In the realm of Eldoria, where magic dances with the mundane and ancient secrets whisper from forgotten ruins, a tale of adventure and darkness unfolds.
Tempras, a young elf driven by ambition and a thirst for the unknown, finds herself drawn into a web of conspiracy and danger. Alongside Rowan, a seasoned ranger, and Brogan, a boisterous dwarf, she embarks on a perilous quest to uncover the secrets of the Temple of the Hidden Eye.

The Wayfarer’s Rest, a tavern known more for its cheap ale than its comfortable accommodations, was as raucous as ever. Laughter, shouts, and the occasional crash of tankards punctuated the thick air, a familiar symphony to any seasoned adventurer. Tempras, however, found the usual boisterous atmosphere more grating than comforting. She perched on a splintery stool by the bar, nursing a drink she barely touched, her pointed ears twitching in annoyance at the cacophony. Her true focus lay on a shadowy corner table where a grizzled human trader, his breath reeking of stale ale, was leaning in conspiratorially towards a cloaked figure.
“...lost city, I tell ya,” the trader was slurring, his voice barely carrying over the
din. “Gold enough to drown a king, and them with scales guarding it... nasty lot.”

Tempras’s ears pricked up, her heart quickening with a surge of adrenaline. She’d been following whispers and rumors for weeks now, each one leading her closer to the infamous Darkheart Forest and the legendary Temple of the Hidden Eye supposedly nestled within its depths. This drunken tale could be the final piece of the puzzle. She nudged her companions, a subtle gesture that spoke volumes in their silent code.
Rowan, a seasoned ranger with a face weathered by countless wilderness trials, lowered his tankard with a frown. His keen eyes flicked towards the shadowed corner, assessing the situation. Brogan, a boisterous dwarf with a beard as thick as his axe handle, paused mid-sentence, a half-eaten meat pie dangling precariously close to his open mouth. His normally jovial expression was replaced by a look of confusion.

“Gentlemen,” Tempras began, her voice low but carrying a hint of barely contained excitement, “did I hear that correctly? A temple? Treasure?”

The cloaked figure turned, revealing reptilian eyes that glittered in the dim tavern light.
“What’s it to you, elf?” Their voice was a sibilant hiss, sending a shiver down Tempras’s spine.
Lizardfolk were rarely seen this far from their swampy domains, and their presence here, coupled with the trader’s tale, seemed too good to be a coincidence.
Tempras forced a disarming smile, masking her unease.
“We might be of... assistance,” she offered, her voice carefully measured, “for the right price. My companions and I specialize in the retrieval of lost things.” It wasn’t entirely a lie; they were adventurers, after all, and retrieving lost artifacts often came with the territory.
​
A long, tense silence hung in the air, broken only by the raucous laughter of the oblivious patrons. The lizardfolk studied them, its gaze cold and calculating. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, it gestured for them to approach. An upturned palm revealed a crudely carved stone pendant, its surface swirling with an odd green hue.

“From the ruins,” the creature rasped, its voice barely above a whisper. “A sign.
The Eye watches. The dragon hungers.”

With that cryptic pronouncement, the lizardfolk abruptly stood and pushed past them, disappearing into the crowd. Tempras and her companions were left in stunned silence, the weight of the encounter settling upon them like a heavy cloak.
The stone pendant, a crude artifact bearing the mark of a reptilian eye, felt impossibly heavy in Tempras’s hand. It was more than just a trinket; it was a symbol of the daunting quest they were about to embark on. Rowan, his face etched with the lines of countless wilderness trials, leaned in, his gaze fixed on the pendant. The mention of a dragon guarding the lost temple had cast a pall over their initial excitement.
“Dragon,” Rowan muttered, a crease forming between his brows. “That complicates things. A lot.” Dragons were creatures of immense power and ferocity, their scales nearly impenetrable, their fiery breath capable of reducing a man to ashes in an instant. The prospect of facing such a beast was enough to make even the most seasoned adventurer reconsider.

Brogan, a stout dwarf with a beard as thick as his axe handle, grunted in agreement, a surprisingly thoughtful expression crossing his normally jovial features. “Aye,” he said, stroking his beard contemplatively, “but think o’ the treasure they guard, enough to draw in a beast like that. Must be more than just yer average pile o’ coins.” The dwarf’s eyes gleamed with a hint of avarice.

While the dangers were undeniable, the potential rewards were equally enticing. Tempras felt a familiar thrill coursing through her veins. The mention of a dragon, a creature of myth and legend, only added to the allure of the quest. Every fiber in her being screamed challenge, danger, the chance to etch her name on the annals of history. “We’d be fools to pass this up,” she declared, her voice a mix of determination and barely contained excitement. This was the opportunity she had been seeking, a chance to prove her worth as an adventurer and to
uncover the secrets hidden within the depths of the Darkheart Forest.