Luna stared up at the impressive murals, briefly lost for words.

I know dungeons take many forms, she thought, but this?

Etched into stone, at the dungeon’s entrance—before its entrance, even, carved into the back-wall of the stairs leading down—several shockingly graphic images depicted what her fate could be, delving into these depths.

That’s, um, some very detailed artwork. She had known dungeons could be breathtaking in their majesty, especially the higher tier ones, but the artistic rendition of a young woman being violated by a writhing mass of vines was … well, impressive? It had her cheeks searing red, yes, but there was an objective part of her that was impressed. Dungeons are the lifeblood of the world, Grandma’s voice echoed in her head, to be feared and respected in equal measure—capable of anything.

Capable of violating a poor woman’s holes, three at a time, Luna thought.

The artwork was surprisingly effective at conveying its message. Three images: the first, a goblin fighting a prospecting adventurer. From this, two arrows split into two separate images: the first, the goblin having his way with the young woman, then, an arrow with a circle and a line crossed through it, resulting in … a more graphic depiction, and much more violent. Less erotic.

Two options, on defeat, the murals stated clearly. Allow the dungeon to have its way with you, or accept your death.

It was a grim picture, but the fact the dungeon explained its purpose before she had even stepped foot inside was … chivalrous, in a way? Luna would know exactly what she was getting into. Entering would be giving her consent. And if she ever refused, even halfway through an encounter, she could accept a dungeon’s normal fate, upon failing: being secured by its soul obelisk, and needing to be bartered back by her friends. To be violated would be entirely her prerogative; she never needed to have her body used in a way she didn’t give permission for. But in doing so, the dungeon would release her without killing her.

A dungeon that wants to fuck me. Luna had never heard of something like that. Gods above, a dungeon that wants to fuck me.

On the side-walls of the tunnel down, other graphic depictions of pervertedness were engraved. On one, a writhing mass of plantlife inserting into every of the ensnared adventurer’s holes. This image, she’d been staring at for the past minute. Even without defeat, the image told her, a trap means violation. Don’t enter at all, unless willing to be used.

Luna really shouldn’t be becoming flustered at the idea—and she definitely shouldn’t be rubbing her knees together in excitement—but how could she help herself?

A dungeon that wouldn’t kill you if you failed? 

Honestly, defeat sounds kind of … nice. 

Luna looked over both her shoulders, as if worried someone might have heard her thoughts. 

She breathed in, deeply.

Am I really doing this?

Of course she was. Luna was the luckiest person in the world to have stumbled upon an uncharted dungeon. Recently opened, at a guess, because all dungeons were quickly added to the Guild’s listing. It would be her duty to report it, as soon as possible—and something she would be doing, because violation of dungeon-charting policy included some of the strictest punishments the Guild offered. The Guild did not treat dungeons lightly, and for good reason.

Someone might’ve been by already, though, she amended. She couldn’t know for sure she was the first. 

Luna’s insides squirmed with excitement, for more reasons than one. Not only was she about to set out on her first dungeon delve—not her first adventure, being a level-four mage—but her first delve, which was much more dangerous, and many times more yielding of fortunes, both experience and loot alike.

She’d told Jamie which portion of the Summer Fields she’d be exploring this week, so if she went missing—if the dungeon ended up lying about its punishment for defeat, and instead harvested her soul—then Jamie would know where to look. Luna was reckless, but not that reckless.

She set a hesitant first step forward, onto the smooth gray stone of the dungeon.

Nothing happened. Obviously. Nothing would happen, until she got much further in. But it felt like a big event, anyways. My first step into a dungeon. A landmark event. A smile split her lips, and she took the next step forward.

She sobered quickly, descending into the dungeon’s depths. She activated a brightstone and fastened it to her shoulder, to provide illumination as she walked. Dungeon monsters could see in the dark, but she—an elf—certainly couldn’t. 

Watch for traps. Luna wasn’t a heiress to some famous adventuring family, but she’d done her due diligence; she’d read a smattering of books, and spoken to Asherton’s few resident delvers, seeking practical advice. Doesn’t matter how good at fighting you are, a grizzled voice told her, if you can’t recognize a trap, you don’t stand a chance.

Slow and steady progression was the name of the game. Dungeons were bound to certain rules; a trap needed to have an indicator. They had to play fair. If she treated the dungeon with the respect it was due, she shouldn’t be caught. Not by a first-tier dungeon, as the gleaming glyph had indicated at its entrance. A first-tier dungeon’s traps would be blatantly obvious.

She would … she would have to practically waltz into it, to get caught.

It would have to be entirely intentional.

Luna eyed the mass of green vines attached to the right-side

Oops, she thought. Look at me, so clumsy—lost in thought at the idea of my first delve! How exciting! 

She strode forth, forgetting to hug the left wall, and thus not giving proper distance to the trap—the totally normal mass of vines, she meant—on the right wall.

The plantlife writhed, then whipped out, grabbing Luna.

Oh no, she thought, grinning, even as the vines slithered beneath her mage robes, their wet, cold appendages wrapping around her body. How thoughtless of me.