Arthur stood at the mouth of the dungeon, staring into the inky void with a puzzled, almost frightened expression. He had trained for this, yes, and he was prepared - in theory. He’d spent weeks learning whatever he could about what lay below from anyone who’d teach him, but that was simply schooling. 

He’d practiced using a sword and a dagger as well, and had taken to it quite easily. It wasn’t too far off from fencing anyways, and he’d grown up fencing every Saturday afternoon with Owen. The grizzled old stallion he’d taken swordsmanship lessons from said he was a natural, which is really the only compliment he’d given him beyond a gruff ‘yep, you’re ready alright’ before sending Arthur on his way. Whether that was due to Arthur’s incessant questions of what lay beyond the entrance of the dungeon or if he was actually ready, he would never know.

This would be his first time going into the dungeon, and there would be no going back from here. He was to be a courser, and that was that. He had made this choice, and he wasn’t going back on it - he had promised himself he wouldn't. He took a cautious step in, his hooves echoing on the dark, damp walls around him as he made his way inside. With each step he took, he felt the hair raising on the nape of his neck. The echoes of his hooves on the stone beneath him were… off. 

He felt as if there was something watching him, following just close enough that he could sense them but far enough that he couldn’t see or smell them. He had half the mind to turn back, run home to his camp outside the town, just beyond the entrance of the dungeon he was now deeply regretting entering. 

By the time he noticed the whispering, he’d been lost in his thoughts for several minutes. At first, they were quiet, just barely audible over the sound of water droplets dripping down the cavern walls, so quiet he thought he was imagining the whole ordeal. The further he walked, the louder the noise became, until he could no longer deny it was nothing more than his imagination. He drew his dagger, readying himself as he whipped around, his eyes frantically searching for whatever the source of the whispering was. It had to be something, because walls don’t whisper. At least, he didn’t think they did…

Much to his dismay, there was no obvious source of the awful whispers. They filled his belly with dread, he couldn’t discern what they were saying but by feeling alone he knew it was awful. He decided that enough was enough, he was getting out of there. He hadn’t found the source, and he wasn’t sure he even wanted to. With the decision made, Arthur turned on his heels and headed back to the entrance to regroup and make a new strategy.  He swore this wasn't the end, that he would return tomorrow with more information.