The Bee Dungeon

When the lesson wrapped up, the dungeon masters of the Circle began their work. Some returned home right away, already having ideas of how to design their challenges.

Nenavann could simply have prospective challengers travel through his dungeon, for the waters were dangerous in and of themselves. To sail across oceans, to row up rivers, and to dive into the depths would all require a challenger to learn and respect the nature of water, the ways in which it moved, and the raw power it could unleash.

Lomedys could simply fulfill his heart’s desire and conduct a more aggressive form of bloodletting. What better way to teach challengers the necessity of blood than to spill theirs and make them claim that of others? The tougher part would be to find challengers willing to endure it…

Hesfalle intended to show challengers death in all its aspects. They would, of course, have to face the undead, lives born through death, but they would also have to face the other sides of death. Funerary rites and mausoleums to respect the departed, vengeful spirits killed unjustly and left to rot, the process of decay and even fermentation. A challenger to Hesfalle’s dungeon would only succeed if they could embrace the entirety of death.

Tarwantrad came up with a deceptively simple test: to pick flowers. To pick flowers in a wilderness filled with every manner of poisonous plant and monstrous flora. The flowers could not be picked on a whim, to do so carelessly would result in a face full of toxic pollen or a hand lost to monster mantrap. A challenger would need vast knowledge of both the flowers they were looking for and the flowers they should avoid if they were to succeed. Even the flowers they needed to pick would not be harmless, a challenger would need to know special methods to disarm the flower’s defenses before they could gather it.

Just like how a bee needed to learn how to access a given flower’s nectar.

Other masters of the Circle, however, gave more thought to their challenges. Lord Aratodel’s primary patron turned out to also be the God of Flowers, but he had an entirely different approach to his dungeon than Tarwantrad. While Tarwantrad aimed to recreate ecosystems and express the beauty of flowers in nature, unconstrained and wild, Lord Aratodel focused on flowers as an expression of civilization. His flowers were carefully cultivated gardens, each flower trimmed and managed to create perfect sceneries, or orchards and fields where specific flowers were intentionally grown. Mainly those that could be used for brewing tea.

Lord Aratodel could not simply throw challengers into his dungeon willy-nilly, the last thing he wished was for boorish warriors to trample the harmony of his gardens or to disrupt the operation of his orchards. No, challengers to his dungeon would need to understand flowers as art, precise and intentional. So, his challenge would be the same. He began to work on a new section of his dungeon, carefully designing the trials his challengers would face to achieve the greatest possible impact upon them. In this, he consulted heavily with Almablom, Oracle of Flowers, and with Sehfitis and Auschias. While the God of Dragon’s methods would not suit his dungeon, the Conclave’s ability to raise countless Tower Guards with relatively standardized abilities and tactics displayed the intentionally designed challenge he sought.

Urubran, on the other hand, already had some obvious ideas for fire-based challenges, but did not start work just yet. Instead, he took Chief Rohsuak and Metsaitti aside and asked Belissar to call for the Third of the Sixth. He had quite the animated discussion with the three disciples of Fire on their perspectives, picking Chief Rohsuak’s brain both on the Inferno Empress’ old methods as well as the chief’s own experiences. By the end of it, he appeared to be negotiating with the Third of the Sixth…

Tamosmed, meanwhile, journeyed back to the land of the fair, to the mountain the black elves called home. He did not enter the tunnels, however, but climbed up the exterior of the mountain, braving the wind and the cold along a narrow stone staircase.

When he reached the top, he stepped onto a small plateau that held nothing but a small and simple house. In front of the house was a training yard. There, Mehsvar the Sword Saint was swinging the large dragonbone sword he had claimed from the Tower Guard he had defeated.

Tamosmed waited as Mehsvar carried through a form, each swing flowing into the next despite the weight of the weapon. He finished with one final upswing that landed the sword upon his back, then pulled on an enchanted leather strap to tie the sword down.

“Ah, our new golem master! Come to ask me to test a new creation?”

Tamosmed, however, shook his head.

“No, I need your help with my dungeon.”

Mehsvar chuckled and shook his head.

“And what help would I, the man who knows nothing but swords, be for a dungeon master? Come, Tamosmed, you think I haven’t had this conversation before?”

Tamosmed stood firm.

“I need your help training disciples of the God of Crafts in the craft of war.”

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Mehsvar stiffened and went silent.

“…you wish to revive the War Saints?”

Tamosmed nodded.

“The Circle masters are opening our dungeons to challengers. King Taranskare has asked us to train the Silver Host in the methods the humans displayed against us. But I only know the God of Crafts as a creator, I do not know how to honor the God of Crafts through battle, nor do I know the ways of his children, the gods of weapons…”

Mehsvar finished his sentence with a quiet voice.

“…only the War Saints do, for war is our only craft.”

He took a deep breath and let it out as a long sigh. He looked away from Tamosmed, staring off into the distance.

“…it is true that I have neglected my duty as the designated survivor for too long. Very well, I will help you, Dungeon Master Tamosmed. Let us discuss what it takes to master a weapon and make it one’s craft. Perhaps there is still someone among the fair with the devotion needed to join me…”

Finnakynne sighed, even as she lifted nectar and pollen out of a flower for the bumblebees. Right now, all the other masters of the Circle were learning from Beely…save for her.

