mvseratii
The viscous drippings on the cave walls remind him of winters stuck inside, huddled around the meager warmth of a dying campfire while nursing a stubborn sickness. He can see himself plain as day: head hung low, fatigue darkening the space under his eyes, with never-ending snot pouring from a raw and red nose. This was a lot like a nose. They were in a nose.

A mist almost as thick as the gunk permeates the dark cavern, suffocating the guidance of their torchlights and hanging onto them until their skin feels clammy with it. He couldn't decide if he wanted to hide his face under the safety of his hooded cloak or if he wanted to shed himself of it completely; it grows warmer by the second thanks to the humidity the foggy haze carries with it but he doesn't feel safe taking it off, too afraid of touching whatever it is that's coating the cavern walls. The mere thought of touching it threatens to make him sick.

"Stay close," Logue reminds them, and to his left he can feel the steady presence of the merc - he reaches out with a pathetic whimper until he can grab onto the straps of Logue's gear with his teeth - just as to his right he can make out Tommy, ducked low to avoid hitting his head on any overhanging stalagmites.

Kalma
The cavern they found themselves in had an annoyingly low ceiling, Tommy had learned very quickly. Everyone else was heaps smaller than him, easily traversing in the cool, foggy space. He had to keep his head low, watch out for the ancient stalagmites formed in the ceiling as they walked slowly through the hazy space. He didn't like the feeling of this dungeon, and had insisted that they keep themselves close to each other. Thankfully the space was wide enough for them to keep close and almost walk three abreast, but it was a little tight.

A shiver runs through his body, not sure if it was the slickness that covered the walls and the ceiling, or that he felt like someone was watching him from the darkness he couldn't see. They had little light with them, having to be careful that whatever was dripping from the ceiling didn't shun the lights they had with them.

Logue was on edge too, he could feel it - he wondered if the other mercenary had the same concerns that he did. He didn't want to scare Frankie, who already had one bad experience in diving, or that's what he understood from the vague description of his previous adventure he had gotten. Logue tells them to stay close, and he nods, glancing back at him and Frankie.

He walked slightly ahead of them, just in case something came at them from the front; he was ready to take the brunt of the hit and Logue make sure Frankie would be safe. Tommy snorts quietly, lowering his head slightly more to avoid a particularly low set stalagmite.

mvseratii
Frankie wondered what was keeping them from turning back. What could possibly be so important about this cavern that Logue, seasoned veteran of the buried kingdom, felt compelled to keep going forward? With each step they take further into the slimy abyss, the further they get from the surface; it wouldn't make sense for them to turn back now, not after they've made good progress into this part of the cave, but he was beginning to long for fresh air rather than acrid snot-steam.

Not to mention something felt off about this part of the cave system. Sure, all of it felt weird to him - he was a newbie after all, despite his insistence that he wasn't - but here it felt as if there were eyes watching him from beyond the darkness. He could see his fellow dungeoneer ahead of him when Tommy turns to give them both a look so it isn't Tommy's eyes he feels on him and he thinks he's become well-versed in staring holes through the back of Logue's head to know the merc isn't looking at him either.

"There's something in here with us," he says, voice shaky. Joaquin whines from behind him, harnessed tightly to his back.

"I do not mean to frighten you," a voice says in the distance and the way it reverberates off of the sticky walls makes it seem like it's everywhere all at once.

Logue stops abruptly, reaching out to catch Tommy's cloak in front of him and angling his body towards the courser behind him to make sure Frankie remained close, and forces all three of them to stop and assess their situation. "You shouldn't be here," the stranger continues, sounding much closer now.

Kalma
The more they moved forward, the more the feeling of being watched grew in Tommy's gut. He didn't like this feeling, nor did he like the thought that someone was in with them here, in the shadows, unseen. Equine or monster, he wasn't sure which would be worse. The dilapidated ruins of the buried kingdom held in both, all of them rather strange - it wouldn't be the first time someone lost would've gone mad and in their desperation attacked other adventurers.

