Tarnish regarded the wall and the aged paint marks with a skeptical eye. They knew the sort of courser with... artistic tastes who might artifically age this sort of thing. However, the forms, the shapes of them - defied the actual shapes of any coursers he'd seen. An artistic decision, or a more realistic depiction of animals long past?

Amidst the coursers was a shape that roughly matched the sort of body shape the Ranger held - but no claws, no feathers. It did look as if it would fit in the sorts of non-courser's armor they found down in the depths. Perhaps this was a 'man', a 'knight', those long ago left to dust. They found their bones, sometimes - amidst the rubble, and trap rooms.

Some coursers had faint surviving records, of systems, of concepts from the humans - not that they knew much of them of all, but of lords and things. It seemed a pointless matter to chase things long dead, at least if it was to mimic them in kind. They were surely dead for a reason. It would risk repeating their mistakes, in some way, wouldn't it? Though he supposed that was for curiouser souls then themself to consider.

He marked the location loosely on a map with a dab of charcoal between his teeth, and tucked it all away. They would report where it had been to those perhaps more curious, more fool-blooded to investigate. He doubted they would find much of use, anyway, but curiosities always brought in coin. The beetle shuffled in circles on his shoulders, impatient. He sped his packing up, and slipped out of the narrow cavern - they needed to find food, this was truth.