Celeste has heard many things about dungeons and labyrinths in her travels. This particular one was spoken of relentlessly, spewing tales of men and women long forgotten in its depths. Fear isn't the word to use for the knight's feelings toward this place, not as much as anxious was more appropriate. Stepping onto the stone floor of the decrepit building, the echo of her steel soles softly clapping against it filled the room. Looking at either side of her, she admired the murals that were cast by the torches on the walls. At times it was art, others, it were grizzly stories and warnings to turn back. There was nothing to be gained here, apparently.<br/><br/>Soon, Celeste's eyes caught sight of a statue, an incredibly realistic one. Reading the few inscriptions, running her fingers along them as she did so, told this man's story. The knight was undeterred, thinking that this was a lowly thief off the streets and not a skilled, trained knight of the kingdom. A sly smile crossed the woman's lips, her confidence in running through anything that crossed her path shown brightly.<br/><br/>Following the trail of torches, there was an oak table, the only attraction in this otherwise boring room. Another inscription on the table in an unfamiliar language, though some of the characters she could recognize. Looking at it, she could figure that there was little choice in the matter, and that the cup and dice before her were the keys to her fate. Clasping the cup in her bare hands, Celeste scooped up the dice and shook the cup ever so slightly, before casting them out onto the table.