Work Text:
Dearest sister,
I have made the long journey to Crestwood in hopes of furthering my research. The creatures in this area are fascinating, and I would be a fool not to take my time and give each their due diligence. The locals tell me the wild planes outside the village are rife with things that would tear a man limb from limb, but I am certain that my most recent combat training should be enough to protect me. I'm not Templar, but I am savvy enough with a sword.
The locals here are welcoming, though. I was given a warm meal and decent bed the first night I was here. When I told my host I wanted to try my hand camping in the plains, he laughed for half a minute. Guess I don’t seem the type.
But do not worry. Though I will certainly be in a fair amount of danger, as a researcher often is, I will be home in time for the birth. I would not dare miss the chance to welcome my first niece of nephew into the world, and they will be my first captive audience when it comes time to read my manuscript. I will do my best to put here the details of my journey, in hope that, should the worst happen, you, at least, will know of my travels, my work, and my passions.
Your loving brother,
Damian
Dispute Resolution Report
Dispute: Missing Breeches
Officer: Captain Joseph Gawl
The argument began early in the morning. Two soldiers, Pressit and Cob, were found having a physical altercation in the morning before breakfast was served. They were separated, soaked with cold water, and placed in two cells beneath the keep. Pressit made the claim that Cob, in the dead of night, took Pressit's breeches and hid them away. Cob claims no such theft occurred, but emphasizes that he has made several reports about two large white spiders, about the size of a mabari pup, which he saw skittering out of the soldiers' quarters on multiple occasions, taking peoples' things. I have attached these reports for reference. No search of the keep was made for any such creature, and no other soldier can corroborate Cob's sighting, but to placate the man and perhaps prove his innocence, or guilt, I will have two soldiers search the keep after dinner this evening.
Addendum, attached to the Resolution Report:
Maker's breath, mabari pups was an understatement. Cob insists they're juveniles. For all our sakes, I hope he's wrong.
Many Years Ago, in Orzammar
Jordi had found a buyer for the spider. Some surface dwarf had promised him enough gold to buy his way out of Dust Town, and Jordi was tired of being poor and under someone’s thumb. He took a peek into the crate. The stone-white fur of the creature stuck out in the dark. He was almost sad to see it go — it had saved him from a darkspawn attack — but coin was coin and Jordi would give anything to see the sun.
When he reached the agreed upon exchange spot, Jordi took the crate from his cart and set it on the ground. He was certain this was the right time and place, but an hour went past, and no one came. The spider made its strange noises in the crate — Jordi took some meet and tossed it in and it grew quiet.
Another hour went by, and two things happened at once — Jordi realized he’d been cheated, and an arrow flew out of the darkness and pierced his chest. He toppled over, slumped on his side as he watched the surface dwarf lean down and lift the crate up before passing it off to someone with a murmur. Jordi blinked through the haze of dying and listened to the sound of laughter as the surface dwarf and his crew left Jordi to bleed out in the dark.
Dearest sister,
This morning I found a rather rambunctious nest of nugs. One of them got me good, and I was taken care of by a kind farmer, who certainly gave me quite a bit of grief over letting a nug draw blood.
I’m quite intrigued with how the locals seem to live in relative harmony with the beasts around them. A few people here keep the druffalo for milk and meat. I had a delightful druffalo cheese just yesterday. I’ll be sure to bring some back with me.
I’ve heard a few tales of a creature near Caer Bronach the locals seem to fear. They tell me it arrived under mysterious circumstances decades ago. Some don’t even know if it truly exists, but they still of it with a decent amount of reverence, albeit a respect brought on by some terror.
I’ll admit, I’m intrigued. I’ve heard tale of a wyvern in these parts, but I’m not eager to meet it. I wouldn’t mind inspecting the keep, however. Just to see what these stories are about. Fear not, sister. I will keep away for some time still. My druffalo observations won’t write themselves, you know, and I saw some very interesting fennec behavior on my morning walk.
