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Cricket lay with his back to the wet rock staring at the ceiling of a cave. A trickle of surprisingly warm liquid seeped through the gaps in his exoskeleton.

Cricket yawned. What was my name again? I knew it a second ago. He sat up and scratched his head with one of his larger arms. His left antenna twitched. Sprawled around the cavern, the corpses of several bear-sized spiders oozed and convulsed. Their luminescent blood steamed and pooled in the dirt.

Cricket smacked his tongue lazily against the roof of his mouth, then grimaced at the bitter taste in the air. He lifted a wrist to scratch his cheek, when he noticed a splotch of spider guts stretching between his fingers. Panicked that he might have spread some of the slime onto his antennae, he furiously began cleaning one of the stalks with the dry part of his wrist.

When he had finished, he checked himself for wounds but found only a few scratches and scuffs on his shiny black carapace.

"Before you clean yourself too thoroughly, you may wish to rise from that pool of intestines." The voice came from behind him.

Cricket stretched, pretending to test his mobility while secretly flicking another bit of spider from his forearm, then turned to view the source of the voice.

"You are not wounded. I don't think any of us are. You were knocked out by the fumes."

A thin, pale being in grey robes sat on a rock behind the insect. Four short tentacles covered the creature's hooked, yellow beak. They writhed as he spoke. "It's affecting your memory, but it will wear off."

"How do you know that?"

"Hmm? I suppose the fumes affect your species more than mine."

"What are you?" Cricket asked.

"I don't know."

"What am I?"

"I wouldn't care to guess."

Cricket held up all four arms in front of his face, then clenched and unclenched his fists. "I'm beautiful."

"To each his own." The creature rose to his feet, then retrieved a thin metal staff from where it leaned against the cave wall. He put a bit of his weight on it as he walked. "Can you stand?"

Cricket sprang to his feet. Two rusty long knives protruded from the nearest corpse and he pulled one out. The metal glistened with green blood. He tested the balance and attempted to flip the blade, but it slipped from his fingers. He caught it by the sharp end with one of his lower arms, then squealed and dropped it in the mud.

Cricket gave a sideways glance at his companion as he picked up the knife. He grabbed the handle of the second, gave a half-hearted tug, then placed a foot on the giant abdomen for extra oomph. A moment later he tumbled backward, pulling a string of slimy grey guts with him, and narrowly avoided slipping back into the pile of intestines.

Cricket's fingers settled deftly over the handle, and he took a few excited steps before he realized he didn't know which way to go. The main chamber spread about a hundred feet in every direction with at least a dozen dismembered spiders laying about, as well as a narrow corridor that led to a side room.

Above him, near the ceiling, a few larger spiders squealed and attempted to press themselves into the main chamber through a hole slightly too small for their abdomens. Their long sharp legs competed for turns at the opening, reaching for a large lizardman that lay some feet below.

"The lizard is with us," the tentacled creature said. "Rudra!" he added suddenly. "Not him! Me. I've had that word on the tip of my tongue for the last few minutes. I'm of the rudran race. And by the ridges on your thumbs, I would venture you’re—"

"How do you know he's on our side?” Cricket kept his eyes on the lizardman. “Maybe we should tie him up."

For a second, the rudra frowned, as if disappointed that his knowledge was not appreciated. But he collected himself and answered by pulling back the sleeve of his robe, revealing a small mark burned onto his wrist—a three-fingered hand with the fingers spread apart. "You have one too. And so does he." He gestured toward the lizardman with his staff.

"Awesome! So we're a team..." Cricket absently picked up a spider leg that lay near his feet and tested whether it fit onto a nearby corpse, frowning when the edges didn't match up.

"Can you concentrate for one moment!"

Cricket looked over shyly. "On what?"

"On what?!" the rudra blustered.

Cricket stared back innocently.

"On our... why, on our... circumstances!"

Cricket dropped the spider leg. "I mean... it doesn't really matter. Does it?"

"Of course it matters," the rudra said, his eyes flaring dangerously. "I'm trying to piece together what we're doing here... to survive! And you're... you're just... put that down!"

Cricket hadn't really noticed that he had picked up another spider leg, but he dropped it instantly to avoid further agitating his companion. He did, however, risk a sidelong glance back at the twitching corpse. The second leg would definitely have fit.

The rudra sighed as he looked about and calmed himself. "I believe this is some sort of treasury. A... vault that we broke into through that hole." He gestured toward the hole in the ceiling, again with his staff. The spiders paused and stared back, eerily silent.

