"Painted in reddish brown into the furnace floor is a massive circle with lines drawn inside it at three points. Each point shows symbol you don't recognize - except for one. The crude silhouette of a Courser's head in the circle's center. The whole area smells of sulfur and copper, and though you've never been here, it is the scent that strikes you as oddly familiar. What do you make of this?"

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Archimedes stopped abruptly, his hooves scraping against the stone floor of the Furnace. The heat radiating from the ground was oppressive, but it was not what held his attention. Before him, painted in reddish-brown tones that seemed to shimmer faintly in the glow of the magma, was a massive circle etched into the floor.

Within the circle were three points, each marked with an unfamiliar symbol. The lines connecting them formed a precise, geometric pattern, almost too deliberate to be the work of a single hand. But it was the image in the very center that gave Archimedes pause—a crude silhouette of a Courser’s head.

Terrence, trailing behind as usual, trotted up to his side. “What are you gawking at now?” he asked, squinting at the floor. His nose wrinkled almost immediately. “Ugh, what’s that smell? Sulfur and… copper?”

Archimedes ignored him, stepping closer to the circle. The scent was familiar, but not in a way he could immediately place. It was metallic and sharp, almost on the tip of his tongue, and it stirred something buried in his memory. He tilted his head, studying the symbols at the three points.

“This is no natural occurrence,” he muttered. “These markings are deliberate. Precise.”

Terrence groaned, leaning down to inspect the circle with far less care. “Looks like someone had too much time on their hooves. Probably just some old culty thing. Let’s keep moving. This place is hot enough without standing around admiring creepy art."

Archimedes ignored him again, his focus narrowing on the Courser’s head in the center. His mind raced. The silhouette was crude, but unmistakable. The elongated face, the pointed ears—it was not an abstract design. Whoever had created this had meant it to be recognized.

The familiarity of the scent gnawed at him, tugging at the edges of his thoughts. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sharp air fill his lungs. Sulfur and copper… It was not the first time he had encountered this mixture. But where?

“Arch,” Terrence said, breaking into his thoughts. “Seriously, we need to go. This thing’s giving me the creeps. And the smell’s not helping.”

“Do you recognize the symbols?” Archimedes asked, his voice steady but insistent.

Terrence blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question. “What? No. Why would I? I’m not exactly the bookish type.”

“Precisely my concern,” Archimedes replied, his tone sharp. “These symbols are unfamiliar to me as well, and I am the bookish type. That suggests they are either extraordinarily ancient or deliberately obscure.”

Terrence groaned again, louder this time. “Great. So, what, we found some ancient magic circle of doom? Fantastic. Let’s not stick around to see what happens if we touch it.”

Archimedes stepped closer to the edge of the circle, his hooves just shy of the reddish-brown paint. He lowered his head, inspecting the lines and symbols with the precision of a scholar dissecting a text.

“It’s not just the markings,” he said, almost to himself. “It’s the smell. Sulfur and copper. It’s—” He paused, the memory snapping into place. “Blood. Mixed with brimstone.”

Terrence recoiled. “Blood? Are you kidding me?”

Archimedes didn’t answer immediately. His mind was already turning over the implications. Blood rituals were not unheard of in the annals of dungeon lore, but they were rare—and dangerous. The combination of blood and brimstone suggested a summoning, though what sort of creature could be tied to a Courser’s likeness was a question he could not yet answer.

“This was meant to invoke something,” Archimedes said finally, his voice low. “Something tied to us. Our kind.”

Terrence took an uneasy step back, his usual bravado noticeably absent. “Okay, now I really don’t like this. Let’s just leave it alone and get out of here. Whatever it is, it’s not our problem.”

Archimedes straightened, his expression calm but his eyes alight with curiosity. “On the contrary. If this involves our kind, it very much is our problem. Ignoring it could be far more dangerous than investigating.”

Terrence sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You always have to make things complicated, don’t you? Fine. But if this circle starts glowing or something, I’m bolting, and you’re on your own.”

Archimedes gave a faint smirk. “Noted.”

He circled the edge of the markings, careful not to disturb the paint. The symbols at the three points were still a mystery, but their arrangement suggested a triangulation of power. The Courser’s head in the center was the focal point, the nexus of whatever ritual had taken place here.

As he studied the design, a faint vibration under his hooves caught his attention. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there—a rhythmic pulse, like a heartbeat. He exchanged a glance with Terrence, who had clearly felt it too.

“Tell me you felt that,” Terrence said, his voice tense.

Archimedes nodded, his expression grim. “Whatever this is, it’s not dormant.”

Terrence took another step back. “Great. Just great. You’re the genius here, Arch. What do we do now?”

Archimedes didn’t answer immediately. His gaze returned to the Courser’s head in the center of the circle, his mind racing through possibilities. This was no ordinary discovery. Whatever lay at the heart of this ritual, it was tied to their kind in a way he could not yet understand.