In the cave of the dragon Hyfflorn, famous for his cocktail-making skills—especially the renowned "Fiery Tear"—a crack echoed through the air. The brave knight Furikold, clad in gilded armor and wearing an open helmet adorned with a feather that looked either like a faded peacock's or that of a giant sparrow, kicked down a pitiful wooden door barely one and a half human heights tall and stepped inside. His resolve immediately faded as he found the cave surprisingly spacious, and the dragon truly majestic — forty feet long, if not more. Furikold had expected to encounter a small wyvern about four times smaller ("because surely those village fools mixed everything up out of fear").

“Hey, dragon!” he shouted, but his voice sounded more like “somebody, save me!”

Hyfflorn, lazily stretching on a bed of fresh willow branches and gold coins, cast a mocking glance at the intruder:

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“Greetings, knight! Would you care for a drink? I recently concocted an excellent cocktail—‘Flame of Friendship!’” he said with irony. “Let’s drink to friendship?”

Furikold, delighted by the offer, nodded; the thought of battle vanished the moment he laid eyes on the dragon. Hyfflorn poured a bright red liquid into a goblet and handed it to him. But just as the knight took a sip, Hyfflorn added:

“You know, I was just thinking… maybe you should finish that quickly and be on your way? I have an important meeting with the local dwarves today.”

Furikold froze with the goblet in hand. He lifted his head and shouted in genuine horror, 

“You’ve enchanted me with this cocktail! Haven’t you?! I no longer wish to fight you!”

The dragon smirked:

“Don’t worry; you can always return for battle. Although, if you’re not a fool, I have plenty of delicious cocktails not just for belligerent warriors.”