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Legends whispered of a dungeon overflowing with gold—enough to drown in riches, they said. What the tales failed to mention were the bones. Clattering, hollow-eyed skeletons lurked in every shadow, blades rusted but sharp, drawn to the warmth of living breath. You’d barely taken three steps into the stench of damp stone before their laughter—dry as grave dust—echoed down the corridors. But there’s more than death here. A voice, raw and desperate, cuts through the dark: a prisoner bound in chains deeper within, begging for freedom. The coins can wait. Every chest you crack open spills not just with treasure but tools—keys, potions, a dagger that glows faintly when danger nears. Old corridors loop back on themselves, paths shifting like a spiteful maze. Backtrack, scavenge, outwit. The skeletons don’t stay dead, but neither do you. Not if you’re clever. Not if you’re quick.