No, more dangerous ventures will have to wait. For now, I simply watch.
Your loving brother,
Damian
The surface dwarf’s name was Bron. They found his body just a ways from the entrance to Orzammar, his body chewed and rotted. The crate was cracked open, empty, abandoned. Locals swore they saw a white spider scuttling through the woods, feeding on critters, scaring the occasional hunter.
She — and the poacher who finally snatched her was quite convinced he had that right — was white as snow, with piercing red eyes. To match her bloodlust, the poacher said. He’d taken a shining to her, and he’d found a fighting ring in Jader that let him show her off. She was vicious, taking a visible joy in tearing the heads off whatever creature was pitted against her. The poacher won more gold in a month than he had in years. He spent most of it, but a fair amount was stashed for passage out of Ferelden.
The poacher’s name was Harlen. They found his body in his room at the tavern, parts of him picked down to the boat.
The white spider was nowhere to be seen.
Wilderness Notes by Brother Sentiri
Location: The Imperial Highway Subject: Spider, Large with White Coloration
The day passed with relatively few creature sightings. Brother Benezo retired early and I took it upon myself to go walking. I had not intended to look for much of anything, and I wouldn’t call the land around Lake Calenhad anything less than thoroughly explored, but something did catch my eye as I walked along the edge of the water, casting my gaze at the treeline. It was white, standing out against the dark of the woods. I moved closer, and it stopped, looking out at me. Its eyes were red and bright, and when it set its gaze upon me, I felt the way a rabbit must in the sights of a hunter — quickly, I gathered myself and my things and went back to camp, dressing and quickly laying down to sleep. But I could not get the image out of my mind. The creature, hulking and large, its eyes knowing me as the thing I was. The thing I am — prey.
The woods were cold, at night. The creature waited in the dark and she waited in the dark and she waited and waited, but nothing changed and nothing happened. She didn’t go hungry, but she would often have to abandon her meals to other predators, who spotted her with ease. She was aware of what she was, how she was.
She was aware of her curses and her blessings.
It was winter, or at least, nearly there. She got into a scuffle with a wolf and it nearly snapped her leg clean in two. It kept her from eating for days, and she was starving when she finally left the burrow she’d made for herself. This place wasn’t safe. She couldn’t keep on like this, not with the woods growing colder, with the trees bare and exposing themselves and her.
She moved. She moved because she had to, because the home she’d made for herself here was no longer safe. She could recall, somewhat, the dark place she’d been born, but so little after that was clear. She craved it. Hungered for it. She swore to herself she would never be caught again.
And so, when it happened, when she found herself in a hunter’s nest, she made noises and lashed out and endured the laughter of the hunter and his party as they watched her struggle.
“She’s a beauty,” the man said, leaning in close. “White as a snowball.”
“Ha!” One of the younger men threw back a flask and dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. “Snowball.”
“Like an Orlesian purebred. Think we could pass her off as a dog to some noble?”
“Have to get the hell out of Ferelden to do that.”
Everyone had a good laugh. Snowball curled up in the net.
How foolish. How ignorant. How lucky for her.
It took very little to break free of her net. The men who’d taken her stumbled over themselves. Their breath reeked. They grabbed for their weapons, but their motions were slow and uncoordinated. Snowball lunged. She bit into flesh and bone and it came off in her pincers with ease. They screamed and they screamed and she fed and no one came.
No one came at all.
For a few days, the white of her body was dotted with blood as red as her eyes. She satisfied herself and gorged herself on their bodies and organs, and when she had had her fill, she decided she would leave this place.
Dear sister,
I’ve been trying to find a local who will take me to Caer Bonach, but no one seems interested in going to the place. Currently it stands empty, but they say it sometimes houses bandits or traveling groups of mercenaries from time to time. They bring trouble to Crestwood on occasion, but typically stay to themselves. I see no issue with approaching if it’s not being used for anything, but no one around seems particularly keen on investigating with me.
