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The Second Dragon Hoard

Introduction

As the skiff glides beneath tattered clouds, the crew—Fritz, Jareth, Aure, Sparks, and Maggie—huddles over a faded map. High above a jagged mountain range called the "Teeth of the World," a single Draconic name stands out: "Bellanthia."

Aure traces the ink. "Bellanthia... the eldest sister, famed for her unyielding valor."

Jareth adjusts his sword belt. "Unyielding valor... that's one way to say they were an asshole."

Fritz grins. "Asshole's with treasure usually have the shiniest of things."

Sparks peers over the side, fiddling with a small gadget. "We’re getting strong magical signals. This won’t be a casual stroll."

Maggie stands apart, quiet but watchful. She says nothing yet, though her knuckles are white on the railing.

They descend to a ledge before a towering cavern. Two carved dragons flank the entrance, jeweled eyes gleaming. Above, chiseled words: "Only the courageous may claim the spoils of Bellanthia."

Path Choice

Inside, torchlight flickers across murals of legendary battles. Spears clash, dragons roar—scenes of endless conflict. The hall ends where two corridors diverge:

Jareth steps forward. "A clear choice: valor or wisdom."

Aure rests a hand on her staff. "Bellanthia’s might is legendary, but knowledge might spare us bloodshed."

Fritz bounces on their heels. "Where there’s valor, there might be straightforward treasure."

Sparks adjusts his goggles. "Knowledge could yield rarer finds, and fewer bruises."

Maggie’s gaze flicks between passages. A subtle tremor runs through her, and her voice emerges in a nervous, accented rush. "M-maybe the quiet way’s not s-so bad, yeah?" She clears her throat, face flushing, then falls silent.

Jareth folds his arms. "We must decide carefully. Bellanthia likely respected both strength and cunning."

⚔️ Valor: Enter the Hall of Valor, embracing strength and courage.
🧠 Wisdom: Take the Path of Wisdom, seeking knowledge and subtlety.

The passage narrows to a slim corridor, and a rush of stale air greets the crew as they push forward. Then, quite suddenly, the cramped darkness opens into a towering library chamber.

Library Puzzle

High, vaulted ceilings float overhead, supported by intricate pillars carved with swirling draconic script. Sparks takes a step inside, goggles already scanning the air. “Reading room or haunted maze?” his voice echoes oddly. “I’m picking up... fluctuations. Magical ones.”

Aure nudges one of the grand, dust-laden shelves. Several ancient volumes threaten to topple, as if offended by her presence. “So much knowledge—some of this must date back to the Titan Age. If only it didn’t look like it might leap at us.”

A faint hum reverberates through the air, like distant chimes caught in a wind that shouldn’t exist. Fritz raises an eyebrow. “We sure it’s just books in here? I’m getting a vibe like something’s watching us.”

From across the library, a large mosaic set in the floor gleams under a cold spotlight. It depicts a dragon’s eye, ringed by concentric arcs of runes, each ring misaligned. A soft shimmer at the room’s far end signals a sealed exit. Clearly, puzzle meets blockade—and the tension is instant.

Jareth draws his sword partway from its scabbard, glancing around warily. “Not seeing any mechanical threats. But that doesn’t mean we’re in the clear.”

Nearby, a hefty tome rests on a pedestal. Its cracked leather cover bears a crest suspiciously close to the Dragon King’s insignia. Maggie steps up, swallowing nerves. “This one’s... a partial record of Tharion and his siblings. Mentions a codex, too, but it’s all scrambled. Great.”

She tries not to jump when a swirl of silvery dust coalesces at the mosaic. The shape flickers, then resolves into a humanoid figure with faint scales along her arms and cheeks—a regal draconic spirit dressed in worn scholarly robes. Her eyes gleam with a serene intensity.

“Welcome,” she says, voice echoing around the rafters as if multiple people spoke in unison. “I am Bellanthia’s Keeper of Knowledge—a fragment of her, left to judge those who dare enter.”

Fritz slips a hand to a dagger. “We’ve, uh, met one of your siblings before. He was... friendlier than expected.”

The spirit’s lips tilt in a cryptic smile. “Dolos, no doubt. I sense his laugh upon you.” Then her expression hardens. “But I am not Dolos. The Hall of Wisdom does not amuse; it enlightens. You face a test of insight here.”

She gestures to the mosaic, the arcs of runes shimmering in response. “Align them correctly to form the phrase that reveals your path. Fail and be sealed within these walls. Pass, and you may find Bellanthia’s deeper secrets.”

