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The Third Dragon Hoard: Verloise

Introduction

A morning haze stretches over a verdant valley, where the pirate crew’s flying skiff descends onto an overgrown terrace. Thick vines coil around ancient stone walls, and a delicate turquoise glow pulses in the distance—like a beacon calling them deeper into the labyrinth. By the time the gangplank is lowered, everyone senses the magic in the air.

Jareth, ever cautious, rests a hand on his sword hilt as he steps onto the mossy ground. “Doesn’t feel hostile,” he murmurs, “but I’m not relaxing yet.”

Aure bends to examine a cluster of bright flowers bursting through cracked stone. “Verloise was a renowned healer, yes, but these old hoards tend to test us more than welcome us.”

Sparks adjusts a small device strapped to his forearm, turning dials that squeak in protest. “Getting all kinds of readings here: strong plant-based magic and planar energy. This entire place might be part greenhouse, part fortress.”

Treesa, light-footed, quietly circles the landing area and points toward a vine-choked arch. “There’s a gate or tunnel that way… the vines seem to move, but not aggressively.”

Fritz’s eyes gleam at the sight of exotic blossoms. “Exotic flora might mean exotic treasure.” They grin, fiddling with a pouch of tinkering tools. “We’re dealing with a dragon’s stash, after all.”

Coriander casts a quick glance around, half-smiling as he flips a dagger between deft fingers. “I suggest we keep an eye out for illusions. Plenty of things can hide behind pretty petals.”

Cobble, the dwarf paladin, runs a calloused hand over a carved Draconic inscription on a fallen column. His brow knits in quiet resolve. “Verloise’s generosity might still linger… or her protections might punish those who’d exploit it. I’ll see we do right by her memory.”

Fork in the Maze

Following a twisting path of blossoming arches and low walls, the crew comes upon a fork in the overgrown maze. Each path thrums with a distinct energy:

• Path of Blooming Waters: A blossoming corridor lined with softly-bubbling streams and radiant flowers. Glittering pollen drifts through the air, singing a faint lullaby.
• Path of Whispering Spores: A fungal byway, thick with glowing mushrooms. Everything seems hushed, broken only by occasional spurts of spores lighting the dim space.
• Path of Twisted Roots: A root-wrought tunnel, its earthy scent a mix of decay and rebirth. Vines coil around each other, forming natural pillars that twist downward into shadow.

Jareth slows, scanning each route. “We only have so much time—and I’d rather not split up.”

Aure studies the pollen floating in the first passage. “That shimmer could heal or pacify us… or enthrall us.”

Sparks inches closer to the second corridor, tapping his device. “The spore readings are off the charts. Could be medicinal or hallucinogenic.”

Fritz eyes the third path with a half-grin. “Dark and rooty. Classic place to hide something valuable.”

Cobble adjusts his grip on his hammer, recalling his vow to uproot oppression and misuse of power. “If something here’s being twisted or caged, we set it free.”

No one moves for a moment, each weighing which path might lead to Verloise’s final resting place—and the powerful relics or knowledge she left behind.

Which path do they choose?

• 🌸 Path of Blooming Waters: Where radiant flowers and soft streams might offer solace—or lull them into a dangerous trance.
• 🍄 Path of Whispering Spores: A fungal expanse that promises secrets of growth and decay, but risks mind-bending illusions.
• 🫚 Path of Twisted Roots: Descending into earthy depths, possibly full of entangling vines and hidden traps, but maybe potent healing wonders, too.

In the hush of the ancient garden, the group exchanges looks of apprehension and resolve. Verloise’s gentle spirit might guide them—or challenge them—to prove their worth within her living tapestry of renewal. The decision is theirs to make.

Path of Whispering Spores

A hushed quiet settles over the crew as they choose the corridor swathed in glowing fungi. The air feels thick—one part damp, one part magic—heavy with floating motes of drifting spores. What little sound there is comes from their boots squelching softly on mossy ground.

Aure lifts a hand, catching a drifting spore between her fingers. “They’re warm…” she murmurs, voice tinged with awe. “Almost like tiny lanterns.”

Fritz wrinkles their nose. “Lanterns that could be lethal, I bet. These glowy bits always hide something.” They peer around, half-expecting an ambush.

Jareth keeps a steady grip on his sword. “Stay on guard,” he warns, though he appears calmer than usual. “I’d rather not breathe in more spores than we have to.”

Sure enough, the further they trek, the thicker the fungi. Plumes of mycelium grow along half-sunken walls, their caps a mix of pale blues and stark whites. Sparks occasionally stops to fiddle with his scanning gadget, scribbling quick notes in a small journal. “All fungal species I’ve never seen before… though I can’t guarantee they’re benign,” he cautions, glancing warily at a patch that almost pulses in time with his footsteps.

Cobble sniffs the air, brow furrowed. “Smells… stale, but not rotting. Like the earth is breathing...”