No matter. My druffalo observations have begun getting rather interesting. I was privy to a mating pair just the other day, though I was caught when they were done and promptly run off. I swore I was going to be gored, but I tripped and fell down a little hill and druffalo don’t enjoy cliffsides, so I was quite safe, albeit I did suffer a sprained ankle. Once again, I was assisted by my farmer friend. His son is quite the healer, and didn’t give me nearly as much of an earful as his father did over the nug. I’ve been staying in the village and hiking out this way each day, but Robin invited me to stay at the farm instead. I’m sure his father will have something to say about it, but it would be nice to be a bit closer to the plains. I’ll have to take this all under consideration.
Regardless, my trip is turning out to be quite fruitful. I had not expected this region to be quite so fascinating, but I will remain here to continue my research. I intend to travel to the keep sooner or later. For now, I remain ever curious about what may await me.
Your loving brother,
Damian
A rejection letter to M. Pierre Laurent regarding the submission of his piece “A White Spider”
Dear M. Laurent,
The gallery committee at the Imperial Exhibition of Arts in Val Royeaux regrets to inform you that your piece, “A White Spider” has not been selected for presentation in our winter collection. We encourage you to submit your work in the future, as it is clear you are an artist with great talent. We would be more than happy to see what you have to offer during our next selection cycle.
[“A White Spider” features a large albino spider peering out at the viewer from between the trees. Its gaze is piercing and leaves the viewer feeling exposed.]
[a excerpt from a young Ferelden girl’s diary]
Papa said we were taking a shorter route, but mama insisted he’d gotten us lost again. I sat in the back of the cart using my new pencils to draw my favorite trees as they passed. At some point, papa slowed down to ask a group of passing soldiers for some help — and then I saw it. I saw it through the trees. My heart stopped in my chest. I knew what it was, clear as day, but I couldn’t open my mouth to say a word.
A spider — enormous and white, standing at the edge of the woods and watching me. I knew it was watching me. I knew it saw me.
Mama asked what was wrong. I couldn’t say.
I sat back down and tried to sketch what I’d seen, but papa thinks it must have been a trick of the light. Spiders didn’t grow that big, he said. And they certainly weren’t white.
But I know what I saw.
She moved.
She left the woods and continued on. There would be a place for her, a place for her to be at peace and know the quiet she craved. Occasionally, she spotted the tall, awkward creatures that stare at her, like the ones who hunted her. She found when she watched them, they seemed to leave her be.
She could not be sure of how long she’d traveled, but eventually she made her way underground again. It felt like home, if something could be called that. It was a relief. No more sun, no more prying eyes. No more hunters and their pesky nests. She scrambled over rock and stone and relished in the shadows.
But even here, she was not safe.
She knew her snow white coloring made her stand out. Predators with teeth and claws lurked here, same as they did in the forest above. Just like here, they were hungry.
She was injured, more than once. But in time, she began to learn how to predict when they would come. Her webs sang to her, and she spun them around the places she would call home and waited for something to pluck those sticky, sticky strings. She often found the culprits tangled up and struggling to escape. A delightful predicament.
In time, creatures learned to fear her. She grew strong on their blood and flesh. Eventually, she found herself in a small underground cavern. There was room here for her to lay eggs, if she chose, to hunt anything that was foolish enough to come down here. There were structures, clear signs something lived above her, and when the occasional creature did show its face, they ran.
Well. They tried to run.
A letter to Mayor Gregory Dedrick, regarding the creature living beneath Caer Bronach, written in 9:30 Dragon
Dear Mr. Mayor,
My son and his friends have admitted to me that they’ve been messing around in the old keep, and I’ve already punished the lot. They’ll be digging out weeds in every garden in Crestwood for the foreseeable future. However, my boy did tell me he heard and saw something that concerns me. It nearly took one of his friend’s legs off.
