Arthur crept into the corridor of the old tomb and squinted into the dark before him.  The sunlight at his back didn’t seem to penetrate more than a few feet into that forsaken crypt.  With one final check of the weapons at his sides, he stepped in, and the dark swallowed him. 

He placed one foot in front of the other in slow, silent steps, straining his ears against the oppressive silence of the dungeon.  He was blind for the moment, going by touch along the side of the smooth stone wall.  That is, until the tip of his middle finger on his left hand found an irregularity in the wall. 

Arthur stopped, holding his breath, not daring to move.  He shifted his feet under him, testing the floor.  No give. No pressure plate.  He allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief before his nimble fingers went to the wall and traced the outline of a hole with an embossed edge. 

A dart trap, he supposed.  Likely connected to a pressure plate quite near his fortunate feet.  He stayed still a moment longer and reached for his torch. 

As the flame sprang to life and illuminated the corridor, Arthur found his guess to be correct.  There upon the wall was a hole surrounded by a brass ring of metal – the thing that had tipped him off to the trap – and but an inch before the toe of his right foot was a slightly raised flagstone.  A quick sniff near the brass told Arthur that the dart within was likely poisoned. 

With the cover of dark now lifted and his chance for stealth severely lessened, the dexterous man hopped the pressure plate and proceeded deeper into the dungeon. 

Arthur came to a door at the end of his walk.  A quick inspection revealed no traps to the keen-eyed man, though trying the handle revealed it to be locked.  He dropped the torch to the floor and produced from his belt two thin pieces of metal. 

He slid them into the heavy iron key hole of the door and pressed his ear to it.  One hand twisted, the other jabbed in and out, up and down, circled, and then click.  A noise came from inside the room and his inner voice cursed. 

He stowed the tools and drew out a long and slender sword and a gleaming dagger.  He placed his foot on the door and pushed hard. 

The approaching monster found itself hurled backward as the door suddenly flung inward on its hinges, catching the thing in the face and sending it sprawling across the floor. 

This room was dark too, though Arthur was no stranger to fighting blind.  The flickering of his torch light showed him the glint of armour and pale skin rising from the floor before him as he rushed forward, sword leading. 

Metal rang against metal, the sound reverberating off of the smooth stone walls and echoing down the corridor from where he had come.  The thing had thrown up a gauntleted hand just in time to ward off Arthur’s first thrust, though the second kick caught it in the side of the head. 

Arthur sprang back, his foot tingling from making contact with the monster’s rusting helm.  It stood, and for the first time, he got a look at it in the flickering dim light. 

Pale skin stretched over a skeletal frame, pointed teeth in a mouth that was missing its jaw, and red, sunken eyes.  The undead abomination wore rusted armour from a bygone age and held aloft a longsword that seemingly still gleamed as if newly forged. 

It was that sword that was now coming for Arthur.  He threw up his left hand, his dagger meeting that blade and turning it to the side.  He stepped wide, away from the creature’s strike as he did so and used his momentum to swing his sword at the back of the off-balance monster’s neck. 

A sickening thud followed by a wet snapping sound told Arthur that he’d struck home and he pushed the blow through.  The thing’s head came away from it’s body and dropped to the floor. 
 
The headless form of the monster twitched for a moment and Arthur jumped back from it, further into the chamber, expecting it to simply refuse to die and keep fighting. 

His sigh of relief upon its eventual juddering fall was great indeed. 
 
He sheathed his weapons and eyed the shining blade the creature had been brandishing. 
 
Now it was time to get paid. 

This piece was written as a simple exercise when coming up with a character concept.