He narrows his eyes, as if that would help him see better in the dark; it didn't, but he liked to think it somehow did. His eyes were used to the dark and little light of the dungeons, but his focus was split on having to keep his head from hitting the drippy stalagmites. When the fox whined, Tommy's pace slowed down immediately. He was right, there was something or someone in the darkness.

His muzzle scrunches up into a frown when Logue suddenly stops as does Tommy. The voice shakes off the walls and low ceiling, impossible to pinpoint where it's coming from. Whatever was with them in the space with them was sentient and capable of speech, but that wasn't saying much. The voice came closer, warning them - Tommy couldn't decipher whether the warning was for them because of the dangers of the place, or the person speaking. Either way, he wasn't going to wait for an ambush. He raises his torch, giving it a wave in front of him to illuminate the darkness ahead better.

"Show yourself," Tommy speaks into the darkness. His light did not show anyone or anything in the vicinity, but he keeps his torch in front of him in case he would have to use it as a make-do weapon to hit whatever was speaking. If anything, he trusted sentient creatures less than ones without.

"Friend or foe?" he questions, making sure to give himself a firm stance in case he would have to take a hit. He can feel Logue holding to his cape, and hears Frankie's quickened breath and the quiet whines of Joaquin on his back.

mvseratii
When Tommy sweeps the torch out in front of him, it offers the party a split-second glimpse of the feeble figure in front of them. It flinches away from the sudden glow more so to protect its milky white eyes rather than out of trepidation; he doesn't appear bothered that he isn't the only person in the caverns but it does look confused, as if he isn't sure where he is or what he's doing there. It looks to the ground, then to the ceiling, then off to the sides of the sticky walls before finally it settles on looking at them once more.

He considers the party for a long moment until it makes all of them nervous. Logue, however, is less bothered by whoever this is, almost as if he'd seen this particular adventurer before; they'd stumbled upon each other plenty of times before, not so much they'd call each other friends but comfortable enough to call each other an ally. Wraith had done his part in helping Logue through the more treacherous parts of the dungeon and in return Logue would offer him anything from salvaged clothes to leftover pieces of food. It tilts his head towards the merc.

"A friend," the stranger says finally.

It comes closer until it feels the smoldering warmth of the proffered torch then reaches out until its damp cheek brushes Tommy's, tilting their heads to guide the torch in front of them until what meager light it offered illuminated the slime-covered walls. It's thick, opaque, and covering every inch of the cavern surface from the ceiling down to the ground they're walking on, and the source of it is apparent by the roiling lumps of sentient slimes that toil about them without worry. Only then does Frankie notice that the bottom half of this stranger is covered in a thick black substance that undulates, parasitic.

"What are you doing here?" the stranger implores, giving each of them a curious look-over - impressive, Frankie thinks, considering he didn't believe the courser could see anything at all.

Kalma
When the torch's burning light showed a flash of a figure that could barely be described as horse. For most part, sure, he was an equine but that was a rather generous description of him. No wonder Joaquin couldn't smell him out, he was more part of the dungeon than the world outside. Tommy was on edge, still, not trusting the stranger at all. He could feel Logue relax at his side, trusting the stranger more than he did. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, turning his head slightly so he could see Frankie and Logue in his vision better, making sure they were okay.

Logue seemed much more calm now, recognising the stranger, Frankie seemed as perturbed as he was.

When Tommy turns his head back to face the stranger, supposed friend, he flinches as a damp cheek touches his own. The pale head against his own forces his head to turn, show the light into the cavern walls and illuminate just how slime-covered they were. The slime was everywhere, covering every surface including the floor. It was slick and now that Tommy's head was closer to the wall, he could hear the quiet squelching of the slimes as they move, unbothered and very moisturized, not even aware of them standing there.

Sometimes Tommy was a little jealous of such simple lifeforms, just living their best life without a worry in the world. He moves his head away from the blind stranger swiftly, doing a quick shake to get off whatever dampness left behind by Wraith's touch.