Said he saw a white spider, living free as could be, underneath the keep. Now, certainly he shouldn’t have been down that far, and he knows he’s lucky to be alive, but should we be concerned? We’ve taken in a great number of refugees. It would be a shame for some of them to wind up that way and ended by a monster of all things, after escaping the blight.
Speaking of, we’re in need of more supplies, especially if we’re to be cooking meals. Myself and some of the other folks are more than happy to do so, but we can’t be dipping into the winter stores just yet. If you’ve the time and coin, please advise. We’ll all be doing what we can as well.
[an excerpt from a lecture by Orlesian arachnid scholar, M. Bernard]
It is well known that the dwarves used giant spiders, also called deep crawlers, to rid themselves of the large bats that have long plagued their underground settlements. We now believe we can trace the origin of the giant spider directly to specific dwarven lineages, and they traded, sold, and bred the creatures to have the most ideal traits. There are indeed a few humbling tales of deep crawlers turning on their masters, notably those that pushed them too far and too hard when hunting.
The most concerning development came when the Deep Roads became overrun with darkspawn, and the creatures were taught to enjoy the flesh of genlocks and other such monsters. It is believed a new species of giant spider branched off from here, giving the creatures an insatiable bloodlust. In time, they came to know the taste of dwarven flesh more readily, and, eventually, human, elf, and more.
My own observations have led me to places far and wide, across Thedas, but it does seem Ferelden harbors the largest concentration of giant spiders comparatively. What this says about Fereldens, it’s hard to know. [audience laughter is noted here]
I do have here a specimen I located in northern Ferelden. [the audience audibly gasps. a murmur goes through the crowd] Now, now, there is nothing to fear! You are in no immediate danger, I can assure you. Please, please, can we return our focus to the stage? Yes. Yes, thank you. Now! Its parent was a vibrant, snow white. Her offspring seem to be more typical of your average spider, but I did observe one albino offspring, similar to the mother. Of course, the creature I have brought with me today is merely a juvenile, but you will see its relative size —
[the transcript abruptly ends here]
Dear sister,
The blight has finally come to Crestwood. I woke this morning to learn several dozen refugees were en route, with many more having already arrived. I asked Robin if any would come and stay on the farm, but he gave me a very stern look in response. He said they probably all have the blight.
I’ve tried to keep up my observations to distract me, but I am concerned about the struggles of these refugees. The townsfolk seem happy enough to help them, but when I asked their mayor if there were any way I could assist, he brushed me off. I’m sure it’s quite a burden, to have them all here. I did mention to him that I was still interested in getting below the keep to try and observe this creature the locals have mentioned, but he told me quite suddenly no one would be allowed in Caer Bronach from now on.
It’s disappointing, sister. I will admit. And it seems a bit harsh. My gut is telling me something else is going on, but I’m hardly local, and cannot realistically give anyone advice about the situation. It may be time to leave the village and venture on.
[a additional sheet of vellum is folded behind the previous one]
Sister -
I am not permitted to leave Crestwood. No one seems to be. Some of the locals have said this is very unlike Mayor Dedrick, but I have found him off putting from the start. Someone is leaving tonight for supplies under the cover of darkness. I have given them gold and made them promise to give you this letter, and all my notes. Publish them. Do whatever you’d like with them, burn them for all I care, but I will find my way out of this village one way or another.
Damian
Gregory Dedrick knew he was going to pay for this someday.
He knew, deep down, the truth would out, and he would serve his time, or go to his death. But it was too late to turn back now, and it was too late to undo what he had already done.
I’ve seen it, the man had told him. I know what it does to people.
Dedrick swallowed around his guilt.
The work you ordered is done. Do what you want. I’ll be up in the hills trying to forget it.
He set the note aside. Robert had been his friend, once. One of his closest. He had thought, foolishly, he might understand. But no one could. And he couldn’t speak of this to a single soul now.
Except perhaps…the spider.
Dedrick was quite aware of the creature that lived beneath the keep. He had dealt with her offspring on more than one occasion. She herself was a formidable foe, but he had nearly come eye to eye with her once before and she had not killed him. Whatever reasoning behind that, Dedrick couldn’t say.