Aure exchanges a tense look with Sparks. “So, no information yet—unless we succeed.”

The Keeper inclines her head. “Earn the knowledge. Then the keys you seek shall be granted. And much like in battle, you do not have an unlimited amount of time. Even a right answer can mean death if you take too long.”

With that, her figure dissolves into curling motes of light, drifting away like a dying breeze.

Jareth surveys the mosaic. “We’ve got two plays here: Solve it now, try to line these runes up. Could trigger a lovely magical explosion if we flub it... or rummage through the library for notes. More time, more risk of stumbling into wards or illusions, but we might find a hint so we don’t blow ourselves up.”

Aure grimaces, swirling energy crackling at her fingertips in readiness. “And if we do neither? We’re stuck forever. Great choices.”

Fritz taps a finger to their chin. “I’m game for quick action, but I like my face un-petrified.”

Maggie drags in a breath, trying to project confidence. She forces a stiff laugh, then steadies herself. “Bollocks. A nice cuppa'd be good for this.”

🧩: Do the puzzle as is. Save time, risk catastrophic failure if they guess wrong.
🔎: Potentially safer, but time-consuming—and who knows what lurks among these spells and illusions?

Tomes and scrolls tower precariously on warped shelves, and the group spreads out in haste, each determined to find any note or margin scribble that might spare them from a catastrophic misalignment of Bellanthia’s mosaic puzzle.

In the corner, Maggie gingerly lifts a dusty ledger bound with corroded metal. A low groan of ancient wood sounds behind her—a massive bookcase tilts, its contents ready to rain down.

Jareth spots it first, lunging across the aisle. “Maggie, move!” he barks, shoving her clear just as the shelf tips violently. The structure collapses against him with a thunderous crash. Papers and splintered planks scatter in all directions, a whirlwind of debris. For an agonizing moment, he’s pinned, shoulders straining beneath the weight.

Maggie scrambles to help, her heart in her throat. “Jareth!” Frantic hands dig through fallen volumes and jagged wood until the crew together manages to heave the shelf aside. Jareth rises unsteadily, forcing a smile despite beads of sweat on his brow. His right arm hangs stiffly, but he conceals the pain behind a tense half-laugh. “All good,” he insists, voice tight.

A keen look crosses Maggie’s face—she catches the telltale tremor in his stance, notices the way he half-clenches a wound near his ribs. She presses her lips thin but says nothing, allowing him that moment of pride.

In the wreckage, Fritz snatches up a slip of parchment torn free from a hollow compartment in the shelf. It shows a tangled row of Draconic characters matching the mosaic’s outer ring, plus a cryptic arrow pointing inward. “Jackpot, I think.”

Hurriedly, they converge on the mosaic. Arcane light glints off each concentric ring. Following the newly found clue, Sparks and Aure work to align the jumbled letters. At each turn, the runes flicker, resonating like distant harp strings. Jareth keeps one hand near his sword, suppressing a wince whenever his wounded side aches. Maggie hovers anxiously, every so often shooting a concerned glance at him.

The final rotation clicks into place; the runes glow with ethereal brilliance. The mosaic’s dragon’s eye dilates, and a trembling hum fills the air. Then, with a rush of displaced energy, the shimmering barrier at the far end of the chamber dissipates.

They stand in stunned relief, the immediate danger passed. A gentle breeze ruffles their clothes, as if the Hall itself exhales. Jareth exhales too, bravado faltering slightly, but quickly masks it again. Maggie notices the blood on his fingers where he grips his side and silently resolves to corner him later for proper healing.

With the puzzle cracked and the exit unsealed, the party leaves the library behind. Bellanthia’s Keeper does not reappear, yet they sense the watchful presence of the dragon-sister grows ever closer.

Combat Challenge

Stepping through the doorway, they brace for whatever new challenge awaits—carrying both a precious clue to Tharion’s lineage and the sting of a narrowly averted disaster.

The shimmering light from the puzzle fades, and the room beyond the sealed door reveals itself. Grand pillars rise to the ceiling, their surfaces etched with ancient depictions of dragons locked in battle. The floor is marked with concentric rings of golden Draconic script, glowing faintly. A new presence fills the chamber—oppressive, commanding, and impossible to ignore.

