Skitterbug's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Skitterbug crouched in the shadows of the war tent, watching the Salamancer bark orders at the other Dragoons. His clawed fingers curled into fists. One day, he would lead this warband. One day, the Salamancer would fall, and Skitterbug would take his place as commander. But wanting power and taking it were different things. Skitterbug needed the Dragoons to follow him, not the Salamancer. He needed a symbol, something that screamed authority. His red eyes locked on the staff leaning against the tent wall. The gecko-head staff looked ancient and evil. Its hollow eyes seemed to watch everything. The decayed head twisted at an angle, wicked and perfect. If he held that staff high, the warband would see a real leader. They would see him. The Salamancer turned his back, still shouting about tomorrow's raid. Skitterbug's hand reached out slowly. His claws stopped inches from the twisted wood. Not yet. Taking it now would mean death. He pulled his hand back and melted deeper into the shadows. Soon, he would claim that staff. Soon, the entire warband would be his. Skitterbug slipped out of the tent and moved through the camp. Smoke from cooking fires stung his eyes. Warriors sharpened blades and checked armor. He needed allies, others who hated the Salamancer's rule. But speaking openly meant risk. The Salamancer had spies everywhere. Skitterbug pulled a small beetle from his pouch. The creature's carapace was covered in strange symbols. Its eyes glowed with a dark light. A homunculus scab beetle, crafted for secret messages. He whispered his plan into its shell and sealed the words with a touch of his claw. The beetle clicked and twitched in his palm. Skitterbug would send it to the strongest warriors first. Those who wanted more than scraps from the Salamancer's table. Those who would stand with him when the time came. He released the beetle and watched it scuttle into the darkness between the tents. Messages would build his following. The staff would rally them. But he needed one more thing. A place to gather his allies away from the Salamancer's eyes. Deep in the fungal forest beyond camp, he had found it days ago. A hollow hidden beneath twisted roots and rotting bark. The decrepit space was perfect for secret meetings. From that dark place, he would plan the Salamancer's end. From there, he would command the warband when the betrayal was complete. Everything was falling into place.