"I suppose the ones that were small enough to follow us already squeezed through. And we would have been overrun had that hole been any larger. As to why we came here, I can only speculate. There were also two ratlings with us a minute ago, but they are scouting ahead for another exit. If I am correct that this is a vault, they will not find one."

Cricket nodded as if paying attention. Stooping a bit for a better angle, he peered up through the hole. He took a step closer. Many of the spiders had deep spear wounds as if the lizardman had fought them off for some time before succumbing to his own injuries. He lay motionless, a two-handed spear in one hand and a tower shield in the other, tucked under the bulk of his body. Shelves of scrolls and dusty jars of dark liquid lined the side walls. Nothing, Cricket thought, that needed to be stored in a vault. "You sure he's not dead?"

The rudra shrugged. "His species is very resilient. They can sometimes even revive after death."

A viscous white fluid that might have been blood had already begun to form a thin crust on the lizardman's wounds.

"Could you check on the ratlings?" the rudra asked. "Unless you'd rather stay here. I don't want to leave our friend unattended in case some smaller spiders push through."

Cricket wiped his eyes with his forearm and clicked his tongue quite mechanically. "No, I'll go." He tightened the grip on his daggers and left the main chamber. The side room was longer than he expected—more of a hallway, carved from the same rough stone as the main chamber, with a large iron vault door halfway down its length, and a small room at the end. From there, he could already see the ratlings—two small, hunched humanoids with long leathery tails, twitching ears, and overgrown teeth.

As he approached, one of the ratlings turned and acknowledged his presence with a bit of annoyance, then returned his attention to his companion, who knelt by a wooden chest.

The second spoke without looking. "It has some sort of trap. But if I can remove that mechanism," he pointed at the keyhole with a thin twisted knife, "or even damage it, we should be able to open it without any trouble." Without further notice he rammed the blade into the opening. The mechanism clicked and instantly a small barb hooked from inside the keyhole, around the decorative brass fringe, and pricked his palm.

"Shit!" The rat squealed and skittered to the corner. He compressed the puncture with his other thumb and forefinger until a bit of greasy black liquid emerged. He wiped it away then sucked on the wound for a minute. The ratling paused and inspected the tiny prick with a wide eye. Finally he turned to the other ratling and presented his hand. "What do you think?"

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The second ratling grabbed the paw with both hands and spread the fur with his fingers. "I think you're good," he said unconvincingly.

"What do you think, bug?" The first ratling addressed Cricket.

"I think you're screwed." Cricket absently tucked his daggers into a conveniently sized gap in the natural plating between his exoskeleton and his hip, where the blades fit snug. "We should cut off the arm before it spreads." He reached for the ratling's hand but the rodent snapped it away and clutched it safely to his chest, sputtering hysterically.

"Whoa!" Cricket took a step backward and held up his hands. "Your call. But you have no idea what was on that needle."

"Stay away from me, bug. Easy call for you to make. I've only got two arms."

The second ratling was already opening the chest and ruffling through the contents. "More parchments, empty bottles... religious crap." He held up a string of teeth carved into beads and tossed it aside. "What is this garbage? I see one thing of value." As he lifted a gaudy necklace from the chest, Cricket noticed the ratling deftly stuff a second shiny item into his soiled and tattered tunic.

"What is it?" The first ratling hopped back over for a look, forgetting himself in the excitement.

The second ratling held up a jeweled necklace. "Electrum. A mix of gold and silver," he added with a condescending sideways glance at the insectoid. "Mostly silver, which is good, since gold isn't worth shit." He sniffed the metal but made no comment on any additional insight this produced.

Cricket laughed. "I suppose you didn't lose your memory?"

"No, we weren't with you during the fight."

"Can you tell me who I am?"

"Tentacle Face called you Cricket, but I don't know more than that. We're mercenaries, not slaves like you."

Cricket's antennae drooped at this information.

"I'm Beetle and this is my brother, Crab." His eyes narrowed in response to the surprised look on Cricket's face. "That's what we're called. It's not wise to use your real name in the Warrens. I doubt Cricket's your real name. It might be, though. A lot of slaves don't get more than a nickname."

"You keep calling me—"

A loud screech echoed from the main chamber. Cricket ran back down the hallway, drawing his weapons.

In the main chamber, a gargantuan spider clawed furiously at the opening near the ceiling, tearing clumps of rock with its massive spindle legs. The monstrous arachnid screeched again and threads of black saliva dripped from its four mandibles onto the lizardman.

