You arrive in a vast cavern, faintly glowing green behind untold layers of webbing, to the point that the luminous stone or crystal supporting and surrounding it all is hardly visible. The crowd of people around you are of all shapes and sizes, but there is a certain motif. Red and blue repeats in patterns, along with a telltale webbing-like pattern.

At one end, on a dais, is a throne. Seated on the throne, a woman with hair gone prematurely steel-grey, pulled back in a neat, pragmatic bun. She wears mirrored spectacles on a chain, draping daintily from her temples back over her neck. Her thin build and wrinkles, laugh lines at the eyes and corners of her lips, would lead a less-attentive observer to overestimate her age. She may be frail looking, but it is wiry, lean muscle and a great deal of time in the sun.

She steeples her hands, and intones, "Welcome to The Web, my fellow Spiders. I am Madam Webb, keeper of this place and the larger Weave. It seems the latter has brought you here to help another of our number, plucked out of their own web and tossed carelessly out of existence." She sits back, resting her arms on her throne. "Their web may not seem important to you, but it is important enough to The Weave that it has seen to it that interim guardians protect it until its true owner returns."

"You all know our Way: With Great Power, comes Great Responsibility. The Spider of this Realm knows this creed well, and while we are present in his absence, we must do what we can. I will support you from here:" Madam Web waves her hand, and a pile of web-spheres appear, three feet tall, and all faintly glowing with the same verdant light as the cavern at large, The Web. "These will allow you to speak with me. Hold it in your hand and focus, and your thoughts will be conveyed to me. Good luck out there, Spiders."