As you venture into the lush jungles of the fabled Dragon Isle, the air is thick with humidity and an unsettling familiarity. The dense undergrowth threatens to block your path at every turn.

The tropic’s cacophony fades into a steady hum as you push past a stubborn tangle of thorny vines and find yourself in a clearing. At the center sits a brooding, darkly-cloaked figure, accompanied by an odd, diminutive wooden puppet standing rigidly, their presence a jarring juxtaposition to the lively environment.

Pippet’s yellow eyes, dull yet unnervingly perceptive, flicker toward you. He gives a stilted jerk of his head in your direction, a silent signal to his master. “Uh, Master?” Pippet begins, his cartoonishly squeaky voice hesitant.

“I know, you dolt!” the Puppet Master snaps, though the surprise in his voice betrays him. His sassy tone wavers, almost as if he’s more upset at being caught off guard than at Pippet’s failure to alert him sooner. He straightens up, trying to recapture some semblance of menace. “I always knew you’d come, wizard. I just, uh, didn’t think you’d actually find me here. Or at all.”

You step closer, eyes narrowing. “You’re back,” you acknowledge, disbelief tinting your words. After all, you had witnessed the Puppet Master’s defeat with your very own eyes.

The Puppet Master rises to his feet, attempting to look imposing; only to appear slightly ridiculous. “Surprised, are we?” he says with a flourish of his tattered new cloak, his voice dripping with forced theatricality.

“You thought you’d rid the world of me, but you underestimated the power of my—wait, where’s my dramatic lightning? Pippet, you were supposed to cue the lightning!” Pippet shuffles awkwardly, wooden joints creaking. “Uh, there’s no storm, Master.”

“Fine, whatever,” the Puppet Master grumbles, waving a gloved hand dismissively. He turns back to you, trying to reclaim his sinister aura. “So, what brings you to my domain? Here to grovel for mercy, or just to seek my captivating company?”