Chaitivel, slowly growing into his role, is the first Courser to enter the strange chamber before them. He grips a broken blade in his teeth, head bowed low as he does his best to search the area for immediate danger. La Bella follows after him, the feisty mare a lot less cautious than the stallion before her, the way she carries herself is like she wants there to be something to fight, yearning for something to do other than deciphering puzzles or navigating through long tunnels. She lets out a snort, trotting ahead of the white horse ahead of her (even in spite of him trying to interject).

"Seriously, what is with you guys? We're adventurers, but you all trod as though you're frightened to be here to begin with." La Belle stomps a hoof down, her impatience clear. "Why even be here to begin with if you won't take risks?"

The Knight attempts to interject yet again, trying to talk around the blade in his mouth. "We arhe takingh risksh, it'sh jusht-" Only to be interrupted himself by the meek chestnut-colored Courser, Pharsalia, awkwardly bumping into Nîmes when she hadn't realized she'd stopped walking. The poor mare lets out a pathetic little squeak, scrabbling to apologize. But Nîmes has her eyes glued to something else entirely.

"What the hell is she looking at?"

La Belle spits, antagonizingly. She pushes Pharsalia out of the way to try and get a better idea of what Nîmes could possibly be doing, Chaitivel the saint that he is immediately rushing over as well to try and provide that poor girl some comfort. He shoots an uncharacteristicly irritated look at the arrogant Courser, very much about to drop that blade entirely and speak his mind. But the Seer stops him.

"Look before us."

Nîmes speaks, her voice strange as always. Chaitivel and Pharsalia turn to glance in the direction indicated, taking in the sight of the old room. Dust and webs coat what might've been beautiful once, torn tapestries depicting wars that had happened long before any of them had even been born. But their eyes are immediately drawn to the iron box at the very end, the energy it radiates being felt even by them despite their lack of a magical gift. The Seer continues. "You feel it, don't you? Something so ancient and evil, that those who do not possess a sight beyond sight can see it clearly. Perhaps it would be best to backpedal before we provoke something we aren't capable of handling."

Though Chaitivel gives them an understanding nod, followed by Pharsalia's horrified acceptance, La Belle's eyes glimmer. Finally, this was the excitement she'd been hoping to find- for what could be a more glorious thing than doing battle with something so obviously wicked? Before anyone can stop her, the buckskin mare charges forth towards the sealed iron tomb, lunging towards it with her powerful hooves outstretched. Nîmes's face completely drops, the blade falling from Chaitivel's mouth as he flies after her in an attempt to stop her.

"LA BELLE! WHAT ARE YOU-"

Boom.