"Passing through," he answers with annoyed tone. He shivers again, trying to shake off the nasty feeling going down to his bones.

The horse in front of them was not right, that much he could gather. Logue's calmness didn't set him at ease; looking into the pale eyes he felt like they saw more than he could see in them. Everything felt wrong to him. This cavern was wrong, the stranger was wrong, Logue's trust in him was wrong. The staggering number of slimes was wrong. Tommy's instinct said they should take the stranger's word, turn around and just try and find a different entrance.

He decidedly braced himself, telling himself his gut instinct was wrong and they would be fine to continue on their way. That is, if this stranger would get out of their way.

"If you're looking for the exit, you're not too far off," he tries to be helpful, looking the stranger up and down. Friend, he claimed, but Tommy didn't trust that.

mvseratii
This specter is everything his papa warned him about: if you were not careful then you'd become a victim to the buried kingdom, not by body but in spirit. It looks abysmal; he can see the canyons of its ribs protruding from a pale coat damp with runoff and his hair is tangled together with dungeon matter of all sorts. Despite its decrepit appearance it looks to be more than happy here in the belly of the underworld.

With a surprised gasp, Frankie takes in the sight in front of him: the slimes of all shapes and sizes as they gather together and split again, as they inch their way across the cavern without any clear direction in mind in search of organic matter to eat, and as they leave behind yet another layer of thick sludge to add to what's already there. They're harmless, that much he can tell, when one of them - no larger than the circumference of his already petite hoof - bumps into his leg, feeling at his ankles until it figures out he's much too big to eat before it moves on to search somewhere else. In what limited torchlight they had, Frankie had the freedom to take a few steps away to follow the slime as it slithers away. Did it have a one-track mind? Was it even sentient? He takes another step. Did it have a brain? Does it know where it is?

"Passing through?" the apparition says, his raspy voice lilting in clear curiosity. Not many made it down this far into the caverns and furthermore not many of them made it back out; the bones of courser-past curl in on themselves at the bottom of the restless pit, their mouths open in a silent scream as they aspirate on the thick slime.

Wraith slowly turns his head back towards Tommy, staring at him with pearly white eyes. It seems to mull the words over in its head for a moment before he shakes them from it. How foolish they were to think the exit from this place was anywhere. He belonged here. He was made here, and he will cease here too.

A startled squeak sounds to their left, followed by the wet schlap of a heavy body hitting the ground, and by torchlight it reveals Frankie has misstepped and lost his footing near the embankment leading down to his demise. He thrashes wildly, unable to find purchase in the slick, and slips further down the mound until he nearly disappears completely. The only thing left of him is his frantic shouts, calling for his companions.

"I would go get him if I were you," Wraith says, unmoving.

Kalma
"Yes, we-," he starts to respond to Wraith, finding discussing with the creature unpleasant.

Looking at him eye to eye was uncomfortable, to put it mildly. There was something in Wraith's eyes he couldn't understand, the way he belonged into this place but at the same time they were of same flesh. He had to wonder, was Wraith of this place or was he one who had once ventured in here only to become part of it in a way that was indescribable. He could see nothing in Wraith, but felt like Wraith could see his bones, see beyond his flesh right into his soul and what he held hidden inside his heart. It was a disturbing feeling, and he wanted to get away from him as soon as possible. If he could bring the torch closer to himself he would, to bathe in the light and make Wraith disappear from his view until he was back outside where he could hear the sounds of life and forget he ever looked into the creepy, pale eyes that stared at him across the way.

His words and thought were cut short when there was a sudden shout to his side. Where he had seen Frankie moments before, there was nothing now. Logue looked alarmed, both of them turning their torches towards where Frankie had been standing only to see a mess of red hit the ground and slide downwards with a scream. Just as quickly as he had disappeared from his standings, he disappeared from their torchlight into the darkness.

