Castalla//

Time was little more than a concept down here in the dungeons, where the only light was the gentle glow of cave mushrooms or the angry shine of lava, where they counted time in rooms discovered or foes encountered. Still, it felt like night, as Castalla’s body ached from their day-long wanderings and her mind slowly guttered like a candle in the wind. She’d grown used to sleeping in the hollowed bones of Kingdom, to makeshift camps and the cold breath of ghosts, and she found herself anticipating whatever food they could scrounge up. She’d not expected to find company down here in the shadows and the dust, the ruinous embrace of forgotten rooms, and though she preferred to travel alone, tonight she found herself grateful.

Voices, soft upon the ominous silence of the dungeon, sounded from their makeshift camp and Castalla’s proverbial hackles rose as she picked up her pace. There, standing among the scattered bags and acquired treasure, were four other Coursers, happily picking apart their belongings.

“Drop our treasure and walk away nicely, or you won’t be walking away at all.” Her voice was a low, cold growl, snaking through the darkness as she broke the blanket of shadows that slipped from her body like obsidian silk. Lips pulled back in a snarl, she advanced with all the grace of a stalking lion, muscles coiled tightly as she prepared to fight should her warning go unheeded.

Quill//

For all the stiffness in his limbs from keeping up with far more seasoned dungeoneers than himself, and the hollow feeling in his stomach from meals skipped as danger prowled too close, Castalla's words swept it all away like a torrential tide crashing upon sandy shores. 

"You don't want to mess with her," Quill interjected, hoping to diffuse the situation with a touch of kindness as he ducked down and lowered Walter from his back. The white goose stared at them coldly, wings mantling as a reedy hiss slithered through the air. "If you're hungry, we could share some of our food." 

Their answering cacophony of laughter ricocheted off of the cold, weary walls, and he stiffened as their body language shifted to more of a prowl. A familiar blue amulet swept in a bag at their feet, its meaning still a mystery to him, but he was oddly attached. They had risked life and limb, and gone without entering these depths.

"You lot don't look like much. Try anything, and your family will never find your remains."

Brown eyes darkened as Quill lowered his posture, mimicking Castalla with a grace that he didn't have, a frown pulling at his lips as his ears pinned back.

"Don't say I didn't warn ya." 

Wolf//

For all the ache in his muscles and the aftermath of adrenalin rushing through his veins, Wolf was decidedly happy, energetic almost. Even Emberclaw, who only seemed happy when skittering across the fragmented magma, was chittering away contently beside him. Alas, it was all swept away by the chill of the pale mare’s voice as they happened upon their camp being raided and suddenly all hell broke loose.

Quill’s and Castalla’s warnings went unheard, echoed with a thoughtless laugh and a malicious taunt. Wolf wasn’t sure how anyone could face the snarling, scared mare and say she didn’t look like much, but it wasn’t Wolf that was about to be subjected to her fury.

Eyes scanning their makeshift camp, he quickly ascertained what was happening to his possessions.

“Hey, that’s mine!” Wolf shouted indignantly, shouldering his way gracelessly over to the Courser who gripped his sack between yellowing teeth. He lashed out without thought, without much intention other than to get his stuff back. Still, hooves flying, he struck.

Emberclaw snapped at the ruffian’s ankles, scuttling swiftly away from stray hooves as they attempted to bolster Wolf’s attack.

Elrim//

Shadows stretched from Elrim as he moved into the frey, lengthened stride almost as quiet as the caverns themselves. A watcher turned warrior as he moved with a precision remembered by muscle and years of practice than by memory. 

He slipped around Wolf, rearing and striking at one of the coursers, ears pinned back as hoof met flesh. Movement was all around him as the others joined in, a glint of white holding silver caught out of the corner of his eye before another of the ruffian's yelled out in pain. Something sharp and pointy likely finding their ankles. 

Elrim wouldn't have called himself a fighter a few moments before, preferring a healthy respect for the dungeon over brute force. Now, however, the shattered fragments of his memories knit themselves together in bits and pieces. Not a whole, but painting a picture that he had done this before, and likely would do it again. Footing came to him naturally and with it a brutality that he wasn't aware was in him - a time with different coursers that haunted the edges of his mind. 

If they would attack them, they would do it to others. 

"You'll be shown no mercy."