Woven : Weaver Temple

Wordcount: 508
Rating/Warnings: PG
Summary: The weaver takes a moment to pray.

NOTE: This is a very rough draft with no editing at all (per National Novel Wiriting Month rules) and is presented for amusement value only. Think of it as a periscope into my writing process rather than a coherent story!

There will most likely be spelling and grammatical errors afoot as well as flat out bad writing, info dumps, plot holes, contradictions/retcons, uneven characterization and pacing. These snippits are also posted out of order, so please refer to the story page to figure out where it’s supposed to fit.

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Weaver Temple

The temple itself is mostly empty, there are twinges along the world web that let her know other spiders and weavers are nearby, but they are few. She moves along the empty halls to the main prayers area. A spider the size of her torso hangs in a web of silver strings that chime like a harp when it moves. The spider is almost ethereal, as it is older and has lost most of its presence in reality.

She nods to it, a small bow that doesn’t stir Little Sister as the spider drawls out to greet her larger sister. The spider curls around her head, glowing slightly in the contained area. They talk, or at least she assumes them do, but all she can feel is the feather light vibrations as they strum the world web.

She waits for the stirrings to quiet and then moves to light a prayer candle.

Pause for a bit of worship for the spider god, then talking with the larger spiders in the temple. Talking to the other weavers lets her know that there is something wrong in the town. Rebellion against the empire and whatnot. There is some concern that the temple might be attacked since the one faction’s goal is to wipe out both the wasps and the spiders.

She lights the prayer candles, reed-thin sticks of wax perfumed with herbs and spices. She wonders if the acolytes still make them as she did, dipping the wax, then spinning it to pull the thick wax into a thick bottomed candle. These aren’t normal candles, dipped layer by layer into colored dyes, but swung candles, leaving the rooms spattered with drops of wax like rain.

It used to be one of her favorite things to work in the wax room making candles. The thicker beeswax candles are modeled in cylinders around a scented base. Not as much fun, but they were able to carve designs in those candles when they couldn’t with the tapers.

She wasn’t sure quite what to ask the mother for, so she settled for peace of mind and focused on clearing her thoughts. There was a certain solace in being able to set aside the world for a moment and she stayed until that sense of unity was reached. The little sister was quiet in her eye, and she wondered if the spider had her own prayers.

When she was finished, she snuffed the taper and bowed to the massive spider that hung in her web above the candles.

The spider twitched the web and it sang a light melody of blessing upon the weaver and her little sister.

The larger spiders were almost ethereal, so far removed from their human hosts that they had lost their thin connection to reality. Only the daily offering of blood from the temple weavers kept it woven into this world. Soon enough it would choose to move on, releasing its hold on the web to one of its younger sibling, and moving to the realm of the great mother.

Martha Bechtel

My name is Martha Bechtel and I write fantasy and science fiction stories, paint small model horses silly colors, cast resin and plaster magnets, code random code (and Wordpress plugins)... Come on in and join in the fun!

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