"Fuck," Tommy swore, forgetting Wraith completely for a moment. His mind was filled with the most horrendous mental images of Frankie laying at the bottom of the fall with broken bones or worse. He had promised to protect him, and now he couldn't even hear him anymore - his voice disappeared into the darkness.

"FRANKIE!" He screams as loud as he could into the darkness, hearing nothing in response. Nostrils flared, he looks at Logue for moment, then glances at Wraith whose sardonic commentary wasn't helping. Of course he was going to get Frankie, there was never a doubt in his mind. In fact, it had been the first thought in his mind, to jump down and just hope he lands on something soft that isn't Frankie. His experience overrode the instinct of doing something stupid, and he pins his ears, snapping his teeth at Wraith. Fuck him, and fuck this cavern.

He looks at the spot where Frankie had gone down, taking a few deep breaths before looking at Logue again, knowing what he was about to do was extremely stupid and careless, but he had no other choice.

"I'm going - if you can find a safer route... " He shakes his head before turning towards the broken part where Frankie had went off. He takes another deep breath, lowering his head as he steps on the slick surface and starts his descent downwards.

From the corner of his eye he can see Wraith standing in the solid ground, looking back at him with his pale eyes. Awful creature, Tommy thinks before he tries to take firm steps on the slick ground, trying his best to keep his feet under him as he starts sliding downwards, torch barely lighting his way as he suddenly moves a lot more uncontrolled and at increasing speed.

"Watch out!" He shouts into the darkness, hoping that Frankie can heed his warning.

mvseratii
The slippery slime accelerates the speed at which he descends down the embankment and he fears what lay at the bottom. A spike pit? Those were a classic down here in the dungeons, his papa had told him, but so where the endless chasms that cut through the underworld like creeping tendrils, eager to consume any courser stupid enough to misjudge their depth. Or maybe whatever had produced such a wealth of disgusting slime was waiting for him at the bottom, mouth wide open and ready for dinner.

He isn't eager to find out what's at the bottom, though. Despite very little purchase on the wet rock, he tries to dig his hooves into them to at least slow his rate of descent; he digs and digs until every muscle in his legs are screaming at him in protest, until he worries about chipping a hoof or even breaking a leg, but it does help slow him down just enough that he lands at the bottom of the pit with nothing more than another wet schlorp and a squeak of terror.

There is no monster down here to eat them, just a pool of slime that envelops nearly half of his crumpled body.

He takes stock of himself to make sure he's alright. Nothing hurts a critical amount except for his muscles, still burning from the effort of slowing his descent, so he doesn't have to worry about chipped hooves or broken legs or... he lets out a great sigh, adrenaline leaving him in such a rush it leaves him boneless.

"Frankie," Joaquin warns, shoving at his prone form with paws too small to do anything. "Move your ass, someone's coming down!"

He manages to roll out of the way just in time for torchlight to come into view and herald the arrival of Tommy, who lands at the bottom of the pit with more grace than Frankie had ever thought about having himself. It was stupid of him to attempt rescue, stupid of them to be in this situation in the first place, but he feels a strange sense of security knowing that Tommy was close.

"Noo," he whines pitifully, "why? Now you're stuck down here, too!"

In the corners of his vision the abyss descends upon them, occupying more and more space the closer it gets to them, and with it it brings the glimmering hooves of the specter they'd met on the surface. This darkness that'd been following it, that had been seen clinging to its ankles like a sickness, is eating away at the opaque slime until there is a clear path from the pit back up to the chamber. When he looks up, Wraith is staring down at them, unblinking and unmoving.

Frankie tries once more to get to his feet and he feels like a newborn babe trying out his legs for the first time. He can't get them under him, the slime still too dense and slippery for him to find solid ground, but at least he's steady enough to not fall face first into it. It takes several sad attempts to get his feet steady but when he does, he stands there for a few seconds, heaving in a lungful of acrid air. Then:

"This is VERY SLIMY," he complains loudly, like a child.