Fog covered the Mo Mey mountains covered in lush trees and barren rocks. This morning was particularly cloudy for some reason, casting a grey outline on those that called the mountain home. A pack of orcs were setting up camp high up in the mountains, the fire warming all in the cold atmosphere. The smell of boar wafted through the area, supple meat making orcs salivate at the scent. But far below the fog covered mountain, miles underneath hearty roots of the pine trees, and submerged under the unmoving rocks lies a very bored dragon and his own mountain. A mountain of plentiful treasure. The trove, encompassed by the mountain was a cavern that could be reached through a secret tunnel hidden by brush and rock that only one of immense strength could move. If one was even capable of budging the boulder hiding the entrance they would have to navigate a very long maze. At the end of that maze sat a treasure of wonders. Gold coins littered the spacious cavern eventually clumping up in small hills. Rubys, and sapphires would glimmer in the torches along the cavern. Prized armor and weapons were buried underneath the gems and gold.  Small objects like goblets and tankards were scattered along everywhere like grass among a prairie. And on top of it all, lay a massive dragon. Back in his prime, the deep blue hue would simulate that of an ocean, but now, scales grey and dull with age, he resembles something of melting snow. His tail was wrapped around him as slept on the treasure trove, his heavy head rested on his paw while gold pieces lay all over him.

The scent of boiling blood set his nostrils a flare, shooting an array of gold and gems scattering. His eyes opened slowly as he regained his conscience.. He let out a deep rumbling sigh as he would spend one more day on this boring earth. "It is never enough is it, damn me for being so prideful." He rasped out in ancient dragon. He preferred the old language. It was a language before disaster, where dragons filled the land as much as the humanoids did. A time long past that was nothing but legends to most of the living. He cursed his ever present hoarding instinct. The only thing that kept him from passing in his sleep. The truth was he was ready to leave Revaliir. If his hoarding instinct would allow him at least. But deep inside him he wanted claim more. He had to have more. The half full cavern was not enough. He needed more for his self. More. More. More. More. More. It was all that kept him going at this point in his life. The non drakins, old language for not dragon, have hunted his race to near extinction. The old gods only encouraged it, promising titles and power. And The current gods do nothing about it. Donsha had many children and lovers though out the times. It was time to leave. But his damn instinct wanted him to collect more. And until his trove was complete, he would suffer, one day at a time until the sweet release of death claims him when his instinct was satisfied.

The orc's breakfast had woken him up and the scent of meat would not let the great dragon fall asleep. He stood on all four massive paws and stretched out his back, gold coins falling down from their hills as the dragon shifted the piles with his stretching. Letting out a massive breath, flaring his nostrils, he decided today he would collect more artifacts for his trove in hopes he will finally be happy with the collection. He walked his way to the tunnel that lead out of the cavern and slithered his way out. As he met the outside air, cool against his scales, he unfurled his wings as the sudden jolt of wings catching air upset his stomach. He rose far above the mountains and above the clouds and sailed covert with the fog adding to his cover.