Mood: A mighty warrior draws a blade. The blood of dragons runs through his veins. The fate of the realm rests in his hands.
Smells like: Resinous dragonsblood spilled upon the temple floor while fruity musk and sweet incense twine towards the vaulted ceiling.
Snow clings to the mountain passes as the warrior treads his way to the summit. A mighty sword hangs at his side, polished and clean but well-used. He has seen many battles, but he knows this will be his greatest.
Ahead a cavern appears in the cliff's face. Darkness lies beyond, and smoke drifts from its depths. The warrior hesitates then draws his blade. Here he will make his stand for he is of an ancient and powerful line, strong and fearless, destined to save his homeland from all that would threaten it.
The ground shakes. A mighty beast roars, claws and scales scraping upon the stone as it approaches.
A battle is nigh. There will be only one victor.
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