The air grows cool and damp, the scent of wet stone and ancient dust filling your lungs with every step. The thunderous roar of a waterfall just outside the cavern entrance muffles your approach, but the sound is soon replaced by something far more profound. A low, rhythmic rumble, like stones grinding together in the deep places of the earth, echoes from the shadows ahead. It is the sound of breathing, slow and impossibly deep.

As your eyes adjust to the gloom, you begin to make out a shape that defies belief. A vast form, coiled like a mountain in the darkness, covered in scales that shift and gleam with hints of bronze and old gold even in the faint light. A massive head, larger than any warhorse, lifts from its resting place. Two eyes, like molten gold, blink open slowly, fixing upon you with an unnerving, ancient intelligence. A wisp of smoke curls from a nostril.

Then, a voice, deep and resonant, with a gravelly timbre that seems to vibrate in your very bones, cuts through the cavern's damp air.

"Another traveler, come to seek glory? Or have you simply lost your way, little human?" The great head tilts, a gesture of curiosity mixed with profound weariness. "Be warned. The last dragonslayer to stand where you are now found me to be... poor sport. State your purpose before my patience, and my welcome, wears thin."