He trails off as the tunnel opens into a wider chamber carpeted in plush moss and enormous mushrooms. Tendrils of soft bioluminescence glow in time with an unseen rhythm. Tiny spores drift lazily in the air, creating a dreamlike haze.

Illusions & the Golden Mushroom

Treesa motions for quiet, but it’s too late: Coriander has already tapped the nearest mushroom with the pommel of his dagger.

Suddenly, illusions blossom at the periphery of their vision—like half-real silhouettes flickering just beyond the mushrooms. Each crew member sees something personal:

• Jareth senses a phantom tug at his arm, like an old comrade who once fought by his side but never made it home.
• Aure catches glimpses of watery shapes swirling at the edges, calling to her with silent voices.
• Cobble feels the ground lurch beneath him, as though a chain is clamped around his ankle—an echo of everything he’s sworn to free others from.
• Fritz sees glitters of treasure, shining gold that vanish the moment they try to focus on it.
• Sparks spies mechanical wonders floating in the air, contraptions he’s only dreamed of building.
• Treesa hears a whispered tune from her homeland, lost in the rustling fungal caps.
• Coriander glimpses shifting shadows that seem to beckon him, almost daring him to slip off unseen.

The illusions, though subtle at first, tug at the corners of each person’s mind. It becomes clear that this place feeds off their desires and memories—and might enchant them into staying forever.

A faint glow stands out near the back of the chamber, where a massive, golden-capped mushroom rises from the moss. It pulses in time with the illusions, as though controlling or amplifying them.

The crew huddles near the entrance, shaken by these fleeting visions. Sparks refocuses on his gadget, exclaiming, “That big one… I suspect it’s generating the illusions—some sort of spore-laced psychic field.”

Coriander scowls at the shifting shadows behind him. “So, we remove that fungus, or find another way to pass?”

The choices present themselves:

• ⚔️ Confront the Golden Mushroom Directly: Attempt to destroy or sever its connection to the mycelium network—even if the illusions intensify or it releases a massive spore burst.
• 🗣 Try a Diplomatic/Arcane Approach: Perhaps Aure or Sparks can use Arcana or Nature to communicate with or tame the fungus for safe passage.
• 🥷 Stealth / Bypass: Let Treesa and Coriander guide the group around the fungus, risking that the illusions might escalate into real danger.

In the end, the golden-capped mushroom settles into a tranquil turquoise glow as the crew soothes its wary magic. Sparks quiets his device, Aure speaks soft words of reassurance, Cobble lowers his hammer in solemn resolve, and Treesa and Coriander stand ready—while Fritz clutches a tool pouch in cautious curiosity. Gradually, the illusions fade into the background.

The Portal Decision

In the center of the chamber, a spectral dragon takes form, its scales shimmering with a subdued warmth.

“I am Verloise,” the spirit intones softly, her voice carrying a tinge of sorrow. “When I lived, my garden healed all who came, just as I once sacrificed myself to save my sister.”

A swirl of memory unfolds in pale light: Verloise and her astral-touched sister, Starlen, beset by chaos. Starlen flickers away in a burst of astral magic while Verloise remains—collapsing under unseen forces so that Starlen might flee. The vision fades, and Verloise lowers her gaze.

She lifts her head again, a gentle pang in her eyes. “A fragment of Starlen’s planar magic remains here in my garden. I offer it to you—but it can accomplish only one thing.”

Suddenly, a portal wavers open, revealing Drumma—the orc companion the crew once believed lost. Dark tendrils wrap around her torso as she struggles for breath in a swirling void. Though Jareth never knew her, he stiffens as the anguish on his comrades’ faces becomes clear.

“This magic can free your friend,” Verloise explains, “or it can open the vault that houses my final healing relics. A choice must be made.”

Fritz draws in a shaky breath. “We can’t leave Drumma like that.”

Coriander’s jaw tightens. “But the hoard might save countless lives if it holds artifacts from a legendary healer.”

Cobble, fists clenched, glances between the portal and Verloise. “We serve those who need us. Drumma’s as important as any relic—but so are the sick we could help with these treasures.”

Jareth steps forward, eyes fixed on Drumma’s distant figure. “I don’t know her, but if you’ve fought alongside her, then that’s enough for me. Let me jump in.”

Sparks shakes his head, flicking switches on his gadget. “If we do that, we give up the hoard… unless—” he hesitates, turning to Aure. “What if we try to hold the portal open longer with our own magic? We might get both.”

Verloise’s spectral wings dip in a sad motion. “Sacrifice spread too thin often ends in nothing saved. If you devote my fragile power to two tasks, it may fail entirely. You could lose both Drumma and my relics if the attempt collapses.”

Still, Aure sets her jaw, matching Sparks’s determined look. “We have to try, don’t we?”

