For years Duxt the Mite had tended the traps in the lair of the Honey Queen. It was a long and lonely life with only dumb bees for friends. Still, a mite shouldn’t grumble. At least those bees didn’t care how ugly he was.
There were quite a few visitors to the Hive of Effildawnan but most of them did their business in the entrance chamber so Duxt didn’t get to meet any beings other than giant bees, and they just sort of buzzed along.
So he tended his traps, swept up shiney wax corridors, attended to any protruding branches and generally kept the place clean. Sometimes he would practice his archery and swordsmanship on some hanging roots. He always had to be ready for a possible attack.
And now he heard it. The crumbling sound of a trap sprung. Gleefully he got up from his squat and loaded his puny shortbow. “Gosh! A couple of bigfellas! I’ll go for the smaller guy first. Dratz! Missed! I hope he misses too!”
(The Elven Curve Blade of Vairn Constiain sliced deeply from nave to chops and Duxt’s tale was done.)