So long has my life been spent driving away glory-seekers and treasure-hunters, but the wielder of Fafnir's scale is an heir of the Wolfdale smiths! His brooch is evidence of this!

I gasp desperately, trying to recover from the grip of the wyrm's tendril. I swing wildly at the beast, shattering scales here and there but drawing little blood. Thidrek is not defenseless, and the scale he brandishes casts the dragon guise upon him.

"Your desire for the gold, Fafnir, will be your undoing!" I cry as I lash at him with my blade. "You will be forced to slay me, and the treasure will be lost forever!"