NOT EVEN FOR A SPIDEYSNACK?
Mibbet ran headlong into the woods, trailing the webs as best she could, her mouth salivating furiously at the thought of a spider that big. Inside her head, Rosalind screeched about how humans do not eat that, but it didn’t work; Mibbet had gone rogue on this one. She missed the satisfying crunchy shell and gooey centre (it’s the proto hydraulic propulsion system that does it.) Eventually, Even Errol was left in the dust before she finally slowed down to track her prey.
Unbeknownst to her, the tracker was now the track, as Crypye the Gargantuan watched through multiple beady eyes, being rather stealthy for a bloody huge arachnid.
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“So,” said Wannashowa, “How does this mantle thing work exactly? I know, I know, I’m supposed to be omnipotent, and all, but I’m new at this, and the all-seeing eye doesn’t exactly come with an instruction manual, or for that matter, an appendix.”
“To put it simply, at the initial blessing, it grants powers related to your form and aspect.”
“My form, in this case, being a huge frog, but I haven’t picked an aspect, so what happens to my mantle.”
“In this case, your followers Auric Signature will take the first step towards avatar-hood.”
“Meaning her Aura will resemble a massive frog despite her human form?”
“Exactly your holiness.”
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Crypye had no idea why (spiders not exactly being known for their intellect beyond this prey, you eat, or this not prey, this eat you, or leave web here it’ll be funny when a biped walks through it and freaks the hell out, and for larger-scale spiders leave web here hopefully a biped will wander into it and save me hunting it down, and it’ll be funny when they freak out.) But for some reason, this biped made her extremely nervous; the sooner it was properly bewebbed and dealt with, the happier she would be. Unfortunately for her, when you are larger than a human and have eight freaking legs and venomous fangs and scare the runny piss out of your prey, the old survival instincts get a little bit rusty. So the familiar feeling of hunger somewhat overrode it, (hardly surprising it had been ages since that cow, and it had been a little on the dry side to boot, and it isn’t like a spider can order a nice glass of wine with their prey, no matter how big or old they get. Bartenders tend to have stricter rules about not getting gargantuan thaumatologically enlarged predators, especially octo appendaged ones, drunk for some reason.) So the similarity to that time oh so long ago when she was a teeny tiny spider slipped past her notice as she edged closer, and closer, and closer.
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Then the THING that looked human turned with a grin, and for Crypye everything went pear-shaped.
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“GOTCHA” roared Mibbet triumphantly, turning with a swing with her whole weight behind it and hacking at a limb; she liked the legs; they were the best part, ooey and gooey with just the right amount of crunch. Choppy struck home swiftly, slicing the stunned super-sized spiders limbs down to seven; she quickly pulled the loosened limb towards her, ready for another chop at........... wait where the hell was her lunch?
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Crypye was off, scarpering as swiftly as her remaining seven limbs could carry her; she was a big spider now; she was supposed to be the eater, not the eatee. But she remembered that feeling, and big as she was, she wanted none of it. Maybe the bipeds are more trouble than they were worth. Eventually, she slowed down and painstakingly avoided all towns and villages (stopping, of course, in the occasional field for a quick cow or two) headed to the unexplored valleys in the dark territories. At least there, the humans weren’t freakily occupied by spider eating monsters with bloody big choppy things and no hesitation in using them. Though as she would soon discover, manticore had a nice taste, if you ignored that the stingy bit was a tad spicy. It took 2 full moults before her leg grew back, and by that point, she had decided this turf was much more to her liking.
Over time she became the most feared beastie in the valley (the 8 limb bonus to intimidation definitely helped a lot with that.) But she still never forgot the feeling of that day and was perhaps a bit more careful and selective when deciding on prey from that day onward. She had been the hunter hunting the hunted, who had been the hunter hunting her once and never wished to repeat the experience again.
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Errol was bloody knackered, he never knew the Princess could run like that, but as a guard, it was his solemn duty to follow and serve her wherever she may be. (Except the bathroom, of course, in that scenario, you waited outside or got a real telling off, as he’d learned on his first day.)
Sir Leeroy had fallen behind; that’s the thing about chargers, they rush into battle and finish fast, but they lack the stamina to keep it up for long. So he was all alone when the trail started to show he was getting close. He’d catch up soon enough. He quickly straightened up the overlarge hand me down the armour and, pulling a locket full of goop from his neck, quickly straightened up his hair. He heard no sounds of a fight, and she wasn’t running anymore, so he had time, and a guard should always look at least halfway presentable when in the presence of royalty.
Then he sniffed the air and noticed the smell of a fire. Maybe the Princess had gotten cold. So he stepped out, and what he saw would haunt him till the end of his days. The Princess was sat there on the ground chewing on a spider leg the size of Spikey, the motivational pike, chowing down like it was a lobster at a fancy restaurant. He dove for a bush and brought up his lunch at the sight (yet somehow some treacherous part of his brain couldn’t help thinking roast spider leg smelled really good.)