Nyx stared into the empty eyeholes of a small helm. The owner was of a species long gone from the dungeon if not the surface as well. Nyx had never seen one, nor heard tell of one living, though coursers came from lands far away to seek their fortune and a sack of treasure in the kingdom underground. Nyx didn’t even know what they called their species though they’d left writings that Nyx had learned to read from the time she was a foal. For some reason these creatures had never written down what they called themselves.

The eye slits stared back without answering even one of Nyx’s half formed questions. She shook the dust of old bones from it and pushed it into her bag as it was in good condition, or as good as armour got here. She rose and poked around the rest of the chamber, hoping for more magic books or items, but came up empty. Apparently, the bipedal creatures had a great many warriors but few learned people scattered widely among them, or even back when they’d lived and thrived the dungeon had called to the adventurous hearts among these people, as it now called to coursers.

However, the answer was likely simpler and more depressing: the trappings of mages and scholars were in things that turned to dust more easily than metal. Papers and parchment crumbled, ink faded, magical items that were once powerful became nothing more than curious baubles in time. Nyx should know. Many of the books and scrolls she’d managed to find had crumbled when handled and none were full legible. She could have picked up dozens of things that were once enchanted too and never known it.

Concluding that she wouldn’t find anything else of interest here Nyx turned and ducked back out the entrance. One thing she did know is that the armoured warrior types were the typical size for their species, because the doors were made for someone about the height the armour sets made.