Brosephine had stuffed her torch under the leather strap that held her bag to her shoulders, magical flame warm but not burning, not igniting anything it shouldn’t. It was driven by will most of all, something she found inconvenient about magic… that it could rely on beings that were so fallible. She felt it would be prudent now though, to have her mouth free for talking or otherwise after the incident with the pixies’ homes.

How embarrassing.

As she trotted through the caverns, jagged cave sides now mixed with carefully constructed and ornately carved wall like it was a living beast devouring what once was, she started to notice the odd bit of debris here or there; an arrow, or a piece of some old armor. The longer she walked the more plentiful they became, until there were skeletons in armor; knights and coursers alike.

The seeker felt a shiver run down her spine as she stepped gingerly past the hollowed eyes of the dead, some of the remains more dust than dead. Suddenly though there was a sound, and Brosephine stopped dead still, ears perked.

There- to her left. Some of the armor was moving, clinking together as if it were about to reanimate. Knowing this place, it just might. With that thought in mind she jumped back, a clumsy maneuver that almost had her toppling into more of the ancient warriors.

With wide horrified eyes she watched the armor rise up more and more until… it stopped. The chanfron was only a foot or two off the ground, empty sockets staring menacingly at her. Then it crawled forward, scuttling like.. like… oh.

Brosephine laughed, really laughed, deep in her belly. “Scared me, dumb crab…” She muttered, almost breathless with relief. It was a huge one, sure, but it wasn’t going to hurt her. It bumped into her shins, and then readjusted like a roomba left to its own devices. The courser shook her head, letting out one last chortle before she stepped carefully over it, and continued her journey.