At the far end of the room, another spectral figure materializes, distinctly different from the Keeper of Knowledge. She is clad in shimmering, spectral armor, her every movement exuding strength and authority. Her gaze, sharp and piercing, sweeps across the group.

“I am Bellanthia’s Keeper of Valor,” the spirit declares, her voice echoing like a war drum. “You have solved the puzzle of wisdom, but courage is the other half of the path. If you wish to claim Bellanthia’s legacy, one of you must prove your worth in combat. Alone.”

The group exchanges uneasy glances, the weight of her challenge sinking in.

“Wait, fight you?” Fritz blurts, their voice tinged with disbelief. “Is this some kind of dragon sibling hazing ritual?”

The Keeper’s lips curve into the faintest smirk. “This is no jest. You will not fight to defeat me, but to demonstrate the valor necessary to inherit Bellanthia’s gifts. Succeed, and you will earn her trust. Fail…” Her gaze sharpens. “And this hall will remain your prison.”

Jareth steps forward, his sword hand steady, though his face betrays the strain of his earlier injury. “I’ll do it. This is my kind of test.”

Aure moves to block him, her voice tight with concern. “You’re still hurt. If you push yourself, you’ll risk worse. We need you alive.”

“It’s my fight,” Jareth insists, jaw clenched. “I’m the best fighter we have. None of you stand a better chance.”

Before he can move, Maggie speaks up, her voice soft but firm. “No.”

The group turns to her in surprise. Maggie straightens her posture, the nervous tremor in her hands stilled. “You’re not doing this, Jareth. You already saved me back there and paid the price for it. Let me do this. Let me prove I can pull my weight.”

Jareth hesitates, his brows furrowing. “This isn’t about pulling weight—”

“It is for me!” Maggie snaps, her tone trembling with emotion. She catches herself, softening her voice. “I can do this. Let me.”

An awkward silence stretches before Fritz clears their throat. “Uh, I mean… I could try? I’m not exactly ‘valiant knight’ material, but I’ve got agility and tricks. Could be enough… maybe?”

The Keeper’s spectral sword materializes in her hand, its blade alight with cold, flickering flames. She steps forward, pointing to the concentric rings at the center of the room. They shift and shimmer, forming a glowing arena.

“Choose,” the Keeper commands, her voice cold and resolute. “Only one of you may step forward to face me. The others will bear witness to their strength—or their fall.”

The group stands frozen for a moment, each of them weighing the options.

Jareth places a hand on his weapon, ignoring the sharp sting of his injury. “This is my fight. Let me handle it.”

Maggie lifts her chin, resolve burning in her eyes. “No. I’ve got something to prove, and this is my chance to step up.”

Fritz shifts uncomfortably, raising a hesitant hand. “Okay, I’m not exactly the hero type, but I’ve got agility and tricks. Could be enough… maybe?”

The Keeper’s eyes gleam with anticipation. “Your choice will reflect your courage and your trust in one another. Step forward and face the trial.”

⚔️ - Jareth
👧 - Maggie
🏹 - Fritz

Maggie steps into the ring, each concentric line of Draconic script flaring with pale light beneath her boots. As they align around her, the rest of the crew watches from just outside the boundary—unable to interfere, hearts in their throats.

The Keeper of Valor lowers her blade, the cold fire along its edge crackling. “Show me your courage,” she says, voice resonating through the chamber. “Not in your victory, but in your will to endure.”

Despite her resolve, Maggie can feel the odds against her. She’s no seasoned warrior—each swing of her sword feels clumsy, as though fate itself works against her. Yet she steels herself. She won’t run. She won’t let fear decide this outcome.

When the Keeper’s blade whips around again, Maggie attempts a final, shaky thrust of her own. The Keeper swats aside the blow easily, but Maggie does not step back. She stands her ground, blade trembling in front of her.

“You are beaten,” the Keeper states, voice echoing. “Why continue this charade?”

Maggie gasps for air, every muscle burning. “Because… I have something to prove… to myself.” Her sword hand falters, yet her posture remains unbowed. “I’m not… the best fighter. But I don’t… run away.”

For a split second, the Keeper hesitates. Then the cold fire on her blade dims. She tilts the weapon aside and regards Maggie with a curious, almost respectful calm.

“This is valor,” the Keeper pronounces. “Not in the perfect parry or the cutting strike, but in standing firm despite certain loss. You have shown me your will is stronger than your weakness.”

Maggie finally staggers, knees buckling. Jareth rushes forward the instant the runes fade, catching her before she hits the ground. She clings to his arm, breathing raggedly.

