Why is it always skeletons?
Not just skeletons of course. Every vile thing that crawls, and shuffles, and skitters, and flits, and squeals, and stinks, has made its lair under Tristram.
At least all this archery practice has strengthened our heroine’s arm, and sharpened her eye, and bolstered her resolve.
More stairs, leading down. She strides on with confidence. These vermin pose no challenge.