Moritz was aware of the various dangers of the dungeon; the horrors that dwelled within changed with every expedition- nay even every day. They had adapted to the fluctuating hazards, but most who delved into the dungeon did not, or could not. Those many souls would find their end in the dungeon, or recall the comforts and warmth of the topside.

When they heard the sounds of battle past the winding hall ahead, they had considered turning back for a moment. The sound of something big crashing to the dungeon floor piqued their curiosity, and so they peered around the corner.

What they beheld was a vicious fight. A courser, tail lashing and teeth glinting in the simmering light of flames, stood before a monstrosity from the depths of the hellish dungeon itself. Fire licked over black cloth, searing the stone walls and filling the air with sparks and smoke that burned and stung the eyes and nostrils of Moritz from even as far back as they stood.

Amidst the flames, the courser moved, avoiding licking tongues of searing fire as his hooves tore through black fabric and shattered bone.

"Begone! Get thee gone, unwanted creature! Slink back to thy shadows, plague me not!" Vicious, loud as clarion horns sounded the courser's cry, and Mortiz's eyes fell in disbelief to the shards of bone beneath the horse's hooves- and the caved-in, singed-black skull shattered upon the ground.

Bereft of one head, and losing ground, the flame-cloaked entity dropped to it's many blistered legs and scuttled off further down into the dark. Flames, dying out now that their master was gone, flickered weakly on the stone and casting the courser in a fell and fair light.

Mortiz quietly slipped back, before gleaming golden eyes, pupils reflecting the dying light, could turn their way. 

Some dangers were best avoided.