For as long as Aranka could remember, she had felt the pull of the dungeon. 

When she was a foal she had been prone to orienting herself towards the nearest dungeon entrance, her large head swaying on her thin neck like a wobbly compass. There was never any doubt that she would eventually descend into the depths. She began training as soon as she was deemed old enough. Aranka wanted to be as prepared as possible, so she honed her body, mind and spirit for the trials that awaited her.

When the day’s training in combat and terrain navigation was done, she would seek out other coursers who had returned from their own dives and ask to hear about their experiences. She absorbed the stories of others like a dry sponge sucking up water for the first time. No matter how frightening or horrifying some of the tales were, Aranka could not be deterred from her goal. The pull of the dungeon only grew stronger the older that she became.

Aranka went on her first real dive with a few other coursers she had gotten to know during her training. It went very well. They all commended her on her focus, determination and capability. Bolstered by this success, Aranka began to head into the dungeons with fewer companions, or more commonly, on her own. Something about being underground felt right to her. She breathed easier with the dungeon roof over her head, no matter what monsters she faced.

The dungeon was her true home.