Being the continuing dramatization of six friends Dungeons and Dragons adventuring…

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Chapter 4: The Keeper of Dragons

The ordeal of the descent still weighed on their limbs. Exhaustion pooled in joints and muscles, a heaviness that made every heartbeat sluggish. So when they stumbled upon the small chamber within the sunken tower—its dust undisturbed, its stones cool and intact—the decision to rest came quickly and unanimously.
They barred the doors as best they could and collapsed into uneasy sleep.

When they rose, it was with clearer eyes and steadier hands.

The Left-Hand Door

The left-hand door groaned open into a broad stone chamber. Rubble sprawled across the floor like a discarded skeleton; the far exterior wall of the citadel was cracked and eroded, its stones having surrendered long ago to whatever catastrophe had dragged this fortress beneath the earth.

Isledie moved ahead, thin blade in one hand, probing at loose stones with the other. The rogue’s eyes darted constantly—ceiling, floor, shadow, wall. Still, she did not see the movement until it was upon her.

Three giant rats burst from the rubble in a flurry of claws and shrieks.

Their teeth sank deep into her leathers before she had time to scream. She staggered, blood already seeping through sliced straps and torn fabric, but Alder was there in an instant, staff raised, and Valder followed with a roar that shook dust from the ceiling. The fight was vicious and short. The rats died swiftly under steel and spell, and Isledie pressed a hand to her ribs, wincing as Alder whispered a healing charm over her torn flesh.

Along the western wall stood a stone door in far better repair than the ruined outer wall—a beautifully carved slab bearing the image of a dragon rearing in full majesty. The detail was exquisite: each scale sharp, each talon deadly, the maw open in a silent roar.

“Looks promising,” Valder grunted.

They tried everything.
Isledie probed the keyhole with her tools—nothing.
Valder jammed a javelin into the open stone mouth. No effect.
Alder spoke the dragon’s name in Draconic, voice echoing off the chamber walls.

Still, the door remained silent and unmoving.

Eric whispered the incantation for Detect Magic. At once the door shimmered a ghostly blue, veiled in arcane enchantment.

“Well,” he said, pushing his spectacles higher on his nose, “that explains it. Magical lock. And… remarkably stubborn.”

With no key in sight, and wounds still fresh, they left it and returned to the tower’s central chamber to try the opposite passage.

A Pit of Lessons

The right-hand door opened onto a short corridor, ending in three more doors: two wooden, one stone.

Alder stepped forward confidently—and the floor swung out beneath him.

He yelped as he dropped into the darkness, landing hard on his ankle. Pain shot up his leg in a lightning bolt.

Valder sighed as if this were a familiar occurrence, hauled Alder out by his cloak, then ripped a wooden door from its hinges and slammed it across the pit as a makeshift bridge.

On the other side, Eric’s Detect Magic spell flared again—this time pointing to the stone door carved with a fishlike dragon. Alder and Valder both attempted to shoulder it open, to no effect except for bruises and a loud thud that echoed embarrassingly across the hall.

“With respect,” Eric said, clearing his throat, “perhaps we try something that won’t break our own bones?”

This lock, unlike the dragon door’s, yielded to the combined skill of Alder and Isledie. The stone door swung open, dust billowing out.

Inside stood a single upright keg of iron, strange pipes curling down into the floor. The room hummed faintly, like the last breath of some dormant apparatus.

The party examined it, puzzled—and ultimately left it be.

But Eric lingered.

The Rusty Keg

He tugged Valder back with a conspiratorial whisper. “Just a moment. I believe this keg… contains something unusual.”

Valder scratched his beard. “Unusual like treasure, or unusual like explode?”

“Hopefully the former.”

The wizard attempted several techniques—tapping the metal, murmuring spells, adjusting pipes—none yielding anything but frustration.

Finally he sighed. “Fine. Valder—just pull the bung.”

The barbarian arched a brow, shrugged, and yanked.

Air rushed in. The keg shuddered. A shriek split the room.

BOOM.

The keg exploded outward, sending shards of iron clattering across the chamber. A tidal wave of freezing water burst forth—and from it rose two creatures wrought from the very elements themselves.

One, cold as deepest winter, crystals hanging from its wings.
The other, hissing steam, its body shimmering with blistering heat.

Mephits!

Valder swore. Eric squeaked. And the fight began.

Ice tore into flesh, leaving frostbitten wounds. Steam blasted outward in scalding waves. Eric went down hard, consciousness slipping away—until Will, hand trembling but sure, whispered a Healing Word and dragged him back from the brink.

Together, they turned their fury on the ice mephit first—blades scattering crystal dust until it detonated in an explosion of razor-sharp shards. Alder charged in to help finish the second, and with a howl of steam it burst into a cloud of scalding vapor.

When the room finally settled, five sapphires glittered on the floor. The spell components that had created the mephits.

Eric pocketed them with a shaky sigh. “Never doubted it. Not once.”

They said nothing.

Footsteps in the Night

The party retreated to the empty room across the corridor. They wedged the door, cleaned their wounds, and took up watches.

At some point deep in the dark, heavy footsteps paused outside their door—waiting, listening.

Isledie held her breath.
Valder gripped his axe.
Alder readied a spell.

But the steps moved on.

They exhaled together.

The Keeper of Dragons

Fully rested, they pressed deeper into the Citadel.

From behind a door came faint noises—whimpering, rattling, fire crackling low. Through the keyhole, Isledie saw a chamber washed with flickering light, a small firepit, a bedroll, and a large cage with a hole smashed through its bars.

Alder nodded. They entered.

A bell jingled.

Something yelped beneath the bedroll.

And then, trembling, scales dull with dust, a tiny kobold crawled out, enormous eyes blinking in terror.

“M–Meepo! Meepo live! Please no hurt Meepo!”

The party exchanged glances.

“I… wasn’t going to,” Isledie said, lowering her dagger a fraction.

Meepo straightened his back, pride warring with fear. “Meepo is Keeper of Dragons. Or… was. Calcryx—mighty white dragon wyrmling—stolen by goblins.” His shoulders sagged. “Meepo failed. Meepo is shamed. No one listen Meepo now.”

“So who will know more?” Alder asked gently.

“Yusdrayl,” he said immediately. “Great queen. Wise. She know all. Meepo take you, yes? But must say password or guards stab you.”

“What password?”

Meepo puffed out his chest. “Tricklecorn.”

Alder blinked. “…Tricklecorn.”

“Yes!” Meepo beamed. “Very ferocious word.”

The party refrained from comment.

The Kobold Queen

Down several winding passages Meepo led them, shouting “TRICKLECORN!” at every door until they arrived at a grand chamber. Scaled figures stood guard. A stone throne carved with ancient draconic motifs dominated the far end.

Upon it sat Yusdrayl, regal even in her diminutive draconic form. She narrowed sharp eyes at the adventurers.

“Meepo brings strangers,” she said, voice rasping but strong. “Yet… Meepo still lives. This is strange.”

She listened as the party explained themselves.

At the mention of Calcryx, her jaw clenched. “Goblins steal what ours. We peaceful—worship dragon, honour ancient place. Goblins come later. Take. Hurt. Steal.” She hissed. “But you… you look capable.”

She leaned forward, eyes glinting like polished amber.

“Bring back our dragon, and you shall be rewarded. The key to the Rearing Dragon Door will be yours.”

At that, the party straightened. Alder and Isledie shared a glance.

A key.
To the very door they had failed to open.

Their next path was clear.

Appendix 1:

Players Map: End of Session 4