I have story for you. A good story... but not finished. I go into eight-leg forest in south-west... meet the mother of all eight-legs. We fight, big fight, from sunrise to sunset. I stick my best spear in mother's eye and return to village. Must not stay away too long. Must protect my people.
Now my best spear still in mother's eye! Eramir said to leave it there, that my spear is a thing made for 'dark science', whatever that be. No, I want it back, but Mother Eight-leg would smell me from far off. Catch me by surprise. She doesn't know your smell, so you go. Get my spear. Finish good story with good ending.
That spear... yes, that is my best spear, the one I stuck in eye of old Mother Eight-leg. I think you keep it now. Let the beasts and bandits fear you even more. It is my gift to you. From one hero to another.
Wait... no, you need more than just spear and happy words for this great deed. You kill mother of all eight legs! You need prize. Here, when I found my spear in the forest, I found these too. You will take, yes?
Her fur, her skin, it remind me of biting winter. I see her one night, follow her to a cave in the Old Fields, to the east. Listened to her howl at the stars. A sad, sad sound. Great white beast, she full of old pain.
The road? It runs east and west of here. To the west it passes the bandit woman's camp, then turns south, to the sea.
But you say it is now blocked? I have seen a strange thing in the rock by the south pass. Like one of Greust's carvings, but of stone. You should go look at it. What has been closed might be opened again.
We have woven a tale together in days past. Perhaps we shall again? We make mighty stories, you and I, and now I have daunting task before me... the last in my great journey.
Near to us, cast in shadow, a monster awaits. Black Death is his name, a beauteous eight-leg, twisted grotesque by the master of these loathsome halls. I wish to give this eight-leg the merciful peace he deserves, and to save what is still beautiful, the elixir that only Black Death can make.
Please, will you find him, kill this Black Death, take the eight-leg's venom for me? I may be fearsome warrior but Black Death's master has made him into a thing more monstrous than even I can best. Who knows? Perhaps Black Death is too strong even for you?
The Black Venom! Oh, Great Dreamer who has done great deeds, I shall see to it that my queen rewards you with honour and mercy when she rises up to claim what is hers. Yes, this elixir, so aged and potent, shall be life-giving draught that she sips upon first waking. It is my gift to her... my wedding gift!
Great Dreamer, you be wrapped in silken finery and made welcome at our wedding feast. Guest of honour, and oh what a feast we all shall enjoy!
I have climbed the great eight-leg web. I know the eight-legs like no other. This eight-leg, this Black Death, is one of the oldest and most fearsome eight-legs in all this land and beyond. To its shame, it was made pet, plaything, by the malicious master of this place. For years countless it grew in pain. Pain is all it knows, all it can understand, all it can give.