She hadn’t been to her dungeon since the battle with the spiderkin and still could bring herself to return. Whenever she thought of it, she remembered the faces of those she had subjected to mischief…and the taste of their mana. Tarwantrad’s despair, Tamosmed’s sheer rage…not to mention all the feelings the humans and spiderkin suffered in their battles with Beely.

Bumbly buzzed underneath her and she patted the bumblebee soldier’s head. Thanks to the bumbles, she had been getting better. She rarely had nightmares anymore and spent every day in joy. But…whenever she thought about her dungeon, her old thoughts started to resurface. They were still there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting to return should she give them her attention.

Finnakynne wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. She thought back to her dad’s words…he straight up told her she could abandon the dungeon entirely. She could hand it over to Remfalla officially and be rid of it altogether. Then she could join the bee dungeon once and for all, becoming Beely’s sworn defender and giving everything she had for the bumbles. Provided Beely agreed, of course, but Finnakynne knew he would. He was too kind to do otherwise. He trusted her, perhaps the only non-bee person who did.

That thought scared her, but it was not the only thing that held her back. The thing was…despite her current fear of mischief, she found it was hard to imagine letting go of her dungeon. For all her memories of it had soured recently, it was still the work she had poured most of her life into. Not to mention, she had finally gotten to meet her dad and did not have a bad relationship with him at all. So…she wasn’t sure, yet, if she really wanted to give up the dungeon.

So, she pushed the issue off and left all the dungeon stuff to Remfalla, even though she remained the dungeon’s master. She sighed once more. She even had rewards from the God of Light she hadn’t opened yet…

“Princess Finny!”

Finnakynne started and whipped around. Lo and behold…Remfalla was here! She was waving while hovering near Beely’s shoulder!

Finnakynne jumped off of Bumbly and zipped over as fast as she could.

“Beely! Are you ok?! You didn’t make any deals with her, did you?! Tell me you didn’t make any deals with her!”

Beely, to Finnakynne’s great horror, gave a nod.

“I…did, actually. I’m going to give her some honey in exchange for advice on the traps…”

Finnakynne narrowed her eyes on Remfalla.

“Remfalla, you know, right? Beely here is responsible for the sweets. No mischief on the sweets.”

Remfalla held her hands up.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Princess Finny! But enough of that, listen to this! That old silver elf king asked us, asked us, to challenge his army! We’re going to play so many pranks on those snobby elves and they’re going to thank us for it! Thank us! I’m going to redo the dungeon from scratch, I’m going to make sure those elves get the full Mischief experience! Muahahaha!”

Finnakynne’s eyes widened. She spun to look at Beely who, unfortunately, nodded again.

“The Circle masters are all going to make challenges that fit their patron gods. Yours is Mischief, so…”

Finnakynne trembled while Remfalla cackled.

“It’s going to be glorious, glorious! So, Princess, I know you’re on vacation now, but this is going to be our biggest renovation yet! I just need your approval and I’ll get to work right away…”

“NO!”

Remfalla and Beely both blinked at her shout. Even Finnakynne herself blinked, a bit stunned by her own reaction.

“No, I mean…let me think…”

Finnakynne began pacing in the air, her heart pounding. Remfalla frowned and Finnakynne knew she had to say something. Remfalla wasn’t wrong, even Beely acknowledged that a dungeon of Mischief should conduct, well, mischief. And yet, Finnakynne couldn’t bear the thought of doing what she had done to more people.

At that moment, a bumblebee worker minding its own business flew over, hovering above Beely and Niobee, who was on Beely’s head as usual. The ‘bumblebee’ began zipping around in a circle above the two of them…at a safe distance so that Niobee wouldn’t buzz. Finnakynne’s eyes widened as she recalled Beely’s first encounter with mischievous pranks…

“Hm, um, ok. Remy, I’ll approve…but I have a condition.”

Remfalla’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“Ok?”

Finnakynne took a deep breath as an idea began to crystallize in her head.

“I want you to make some nice pranks.”

Remfalla stared blankly.

“Nice…pranks?”

Finnakynne nodded.

“Yes, pranks that make the victims laugh instead of cry. Or maybe give them rewards after the pranks? I’m sure if you just give the silver elves good tea afterwards, they’ll put with anything…”

Remfalla blinked.

“Um…ok? I’ll…try to think of a few of those. Then, I’ll come up with a plan for the revisions and bring them by for your approval?”

Finnakynne took a deep breath.

“Yes, I’ll approve them then, so long as some of the pranks are nice.”

Remfalla tilted her head.

“Huh…”

Remfalla left afterwards, rubbing her chin and muttering to herself. Finnakynne dropped out of the air once she did, her wings suddenly losing strength. Bumbly zipped over and caught her before she hit the ground, while Beely looked at her with concern.

“Are you ok?”

Finnakynne sighed lightly, then slowly nodded her head.

“I…think so. Thanks Beely, Bumbly, both of you.”

She glanced up at the ‘bumblebee’ still over Beely’s head. The bumblebee gave her wink, despite bees not having eyelids, then flew off. Finnakynne made a small smile.

“I think…I have a lot to think about.”

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