“You nearly got yourself killed,” he mutters, half scolding, half relieved. His hand settles over hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Yeah, well… I’m still here.” Maggie manages a tired grin, bloodied lip curling upward. “And so’s my pride—mostly.”

The Keeper of Valor lowers her head in a solemn nod. “You have earned Bellanthia’s trust. Take what you came for—and may your courage light the path ahead.”

Rewards

A hush falls over the chamber as the Keeper’s armor flares once more with spectral brilliance—an unspoken affirmation that Maggie has succeeded in spirit, if not in flawless skill. The group rallies around their wounded comrade, hearts still pounding from the brutal display, but flushed with newfound admiration.

The Keeper of Knowledge glides into the chamber, her robes whispering across the floor. She meets the armored Keeper of Valor’s gaze, and in a swirl of golden motes, the two spirits merge into a single, regal form: Bellanthia, embodying both calm intellect and a warrior’s might.

“You have joined wisdom with courage,” Bellanthia says, her voice echoing with the cadence of both spirits. “Thus, you are deemed worthy to bear what I once protected.” She lifts a hand, and three items begin to coalesce in radiant light.

The first is Bellanthia’s Songblade, shaped like a graceful scimitar with a golden hilt. Its edge emits a soft melody, resonating with Maggie’s battered yet unyielding heart. Despite her bruises, Maggie steps forward, her breathing still labored but her grip firm.

Maggie nods, taking the sword in both hands. She runs her fingers along its intricate hilt, her lips curving into a small, proud smile. “I earned this,” she says quietly, more to herself than anyone else.

The second is a polished shield inlaid with intricate draconic motifs, runes glinting along its rim. It drifts gently into Jareth’s outstretched hand.

“My thanks,” Jareth says gruffly, lowering his head in respect.
“Guard them well,” Bellanthia replies. “This Bulwark was forged to stand against despair. Let it remind you—and those you protect—that strength is more than steel.”

Finally, an ornate tome bound by shimmering locks floats toward Aure.

“Within this Codex of the Dragon Line,” Bellanthia says, “lie records of my father, the Dragon Titan, and my brothers—Tharion, twisted into a weapon through cruelty, and Arkalion, whose hunger for power darkens even the courts today. They were not always as they are now. Both carried warmth in their hearts once, but that was long ago.” Her golden eyes linger on the Codex as it reaches Aure. “Knowledge is power, and power must be wielded carefully.”

Aure clutches the book to her chest, eyes shining with determination. “I’ll learn what I can and make sure it helps us.”

Bellanthia’s golden gaze sweeps across the group. “You have proven yourselves worthy not because you are perfect warriors, but because you persevere. Maggie, your valor stands as a beacon to your allies. Let this blade remind you of what you are capable of.”

Maggie’s fingers tighten on the hilt of the Songblade. “I’ll wield it with everything I’ve got.”

Bellanthia begins to dissolve into motes of light, her voice echoing softly as her form fades. “Carry these gifts forward. You will need them in the trials to come.”

The chamber grows silent save for the sound of Fritz’s excited rummaging. “Guys,” they call out, their voice breaking the reverent quiet. “We’ve got… oh wow. Eight thousand gold coins, maybe more. And gems—at least five thousand’s worth, easy.” They hold up a sapphire the size of an apple. “This dragon was loaded.”

Sparks whistles, his eyes gleaming. “Think of the upgrades we could make to the ship—or the bribes. Can’t forget those.”

Jareth inspects the shield, its surface gleaming even in the dim light. He glances toward Maggie. “That blade suits you,” he says simply, his voice steady but tinged with warmth.

Maggie shifts the Songblade in her hands, its melody faint but resolute. “Yeah, it does. And I’ll make sure it keeps us alive. All of us.”

Aure adjusts the Codex, her brow furrowing slightly. “We’ll need every ounce of what we’ve found if we're going to survive.”

“Big if,” Sparks mutters, still eyeing a pile of glittering coins.

Maggie winces as she leans on Jareth for a moment, catching her breath. “We did it,” she says, her voice filled with pride.

“We did,” Jareth replies, steadying her with his free hand. “And you were incredible.”

With Bellanthia’s Songblade, the Bulwark, the Codex, and a hoard of riches in tow, the group begins their trek back. The Songblade hums softly as Maggie walks, the sound an echo of their triumph, and a promise of the strength they’ll carry into the battles ahead.