Is a Gamble Worth a Gander?

Chapter 11: To the Fifteenth

Chapter 11

To the Fifteenth

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In the dungeon, far beneath the clamor and bustle of Orario. Yet another cold day as a band of four sets foot towards the depths of the middle floors for the first time. Yet another cold day that seems to eat straight into the bones. Even the hushed whisper of their footsteps seems further dulled by the biting airs of Freeze. Even the faint whoosh of red cloaks, salamander wool to be precise, seems almost entirely deafened.

The three are thankful to say the least. Thankful for the wool protecting them from the cold all around. Thankful for the comrades on either end, walking solemnly into the depths of hell. Thankful that the events of just a week ago are behind them. Most of all, thankful to be alive and walking around after that horrid ambush.

Yet the gratitude comes somewhat colored with a pang of guilt, or perhaps trepid surety. For you see, this is the first real experience any in this group has had with the death of a sentient being up close and personal. Needless to say, it is no small thing to have weigh on one's shoulders. Due to this, beyond the hushing of Freeze's cold, their procession is colored further with an air of discomfort.

"Well, here's the stairs." Lily states flatly, her breath white in the cold air.

A boy most dear to her, white haired and ruby eyed, steps up to her left side with glimmering eyes. Unsettled he is, but excited as well.

"That's to the eleventh floor, right Lily?" he speaks coolly.

"Right, Mister Bell." The prum agrees, "The eleventh floor is just beyond here. This'll be the first time for all of us, won't it?"

The girl's nervousness is palpable, her voice tremoring slightly with her words. The chestnut eyes under her like-colored hair glimmer just as the boy's, though perhaps a little more nervously. She's surrounded by good and capable adventurers, not to mention friends, yet still her heart pounds as she imagines their ultimate destination.

Today's goal is the thirteenth floor, first of the middle floors and a stepping stone to becoming true adventurers.

"Three weeks, hard to believe it's gone by so fast." Says a young man, oldest of the group.

He stands on the right side of the prum, mahogany eyes peering on into the dark depths beyond the odd staircase. Odd in the sense that it seems to be merely a formation of the dungeon itself. This even though it takes little imagination to see stairs from the natural occurrence.

His hand rests weakly over top of a simple blade, elegantly effective despite its normalcy. A tremor fires through the man's hand as it grips the pommel, shaking ever so slightly.

"Is Mister Lincoln sure he's ready?" the girl asks, her chestnut eyes peering up at the man.

"Oh, I'm good Lily."

Bell eyes the man from across the prum, his glance nervous and perhaps a tad mistrustful. What he'd seen the man do, in the rage of battle notwithstanding, was upsetting to say the least. Even now, an entire week after the fact, his view of the man remains almost wholly unchanged. The boy's heart is filled now with the grim knowledge of exactly what proper fighting entails: Win or lose, live or die.

"You good, Bell?" Lincoln asks coldly, feeling the boy's gaze.

"Yeah... I'm good."

The reply is curt and none too friendly, though it is not rude either.