Agents of the Web

by Auditor Rusty

Fragmented memories coalesce, firming your dream into the most vivid dream you have ever had. In this dream, you came to yourself wearing robes in a dark room with others dressed just like you were. Another man in much nicer robes stood before you. You remember noticing a bloody smear off to your left, it looked like someone had been standing there, but now they were gone. You knew this because a blood smear led off into the darkness behind you. As the “dream” took hold and solidified, you remembered the last few moments which are now burned into your memory forever.
“You have transversed our threads. You have survived our obvious pitfalls and traps and the not-so-obvious ones. Some of those you started with have either failed or have been unable to reach where you are today.” Pausing for a moment, the hooded figure before you turned his burning gaze towards the other initiates and yourself.
“First, let me introduce myself; I am the Widowmaker. This is my title, my rank, and my promise to those that cross us,” he stated in a matter of fact tone that you knew to be fundamentally true at all levels. “You may have thought that getting to this point in your initiation was easy. You are mistaken! You may have heard rumors and innuendo about us; more likely you were hearing rumors of the Weaver’s Guild.” The Widowmaker paused for a few moments for that statement to sink in, then he continued; “No one in Arladon, or the Red Venom Plains for that matter, knows who we are, or more importantly, how intertwined into the region we are. Why? Because no one talks about something that does not exist!” The Widowmaker finished his statement with a voice as cold as the icecaped mountains to the south of Arladon. His eyes passed over you until they rested on the initiate immediately to your left; “More than once.”
As if from nowhere, the initiate on your left was grabbed from behind by his forehead, which was pulled back, baring his neck. From the shadows, a glint of silver showed for the briefest moment before a red line appeared, blood escaping from his throat. Who, or whatever, had slit the initiate’s throat had vanished as quickly as they had attacked. There was no evidence of his passing, save the dying man falling to the ground before you. He had looked at you with pleading eyes before the light faded and he was no more than a corpse on the stone floor.
Pointing at the corpse, the Widow Maker continued: “That one went drinking and bragged to his friends last night. He whispered to his friends that he was about to pass his final test into some secret guild that no one knew about where he thought we would not hear. Our Agents are everywhere, as is our influence. The Eliam Guild? They are but children! The Stormbreakers? Bullies, who have no vision. As you can see, there are no exceptions to this rule. No one speaks of us in the open more than once.”
After waving his hand and pointing to the corpse, two cloaked individuals stepped out of the shadows, each taking a leg of the corpse, before dragging it off into the darkness behind you. Once the corpse was gone, the Widowmaker lowered his hood and the burning in his eyes lessened.
“Now is the time for your oath. Now is the time you choose to live with us among the threads of our Web. Know that at this point there is no turning back. You either join the corpse being dragged off behind you or you join us. With either choice, though, you are ours until your death and possibly after.”
Pausing for only a moment, The Widowmaker began the oath which you recited with him: “I am an Agent of the Web. The Web’s allies and interests are my allies and interests. The Web’s enemies are my enemies. I will never speak of the Web with anyone that is not my brother or sister among the threads. I will keep this oath unto my death. I will keep this oath unto my death. I will keep this oath unto my death.”
As if from nowhere, an unearthly voice had chimed in, “Thrice heard and witnessed!”
A light burning sensation had enveloped your right forearm, leaving a mark in the shape of a spiderweb, which had then faded from view.The images had fuzzed into a kaleidoscope of colors and you had awakened once more in your bed, as you had every night for the last week. Was what you had just lived through again a dream? Had you somehow tapped into someone else’s memories? Unsure of the answer, one thing was absolutely true: Whomever the Agents of the Web are, speaking or asking about them would be suicidal.