The Spinner Queen
Hands handling spun silk into gossamer. Pearlescent strands slide along nails. Vantablack fingertips pluck precious cords across treetops. A thrumming cacophany fills the air, shrieking, sawing, piercing screeches.
The adventurers, nerves frayed, teeth on edge, hack away at the surrounding spun white forest. Eight legged horrors scuttle down dying bark, mandibles clicking, eight bead like eyes unblinking.
All the while the harp like plucks play. Every sword swipe accompanied by timed ticks. Every arrow loosed brings notes hammering home. Every wound brings pitying notes played. The interlopers move to the tune of the spider.
Finally at the end of the song the Spinner Queen silently stands. Additional arms extend from elbows, a tree of limbs blossoms to life. A cursed commoner become queen stares down at invaders within the kingdom. Silken spinnerets snap to life, clawed fingers create armour and weapons. The now clad queen strides down sword in hand.
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