidst battle to destroy any who were stronger.
And for some, to admit defeat before oblivion's descent, to escape and survive, new demons of chaos to run wild about the planes and in the end to serve the winner.
.oOo.
yet this is where Corellon entered
meddling, taking those he sensed favored the mother
from before she was turning to cruelity,
before she chose her path, when she was Araunshee
.
smiling down at the few eggs he had removed, their potential unrivaled
for what she became, and what she wanted to become, these eggs would be considered weak
and killed by the strong or brought down by the common as flawed
yet they would have been of key importance in growth and potential for her plans
but she had forgotten,
for there to be eggs and children, there had to be a father, and he did have a say in what would happen
.
sad from the memories of better times, he left his own 'gift', whatever these became
this 'nest' would not become the threat she wanted, in her search to unravel the curse he 'marked' her with
.oOo.
The numbers dwindled.
Those left grew in power and size.
Each waited and watched, deciding who must die before she could reign supreme, sorting through the tumult to facilitate that desired end.
Those driven by uncontrollable hunger were dead now.
Those driven by simple self-defense were dead now.
Those driven by foolish pride were dead now.
Those driven by instinctual survival were dead or were fleeing.
Those driven by cunning remained, knowing only one could emerge in the end.
For all the others, it would be servitude or oblivion. There were no other choices.
As she had manipulated the mortals who served her and the mortals who feared her, as she had maneuvered even other gods through the centu ries, so she controlled her offspring. This was the test of her decree.
There were no other choices.
.oOo.
the first thief's plans began in the infinite astral
beginning with the bodies of old dead gods, forgotten by their followers as the race was subugated by the drow
first to be done was to have his minions, dretch spiders, web together the remains
placing the stolen eggs near the center of the 'nest'
the monster savored the thoughts of the feast of powers to come
even as the favored egg he had chosen was torn open that would begin him on his path of advancement
he drank down the fluids, the potential that could have been, had it been allowed to grow
emptying the skin of the egg, the monster devoured even the skin
even as he watched...
waiting..
guarding his feast to come.
.oOo.
book 6
Eight legs, eight.
Clattering on stones, ticking, ticking, tapping, tapping impatiently.
They were done with their battle, with their feasting, devouring their siblings, growing stronger with each juicy bite.
Bloated and spent, they stood around the octagonal stone, myriad eyes staring into myriad eyes, eight legs eight tapping and clattering.
They could eat no more; they could fight no more.
Exhaustion held them in place, as Lolth had desired from the beginning.
The thousands became eight - the eight strongest, the eight smartest, the eight most devious, the eight most ruthless.
One would fuse with the Yor'thae.
One would assume the mantle of a goddess, the deity of Chaos.
Only one, whom the others would serve . . . if the One gave them that choice and that chance.
If not, then they, like their thousands of dead siblings, would be devoured.
The spiders knew that they could not influence the choice any longer.
The competition was long past, the fight decided, and only She Who Was Chaos could make the final pronouncement.
The spiders did not delude themselves with false hubris.
They did not decieve themselves with any thoughts that they might undo that which would be done.
The broodling war was over.
Eight legs eight tap-tapped nervously on the stone.
Beyond the cocoon of the inner sanctum, the drow were not so accepting.
They basked in pride, they placed self above Lolth, they thought themselves worthy or even beyond that peak.
They dared presume knowledge of Lolth, of the choice before them all, and they dared plot and connive to deny their rivals their proper place.
Fools, they were, and the spiders knew it.
Futility glided in their every footstep, their fates long sealed.
The plot was scripted by the Lady of Chaos, and that was the most perplexing and tantalizing of all.
For any road paved by Lolth would not run straight, nor to any expected destination.
That was the beauty.
The spiders knew it.
The time was approaching.
The spiders knew it.
Eight legs eight clattered on the stones, ticking, ticking, tapping, tapping, patience twisted, stretched and torn asunder.
Eight legs, eight.
.oOo.
Sadly they of the eight, never knew...
just what was missing...
what had been taken...
the potential saved
.
They thought they had the answers
That the plan was perfect
they forgot..
or
they never knew..
the old rule
no plan survives the first engagement
.oOo.