Once in a while, Aristaetus ran into other creatures down in the dungeons. When he was younger, more afraid, they spooked him. He would turn and run, pride forgotten, his heart in his mouth, fearing that his past had caught up to him.

Later, he would know better than to fear them. They should fear him. He was the thing that went bump in the night. He was the monster under their beds and the eyes that blinked back at you when you stared into the void. He would be void-touched and permanently marked by his sins; but, for now, he was still as normal as he could hope to be. Given the circumstances. 

Circumstances that still were not great at this point.

Younger then, only a month or two into his permanent stay as a resident of the dungeons, he was still regaining his confidence after the attempt on his life. He avoided loud sounds and looted rooms for fear they might be concealing another Courser out to get him, and he sought out darkened corridors and overgrown steps to take him away from them. The farther he went, the more isolated he became. He would still stop every night to take stock of his things and study for a few hours or more, collapse into sleep, then wake up in the morning and do it all again. Determination made him a beast; desperation made him feral. He would not stop until he had finally accomplished his goal of being so powerful that none could best him.

Not the adventurers in the dungeon. Not the mercenaries he imagined were after him, seeking penance for the lying and the cheating and the killing he’d done without remorse. Not the monsters that roamed these caverns. Nothing.

Funny, then, that he still managed to miss key clues sometimes.

He had been traveling for maybe three quarters of a day, effortlessly lighting his way with a floating fireball that stayed by his side (he’d already learned not to let it fly too close, lest he be singed by the flames), wandering aimlessly the way he tended to do, when suddenly his trip was interrupted. 

Stepping into a more open room in the dungeon, Aristaetus extinguished the fire, seeing light far above him. It was weak and sickly-toned, like it was filtering through plants or cracks in the rocky ceiling, but it was enough to foster a growing ecosystem of plants. A small brook swept through the room at random, and all around its rocky cradle, moss and tiny, flowery plants grew abundantly. He had just stepped forward to sniff them and see if he might recognize some to harvest for dinner when the room erupted in sound.

More specifically, only one sound: a massive, booming voice enunciated with the sound of someone speaking in caps. Bold. Underlined. All of the above.

“WHO ARE YOU?” the voice boomed.

Aristaetus almost dropped everything he was carrying, scrambling up again and searching for the source of the voice. He did not have to get very far. Looking him dead in the eyes, brown slit pupils meeting round crystalline blues, was a gigantic toad. No, really. It was Coarser sized. Even larger than that. And it seemed to have unnatural dexterity, taking a long puff from a pipe as he watched, then spitting it out as if it tasted foul but not foul enough to leave alone.

The dark Courser blinked, attempting to gather the thoughts that had scattered like scared field mice at such a booming request.

“Who am I?” he repeated, his tail whipping back and forth behind him. Insolent frog! Did he usually startle adventurers this way?

“YES. WHO ARE YOU.” The toad blinked back at him, uncanny. “I HAVE NOT SEEN YOU BEFORE.”

The second sentence is not a question, but still Aristaetus heard it as one. He drew himself up to his full height, still noble despite the tarnish on his once-golden appearance. He is not defeated yet. He will not be quailed by something so silly as a toad. No matter if the toad had managed to scare the life out of him.

“I am Aristaetus,” he said, braver than he felt. And meaner too. He decided to lean into this attitude, since it made him feel braver. It was hard to feel like a little mouse when you were looking down your nose at someone. Mice had to look up their noses at everyone, after all. “It means, ‘best,’” he added, then puffed up his chest mightily the way he had done once when he was young and carefree, pretending to be one of the noble adventurers in his mothers’ stories.

“ARE YOU?” the toad asked, taking another puff from the pipe. Aristaetus thought it seemed like a very male thing to do. He also thought he had no idea what the question was supposed to mean, faltering.

“...Am I what?”

“ARE YOU THE BEST?”

His mouth twisted, irritated. What kind of a question is THAT? “Of course I am! Why else would my name be Aristaetus, you fool?”

“FOOL?” The frog shifted on its rock, and Aristaetus had to focus every muscle in his entire body to keep from turning tail and fleeing the way he did from everything else. He was so, so tired of fleeing. It would not happen again because of a toad. Even if it was a really big toad. “I AM NO MORE FOOL THAN YOU,” said the Really Big Toad. “YOU ROAM INTO MY ABODE. YOU REACH FOR MY FLOWERS. AND NOW YOU CALL ME FOOL.”

“Your abode is not very clearly marked.” Aristaetus snorted. “Nor do I see your name on your flowers or anything else here.”

“IT IS IMPLIED.”

“I don’t see any implications here except you harassing me for adventuring wherever I please.” Aristaetus was starting to feel quite triumphant here. 

Of course, the toad had to ruin that quickly. “ALSO IMPLIED IS MY FOOT THROUGH YOUR FACE IF YOU DO NOT LEAVE. YOU ARE NO LONGER WELCOME HERE.”

He didn’t feel very welcome to begin with. But he also didn’t feel very threatened by a… a foot? Through his face? How strange! How awful. He took a singular step back before squaring himself once more. “I go where I please! I am Aristaetus! Best of the best!”

“AND YOU WILL PLEASE TO GO AWAY NOW!” The massive toad dropped its pipe. Aristaetus heard a splash and then a weak sizzle as it fell into the water and went out. It would be funny if he wasn’t frozen in near-terror. The toad hadn’t even been standing. It had been sitting. Now, risen to its full height, it was even more huge and awful.

“I… I will not be told what to do by a frog!” 

“A FROG!”

Another several, several steps back. Aristaetus continued backing up as the toad crossed the little creek, stepping much closer to him. “

“I AM NOT A FROG!” the toad bellowed, and then, clearly gathering its legs under itself to leap, “I AM A TOAD! AND THIS IS ALL MINE! BEGONE!”

Before it could land and squash him, Aristaetus was gone, whinnying on his way out. There was a thud behind him that felt like it shook the entire cavern, but it missed him, scrambling to get away.

With a mouthful of the toad's flowers in his mouth. Score.