The moment you enter the next room, a green gas begins to seep through vents in the floor. Your snouts and lungs are choked by a foul odor unlike any your party has ever smelled before, even those who have encountered the dead. The entrance to the next chamber is near, but you’re beginning to feel faint.

The group ventured further into the Dungeon. Moritz felt anxious for a reason they couldn’t, or wouldn’t explain. Fetch felt the same way. Moritz and Fetch hushed and whispered. Logue and Terrence stood waiting for the two to finish. Moritz and Fetch finally stopped. They both held a solemn nod, then returned to the rest of the group. Whatever was said, Logue and Terrence doubted they wanted to hear it, so they didn’t even ask.

The group continued on, the path narrowing to a point where they had to walk in a single file line. Moritz was the last Courser, and Fetch was the first, to ensure the safety of all the others in the party. 

There were a few pets present, a floating eyeball named Mina, owned by Moritz, a Phantasmal Hand by the name of Maggie, owned by Fetch, and a bat named Cocoa owned by Logue. Mina stayed well ahead of the group, she only stopped to alert Moritz and the group of danger, or if there was a room.

The group finally made it out of the narrow path. They were greeted with a large room. Fetch and Moritz glanced at each other nervously. “What are we waiting for?” Terrence asked. “Terrence, wait.” Moritz sighed, and gave one last glance to Fetch. “Me and Fetch both feel unsettlingly anxious. It could be nothing-” Moritz started. “Nothing?” Terrence shrugged and set his hooves inside the room. “Terrence!” Fetch and Moritz screeched. Nothing happened. Terrence was still alive, and whole. And Logue, Moritz, and Fetch were still looking at him from outside the door. “Okay then.” Moritz said softly and padded into the room, followed by Logue and Fetch. 

Everything seemed okay, surprisingly. Nothing really happened. The group, well mainly Moritz and Fetch, just stood watching everything. 

Suddenly with a pop the door was blocked. “Hey!” Moritz snapped around. A few vents in the room opened and an odd brightly colored green gas poured into the room. “Fuck!” Terrence cried, running through the room. Panic erupted. Fetch ran, trying to catch up to Terrence. Moritz ran towards the vents to grab Logue. As they ran, the gas hit them. It smelled awful, worse than anything Moritz had ever encountered. Their lungs, eyes, mouth, and skin felt like they were on fire. “Logue!” Moritz screamed, but Logue wasn’t doing much better. Logue wasn’t used to this, and with his skin, lungs, muzzle, and snout on fire, fell to the ground. “Logue!” Moritz cried, rushing over. Mortiz grabbed the scruff of Logue’s neck, and began attempting to pull him to safety. There was a door on the other side of the room, if only he could reach it.

Every breath seared Moritz’s lungs and trachea. Every moment they stayed in the gas, their pain multiplied. Every second that ticked by, made them feel closer to passing out. 

Seconds ticked by. Moritz’s mind raced. Had Fetch and Terrence gotten out, or were they struggling like they were? Fighting for every breath of a gas that just caused more pain. “When would this suffering end?”, they wondered as they kept dragging Logue to safety.

Fetch and Terrence had finally reached the door. They shuffled, trying to figure out exactly how to open it. The door was silent when it finally opened. Terrence ran as the gas crept up. “Terrence! What about Moritz and Logue?” Fetch cried. “If they are still in there, then they are as good as dead.” Terrence said softly. “No, they are part of our party Terrence! We have to go back for them!” Fetch cried. Terrence sighed and nodded. “You’re right. The door is open, if we can’t find them, then we run. You understand?” Terrence asked. Fetch nodded, and the two ran into the gas to save their friends.

The gas burned Fetch. Her eyes began to water, and it wasn’t long before she wasn’t able to see. “Terrence!” Fetch cried, now not only scared for her friend’s lives, but her own. There was no reply to her cry for help.