Orpheus distastefully flicks water from his coat, expression pinched. This particular dive into the dungeon's depths has been nothing but one small misfortune after another- nothing terribly serious, but things annoying enough that his mood has soured completely. Screech stands a few paces away from him, white skin gleaming in the light spilling from their lanterns; he isn't wet, having crossed the rickety bridge first- a test to see if it could hold weight.

Perhaps it was ill-advised to send the smallest of their group across first- after all, just because it held under Screech's less-significant weight didn't mean it'd hold up someone heavier, and lo and behold- Orpheus had plunged through the rotting wood halfway across and into the deep, slow-flowing river below.

The water had been shockingly cold; thankfully he'd landed in a part deep enough that he hadn't struck the bottom. It had been simple enough to find his way to the surface and swim to the far shore, but he is utterly soaked- as are his supplies.

"I thought you had bought a waterproof pack," Chelle says in dismay as Orpheus begins digging through his scrolls and rations; he shoots her a deeply sad look as he drops a thoroughly-soaked bag of grain on the stone ground beneath his hooves.

"It's still on order from the leatherworkers," he says mournfully, "not that waterproofing would save being so violently submerged. I'm just glad the bottles in here didn't wash away…"

He gently lines up a row of small glass bottles, each filled with some variety of colored liquids; Chelle watches with interest as he checks them all for leaks, then carefully packs them away in his wet bag. Orpheus then checks his lantern; despite being fully soaked, its odd little green flame blazes cheerfully. At least there's that, he mourns, but the loss of his more perishable provisions means that he'll be supplementing what he has left with Screech's overful bag of mushrooms.

"I know a place nearby where we can rest, if you want to scout it out with me," Screech rasps, turning his head to the newest addition to Orpheus' flock of new dungeoneers. "Vassago, was it?"

Vassago, who had been watching Orpheus clamber around with his supplies with a mixture of pity and amusement, turned to Screech in mild alarm at being addressed. “Yes, uh… Screech.” He’d commit that to memory. Certainly. His mind momentarily touched on how in the world the cavedweller knew where he was before pushing past to focus on the more important matters at hand.

“How often do you come this way to know where to rest?” The question is genuine and his ears are pushed forward with interest. He had mixed feelings on the other horses, but Vassago was determined to make the most of the situation, and that included making small talk.

Screech tilts his head, ears flicking.

"The dungeon is my home," he says after a moment, "or, rather, it once was. We are not yet so deep that I cannot get my bearings. Come."

He turns and walks on near-silent hooves into the darkness. After a moment he gives off a barrage of clicks, alternating between low and high pitches; the sound carries down the endless tunnels, echoing over and over.

Screech follows the hall as it curves left, then makes his way down a half-familiar series of stairs to a large antechamber. A large door- shut, Screech notes with relief- takes up the far wall; no other halls or tunnels lead into or out of the chamber. A suitable place, safe enough to rest for a time before proceeding further into the tunnels below- through the door.

"Here," he says, and settles down directly across from the closed entryway; he lips at the ties and buckles holding his harness closed. It slides off onto the stone ground with a thump as Screech makes himself comfortable, a near-inaudible hum of satisfaction rumbling from his chest. He tucks his front hooves in close to his chest, looking supremely satisfied with himself as he does so.

Vassago is less inclined to rest at the moment, instead opting to explore the area. The entryway in particular catches his attention and he picks his way carefully across the stone to look at it more closely. There’s nothing out of the ordinary with it – it is, simply, a very big, very closed door – and he soon grows bored. Perhaps Screech can tell me more, he thinks as he settles in across from his companion.

He doesn’t get around to asking; as soon as Vassago’s removed his own gear he’s content to sit quietly, the darkness and Screech’s hum balming any anxiety he has about the dungeons. The cavedweller is extremely competent and if he was relaxed, well… There really wasn’t much to worry about, was there?

It's taken half an hour- perhaps more- for Orpheus to finish sorting through his supplies and give up on his paltry attempts to dry his belongings. He's relatively more dry now, though the chill in the air is deeply unpleasant, and after as much deliberation as he can justify he's ready to rejoin the others.

Orpheus sourly shakes out his mane once more, huffing as Chelle casts him a deeply amused look.

"I'm going to be eating mushrooms for days," he says, and she laughs outright.

"Perhaps we'll find a cache further in," Chelle says hopefully, turning to walk down the hall after Screech and Vassago.

"Not with my luck," the black Courser moans, and Chelle chuckles again, flicking the tuft of her tail across Orpheus' nose.

"And definitely not with that attitude!"

The two Coursers walk in silence for a moment- companionable enough, even with Orpheus' dour mood- until they come upon the antechamber where Screech is well and fully asleep on the floor and Vassago is dozing next to him.

"Unbelievable," Orpheus sighs, trudging over to nudge at Screech's side; the cavedweller wakes with a twitch of his whiskers and a languid yawn, nose turning towards Orpheus with unerring accuracy.

"You're drier," Screech notes, raspy whisper colored with good humor.

Orpheus huffs, casting a measuring look around the antechamber. The door is quite large- and barred shut, upon closer inspection- and their only way forward.

"You're sure this is the right way? Awfully…one-directional," Chelle says, "usually your 'shortcuts' are veritable mazes."

Screech sighs, gathering his hooves underneath him to stand. "My shortcuts are exactly what they are- shorter paths. The reason they aren't commonly used is because they can often be…obscure."

Chelle stifles a laugh, turning to Vassago. "Anything interesting in here? Or is it just the door?"

Vassago scrambles to a standing position, shaking his head. “No, just dust and stone. That I found, anyway,” he acquiesced. He knew that, as a new dungeoneer, he’d be more prone to missing vital information, and now a nagging feeling that he had missed something pulled at the corners of his mind. “I’d be happy to give everything a second look-over, but I don’t think there’s anything else.”

"Then let's proceed," Chelle replies, and gestures for Vassago to help her lift the bar holding the massive door closed.

It swings outwards when she puts her weight against it with a loud creak, echoing into the darkened room beyond. The space is massive- and very dimly lit. Chelle and Orpheus squint into the darkness, cautiously stepping forward; Screech hisses out a warning as, quite suddenly, a number of spears fly out from the shadows. They thunk into the ground- sand, Orpheus notes- harmlessly as he and Chelle spring backwards.

"Something is moving in here," Screech rasps, "but I cannot make out any shapes or forms. Only the weapons, once they threw them."

Orpheus quickly plucks out a pouch from his bag, dumping the contents into his lantern from a small hole at the top of its frame; the little green flame flashes blue for a moment, then sparks into bright light. He then draws the blade attached to his harness, its heavy weight dragging against his neck. Chelle backs up, brows furrowed- she can see shapes moving at the very edges of the green lantern light, silent and as dark as the room they've stumbled into.

"I think…This is an arena," Screech says a moment later, stepping behind Orpheus, "I trust you'll handle this?"

Unable to speak, Orpheus charges forward, brandishing his sword; his little green lantern blazes brightly as he arcs his neck up into a mighty swing.