The sun was halfway down, casting long shadows across the barren wasteland. With banners held high, the Infernal Legion approached the maw of a large cavern, which cut deep into the landscape as if it wished to siphon them into a dark abyss that lay waiting beyond the imposing steel gate. The gate itself, dark and foreboding, bore a symbol etched into its surface—a large, mechanical eye that seemed to watch their every move, an ominous harbinger of the trials within.

Through the clinking of armor and weaponry, a commanding voice rang out, belonging to Marek, the commander of the Infernal Legion, a warrior known for his many raids. His armor, forged from dark ashen steel and reinforced with jagged spikes along his right arm, was accompanied by a large golden shield strapped to his left arm, which reflected the dying light of the sun intensely. Emblazoned upon his chest sat the sigil of the Infernal Legion, as though beaming out to all that he was the leader.

"Men, we have arrived," Marek’s voice shouted out, cutting through the clinking of armor and weaponry. "Here lies the dungeon. Strike team, take your rest and top off. The rest of you, set up camp and perimeters. I want no surprises when we get out, you hear me?"

"Yes, sir!" echoed from the ranks as the troops dispersed to carry out their tasks. The atmosphere was tense but controlled.

As the soldiers busied themselves with their tasks, a striking figure approached Marek with purposeful strides. Aine, the Legion’s head fire mage, was as fiery in temperament as she was in magic. Her long red hair flowed like molten lava, and her ember-like eyes burned with intensity. She wore light armor made of enchanted bronze, adorned with intricate gold patterns that shimmered in the fading light. Without ceremony, she stepped close to Marek, her voice soft but laced with anger.

"What is this dungeon, you oaf? You said we were going to take on a nature dungeon," she said, her eyes alight with a wrathful look.

Marek met her glare with calm indifference; he had seen her like this many times before. "Calm down, Aine. Your vixen behavior is unnecessary. Some information was wrong, yes, but the location is correct."

Aine’s scowl deepened, her suspicions clearly not eased. "What if it's all a trap, Marek? I already didn’t trust this intel to begin with. Who gives away a dungeon location so easily?"

"I trust my contacts," Marek replied, his tone firm. "Besides, I was informed that the intel was uncertain, but the location was verified. We can handle this dungeon, regardless. We still have the element of surprise, too."

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"Hmph." Aine crossed her arms, her anger barely contained.

Marek sighed, knowing that her concerns, though harshly delivered, were not without merit. "Have I ever disappointed you on a raid before?"

Aine hesitated, then grudgingly shook her head. "Well, that is true, I suppose."

Their exchange was interrupted by the approach of another figure, Radborn, the Legion's strategist and master of Beltane's school of healing. Clad in a red silk robe adorned with colorful phoenix feathers and glowing twining branch patterns woven into the silk, Radborn was a stark contrast to Marek's imposing figure. His warmth, priestly figure, and glowing eyes met Marek's with calm, happy confidence as he left a faint trail of embers on the ground behind him with every step.

"If I may interject," Radborn began, his voice starting off firm but going soft and polite quickly.

"What is it, Radborn?" Marek replied, looking to his side.

"Dungeons like this one rely heavily on traps and stationary defenses," Radborn explained, his tone measured and analytical. "Their strength lies in attrition mostly rather than large-scale assaults by different mobs. As long as our DPS can neutralize their emplacements efficiently enough, we should be able to push through without sustaining significant losses."

Marek grinned, his confidence bolstered by Radborn's assessment. "Hah, see, Aine? Even Radborn agrees with me. It'll all be fine. As long as you don't fail, that is," Marek said as he turned to point his finger directly at Aine's face.

Aine’s eyes flashed with irritation as she pointed back at Marek. "As if I have ever failed you!"

Marek chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. "And I’ve never failed you. So let's stop worrying and take a short rest before the assault."

"Fine!" Aine snapped back, sneeringly, as she quickly turned around and walked away.

Radborn watched her go, then turned to Marek with a nod. "I’ll organize my squadron and finalize our preparations."

"Good," Marek replied. "The engineers should have the main gate demo-rigged soon enough. We enter in ten minutes."

As Radborn walked away, Marek allowed himself a moment of reflection. He watched as his troops set aside their goods, unpacked their weapons and supplies, and donned their armor. The sun dipped lower on the horizon, the shadows growing longer and darker. The cavern gate ahead seemed to bear over them with a hidden menace, the steel having a marking etched on it depicting a large mechanical eye of sorts.

"She’s as fiery as ever," Marek mused to himself with a faint smile, but his thoughts quickly turned serious. His mind lingered on the mysterious informant who had provided the dungeon’s location. This contact had never been wrong before, so why was the nature of the dungeon misrepresented? Was it a simple mistake, or was there something more sinister at play?

"Ah, doom-sowing is the habit of old guards who can never win anything anymore," he thought to himself as a reassurance.

"FIVE MINUTES TO BLOW!" an engineer shouted out from the gate.

"Right, time to get ready," Marek said as he walked to his own tank squadron.