“Eugh, disgusting things!” Slime squelched beneath Madalgarde’s hooves. Even though she and Crispin (mostly Crispin, if she were to be honest) had long since vanquished the minor foe, she still felt that it had not been punished enough for sullying her hide. She stomped the slime into a puddle, leaping to quash one bit that tried to crawl away beneath her heel. She’d practiced her stomping many times before at her parents’ winery, turning grapes into liquid gold, and she far preferred that application of her talents. At least the squashed grapes smelled pleasant. “If it isn’t slime, it’s dirt, and if it isn’t dirt, it’s smoke, and if it isn’t that, it’s some bloody awful dragon-bat singing my hair!”

“If I may ask,” Crispin began, cautious in his tone. Madalgarde’s family had only recently attained noble status, but those who gained prestige quickly forgot they had ever been anything less. “Why is it that you continue to hire me to go on these treks? I don’t think you’ve enjoyed a moment of them.”

Madalgarde gave a laugh, bubbly as sparkling wine. No offense taken. She was much more forgiving with coursers than monsters.

“Well, I do enjoy your company, Crispin,” she began, diplomatic as ever. “But you are right that the rest of it, I could happily go without.” To emphasize the point, she scraped her hoof against the floor, ridding its shining rose-gold surface of a bit more crusted-on slime. “But then, that’s not entirely honest. I would think I am happier up there, in the sun, surrounded by friends, good conversation, politics – all the best things in life.”

Madalgarde waited to give Crispin the opportunity to make a rueful chuckle at her joke before she continued. “But there is something about this place. If I go too long without a delve, I begin to dream of it. It’s a craving. A bad habit I just can’t seem to quit. A karmic punishment, perhaps, for my family's profiting off the bad habits of others.” Another light laugh, a bit of sugar to wash away the slight bitterness of introspection. “It is a silly impulse, isn’t it?” A pause, and then a sly smile crossed her face. “Though I don’t think you’d agree with that, would you, Crispin?”

“Nothing silly about it,” he demurred with a polite shake of his head.

“Now that does make me wonder. What makes you dungeoneer, Crispin? What brings you down here, again and again?”

“It’s what dungeon coursers are built for.” With that, he started forward in a trot, his speed inviting Madalgarde to a chase, and an end to the conversation. An expertly dodged question, Madalgarde noted. She’d delved into this dungeon with Crispin many times before, but he didn't seem the type to allow his own depths to be plumbed. Ah, well. The chase was always the most exciting part.