If there was anything an up and coming knight needed, it was a weapon. Icarus happened to have five of them - one on each leg (his hooves; no, he did not actually have a weapon attached to each one) and an ego louder than thunder to back up anything that came out of his mouth. But, when that wasn't enough to hype him up through the dark corridors below the surface, lush with green that felt wrong compared to the delicious flora above ground, there were other things Icarus could count on.

Inside his trusty saddlebag, the material new, luster gradually cracking from its first uses through the Dungeons but not yet worn by experience and trials, Icarus could stop for a break and brandish to himself his two most prized possessions. The first was a tidily folded piece of tea-colored parchment, bearing the bold mark of a large hoofprint in gilded ink. An autograph of sorts from the Courser he idolized. Dreams of upcoming glory and fame, just like them! This reminded him of his goal, and how no creepy shadows or lurking monsters would keep him from that.

The second was a strange item. It was solid, yet seemingly held the surface of a puddle within it using some force of... magic? When he found it, it was cracked and broken into glittering pieces like jagged droplets. This was the largest surviving piece, enough to see the reflection of his eyes in it when he looked. When Icarus finished admiring both his beloved "personal vanity pool" and his own self, his confidence often wound up rejuvenated, and he could dive deeper to discover what further mysterious obejcts of ancient, long-gone creatures could show him.