Shadowlace Weaver

"For a moment I thought the darkness had come alive to claim me... I don't know what scared me more; its eyes or the way it didn't move, as if it already knew I'd never leave that place."

— Elise Darnell, recounting her escape

 

Woven in the Shadow

  Deep in the gloom of forests and ruins, shadowlace weavers spin their dark and silent craft. These creatures, larger than a grown man's hand, are creatures of shadow and silk, their forms melding into the darkness they inhabit. Their carapaces shimmer faintly in dim light, black with an iridescent sheen like oil on water. Their webs, spun from threads of semi-solid darkness, drape across branches and archways, forming barriers that seem to drink in the light around them. Travelers often mistake the webs for natural shadow until they walk too close and find themselves ensnared in a net of cloying black strands.   When the night is still and heavy, their eggs hatch unseen, and the young emerge to weave their homes in places where sorrow lingers. Each web is not only a trap for prey but a work of dark art, shaped by the emotions of the place it occupies. A web spun in a ruined temple might reflect despair, forming spirals that draw the eye inward, while one woven in a battlefield might take on chaotic patterns of jagged lines and harsh angles.  

Cradling Light Softly

  Shadowlace weavers are not mere beast, they are thought to possess a dim, malevolent intelligence. Some tales claim they can understand speech, though they lack voices to reply. Others whisper that the creatures are drawn to sources of magic, especially wards and spells meant to keep them at bay, which they consume like moths devouring fabric. The silk they spin carries strange properties; it resists fire, absorbs light, and cannot be cut by mundane means. Wizards and alchemists have sought to harvest the threads for cloaks of concealment, though few live to tell of their attempts.   Despite their unsettling nature, shadowlace weavers are not inherently aggressive. They wait patiently for prey to stumble into their webs, paralyzing it with venom before cocooning it in shadow-silk. The venom induces vivid, nightmarish visions, said to echo the weaver's thoughts. Survivors claim the dreams are filled with endless webs, the spinner always watching from the edge, its many eyes reflecting the dreamer's fate.   Encounters with them are rare but memorable. The wise avoid their domains, marking the edges of shadowed forests and ruins with warnings. The reckless or ignorant venture in and vanish, their belongings sometimes found cocooned in webs days or weeks later, their bodies long gone.