Veteran adventurers know that potable water is plentiful on this level of the dungeon, trickling in various veins throughout the caverns – but you have stumbled upon a beautiful brook that glistens rainbow as it moves. It is alluring like no water you’ve ever seen on the surface. It even smells sweet. Do you drink, or do you find it too good to be true?

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The Harvester warns you that not all spirits are peaceful. Some of them burn with a rage they did not come by on their own in life. One night, you encounter a spectral animal – a Courser, you think at first, but no. This is no Courser, but a monster in Courser shape. Its eyes glow red with malice; its skull is gaunt, its movements predatory, more wolf than equine. You can feel its corruption. Its wrongness. Do you attempt to help the Harvester apprehend it, or do you flee?

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“I will await you after the crimson moon is the highest in the sky. You will feel in your heart where we’re supposed to meet.”

Rogue was a simple Courser with a simple life, yet even for him these instructions were far too simple and imprecise.

Well, it’s not like he could go back and ask the Harvester about it, besides - the pumpkin-headed creature didn’t seem like the type to answer questions, even if Rogue asked him directly after getting assigned his new job.

“Just what the hell did I get myself into…” The stallion groaned, walking around his home with a slightly nervous step in his movement. Up until now, his life was rather terribly simple; other than occasional scares deep underground in the dungeon, but an unknown job from the Harvester? The red light in his mind was lighting up clearly, even beeping as a warning for the Courser. 

Well, he guessed that if he doesn’t show up, the consequences from the Harvester might not be so nice in the end.

“You can stay home, if you want.” Rogue hummed, moving his gaze up to where his rat was comfortably lounging in his mane, although now slightly tense from the meeting with the pumpkin-headed creature. He wasn’t surprised at all - the Harvester certainly looked… different, than what they were both used to. Although, with every new dive deep into the dungeon, he learned of more weird and unusual creatures, day after day…

The rat squeaked, and Rogue guessed that it wanted to go with him, after all. So it wasn’t a scaredy-cat anymore, huh?

“If you say so.” The stallion shrugged. “But I already know you’re going to hide in my mane as soon as anything remotely scary shows up.” The rat let out another squeak in protest, and Rogue chuckled, relaxing slightly. Let’s get this party going, then.

The Courser checked his pitchfork, safely against his side in his personally designed holder. Would tonight be the first time he gets to use it as a weapon? He could only wonder.

“I will feel it in my heart where I’m supposed to go…” Rogue sighed heavily, the gaze of his brown eyes immediately darting towards where the nearby entrance to the dungeon was, that most of the folk in the village used. He expected that - where else would the Harvester need his help? But it made him wonder; just what was so tough to resolve on its own, that the Harvester had to ask Coursers for help? Was it some kind of trial, maybe?

He stepped onto the familiar trail leading down into the dungeon, walking inside the mossy caverns by the path he already knew by heart - the same heart that was now supposed to tell him the place of the meeting with the Harvester. He would’ve asked if it was really possible, something as unreal as his own heart supposedly leading him to the designated spot, if he hadn’t already seen the magical side of the dungeon, and the mysteries hidden within.

Rogue walks deeper within the caverns, his coat brushing against some of the moss growing along the walls, his tail twitching because of the uncomfortable, moist feeling against his body. The voice in his heart tells him to go forward, further and further, yet his cloven hooves now lead him further into the unknown corridors of the dungeon, ones he hasn’t yet discovered on his own.

The Courser stops nearby a colorful, breathtaking stream of - what he guessed it was - magical water, glistening with rainbow and inviting him for a drink, promising undescribed sweetness on his tongue and a peace of mind. Sketchy, he thinks.

“You have shown up, Courser.” Rogue hears the already familiar voice reminding him of dry, crusty leaves, his head turning to the side, where the Harvester walks close, his trusty scythe by his side.

“Of course.” The stallion’s answer is short and quick. “I’m not the type to back out from a promised deal.”

The Harvester visibly looks him up and down, and Rogue swears he heard some kind of an appreciative hum coming from the pumpkin-headed creature. Maybe it was just the sounds of the rainbow brook, the water moving? He flicked his ear, fuzzy eyebrows furrowed. 

“Your heart guided you to this place.” The Harvester continued, pointing his scythe at the multicolor stream, nodding his pumpkin head. “Drink from it, Courser. You will then understand why I seek your help.”

Rogue stopped, his eyebrows furrowing even more. If he learned one thing from the dungeon, it was to never trust anything too colorful, too sweet, and too innocent-looking. And yet, the Harvester insisted on him drinking from the stream glistening with rainbow? Was it a trial, or a trap? His brown eyes narrowed in suspicion, yet the Harvester stayed quiet.

As the Courser leaned his head down, sniffing the sweet body of water, the rat on top of his head squeaked in protest, trying to save its Courser friend.

“I’ll be fine, Dostoy.” The stallion hummed. “Or you’ll just drag my body back to the surface, so the village can bury me properly.” He joked, earning an even more stressed-out squeaks from the critter.

Even though he tries to comfort his pet friend, his own stomach is twisting and turning uncomfortably, making him bite the inside of his cheek. He knew it was risky, similar to jumping right on his head into some unknown hole in the ground that you can’t even see the bottom of.

His first sip is full of uncertainty, as the overwhelming sweetness takes over his taste buds, making him grunt. The next few sips are slowly getting better, the sugary-sweet feeling of the stream’s water filling his senses. Something was different.