Verloise’s kind gaze flickers with the weight of her own sacrifice. “If you must… but you tread the path I once did, striving to save it all. Sometimes fortune smiles upon the selfless; other times, the weight of it breaks them.”

They have three choices:

• 🕳 Rescue Drumma: Channel Verloise’s planar magic solely to free Drumma from the void. (The hoard remains sealed, and its healing relics are lost.)
• 💰 Claim Verloise’s Hoard: Use the power to open her final vault and let Drumma slip away, trusting there might be another time or way to save her.
• ↔️ Attempt Both: Have Sparks and Aure (or others) pour their own life force or magic into reinforcing Verloise’s fragile spell, hoping to sustain two portals. The risk is high—if the strain is too great, both Drumma’s rescue and the hoard could be lost.

With no time to waste, Jareth exchanges a final glance with the crew, takes a steadying breath, and leaps through the portal.

Rescue & Aftermath

In the void, darkness coils around Drumma’s limp form, nearly consuming her. A Shadowkin—its plague mask and red eyes glinting—lunges at Jareth, knocking his sword from his hand with a single ferocious strike. Gritting his teeth, Jareth seizes a twisted blade from the creature’s belt and retaliates, carving through the inky tendrils that bind Drumma. With the orc slumped in his arms, he staggers toward the portal’s flickering light while the Shadowkin hisses in frustration behind him.

Outside, the cavern trembles under the strain. Sparks grimaces, fiddling with knobs on his overclocked gadget. “Just a few seconds more!”

Aure’s voice trembles with arcane focus. “I—I can’t let this fail now!”

Cobble holds his breath while Fritz braces Aure’s shoulders, and Treesa and Coriander stand guard. The golden-capped mushroom flares, its power fueling this desperate attempt. Then, in a blinding flash, Jareth bursts through the portal with Drumma clinging to his shoulder. The rift crackles and snaps shut behind him, and the chamber falls into hushed awe.

Cobble races forward, kneeling beside Drumma. Relief lights his face as he senses her heartbeat. “She’s alive,” he whispers, tears welling in his eyes.

Jareth sinks onto one knee, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. He drops the strange blade with a clatter and notices an emblem on its pommel—a stylized sun with a raptor’s claw. Aure’s eyes widen as she examines it. “That symbol… I’ve read references in half-burned tomes. It’s tied to Sunclaw, a city supposedly swallowed by blight centuries ago. Most claim it never existed.”

Fritz hovers, curiosity sparkling despite the fatigue. “A lost city? If that’s real, it could be huge—and dangerous.”

Any speculation is cut short when Sparks’ overloaded gadget diverts the last spark of planar power into the far side of the room. Vines peel away from the wall to reveal a secret alcove filled with heaped gold, scattered gems, and smaller enchanted trinkets that shimmer in the fungus-light. At its center, perched on a twisted pillar of living roots, rests a delicate diadem—the Verdant Bloom.

Verloise’s spectral form appears in gentle teal motes. “Though I cautioned you not to stretch my magic too thin, your unity has achieved what none of us could do alone. Perhaps if my siblings and I had stood together, we might have defied our father’s design. You defied the odds to save Drumma and unveil my garden’s final gift.”

She glances at Drumma—unconscious but breathing. “This is the Verdant Bloom. In it lies the heart of my healing legacy—use it to protect life where tyranny and blight encroach. Let it guide you should you one day stand before Tharion. If he once found compassion in me, then perhaps you can rekindle his own.”

Cobble, still at Drumma’s side, gently helps her upright as she draws a ragged breath. Sparks collapses in relief, Aure slumps with a tired yet victorious smile, and Fritz laughs shakily as the tension of near-disaster finally ebbs away.

Jareth rises, still clutching the newfound blade, his eyes lingering on the Sunclaw emblem. “If Sunclaw was real, maybe it’s not lost forever,” he muses. “Though that’s a question for another day.”

Verloise’s luminous form floats toward the hoard’s treasures—piles of gold, scattered gems, and lesser magical baubles. “These, too, are yours. May they serve just causes. My father’s shadow looms still, but your bond is strong. Guard each other as you did Drumma, and you shall forge a fate different from ours.”

As the pirates busily collect their newfound riches—jewels rattling in worn satchels, gold clinking into sturdy crates—a tiny, anthropomorphic mushroom peeks from behind a toppled urn. Its wide eyes blink curiously at the bustle, and in a moment of inattention, it hops forward on stubby legs. With a nearly silent squeak, it tucks itself into Fritz’s half-open pack, slipping beneath a pile of gleaming coins. None of the pirates notice; they’re too absorbed in counting spoils, checking on Drumma, and marveling at the miraculous treasures now in their possession.

Treasure

Among the hoard’s riches, the most wondrous is the diadem known as Verdant Bloom. Its discovery cements Verloise’s legacy of healing and renewal.