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It was then that the static star hanging in the eternally faltering horizon had undergone it's systematic change. Without warning its surface had grown cold and dark, veiled in an inky shadow, marred with a darkness that was unlike any mundane shadow. In comparison to the darkness it now shrouded itself within, its previous state would have been grossly incandescent to any who were to gaze upon it. 
The Hermit watched the star change, and the whole sky followed suit. He knew it was coming, he could always feel it, but he was not sure what would become of his new friend in such a maddening shadow. The forest was perilous, but Pick was required in order to bring low the Knight; as was the man that he was sent to find. 
The Hermit momentarily felt somewhat guilty for sending the young lad to his nearly certain death, but then he felt frustrated at himself for not warning him properly of the dangers of the Land Betwixt. It was with some deliberation that he decided to throw caution to the wind, and began shuffling into the gloomy forest, occasionally calling for his friend.

[i]"Pock!"[/i]   

...

[i]"Puck!"[/i]

...

[i]"Pluck!"[/i]

...

Nothing. Echoes through the dead trees like wind through reed. He hadn't even been gone for that long, he couldn't have travelled far. Surely. But the Hermit had shuffled what what seemed like hours through the murk, dodging trees as they materialised from the obscuring darkness. His own voice was accompanied by the shrill cry of distant creatures roaring in madness and the sound of falling trees as they rampaged through the darkness themselves, searching for something to tear asunder. Some of them even sounded oddly human. 
The Hermit shuffled faster, not knowing where to turn next, simply hoping that the young man would appear like a tree, as ready to leave as he. 

[i]"Peck! It is time to leave!"[/i] 

...

[i]"Where are you?!"[/i]

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[center]C r e a t u r e  D i s c o v e r e d[/center] 
[center][h3][i]Abyssal Spider[/i][/h3][/center]

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[color=DarkGray][i]Tap tap tap[/i] went the slapping of hands against the squalor of mud, leaving prints of outstretched fingers etched in the filth. Sometimes it would push itself from trees and other times vault from haggard rocks jutting from the quagmire. Its body was cloaked with shadow from the black star above, shadows that melted and changed and recast themselves with each foul movement of innumerable limbs, each unnatural as the next. Each with hands of a man or woman, each a slightly different shade of skin, each with a faint scar line at the wrist where it had maybe once been severed. Where it had once been reattached to a body from which it had not originated. It moved quietly save for the repulsive slapping of dead hands against the mire, and it had a very specific goal in mind: two men, locked in a gaze, uncaring of the faded light above. 
As to why they chose to stand still beneath the beating darkness, the creature did not understand; only that they were prey. to be consumed... devoured. 
It slid from the penumbra of one rotted tree to the next, circling them slowly, watching, savouring as it gibbered softly to itself in anticipation. 

There was a voice from the distance. A husky voice of a frail Human. It was hard done by to penetrate the thick darkness, but it seemed to be calling. Perhaps to the two that the creature sought to prey upon. Perhaps the voice would approach and deny the beast its kill.

But in the darkest of nights, no creature shall be denied its due in flesh of the wanderers. 

It lowered itself, and slowly inched towards the transfixed pair. It made no sound, gave no indication of itself to them. It was so close that it could taste the blood. So close.

So close. [/color]