In a dark dark keep, up some long long stairs, across a fancy fancy room and down a secret hidden passage, past a mystically locked door and in a dimly lit recess he sits, sulking on the floor.
Vaspar glances at his right hand, looking at the healing burn scars and scratches on his stubby digits. He looks up now to his newest contraption, wandering across the floor slowly winding down, clockwork clicking as it moves and small flames sparking from the mouth, hastily tethered together the lower half that of a legged serpent with no head, the top half that of a mighty dragon, minus the legs lurches towards the far wall.
As the device slows to a complete stop Vaspar rolls one more Gold coin to the corner of the room, now counting a full 21 attempts. He lets his head fall back, hitting the wall with a soft clunk and wracks his mind in the dimly lit gloom.
There must be a way . . .