Sárkány sighed as they walked through the Earthen Furnace. He rarely stuck around this level of the Dungeon, but there was a specific set of monster parts he was looking for. It was too hot down here, too much smoke and the constant threat of magma pools. His coat felt wet with sweat. He looked up towards Terrence, his guide. How did this guy do it? He just prances around like it's nothing, chest all puffed and more than proud to tell his Dungeoneering stories.

     The green Courser stepped forward, brushing his shoulder along the other’s. “How do you do this? Stay confident, strong, and so arrogantly confident down here?” he questioned bluntly.

     Terrence blinked in surprise, letting out a soft snort. “Excuse me?” he asked.

     “Have you not noticed how swelteringly hot it is down here? It’s hard to see over the smoke, much less breathe. I’m sweating like I just ran across the entire Dungeon and back in one go!” Sárkány pointed out, lashing his tail.

     There was a soft hum of thought that filled the air, Terrence tilted his head at that. “Yeah. Guess you got a point, huh? Kinda scary in here when you’re a bit of a newbie. Here, I’ll give you some advice. When you’re in the Dungeons, what is the number one thing that keeps you safe?”

     Sárkány blinked, then raised a brow. “Weapons,” he answered.

     “Wrong,” Terrence said, shaking his head. “It’s literally just safety. Moreso - the illusion of safety. Ignorance is bliss, right? Having something to keep your head high and make you feel safe is the same thing,” he explained, moving to start walking again. Sárkány was annoyed at this, as he now had to walk and listen. “Some Coursers do chants or rituals before they enter the Dungeons. Some carry keepsakes from their friends and family. Lucky charms, faux-spells, anything they need to feel safe down here. That will make you confident and push forward.”

     Sárkány listened to this, kind of nodding weirdly. It kind of made sense, but it also felt like something you’d tell a foal. He was going to open his mouth with another questioning retort, but Terrence beat him to it. “I keep a lucky charm on me, under most of my armor. It’s an heirloom passed down from my family. Doesn’t have to be realistic or practical, but something you believe enough in to carry you through anything.”

     It was Sárkány’s turn to reflect and think, then he nodded. “I think this is the first time you’ve said something not entirely about yourself in the last four hours,” he remarked, nudging Terrence again.

     The Courser rolled his eyes with a little smirk, trotting ahead. “Alright then, old man. Come on,” he called.

     Sárkány followed after, though the thought lingered in his mind. Did he have anything like that? A keepsake, heirloom, some kind of ritual before entering the Dungeon. His ears moved about as ideas formulated in his mind. That was definitely something his people would need, an increase in morale and something to keep loyalty high. Something to tie them in altogether, perhaps. That was a start. He glanced down towards the longest parts of his mane just barely in his vision, looking at the decorated wooden-and-gem symbols braided into his hair. A gift from his sister during their youth. That might just work.