[Veteran Ranger] Trafin Phiro was having a bad day. It was supposed to be his morning off. Instead he was awoken before dawn by soldiers pounding on his door. As if an unexpected predawn summons by the [Lord] didn’t bode ill enough, both the head mage - and even more incredulously, the elven representative - were present. The notion that something was happening large enough for even the elves to act outside their twin roles of maintaining the barrier and providing teleportation between the remaining cities, was frankly terrifying. Elves never left their compound outside those vital duties. Trafin should know, his mother didn’t do social visits.

Tasked with finding the something that could be responsible for the large magical disturbance detected the night before, he and some of his fellow rangers had spread out through the forest. Of course he'd been the one to find it, and it was a thrice damned dungeon. Just his luck. No sign of the apparently very combat capable mortician who was missing. He was looking forward to hearing the background behind that warning some evening over a cold beer. At least the dungeon was only level 2. Theoretically, it should be little danger to him. But he knew better than to underestimate the notoriously fickle powers that left civilisation clinging to their cities and reliant on the elves for survival.

Despite his caution, he had to rely on his [danger sense] in the very first room. It wouldn't have killed him, his 24 levels counted for something, despite his relatively low investment in resilience. Still, that kind of danger in the first room, only to find no trick in the second, was concerning. Was he missing something?

The sound of distant heavy footfalls echoed from behind him, followed by the squeal of what his years of experience said was a bower boar, his sensitive ears protesting against the high pitch. That would be unpleasant to deal with if it picked up some speed in the narrow corridors. However, unless the dungeon was doing something really tricky, it shouldn’t be able to cross the chasm in the second room. Some sort of challenge to stop retreat perhaps? Either way he would proceed to the next room and make his next report.

The corridor was blessedly short, his torch and improved lowlight vision let him see the floor of the next room sloping upwards, even from the entrance. With [danger sense] finally off cooldown again, and sounds of activity behind, he picked up the pace - only for goosebumps to raise immediately as he stepped into the room. [Danger sense] triggered, heavily draining his now dwindling mana.

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He threw himself forward into a roll as something whooshed past his ear, only for a series of thuds to sound behind him. Transitioning smoothly into an uphill run, he swore softly as he attempted to [identify] the skeletons hefting stones in a shotput pose. He’d halfway drawn a throwing knife by reflex before he released the cool metal to slide softly back into its sheath. He couldn’t feed the dungeon steel. At least they were only level 1. As he zigged sharply to avoid the next few bricks one clipped him in the shoulder, sending a jolt through his torso. Yet his strides remained at pace as he crossed the last few feet to the top of the incline. Free hand slamming on top of the half height wall at the apex he vaulted himself over it, a flex transitioning his momentum to a sweeping kick that sent pieces of the central skeleton clattering across the room.

He chucked the torch to the right. It wasn’t clean but it gave that skeleton something to think about other than hitting him. Meanwhile he dashed left with two daggers drawn. After a narrow dodge he managed to circle around and put this skeleton between himself and the far one. As it swung out to punch him, his skill empowered knives found the joints and literally disarmed it. It should be simple from here, his agility too high to be hit in melee by an unarmed skeleton. He started taking it apart only for a stone to clatter through its spine and hit him in the knee.

“By The Warrior.” Trafin swore.

He forced himself forward to reach the far skeleton even as he realised the light was fading. The dungeon was absorbing the damn torch! Low light vision would be little use in no light. Needing to finish this quickly, he swung out with his dagger, decapitating the skeleton but accepting a blow into his injured shoulder in exchange.

Breathing deeply, he listened for the sound of any other enemies. In the unnatural silence the dull pain of his injuries started to bloom as the adrenaline faded. Sheathing the daggers to pull out a small glowstone, he started to feed a trickle of his remaining mana into it to produce a very soft glow. He needed to [relay] a report, but light was the more immediate concern. [Danger sense] had done it's job, but had also guzzled enough of his mana that he couldn't do both.

There was no obvious door, but there was a large slab of stone with a skull embossed in it and recesses that might be handles at the bottom. He could swear his bruises twinged even at the thought of lifting it alone. He was fairly sure he could do it, but he’d have to put away the glowstone, and if his injuries were more serious than he thought it could aggravate them. No, standing blind and basically defenceless in a dungeon doorway seemed like a very bad idea. It was time to leave and report. First rule of scouting is ‘get back alive’. But first, these were dungeon creatures, that meant mana stones. While undead in the dungeon were a very bad sign, at least skeletons didn’t need to be butchered.

Now if only the eerie silence meant there wouldn’t be a fight to escape. Although that would have its own concerns...