"ROLL FOR INITIATIVE!" the voice booms from above, and thunder rolls across the land above, the flickering sconces of the dungeon shaking in their alcoves from the sound of the almighty Decider casting our fates. It's the same thing, every time, I swear, yet by some mysterious compulsion, I find my fingers curling around the grip of my sword, the words of some beneficent charm rising unbidden to my lips. It's fucking weird, is what it is, although Gods forbid I ever mention to the others how dumb it is that we're doing what the Gods seem to dictate.

Still, I've done my best even as my faith has faltered, and I can hear the thunderous voice from overhead announcing the fateful numbers, as I glance over at the slavering horde of orcs.

Well.

They're really just the bored, slightly resigned-looking orcs loitering in various clearly-marked positions across the dungeon from us. One seems to be polishing his club, the closest one is tapping his foot impatiently, staring at the dungeon ceiling, and their shamaness is definitely eying me up.

Fuck it.

"Is it just me, or is this really fucking dumb," I whisper, pitching my voice over to hear her, as the rest of my party lingers aimlessly, waiting for the command of the Gods to start casting spells and slinging arrows and the like. One of the heavenly voices booms something about "REFILLING ON THE DEW OF A MOUNTAIN," or similar, and it seems as if the flicker of the fire itself slides awkwardly to a halt.

The shamaness's eyes slip up to mine, a sigh heaving her chest in appetizing ways, if you ask me, and not for the first time, I have to wonder why we're traditional enemies after all.

"Yeah, it's pointless," she sighs. "What the fuck are we doing in a dungeon, of all places? Did some king decide 'hey, let's build a prison and stick some orcs in it, but, y'know, not in cells, just wandering around with no visible means of sustenance?' Man, if your lot doesn't kill us, we're just going to starve to death in a few, sooooo..."

Drawing her hand in a slicing motion across her throat, she sighs, a look of sullen resignation. Glancing up at the ceiling, I shuffle a little closer, my armor clinking and clanking noisily.

No response from the Gods. Thank fuck.

"I, uh... I don't really get why we're even fighting," I confess, sidling up to her and nodding at my own party. "My lot just sort of wanders around killing, and the Gods don't ever let us stay at an inn except to learn where the next thing to kill is, and I don't think I've ever even seen the wizard shit, come to think of it..."

Sighing, she nods, and together, we edge a little further toward the dungeon exit, the powers that be still seemingly oblivious.

"We just get raised like, 'ooh, one day you'll die gloriously from a lot of adventurers and that'll be that, best train for it eight days a week or you'll never put up a challenge'" she grunts, and I wince in sympathy. Cautiously, I let a glance drift down, then out to the exit, a mad idea simmering on my lips.

"You've never wanted to just... run away, have you?" I offer, a plan beginning to form. "Just ignore the gods and do your own thing, sleep in a proper inn for once, have a life?"

I can see her eyes glimmering in the dark, and without thinking, I let my gauntleted hand slip over to squeeze hers reassuringly, the sudden thump of my heart churning the stillness in the air between us. I've made up my mind, damn it.

"C'mon."

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