“I’m glad you trusted me, Courser.” The Harvester’s voice rustles once again, a hint of appreciation in his tone, something Rogue took note of. Yeah, it was definitely some kind of weird trial he got unknowingly engaged into… “You will now be able to see the source of my troubles. Look around.”

The stallion furrowed his fuzzy eyebrows; sure, it seemed like his vision got… enhanced by the weird, overly sweet water from the stream. But wasn’t it just… a hallucinogenic of some kind? This was definitely getting too weird, even for him. He looked around, wanting to see what the Harvester meant, his head turned to the side… Nothing. Nothing else than vines, moss, cobblestone and some slimes wandering around.

Just then Rogue turned his head, meeting a wolfish creature face-to-face, its hot breath against his own muzzle, and he felt like his blood ran cold. It wasn’t here before, no, it definitely wasn’t. Was it the effect of the sugarysweet, rainbow water? He didn’t even hear it crawling closer to him, and he prided himself in his - rather good - hearing. 

Just what the hell was that?

Rogue swallowed hard, feeling as if the time had slowed down. His brown eyes gazed right into the red orbs, brimming with corruption, rage, lust for destruction. He felt a shiver running down his spine, his long tail twitching in anxiety. Even Dostoy couldn’t let out even a squeak, having already hidden between Rogue’s wavy mane, trembling and shaking from fear at the unknown creature, no, monster.

Because when Rogue looks closer at it, it is no Courser, yet it carries the shape of one - it looks almost wolfish, like a beast from a fairytale to scare off young foals from wandering alone into the dungeon, or at least, a nearby forest. It’s a spirit, yet the Courser feels like it’s going to lunge and rip his throat any second now.

“I leave this to you, Courser.” The Harvester can’t be seen anymore, with only the voice resembling dry leaves remaining, slowly rustling away like leaves on the wind… “I trust you will not disappoint me, hunter.”  The way the Harvester said the last word, made uncomfortableness seep into his very being. It felt like he was in a different dimension, his body turning to jelly.

“I’m no hunter, for fuck’s sake.” Rogue growled, yet the Harvester couldn’t hear him anymore.

“But I’m no prey either.”

The Courser swiftly grabbed the handle of his pitchfork between his teeth, and began to run.

The disturbing creature immediately howled, the sound ringing in the stallion’s ears as he heard it take off right after him, the sounds of growls and panting prickling him with anxiety like needles.

To be honest - he’s not sure what he’s doing.

Rogue darts past a narrow corridor, yet it’s no trouble for the spirit to pass. Shit. He thought that the creature would at least painfully rub against the harsh, stone walls of the cave while hunting him down, but it seems that’s not the case. Jumping into that weird, rainbow stream? It probably wouldn’t hurt it, either. Think, Rogue, think…

The monster almost bites him in his long tail and the Courser grunts in surprise and the spike of adrenaline, feeling his heart beat faster than ever before. Good thing that Dostoy was still holding onto his mane, so tight that the critter single handedly kept the Courser from losing his mind in this animalistic chase. It kept growling, howling, each sound making Rogue feel fainter than before.

The stallion suddenly turns and abruptly moves his head back, as if trying to slash the spirit with the pitchfork he was holding in his teeth…

…And he hears a sizzling sound.

Brown eyes take in the sight with shock and uncertainty; where Rogue’s pitchfork hit the spirit, was a void between his head and torso, neck completely slashed and dripping with some kind of goo.

“Disgusting.” Rogue scowled, but now he knew what to do. Hah, to think his rusty, used pitchfork that helped him with his crops would come in handy like this…

The stallion took advantage of the creature being distracted, and now threw the pitchfork right against its side, the weapon sizzling as it sliced right through the monster, landing on the other side, sharp fangs dug into the ground. Rogue was quick - he ran to the other side once more, grabbed the pitchfork, and attacked. There began to be more and more slices of the spirit’s body, as it struggled to contain its form. Just why did his simple pitchfork work? He didn’t have time to think about it.

“Since I’m a hunter, apparently.” Rogue hissed. “It’s only logical to strike right for the heart.”

He tightened the grip of his teeth on the handle of his trusty weapon, and with all his strength and might, pierced right through the gooey, leaking with corruption heart of the spirit, as it screamed, making Rogue hold his ears down to his head, feeling like the noise could almost pierce his eardrums.

The terrifying sounds continued for a while, slowly getting quieter, until they died out completely.

Rogue was breathing heavily, his coat with a sheen layer of sweat, and he wasn’t aware when he let go of his pitchfork. He didn’t hear the sound of it hitting the ground…

When the Courser looked to the spot where the monster just was, there was his pitchfork lying on the floor… No, it wasn’t his, was it? He narrowed his brown eyes in suspicion.

It was no longer rusty, used; now it was adorned like a king’s scepter, shining with red and gold, like a weapon of the royalty.

“So it was a trial.” The stallion finally snorted in quiet laughter, shaking his head. But why, why him? Why was he chosen by the Harvester, to bear his prize for his bravery? Is he really some kind of hunter, that the pumpkin-headed creature mentioned?

Rogue leaned down, grasping the fresh-looking weapon, carefully sliding it into his holder on his side. For tonight, he was too tired and worn-out to think about all the implications and what awaited him in the future. He’ll adore his trusty weapon-companion’s new appearance tomorrow.

“Let’s go, Dostoy. Time to go home. And take a nice nap.” Rogue breathed out, shaking his head to move his mane that fell over his eyes, and turned on his hooves to leave the dungeon. He was too tired, way too tired to think about anything that happened, whatever it meant for his future…

Yeah, it was definitely time for a nap first.