Your feet are sore from a day of journeying. Up and over the mountains you went with your party in tow as the thunderous downpour of unseasonable rain shook your supply wagon. If only the magical potions hadn't been so burdensome, you could have traveled light and quick, but no, your resident cleric Bathsheba the Relentless bid your collection irreplaceable. Alas, the daylight wanes and you're forced to make a call. Do you press on to the nearest tavern or catch a quick nap in some wilderness shelter?
With soggy leather cloaks and mud-caked boots, you stumble head-first into the nearest cave, exhausted and dreaming of bodacious women serving heavy pints. While your party relaxes and lights a listless fire, you can't help but notice a glowing pair of eyeballs in the distance, eyeing your potion wagon with a hungry gaze. As steam sizes from the bowels of the cave, you realize the error of your ways for stopping so soon, for a foul and ancient monster lain deep in the cave far before humanity ever stepped foot in the Direwood Forests. A terrifying dragon reveals his primeval face, nearly inches from your makeshift camp and your party scrambles for their weapons. Your dungeon master grins evilly and asks you to roll for priority, claiming the only way to survive this encounter is to roll over 17, so you shake your clasped hands and release the dice with bated breath, watching the world in slow motion as the dragon breathes down your neck.
The game is afoot.