That night, he took the long path beneath the keep, and stood just above her lair.
“I must do it,” he said quietly. “You know that I must.” The creature made no noise, but he knew she was there. “I trust you’ll be able to survive it. I’m sure you’ll resent me for flooding your home, but perhaps in time you can return. You’ll find somewhere to wait this out. And I will…I will continue living. I must. I…I must.”
The Inquisitor was tired of Crestwood. Old Crestwood, new Crestwood — didn’t really matter. They’d seen more than enough of the place to last a lifetime.
But there was still some work to be done, and some of the Inquisition soldiers stationed at the Caer Bronach were complaining about spiders.
“Why’s it got to be spiders?” they muttered.
“Not a fan?” Varric teased.
“They’re big as horses,” they snapped. “Are you saying you’re fond of them?”
“No, no!” Varric lifted his hands and chuckled.
Dorian sighed. “I think our dear Inquisitor is quite right to be afraid. Is there a reason Ferelden as absolutely, well, crawling with them? Did they try to domesticate the damn things?”
“Don’t let Curly hear you say that.” Varric hopped down from the last rung of the ladder. They’d made their way beneath the keep. It was cold and damp. Water dripped from and on every surface. Every piece of clothing and equipment they carried was simply…wet.
“I do see webbing,” Cassandra said, touching the wall. “Perhaps there is some merit to their claims.”
“There’d better be,” the Inquisitor said, and continued downward.
As they descended deeper below the keep, the place grew darker. Varric lit a torch and it illuminated the walls with flickering orange light. The webbing grew thicker this way, and there was now an audible scuttling. More than once, the Inquisitor could have sworn they saw something move in the shadows, but as soon as they looked, it was gone.
Easy, they thought. It’s just a spider. You’re the Herald of bloody Andraste, or whatever. What’s a spider to you?
“Careful,” Varric said. “These webs might trigger something. Or at least let whatever’s down here know—”
Someday, maybe soon, maybe later, that dwarf was going to need to learn to shut his mouth. There was a sound, like a thousand legs running over a thousand stones, and when the Inquisitor looked up — they saw her.
In a way, she was beautiful.
She was abalone white, with blood-red eyes that sparked terror. She turned her gaze upon them all and the Inquisitor could sense something beneath that look, something more than just a monster.
She knew what they were. She knew they were prey.
She made a noise. Half a dozen spiders, mostly brown and black, with the occasional pale white like their mother, rushed out into the ankle-deep water towards them. She ascended back up her web, and seemed content to watch.
Dorian swore. Magic sparked and exploded in the small cavern. The Inquisitor was quite aware of the small enclosure, of the quivering stalagmites and stalactites that surrounded them. One came loose and fell into the water near Varric, showering him with stone.
“Dammit, Sparkler, watch out!”
“Oh, shall out get out my dagger then and try a bit of knife play?”
“Listen, what you and Bull do on your own time is your business—”
“Gentlemen!” Cassandra shouted. “Pay! Attention!” She swung her sword and cut one of the juveniles in half. Above them, the albino spider did not react.
She’s toying with us, the Inquisitor thought. She’s weakening us. And when we’re exhausted, she’ll pounce.
“Dorian!” The Inquisitor pointed up. “Focus fire! Bring her down here!”
“Are you insane?”
“Just do it!”
Dorian made a noise, but he turned his magic towards the cavern ceiling, bombarding the giant spider with enough magic to finally shake her loose.
And then — there she was. She reared back and made a horrible screeching noise. Maker’s breath, the Inquisitor thought. So many…legs.
And then she was upon them.
It was a long, drawn out battle. Or at least, it felt that way. The white spider seemed relentless. She seemed ageless. She seemed so…human. In her own way.
