>>5273605…Slip.
“No!” you roar, fumbling the execution. Your legs were tensed, full of power natural and magical, but when you went to kick off, it sent you sprawling and tumbling sidelong, at an imperfect angle. You do not sail gloriously, like a soaring dragon of old, to alight upon a high-up ledge; rather, you rock at a diagonal into the centre of the cavern, flailing with outstretched outcropping beyond your reach.
Firebreath. Yes, okay. Firebreath, then. You try to correct your descent, to turn over and ignite the net of enslimed silk-strands below… But it is a surprisingly difficult thing to force yourself to tumble over in mid-air. By the time you think you have the angle right, and a breath drawn into the organ responsible for the concentration and egenration of the mystic heat…
You are already too late.
The worms’ sieve has you now. The entire massive net-complex bounces and flexes with your impact, and for a moment you fear (hope?) it may give way… But it does not. Your <Guidance> and intelligence prevent the automatic and instinctive struggle which would normally result, binding you up like the sorry sods around you, whose well-wrapped corpses speckle the spectacular trap.
“Humiliating,” you grumble. “Emnarassing.”
Potentially deadly. The net is hundreds of feet long, nobody save the other Dragonborn knows exactly what has befallen you, and he is at least a hundred feet up above. You catch a glimpse of his eyes, reflecting the luminescence below, and a hint of his green-scaled bulk.
You look around you, getting your bearings. You are indeed supported upon an interconnected net of the glowworm goo… And there are the glowworms. There are hundreds, maybe as many as a thousand, each individual nor longer than a finger and about twice as thick, with many tiny little spike-legs ferrying their fat little grub-bodies back and forth across this great work of theirs. None presents an immediate threat to you… Though, if you were to die, you suppose that your decaying body would nourish them in time.
“Not a noble death by any means,” you grumble to yourself.
Not immediate, though… But then, why do you still feel the thrill of danger in your mystic senses, rumbling deep within near where you empathic sense lies? Is there something else here?
What do you do?
>Call out for the Great One to go get help; it means swallowing your pride, but you will stay put and await rescue>Cry out for the Green Dragonborn to use his firebreath to free you; you aren’t wholly fireproof, and it risks injury in the fall, but it is most expedient>Attempt to pull the strands to haul yourself slowly-but-surely to a cave wall, where hopefully you can find purchase and climb back up>Draw you blade and attempt to cut yourself free, clinging to the strand as if a rope to lower yourself down to solid ground>Investigate the silk-wrapped corpses around you>Write-in 