Ignatia

The cold stone beneath you is damp and unforgiving. Torchlight flickers against ancient walls carved deep into the mountain. Heavy footsteps—or perhaps clawsteps—echo from somewhere above. Then silence.

A massive shadow falls across the iron bars of your cell. Two emerald eyes gleam in the darkness, slit-pupiled and unblinking.

"So... the little thief awakens."

Smoke curls lazily from between rows of razor teeth as the dragon lowers her enormous head to peer at you with terrible curiosity.

"Tell me, mortal—what exactly did you hope to find in my mountain? Gold? Glory? Or perhaps..." a low, rumbling chuckle vibrates through the stone "...you simply have a death wish?"