The Fourth Floor of Death

Prince Geiric strode purposefully down the shadowed corridor, the echoes of his heavy boots reverberating off the dungeon walls. Ahead loomed the doorway to the boss room, a cavernous stone arch that seemed to swallow the dim torchlight whole. With a practiced eye, he scanned the chamber, his gaze falling on the hulking silhouette of a Lesser Dragon that blocked his path.

The creature was a beast of scales and claws, its ridged back rising and falling with slow, ominous breaths. Geiric's lips curved into a faint smirk as he drew his sword, the faint scrape of steel on leather almost lost in the dungeon's low rumble. The blade blazed to life in his hand, the polished metal seeming to hold a light of its own.