And she fought, valiantly. There was a moment, in between blows, in between feeling the fresh burn of venom flooding their body, that the Inquisitor wondered if this was the right thing to do. What had this creature seen? What had she witnessed? Had Mayor Dedrick known she was here? Did he try to drown her, too, and she lived? Just to spite him? To spite them all?
In a flash, Cassandra’s blade struck the beast, and she crumpled into the water. The last of her offspring scuttled away into the shadows.
“Maker’s hairy balls,” Varric muttered, wincing as he got to his feet. “That was a hell of a spider.”
“I’ve never seen one like this,” Dorian said. He leaned in close to inspect her. “She’s quite beautiful, really.”
“You’re all insane.” The Inquisitor sheathed their sword and sighed. “Come on, lets gather what we can and get out of here. They’ll want to know the problem was dealt with.
At Skyhold, Mayor Dedrick was waiting to be transported to Ferelden. It was a reasonable sentencing. They would likely toss him away forever, but he cared very little what h
is fate would be. He deserved it, whatever was coming.
There was a sound, someone being let into the dungeons. Dedrick looked up and found the Inquisitor standing outside his cell.
“Did you know about the giant spider beneath Caer Bronach?” they asked.
Dedrick startled. “What?”
“The giant albino spider beneath the keep.” They pulled up a stool.
“Did I…well. Yes. Yes, I did. I’m sorry, I simply wasn’t expecting you to…mention her.” He felt himself smile. “So she lived.”
The Inquisitor raised a brow. “She survived your crimes, yes. Though she was causing trouble with my soldiers.”
Dedrick frowned. “You…you didn’t…tell me you didn’t—”
“Kill her? I’m sorry, you drowned dozens of refugees, and some of your own people, and you want me to feel guilty for killing a spider?”
He swallowed. “I…no,” he said. “No. Of course not. You’re absolutely right, Inquisitor. Forgive me, that was a foolish thing to suggest.”
The Inquisitor nodded. “I was just curious, I suppose. She was…different. When she looked at me, I felt…I felt like—”
“Like she knew what you were,” he said softly. The Inquisitor nodded. “She knew my crimes before anyone else did. I burdened her with them, but I knew she would care not. And I felt, deep down, that she would survive me.” He sighed. “Is that all, Inquisitor?”
They nodded. “It is. Thank you for speaking with me. I wish you luck in Ferelden.”
“Do not waste your time,” Dedrick said. “I will be punished as I deserve.”
In the deep roads, years ago, a little white spider crawled out of her egg and into the shadows. Her siblings tried to kill her, but she held her own. She fought back. She killed them all and scuttled away into the darkness.
The first time she was held, she was afraid. She screeched in terror, but the dwarf was strong and she was still young. She let herself be crammed into the crate, let herself be carried. Let herself be pitted against every creature they threatened her with.
She survived the hunters and the cold woods. She survived wolves and bears, survived the elements. She survived her own kind, the monsters of the dark and shadow, the creatures that made their home in the caves and caverns that rightfully belonged to her.
She survived the flood. When the water had rushed into her home, she had scurried along ahead of it, biding her time. The others died. The others were left to drown. But she lived.
Sword and blade arrived to her. Shouting, yelling, swearing. Magic. Something she knew, innately, could be the true death of her. Something she knew she may not survive.
When the sword pierced her flesh, she felt darkness swallowing her. She looked at them. She saw them. They were afraid.
She was not.
Shadows slipped past her. Hours and days. She felt dead. She looked dead. She was claimed to be dead.
And then —
One leg.
Then another.
She felt her body shuddering in the water. Felt her eyes blinking in the darkness. The wound was deep and she was still injured, still shedding guts and poison —
But she was alive.
Perhaps it was time to leave this place. Make her home deeper in the ground. The bodies of her dead children surrounded her as she woke, and she feasted upon them for strength as she healed. But there would be more, in time. There would always be more.
How…fitting to return to the place of her birth. How appropriate. How right.
She began the long, long journey down into the Deep Roads, and knew, instinctively, that it was time to go home.