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WeaponWrought iron gates that scraped the sky towered over the beetle, and for once in its life it truly felt like the insect it was-
So, incomprehensibly small.
The wind whistled past its carapace, ruffling the fabric it draped across its shoulders to conceal its oddly shaped torso. A dark, glossy hand reached out tentatively, and with a weighty groan, the metal barrier slid open. A few guards looked at it oddly, hands at their weapons- but apparently, its presence had been anticipated. Nobody attacked it outright, instead keeping a close eye on the insect as it made its way towards a small gazebo out front where the lord himself was waiting.
Listening intently as the noble described its mission, Besouro nodded at (what it thought were) the appropriate times before being directed towards a small opening in the side of the castle- though there were multiple entrances to the dungeon, this was typically regarded as the safest. Its mandibles clicked together as the guards and lord himself trailed away, one after the other, leaving the adventurer alone with no way to proceed other than forwards.
Its footsteps echoed lightly throughout the area, needle like feet clicking with every motion. Though good for balancing on small surfaces, they didn't always provide a sturdy base for combat; as a result, Besouro prided itself on a more fluid style. Some torches seem to have been lit in preparation for the bug's journey- or otherwise had not been extinguished after a prior use. With every step forward, fewer and fewer remained lit, and the natural lighting which trickled in from distant entryways faded into void.
Seconds turned into minutes, though admittedly it wasn't a good enough timekeeper to tell how long it proceeded forward. Before it knew enough to tell otherwise, nothing remained except for complete darkness. A few fumbled steps over the course of the next travelled distance let it know that a source of light was probably a good idea. It formed the necessary motions, using a spear as a catalyst, and formed a Circle Mimicry spell on top of its palm. It shed a dim, purple light throughout the dungeon, and though it was barely enough to see, the insect at least had enough visible not to trip over any unexpected obstacles. When its mana began to run dry, a small patch of grass made itself known.
On it rested a small flower bush. Though there wasn't enough light to grow, it seemed to have been leeching nutrients off of nearby fungus. Besouro reached forward just as the light of its circle sputtered out, missing the bush completely and spearing one of its fingertips through a slime mold. Chittering in disgust, it wiped its fingers down on its cloak before trying again to the same result. On the fourth try, it had managed to free a single blooming flower along with a stem.
Mission completed, the insect held the plant reverently as it made to exit the dungeon. By the time sunlight once again touched its carapace, nearly a full hour had passed- how large was this man's dungeon, anyhow? It placed the flower into the hands of the teary lord, standing awkwardly as a full pouch was thrust into its hands.
Though it was a successful quest, Besouro tilted its head downwards and tried not to look the man in the eye. Even after nineteen years, it still had no idea how to handle another person's grief.
[WC: 584/500]
(Exit)
So, incomprehensibly small.
The wind whistled past its carapace, ruffling the fabric it draped across its shoulders to conceal its oddly shaped torso. A dark, glossy hand reached out tentatively, and with a weighty groan, the metal barrier slid open. A few guards looked at it oddly, hands at their weapons- but apparently, its presence had been anticipated. Nobody attacked it outright, instead keeping a close eye on the insect as it made its way towards a small gazebo out front where the lord himself was waiting.
Listening intently as the noble described its mission, Besouro nodded at (what it thought were) the appropriate times before being directed towards a small opening in the side of the castle- though there were multiple entrances to the dungeon, this was typically regarded as the safest. Its mandibles clicked together as the guards and lord himself trailed away, one after the other, leaving the adventurer alone with no way to proceed other than forwards.
Its footsteps echoed lightly throughout the area, needle like feet clicking with every motion. Though good for balancing on small surfaces, they didn't always provide a sturdy base for combat; as a result, Besouro prided itself on a more fluid style. Some torches seem to have been lit in preparation for the bug's journey- or otherwise had not been extinguished after a prior use. With every step forward, fewer and fewer remained lit, and the natural lighting which trickled in from distant entryways faded into void.
Seconds turned into minutes, though admittedly it wasn't a good enough timekeeper to tell how long it proceeded forward. Before it knew enough to tell otherwise, nothing remained except for complete darkness. A few fumbled steps over the course of the next travelled distance let it know that a source of light was probably a good idea. It formed the necessary motions, using a spear as a catalyst, and formed a Circle Mimicry spell on top of its palm. It shed a dim, purple light throughout the dungeon, and though it was barely enough to see, the insect at least had enough visible not to trip over any unexpected obstacles. When its mana began to run dry, a small patch of grass made itself known.
On it rested a small flower bush. Though there wasn't enough light to grow, it seemed to have been leeching nutrients off of nearby fungus. Besouro reached forward just as the light of its circle sputtered out, missing the bush completely and spearing one of its fingertips through a slime mold. Chittering in disgust, it wiped its fingers down on its cloak before trying again to the same result. On the fourth try, it had managed to free a single blooming flower along with a stem.
Mission completed, the insect held the plant reverently as it made to exit the dungeon. By the time sunlight once again touched its carapace, nearly a full hour had passed- how large was this man's dungeon, anyhow? It placed the flower into the hands of the teary lord, standing awkwardly as a full pouch was thrust into its hands.
Though it was a successful quest, Besouro tilted its head downwards and tried not to look the man in the eye. Even after nineteen years, it still had no idea how to handle another person's grief.
[WC: 584/500]
(Exit)