The rudra cried "Ingorii!" and the tip of his thin staff glowed red-hot. He stepped up onto the lizard's body for increased reach, then plunged the burning metal into the spider's mouth. Black saliva sizzled and splattered on the walls. The creature wailed at a high pitch and withdrew from sight. However, seconds later it returned, digging more violently. The hole had widened enough for the spider's massive head to fit through.

The rudra stabbed his staff into its mouth a second time, but the creature paid it no regard.

Cricket ran to the rudra's side and threw one dagger, but it bounced harmlessly from the spider's thick shell. He stooped to coat his second dagger in a pool of the toxic blood at his feet, switched it to one of his smaller arms, then launched himself through the air with his powerful legs. Cricket slammed into its face knocking it back through the opening, then grabbed the rock ceiling with his upper arms and braced himself with his feet. He used one of his secondary arms to grab the creature's head. The other stabbed repeatedly, puncturing the face three times along with several glancing blows. He tried to aim for its tiny eyes, but couldn't tell through the spraying blood where it was wounded.

The spider lunged with its mandibles, overpowering Cricket's lone arm but he simply let go of his grip and dropped out of harm's way.

Cricket landed on the lizardman, rolling backward to divert most of the force from the fall, then scrambled to retrieve his second dagger.

When he looked back, a large chunk of rock fell to the floor, nearly doubling the hole's size. The spider wedged all eight legs through the opening and attempted to pull its plump abdomen through the gap.

The ratling brothers tentatively entered the chamber from the hallway, keeping against the far wall.

"Help!" Cricket screamed.

"With what?" Crab asked.

Beetle scurried along the wall of shelves looking over the dusty bottles. "One of these might be poison. Why else would you store it in a place like this?"

"You don't know what those will do," Cricket cautioned. "What if it's a strength potion, or an invisibility salve? You'll make things worse."

"That's stupid," Crab argued from the hallway, somewhere out of sight.

"You're stupid."

"Don't call my brother stupid!"

"Gentlemen," the rudra said. "Focus, please. I need backup." He called 'ingorii' a second time, but if the spell worked it gave no visible indication. The rudra whacked the metal rod against the mass of writhing legs regardless, then stumbled backward, narrowly dodging a needle-sharp leg.

The spider strained and let out a guttural sound as it finally burst through the opening. Though the abdomen was still far too large to fit, and in its frenzy to feed the giant arachnid tore itself in two. As its thorax split from the abdomen, its entrails and assorted viscera gushed down onto the unconscious lizardman, until he was wholly covered in bright green goo.

The whole group stood still as the half spider righted itself on its legs. Suddenly, it darted after the rudra, who squawked and turned to run.

"That just made it faster! It's going to get me!"

"No, it's bleeding out. It's gonna slow it down," Crab argued from the sidelines.

"No, it's faster," the rudra squawked.

"How do you know?" Beetle joined. "You didn't see it move before."

Cricket sprinted to place himself between the two, but the spider outmaneuvered him, tackling the helpless rudra to the ground.

The rudra rammed his metal rod between the behemoth's teeth, while Cricket climbed up from its rear, and prostrated himself over the spider's head, attempting to hold its mouth closed with his four hands.

The rudra recited the words of a more complicated spell, but the half spider only struggled for a moment before collapsing from loss of fluids.

Cricket lurched backward, pulling the writhing beast onto its back, where its legs slowly curled. Soon it lay completely still atop a pile of its own innards.

The rudra slumped onto the stone floor, panting softly for a moment. "Oydd Zephyrendum," he whispered between pants. "My name is Oydd."

The bright green blood of the giant spider steamed on the stone floor. Cricket covered his mouth and pulled Oydd quickly from the thickening fumes. "Should we get..." He glanced at the heap of spider guts covering the lizardman and thought better of his question. He turned his attention, instead, to the ratlings.

Crab lay motionless on the ground. Black veins spread from the prick in his palm. His face looked pale—if that were possible, for a furry rat—and his eyes stared off into nothing. Beetle crouched at his side, feeling for a pulse, listening for a breath. When he met Cricket's gaze, he simply shook his head.

Beetle retrieved Crab's knife, shoving it carelessly in the pouch at his side, and joined the others. "We can't get out through the vault door. We'll need to go back the way we came."

However, the detached abdomen of the monstrous arachnid wholly blocked their original entrance. Cricket started plotting other options when the large pile of guts beneath the opening stirred.

The lizardman rose from the ground to a towering seven feet. The fuming entrails dripped from him in clumps for several seconds, before he shook himself from head to tail like a mutt, vibrating the guts from his sandy scales. He mopped the remaining gore from his face with his forearm, then squinted and slowly surveyed the group.

Without so much as a grunt, he sifted through the glistening heap for his spear and shield, then made a few tentative stabs at the clogged opening near the ceiling. The black mass of competing legs and fangs squealed and withdrew.

"Can you clear it?" Cricket asked, but before he was even done speaking, the lizardman began to climb the uneven rock. He shoved the abdomen aside with one go, barely squeezing through the hole himself. A moment later, with a quick yank, the abdomen disappeared.

Oydd yelled after him, "Is it safe?" only to be answered by a deep-throated battle cry and the squeals of more spiders, chittering in excitement.

"The big guy doesn't talk." Beetle scratched his face with one of his knuckles, keeping the claws curled away from his eye. "But he understands more than you think."

"Hold your breath as you climb," the rudra cautioned, then followed after the lizardman.

Beetle scrambled up next, and Cricket took the rear. By the time he reached the top, most of the fighting was done. The lizardman batted aside a few spiders with the broad side of his spear, while Oydd limped along and Beetle cowered behind him.

Cricket picked his way among the rocks of a winding tunnel, past several Cricket-sized, translucent spiderwebs. A murky liquid gathered on the thick cords of webbing. It dripped from the webs to form puddles below, echoing loudly through the empty cave.

"Is that it? I wanted to kill one!" Cricket hurried to catch up to the lizard, but by then he had impaled the last of the larger spiders, holding its head to the ground with his scaly foot.

Soon, they reached the end of the tunnel. However, the cramped cave only opened into another vast cavern, spreading, perhaps, a hundred miles in every direction. Several cities sprawled out in the crags below—one much larger than the others. Their numerous flickering torchlights broke through the mist and darkness and distance, and told of tens of thousands of inhabitants.

Cricket followed as the lizardman led a short, winding descent to a main road, where a cart lay tucked away from view behind giant mushroom stalks that grew some hundred feet into the damp air.

The cart was built from what appeared to be dried boards of the same mushroom stalks. Nearby, two horned, crimson beasts grazed on moss, tended by a second, slighter lizardman. Or maybe lizardwoman? Cricket couldn't tell.

When it saw the group, it led the fat beasts back to the cart and fastened them to the yoke.

The gunk-covered lizardman sat up front with its kind and Beetle hopped into the back. Noting the others' hesitation, the ratling patted the seat next to him then rested his tufted chin in a tiny paw, seemingly lost in thought.

Cricket stepped aboard, then helped the rudra onto the wagon, but stayed on his feet as the wheels lurched forward and the wagon wobbled slowly down the bumpy road. They passed several outcroppings of green and blue gems with some shards towering above even the lizardman. Nearby, slaves in a field harvested mushroom stalks along with other crops indiscernible from his vantage point.

The slaves were mostly comprised of the undead. Cricket could tell by the lifeless eyes, the hanging jaws, and their jerking, unnatural movements. Some of them were insectoid, some rats, some rudran, many goblins and many other races he did not yet remember.

His memory came back slowly. The oddest things came to him first. He recalled that he hated parsnips. Unless they were fried. He was fond of music, but he couldn't remember a single tune. He remembered one word in Goblin. Anchor. He knew he loved a good fight. It was the only hobby to which he could credit himself. He loved the feel of a knife in his hands. No... a knife wasn't quite right. Perhaps he'd try a sword. Nothing too heavy. But a light blade, or maybe four, sounded perfect. He invented scenarios in his head where he would require different weapons, or different strokes. His slightly smaller, lower arms twitched in anticipation of blocking an imaginary foe.

Standing in the moving wagon proved too difficult. Cricket slumped, defeated, onto his back and stared at the cavern ceiling some thousand feet above his head, growing even further away as they rode downhill. Luminescent patches of lichen lit the ceiling. Now that he thought of it, that might have been what created the hazy light he could see stretching miles away. Here and there, giant crustaceans scuttled among the rocks, hanging upside-down, and fed on the lichen. Snakelike bats flew in loops below them, catching the bugs that fell from the moss-covered shells.

One particular breed of crustacean sported a sharply pointed shell that camouflaged with the stalactites. They must have weighed several tons, and Cricket wondered how they managed to grip the ceiling. Not just for a time, but to spend their whole lives presumably suspended up there.

"My memory has almost fully returned." The rudra's voice disrupted his wandering thoughts, snapping him back to the bouncy cart. "If you still want answers, I believe we have some time to talk."

Cricket considered the offer. "Naw. I'm good." His breathing slowed and the insect drifted off in the warm familiarity of his home.